Now—yet why repine we?—ye are done with sorrow; Life and Lent are over, with their prayers and tears; After night of watching came the glad to-morrow, Came the blessed sunshine of the eternal years.
Surely in Jerusalem, where the Lord Christ reigneth, Ye with saints and martyrs keep this festal day— And the holy angels, ere its glory waneth, Heaven’s own Easter Lilies on your breasts shall lay!
“O WIND THAT BLOWS OUT OF THE WEST”
O wind that blows out of the West, Thou hast swept over mountain and sea, Dost thou bear on thy swift, glad wings The breath of my love to me? Hast thou kissed her warm, sweet lips? Or tangled her soft brown hair? Or fluttered the fragrant heart Of the rose she loves to wear?
O sun that goes down in the West, Hast thou seen my love to-day, As she sits in her beautiful prime Under skies so far away? Hast thou gilded a path for her feet, Or deepened the glow on her cheeks, Or bent from the skies to hear The low, sweet words she speaks?
O stars that are bright in the West When the hush of the night is deep, Do ye see my love as she lies Like a chaste, white flower asleep? Does she smile as she walks with me In the light of a happy dream, While the night winds rustle the leaves, And the light waves ripple and gleam?
O birds that fly out of the West, Do ye bring me a message from her, As sweet as your love-notes are, When the warm spring breezes stir? Did she whisper a word of me As your tremulous wings swept by, Or utter my name, mayhap, In a single passionate cry?
O voices out of the West, Ye are silent every one, And never an answer comes From wind, or stars, or sun! And the blithe birds come and go Through the boundless fields of space, As reckless of human prayers As if earth were a desert place!
A SUMMER SONG
Roly-poly honey-bee, Humming in the clover, Under you the tossing leaves, And the blue sky over, Why are you so busy, pray? Never still a minute, Hovering now above a flower, Now half-buried in it!