Till over the fragrant tangle
A wanderer winging went,
And with many a ruby spangle
Were his tawny vans besprent.
And he hovered one moment stilly
O'er the thicket, her mazy bower,
Then he sank to the heart of the lily,
And they seemed but a single flower.
COMPENSATION
The brook ran laughing from the shade,
And in the sunshine danced all day:
The starlight and the moonlight made
Its glimmering path a Milky Way.
The blue sky burned, with summer fired;
For parching fields, for pining flowers,
The spirits of the air desired
The brook's bright life to shed in showers.
It gave its all that thirst to slake;
Its dusty channel lifeless lay;
Now softest flowers, white-foaming, make
Its winding bed a Milky Way.
WHEN WILLOWS GREEN
When goldenly the willows green,
And, mirrored in the sunset pool,
Hang wavering, wild-rose clouds between:
When robins call in twilights cool:
What is it we await?
Who lingers and is late?
What strange unrest, what yearning stirs us all
When willows green, when robins call?
When fields of flowering grass respire
A sweet that seems the breath of Peace,
And liquid-voiced the thrushes choir,
Oh, whence the sense of glad release?
What is it life uplifts?
Who entered, bearing gifts?
What floods from heaven the being overpower
When thrushes choir, when grasses flower?