I wonder what it would be to dream Of a child that might one day be your own; Of the hidden springs of your life a part, Flesh of your flesh, and bone of your bone. Marion stooped one day to kiss A beggar’s babe with a tender grace; While some sweet thought, like a prophecy, Looked from her pure Madonna face.
I wonder what it must be to think To-morrow will be your wedding-day, And you, in the radiant sunset glow Down fragrant flowery paths will stray, As Marion does this blessed night, With Philip, lost in a blissful dream. Can she feel his heart through the silence beat? Does he see her eyes in the starlight gleam?
Questioning thus, my days go on; But never an answer comes to me: All love’s mysteries, sweet as strange, Sealed away from my life must be. Yet still I dream, O heart of mine! Of a beautiful city that lies afar; And there, some time, I shall drop the mask, And be shapely and fair as others are.
WHAT NEED?
“What need has the singer to sing? And why should your poet to-day His pale little garland of poesy bring, On the altar to lay? High-priests of song the harp-strings swept Ages before he smiled or wept!”
What need have the roses to bloom? And why do the tall lilies grow? And why do the violets shed their perfume When night-winds breathe low? They are no whit more bright and fair Than flowers that breathed in Eden’s air!
What need have the stars to shine on? Or the clouds to grow red in the west, When the sun, like a king, from the fields he has won, Goes grandly to rest? No brighter they than stars and skies That greeted Eve’s sweet, wondering eyes!
What need has the eagle to soar So proudly straight up to the sun? Or the robin such jubilant music to pour When day is begun? The eagles soared, the robins sung, As high, as sweet, when earth was young!
What need, do you ask me? Each day Hath a song and a prayer of its own, As each June hath its crown of fresh roses, each May Its bright emerald throne! Its own high thought each age shall stir, Each needs its own interpreter!
And thou, O, my poet, sing on! Sing on until love shall grow old; Till patience and faith their last triumphs have won, And truth is a tale that is told! Doubt not, thy song shall still be new While life endures and God is true!