In the forest of my being the voice of your lute;
In the depth of my heart the pearl of your tear;
In the temple of my soul chimes the bell of your love.
The fire of dawn, shadow of eve,
Life's sorrow, and death's mute-enchanting peace
Steal away silently, fearfully, at thy flute's music.
O, frail, faint call which I seek to echo!
O, breath of love laden with the aroma of my soul!
Why seek I ever without, O guest at my door?
10
MOONRISE
A soft light mantle of rose wear the brown hills
As they look down on the valley where the rills
Spin their long silver embroideries
For the fringe of spring's greenéd draperies.
The cloud-banks recede with the fading breeze,
The warblers fall into silence in the trees
To listen to many-colored dream-melodies
That the mute stars make on sleep's endless seas.
The last light flickers out of the sky,
Shadows with golden feet o'er the green valley hie;
The silver rills trill like warblers from earth's deeps
As the moon, the sun of another dawn, heavenward leaps.