TO MY POET
Dear Poet of the swift imperial ways,
The overtones of thy melodious showers
Are mine, and shadows of thy leaning flowers;
My thoughts are emulous of thy thought sprays.
Thou art the shepherd of my humble days
The faint subsiding impulse of thy powers
Reverberates and stirs my silent hours;
My partial words are thy remembered lays.
The overtones of thy melodious showers
Are mine, and shadows of thy leaning flowers;
My thoughts are emulous of thy thought sprays.
Thou art the shepherd of my humble days
The faint subsiding impulse of thy powers
Reverberates and stirs my silent hours;
My partial words are thy remembered lays.
When Jesus gave the loaves to the meek throng,
They fared, and there were basketsful besides—
The fragments fallen from his grace benign,
Abundant- since, dear Poet, love divides,
A portion of thy opulence is mine,
I gather from thy plenitude of song.
They fared, and there were basketsful besides—
The fragments fallen from his grace benign,
Abundant- since, dear Poet, love divides,
A portion of thy opulence is mine,
I gather from thy plenitude of song.
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