Lovely is the green earth—she knows the hour is holy;
Starry are the heavens, lit with eternal joy;
Light like their own is dawning sweet and slowly
O'er the fair and sculptured forehead of that yet dreaming boy.
Soon he will awaken!
Red as the red rose towards the morning turning,
Warms the youth's lip to the watcher's near his own,
While the dark eyes open, bright, intense, and burning
With a life more glorious than ere they closed was known.
Yes, he has awakened
For the midnight's happy queen!
What is this old history but a lesson given,
How true love still conquers by the deep strength of truth.
How all the impulses, whose native home is heaven,
Sanctify the visions of hope, faith, and youth.
'T is for such they waken!
When every worldly thought is utterly forsaken,
Comes the starry midnight, felt by life's gifted few;
Then will the spirit from its earthly sleep awaken
To a being more intense, more spiritual and true.
So doth the soul awaken,
Like that youth to night's fair queen!
WE MIGHT HAVE BEEN!
We might have been!—these are but common words,
And yet they make the sum of life's bewailing;
They are the echo of those finer chords,
Whose music life deplores when unavailing.
We might have been!
We might have been so happy! says the child,
Pent in the weary school-room during summer,
When the green rushes 'mid the marshes wild,
And rosy fruits, attend the radiant comer.
We might have been!
