He hath no need of me In grand affairs, Where fields are lost, or crowns Won unawares.
Yet, Master, if I may Make one pale flower Bloom brighter, for thy sake, Through one short hour;
If I, in harvest-fields Where strong ones reap, May bind one golden sheaf For Love to keep;
May speak one quiet word When all is still, Helping some fainting heart To bear thy will;
Or sing one high, clear song, On which may soar Some glad soul heavenward, I ask no more!
THE CHAMBER OF SILENCE
One autumn day we three, Who long had borne each other company— Grief, and my Heart, and I— Walked out beneath a dull and leaden sky.
The fields were bare and brown; From the still trees the dead leaves fluttered down; There were no birds to sing, Or cleave the air on swift, rejoicing wing.
We sought the barren sand Beside the moaning sea, and, hand in hand, Paced its slow length, and talked Of our supremest sorrows as we walked.
Slow shaking each bowed head, “There is no anguish like to ours,” we said; “The glancing eyes of morn Fall on no souls more utterly forlorn.”