Seers may direct us thro' pain to discover the soul,
Comforting joy may not give us the absolute whole,
But if the seers should be wrong, may the truth not be ours
Thanking dear Life for its light and its beautiful hours?
[DUST]
Motes of the city dust, could this thing be
That midst your myriad particles for me
Might come one atom out of Ispahan,
One spiced far memory of caravan.
Indrawn upon my breath I'd know an urge
To dissipate monotony, and purge
The spirit of its spleen; one with the man
Who takes the sun blue air of Ispahan.
[NATURE'S CHILD]
I had a friend whose soul was very fair,
His word was wisdom and his strength was sure;
His courage in the ills he had to bear
Made others strong and able to endure.
I asked no love, no tribute of the sense
For his companionship was recompense.
I thought I was beloved, but did not care,
He smiled on me as he on others smiled,
But one grey day a chill was in the air
And then to prove that I was Nature's child,
He spoke—"I do not love you very much—"
And all my friendship shattered at the touch.