THE BROTHER'S HAND.
35
Far off, by black-grey stone, in shattered heaps,
The beautiful, familiar, sad home-grace,
Like love itself made palpable, it keeps
Through all the sorrowful forsaken place.
Nor can you find the scented presence there,
On the green ground or in the pensive air,
Of any other of the blossoming race.
The beautiful, familiar, sad home-grace,
Like love itself made palpable, it keeps
Through all the sorrowful forsaken place.
Nor can you find the scented presence there,
On the green ground or in the pensive air,
Of any other of the blossoming race.
A very lovely woman loved to wear
Its cluster of blushes once upon her breast.
She brought it from the woods and set it where
She always loved to be, herself, the best.
The very flowers we think so frail outstay
Our frailer selves—and she is gone away:
Away—and, therefore, as we think, to rest.
Its cluster of blushes once upon her breast.
She brought it from the woods and set it where
She always loved to be, herself, the best.
The very flowers we think so frail outstay
Our frailer selves—and she is gone away:
Away—and, therefore, as we think, to rest.
On the seventh birthday of her fair twin-boys,
She gave the two a boat, as they were one,
(For until then each owned the other's toys);
But when they saw it floating in the sun,
With sails of stainéd silk so prettily blown,
Each felt that he was now himself alone:
The golden chain that bound them was undone.
She gave the two a boat, as they were one,
(For until then each owned the other's toys);
But when they saw it floating in the sun,
With sails of stainéd silk so prettily blown,
Each felt that he was now himself alone:
The golden chain that bound them was undone.
