Visions haunt us from our childhood
Of a love so pure, so true,
Time and tears, and care and anguish,
Leave it steadfast, fair and new;—
Visions that elude for ever,
As the silent years depart,
Some unhappy ones and weary,—
Mona Lisas of the heart.
Gleams of that divine completeness
God's angelic ones attain,
Pass amid our toils before us,
And we emulate in vain.
Poet fancies crowd the spirit,
We would print upon the scroll—
But that perfect utterance faileth—
Mona Lisas of the soul.
SPRING LILIES.
'Neath their green and cool cathedrals,
In the garden lilies bloom,
Casting to the fresh Spring Zephyrs
Peal on peal of sweet perfume.
Often have I, pausing near them
When the sunset flushed the sky,
Seen the coral bells vibrating
With their fragrant harmony.
And, within my quiet dwelling,
I have now a Lily fair,
Whose young spirit's sweet Spring budding
Watch I with unfailing care:
God, in placing her beside me,
Made my being most complete,
And my heart keeps time for ever
With the music of her feet.
I remember not, while gazing
In her earnest eyes of blue,
That the earth has aught of sorrow
Aught less innocent and true;
And the restlessness and longing
Wakened by the cares of day,
With the burden and the tumult,
In her presence fall away.