Ye give a refuge for the heart of youth.
Ye give a value for all loss in age,
When feebled eyes search for forgotten springs;
Ye fan the breeze that turns the moulded page,
And carry back the soul to ardent things.
Poor payment can I give, but here engage
I thee to be Love's airy equipage.
WAS IT THY FACE?
Was it thy face I saw when, as a child,
Night after night I watched one quiet star
Shine 'tween my curtain and the window-bar
Until I slept, and made my sleep more mild?
Was it thy influence outreaching then
To me, o'er untrod years, o'er varying days,
To give me courage, as from phase to phase
Of youth's desires I passed to deeds of men?
Was it because the star was hid awhile,
That I in blindness wandered from my path;
That I wooed Folly with her mumming smile,
And sought for Lethe in a cup of wrath?
Another hand touched mine with sadness there,
And saved me till I saw thy face appear.
A WOMAN'S HAND
A woman's hand. Lo, I am thankful now
That with its touch I have walked all my days;
Rising from fateful and forbidden ways,
To find a woman's hand upon my brow;