The swelling fruit along the boughs,
The grass grown heady in the rain,
Dark roses fitted for the brows
Of queens great kings have sung in vain;
My little cat with tiger bars,
Bright claws all hidden in content;
Swift birds that flashed like darkling stars
Across the cloudy continent;
The wiry-coated fellow curled
Stump-tailed upon the sunny flags;
The bees that sacked a coloured world
Of treasure for their honey-bags.
And all these things seemed very glad,
The sun, the flowers, the birds on wing,
The jolly beasts, the furry-clad
Fat bees, the fruit, and everything.
But gladder than them all was I,
Who, being man, might gather up
The joy of all beneath the sky,
And add their treasure to my cup,
And travel every shining way,
And laugh with God in God’s delight,
Create a world for every day,
And store a dream for every night.
THE MIRACLE
Come, sweetheart, listen, for I have a thing
Most wonderful to tell you—news of spring.
Albeit winter still is in the air,
And the earth troubled, and the branches bare,