“It wants to feel,” she said, “the touch
Of dew, and sunlight, and all such—
Of wind that fondles overmuch.
But by-and-by it will get bold,
And show you people all the gold
Its pretty heart does surely hold.”
Back at my side she took her place,
And looking at her, I could trace
An added sweetness in her face.
We came into the dusk and gloom,
Out of the glowing fragrant room,
Walled in and carpeted with bloom.
A Bud
DID the angel pluck thee, my blossom fair,
Ere the morning sun had spent its glow,
While the dew of heaven lay bright and clear
In each folded leaf? Ah, the angels know,
They gather our sweetest, our heart’s delight
To bloom where there cometh not frost nor blight.
Envy
WHEN Satan sends—to vex the mind of man
And urge him on to meanness and to wrong—
His satellites, there is not one that can
Acquit itself like Envy. Not so strong
As lust, so quick as fear, so big as hate—
A pigmy thing, the twin of sordid greed—
Its work, all noble things to under-rate,
Decry fair face, fair form, fair thought, fair deed,
A sneer it has for what is highest, best,
For love’s soft voice, and virtue’s robe of white;
Truth is not true, and pity is not kind,
A great task done is but a pastime light.
Tormented, and tormenting is the mind
That grants to Envy room to make its nest.