DUST‑SEALED.
I know not wherefore, but mine eyes
See bloom, where other eyes see blight.
They find a rainbow, a sunrise,
Where others but discern deep night.
Men call me an enthusiast,
And say I look through gilded haze:
Because where'er my gaze is cast,
I see some thing that calls for praise.
I say, "Behold those lovely eyes—
That tinted cheek of flower‑like grace."
They answer in amused surprise:
"We thought it such a common face."
I say, "Was ever scene more fair?
I seem to walk in Eden's bowers."
They answer with a pitying air,
"The weeds are choking out the flowers."
I know not wherefore, but God lent
A deeper vision to my sight.
On whatsoe'er my gaze is bent
I catch the beauty Infinite;
That underlying, hidden half
That all things hold of Deity.
So let the dull crowd sneer and laugh—
Their eyes are blind, they cannot see.
I know not wherefore, but mine eyes
See bloom, where other eyes see blight.
They find a rainbow, a sunrise,
Where others but discern deep night.
Men call me an enthusiast,
And say I look through gilded haze:
Because where'er my gaze is cast,
I see some thing that calls for praise.
I say, "Behold those lovely eyes—
That tinted cheek of flower‑like grace."
They answer in amused surprise:
"We thought it such a common face."
I say, "Was ever scene more fair?
I seem to walk in Eden's bowers."
They answer with a pitying air,
"The weeds are choking out the flowers."
I know not wherefore, but God lent
A deeper vision to my sight.
On whatsoe'er my gaze is bent
I catch the beauty Infinite;
That underlying, hidden half
That all things hold of Deity.
So let the dull crowd sneer and laugh—
Their eyes are blind, they cannot see.
"ADVICE."
I must do as you do? Your way I own
Is a very good way. And still,
There are sometimes two straight roads to a town,
One over, one under the hill.
You are treading the safe and the well‑worn way,
That the prudent choose each time;
And you think me reckless and rash to‑day,
Because I prefer to climb.
Your path is the right one, and so is mine.
We are not like peas in a pod,
Compelled to lie in a certain line,
Or else be scattered abroad.
'Twere a dull old world, methinks, my friend,
If we all went just one way;
Yet our paths will meet no doubt at the end,
Though they lead apart to‑day.
You like the shade, and I like the sun;
You like an even pace,
I like to mix with the crowd and run,
And then rest after the race.
I like danger, and storm and strife,
You like a peaceful time;
I like the passion and surge of life,
You like its gentle rhyme.
You like buttercups, dewy sweet,
And crocuses, framed in snow;
I like roses, born of the heat,
And the red carnation's glow.
I must live my life, not yours, my friend,
For so it was written down;
We must follow our given paths to the end,
But I trust we shall meet—in town.
I must do as you do? Your way I own
Is a very good way. And still,
There are sometimes two straight roads to a town,
One over, one under the hill.
You are treading the safe and the well‑worn way,
That the prudent choose each time;
And you think me reckless and rash to‑day,
Because I prefer to climb.
Your path is the right one, and so is mine.
We are not like peas in a pod,
Compelled to lie in a certain line,
Or else be scattered abroad.
'Twere a dull old world, methinks, my friend,
If we all went just one way;
Yet our paths will meet no doubt at the end,
Though they lead apart to‑day.
You like the shade, and I like the sun;
You like an even pace,
I like to mix with the crowd and run,
And then rest after the race.
I like danger, and storm and strife,
You like a peaceful time;
I like the passion and surge of life,
You like its gentle rhyme.
You like buttercups, dewy sweet,
And crocuses, framed in snow;
I like roses, born of the heat,
And the red carnation's glow.
I must live my life, not yours, my friend,
For so it was written down;
We must follow our given paths to the end,
But I trust we shall meet—in town.