Has not supplied; and thou, sweet maid,
Dost never weary, but from day to day,
And season unto season, every shade
In sky or cloud is new inlaid
With colors soft or gay.
Yon mountain late enrobed in snow
Thou clothest now in dress of shimmering green;
Ere long another garb wilt thou bestow
Upon her, lest thy lover grow
Aweary of the scene.
And when the sheen of summer sky
Shall fade into October's sombre gray,
And Autumn's gayest flowers a-withered lie,
For me yon mountain thou will tie
Into a rare bouquet.
HER EYES
I dare not look again!
In those vast depths of infinite blue
There are visions of joy and love as true
As ever haunted a poet's ken.
This sordid earth's my lot;
Those dreams must be forgot—
I dare not look again.
I dare not look again!
Those dreams must be forgot
The infinite blue, with its love so true
And the visions I dare not pen.
This sordid earth's my lot.
Heavens! might I but look again!