They do not envy you,
They love the sweet, the true—
They know you are sincere
As morning’s spark of light
In dew orbs shining bright,
When heaven is blue and clear.
They want your merry laugh,
Like rain for them to quaff;
They want to kiss your feet;
They want to see your eyes—
Full glory of blue skies—
Your smile they yearn to greet.
Come to the woods, my own,
With every blessing known
To man, which you can bring;
Here is your royal goal,
Come, with your joyous soul,
And make all nature sing!
YOU
What is this mystery?
This subtle wonder—you?
Which fills my soul with ecstasy,
My eyes with dew?
What are you, influence, so mild?
As subtle as the air which sways
The stalwart pine. What child
Of nature are you?
Soul obeys your slightest motion.
Mind is set in deep commotion—
By your presence—
By your absence—
Being thrills beneath your glance!
A smile will all my thought enhance.
Touch my lips, and every bliss
Seeks heaven’s glory in a kiss!
You! sweet influence, what art
God used in fashioning you apart
From His renownèd mould,
In the marvellous days of old?
Why, all the elements combined
In making you
The dearest mystery refined,
The ages through!
Yet, what are you? with power
So great to bind my will,
Fast in strong chains each hour;
And every action fill
With echoes of one name,
Resounding in love’s hall of fame?
You! Unlike your kind—
An essence of God’s mind.
An attribute of His deep joy,
When in his toil of love
He fashioned you without alloy,
The masterpiece to prove,
With every splendid gift—replete.
You—complete!
My earth, sky, sea, and air;
My fruit, flower, jewel rare;
My every need of day and night—
Sun, moon, stars, space; my soul’s delight!
Your name whose syllables are wings
Which waft me high,
Above the fragrant air which brings
Faint eastern aromatics to the sky.
Ever a mystery of art to be,
A subtle influence subjecting me.
Like, fair Hamadryad, created anew—
Ineffable, mystical, wonderful—you!
THE LAST LIGHT
The foothills of Nebraska shine
In a disc of sunset gold;
The cornstalks glisten like pale wine—
But the wind is bitter cold.
Around my love a radiance lies,
’Tis the glow of her soul’s sun;
’Twill light a vision in my eyes—
When the long day’s work is done.
WHEN YOU WERE BORN
Love stirred the spheres,
The groves rang mirth—
There were no tears—
At my love’s birth!