Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/270

It was then that a Fairy stood forth by the bowers.
She seemed to emerge from an oak 'mid the rushes
That guarded the north of the kingdom of flowers.
Fixed, fixed were mine eyes, yet virgin of showers,
As she said—'So thou fliest? The world grinds and it crushes,
And here, 'mid my workmen, is peace in the bushes.

'My treasures contemplate, as thou sitt'st by these rushes,
With art and at leisure, choose, choose the bright flowers;
Weave thy gay garland, and if the wind fiercely brushes
And, flinging clouds o'er the sun, destroys their dew-blushes,
From thy soul them besprinkle with flame and with showers,
And rays everlasting shall dart through the bowers.'

I tied ye up then, oh beloved and chaste flowers!
Nor any have added, lest should fade your rich flushes;
But my Love would not have them, 'twas a waste of my powers:
My blood and my tears through the long-rolling hours
Are the gifts she desires, and so back, 'mid the rushes,
I brought to the Fairy her flowers with their blushes.

Great was my sorrow, but a sorrow girdled with flowers
Is greater. Lethe, oblivion, in darkness still gushes,
But in daylight's rich hues, burst forth the tear—showers.