ASHES OF ROSES.
A fair blue sea, where mirrored lie
The gold brown rock in sunshine resting,
The changeful glory of the sky,
The white-winged gull his swift way breasting,—
A world of light and song and bloom,
Where earth is glad and heaven rejoices,
And, floating through my quiet room,
A laughing chime of baby voices.
The gold brown rock in sunshine resting,
The changeful glory of the sky,
The white-winged gull his swift way breasting,—
A world of light and song and bloom,
Where earth is glad and heaven rejoices,
And, floating through my quiet room,
A laughing chime of baby voices.
Half way across the seaward slope
With tall green grasses bending over,
Two sweet eyes bright with love and hope
Laugh up at me amid the clover;
With flutter of a little gown
Whose flying fold the wind upraises,
Her pretty head of golden brown
My darling lifts amid the daisies.
With tall green grasses bending over,
Two sweet eyes bright with love and hope
Laugh up at me amid the clover;
With flutter of a little gown
Whose flying fold the wind upraises,
Her pretty head of golden brown
My darling lifts amid the daisies.
Part of the shining day she seems,
But more divine than all its splendor,
Like some fair light that shines in dreams,
So softly bright, so sweetly tender;
The glow upon the rounded cheek,
The lisping voice in broken sweetness,
More life and love and joy bespeak
Than all the summer's rich completeness.
But more divine than all its splendor,
Like some fair light that shines in dreams,
So softly bright, so sweetly tender;
The glow upon the rounded cheek,
The lisping voice in broken sweetness,
More life and love and joy bespeak
Than all the summer's rich completeness.
And yet—alas! the woful chance
That comes to dim the moment's pleasure!
The sparkling eye, the speaking glance,
The heaped-up wealth of June's best treasure,
Do but recall a vanished bliss,
As Memory's hand the curtain raises,—
Another head as fair as this,
That lies below the nodding daisies.
That comes to dim the moment's pleasure!
The sparkling eye, the speaking glance,
The heaped-up wealth of June's best treasure,
Do but recall a vanished bliss,
As Memory's hand the curtain raises,—
Another head as fair as this,
That lies below the nodding daisies.