WRITTEN ON RECOVERY FROM
SICKNESS, 1906.
How dreamlike, strange, is this
Reprieve to happiness
And life! to sit at ease
In comfort of green trees!
And marvelling hear
Thrush and blackbird piping near;
Whilst, thro' every passive sense,
Creeps a healing influence,
That, baptizing heart and brain,
Renews and makes me whole again!
No more, like one for whom
There is nor light nor gloom,
Silence nor sound,
His sleep is so profound,
I lie, in seeming rest,
With hands prayer-folded on my breast,
Silent, as slow nights and days
Pass on undistinguished ways,
Silent, tho' my heart made moan,
Sadly to herself alone,
Saying, "Now, dissolves the snow;"
Saying, "Now, the violets blow;—
Ah, when I am laid more low,
They will blow more close to me,
Closer still and I not see,
