THE FLOWER
I am the man who found a flower,
A blossom blown upon the wind,
More radiant than the sunrise rose,
More sweet than lotus-airs of Ind.
I clutched the flower, and on my heart
I crushed its petals, red and burning.
O ecstasy of life new-born!
O youth returned, the unreturning!
I am the man who dared the Gods
And under their thunderbolts lay blest,
Because I found the flower, and wore it
One wild hour upon my breast.
WHEN THE CLOUD COMES DOWN THE MOUNTAIN
When the cloud comes down the mountain,
And the rain is loud on the leaves,
And the slim flies gather for shelter
Under my cabin eaves,—
Then my heart goes out to earth,
With the swollen brook runs free,
Drinks life with the drenched brown roots,
And climbs with the sap in the tree.