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SONGS FOR GIRLHOOD. |
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THERE IS A GARDEN IN HER FACE.
Richard Allison.
There is a garden in her face,
Where roses and white lilies grow ;
A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;
There cherries grow that none may buy
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do inclose
Of orient pearl a double row, Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds tilled with suow Yet them no peer nor prince may buy Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still, Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threatening with piercing frowns to kill All that approach with eye or hand
These sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. |
As long as hearts are mirthful,
And gladness overflows; As long as yew-trees bending,
O'er graves, sad mourning make, And one lone eye is weeping,
Or one lone heart can break ; So long on earth shall wander
The goddess Poesy, And he with her rejoicing
Who shall her efforts free.
And when, with mirth and singing.
From earth's worn house of clay. Comes forth the last, lone poet,
And all have passed away, Still God will hold creation
Within his hand of power, And gaze upon it smiling
As on a fresh-blown flower. When this gigantic blossom
Shall all have passed behind, And earths and sun are scattered
Like flower-dust on the wind, Then ask, if yet of asking
Thou hast not wearied long, If yet at last is ended
That old eternal song! |
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WHEN WILL YE POETS WEARY?
From, the German of Anabtabius Grun.
When will ye poets weary
Of singing on so long ? When ring out to its ending
That old eternal song ? Has not the horn of plenty
Been emptied long ago ? Have not all flowers been gathered,
All fountains ceased to flow ?
As long as through the azure
The sun-car keeps his way, And but one human forehead
Is turned to meet his ray; As long as through the ether
Night strews her star-seed fair, And only one deciphers
The golden writing there ; As long as rainbows sparkle
When storms and thunders cease, And but one bosom welcomes
The elemental peace; As long as springs are vernal,
And blooms are on the rose; |
FROM "SPRING." Henry Timrod.
Spring, with that nameless pathos in the air Which dwells with all things fair; Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain, Is with us once again.
Out in the lonely woods the jasmine burns Its fragrant lamps, and turns Into a royal court with green festoons The banks of dark lagoons.
In the deep heart of every forest tree The blood is all aglee,
And there's a look about the leafless bowers As if they dreamed of flowers.
Yet still on every side we trace the hand Of Winter in the laud,
Save where the maple reddens on the lawn, Flushed by the season's dawn ; |
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