There stalks the incipient murder dream,
And envy and malice and pain
Crowd close behind with a selfish leer
Like the links of an unwound chain.
And envy and malice and pain
Crowd close behind with a selfish leer
Like the links of an unwound chain.
But, ah! the beautiful thoughts come, too,
The thought of a love that is pure,
The clean, high thought of a conquering soul,
And the rose-sweet hopes that lure.
The thought of a love that is pure,
The clean, high thought of a conquering soul,
And the rose-sweet hopes that lure.
And we sit forever beside the road
Keeping the pilgrim score,
But only the thoughts come into our hearts
To which we open the door.
Keeping the pilgrim score,
But only the thoughts come into our hearts
To which we open the door.
CHIMNEY TOPS
BEYOND my window ledge I see
The roofs across the way,
Their chimneys silhouetted sharp
Against the ashen day.
A trail of smoke of darker hue
High up the cloud-way swings,
And then—white pigeons skurry by
On silent, silken wings.
The roofs across the way,
Their chimneys silhouetted sharp
Against the ashen day.
A trail of smoke of darker hue
High up the cloud-way swings,
And then—white pigeons skurry by
On silent, silken wings.
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