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A FLOWER IN A LETTER.
And ye lifted up your head, and it seemed as if He said,
"My Beloved, is it so?
Have ye tasted of my woe?—
Of my Heaven ye shall not fail!
He stands brightly where the shade is,
With the keys of Death and Hades,
And there, ends the mournful tale!—
So, hopefully, ye think upon the Dead.
"My Beloved, is it so?
Have ye tasted of my woe?—
Of my Heaven ye shall not fail!
He stands brightly where the shade is,
With the keys of Death and Hades,
And there, ends the mournful tale!—
So, hopefully, ye think upon the Dead.
A Flower in a Letter.
WRITTEN 1839.
My lonely chamber next the sea,
Is full of many flowers set free
By summer's earliest duty;
Dear friends upon the garden walk
Might stop amid their fondest talk,
To pull the least in beauty.
Is full of many flowers set free
By summer's earliest duty;
Dear friends upon the garden walk
Might stop amid their fondest talk,
To pull the least in beauty.
A thousand flowers—each seeming one
That learnt, by gazing on the sun,
To counterfeit his shining—
Within whose leaves the holy dew
That falls from heaven, hath won anew
A glory . . . in declining.
That learnt, by gazing on the sun,
To counterfeit his shining—
Within whose leaves the holy dew
That falls from heaven, hath won anew
A glory . . . in declining.
Red roses, used to praises long,
Contented with the poet's song,
The nightingale's being over:
And lilies white, prepared to touch
The whitest thought, nor soil it much,
Of dreamer turned to lover.
Contented with the poet's song,
The nightingale's being over:
And lilies white, prepared to touch
The whitest thought, nor soil it much,
Of dreamer turned to lover.
Deep violets you liken to
The kindest eyes that look on you,
Without a thought disloyal:
The kindest eyes that look on you,
Without a thought disloyal:
