To-day, amid a world of men,
How often must I cry:
"Happy I never was but then
Nor shall be till I die!"
Near Gold Cap,
Late Summer, 1916.
THE WATER-LILY
The Lily floated white and red,
Pouring its scent up to the sun;
The rapt sun floating overhead
Watched no such other one.
None marked it as it spread abroad
And beautifully learned to cease:
But Beauty is its own reward,
Being a form of Peace.
1913.