Lord place me in thy concert—give one strain
To my poor reed.
George Herbert, 1593–1632.
THE GARDEN.
When the light flourish of the blue-bird sounds,
And the south wind comes blandly; when the sky
Is soft in delicate blue, with melting pearl
Spotting its bosom, all proclaiming Spring,
Oh with what joy the garden spot we greet,
Wakening from wintry slumbers. As we tread