A LAY OF THE EARLY ROSE.
261
Are we so brave?—The sea and sky
In silence lift their mirrors;
And, glassed therein, our spirits high
Recoil from their own terrors.
Be pitiful, O God!
In silence lift their mirrors;
And, glassed therein, our spirits high
Recoil from their own terrors.
Be pitiful, O God!
We sit on hills our childhood wist,
Woods, hamlets, streams, beholding!
The sun strikes, through the farthest mist,
The city's spire to golden.
The city's golden spire it was,
'When hope and health were strongest,
But now it is the churchyard grass,
We look upon the longest.
Be pitiful, O God!
Woods, hamlets, streams, beholding!
The sun strikes, through the farthest mist,
The city's spire to golden.
The city's golden spire it was,
'When hope and health were strongest,
But now it is the churchyard grass,
We look upon the longest.
Be pitiful, O God!
And soon all vision waxeth dull—
Men whisper, "He is dying:"
We cry no more, "Be pitiful!"—
We have no strength for crying!—
No strength, no need! Then, Soul of mine,
Look up and triumph rather—
Lo! in the depth of God's Divine,
The Son adjures the Father—
Be pitiful, O God!
Men whisper, "He is dying:"
We cry no more, "Be pitiful!"—
We have no strength for crying!—
No strength, no need! Then, Soul of mine,
Look up and triumph rather—
Lo! in the depth of God's Divine,
The Son adjures the Father—
Be pitiful, O God!
A Lay of the Early Rose.
"discordance that can accord."
Romaunt of the Rose.
Romaunt of the Rose.
A rose once grew within
A garden April-green,
In her loneness, in her loneness,
And the fairer for that oneness.
A garden April-green,
In her loneness, in her loneness,
And the fairer for that oneness.
A white rose delicate,
On a tall bough and straight!
Early comer, early comer,
Never waiting for the summer.
On a tall bough and straight!
Early comer, early comer,
Never waiting for the summer.
