I saw a bloom,
So beautiful,
My sad heart lost its gloom,
And cares that dull
The senses, soon passed far away—
The bloom brought joy into the day.
I saw her face
When she bent down
And kissed the bloom. Then grace
Was Hebe’s crown
Of loveliness, and there! upon
Her brow the light of heaven shone!
THE MUSIC OF MY HEART
The soft night, like a silent child
Before some wondrous thing,
Withholds its breath, as if beguiled
By songs the fairies sing.
It seems to stand and listen, still
As statue in a grove—
Perhaps it hears a fairy trill
A strain Titania wove.
Ah, no, the night hears not her song,
For it would then be glad;
And I have listened here so long,
I know the night is sad.
Now if it be a song that keep
The hour when night should part,
Then night must hear from my soul’s deep,
The music of my heart.
THE TRYST
My love is coming through green fields to me—
Why does she tarry so?
She knows I wait on cliffs above the sea,
And dare not to her go;
For I am prisoned to the spot where love
Has chained my feet, and must not call or move.
My love is gath’ring harebells, where the mead
Is starred with flowers to kiss
Her ling’ring feet; there sedges intercede,
And whisper runes of bliss—
Beseeching her to stay and heed me not—
For she can make a heaven of any spot!