THE UNRETURNING
Earth, knowing not eld, in thy youth all divine,
Though the ages unceasing are evermore thine,
Once more be birth-thrilled, until forth from thy womb
Throng the myriad forms of the world's waking bloom.
Though the ages unceasing are evermore thine,
Once more be birth-thrilled, until forth from thy womb
Throng the myriad forms of the world's waking bloom.
For the sweet o' the year, great Earth-mother, is here,
And lo! on the uplands the flowers appear,
And blithe is the wing, and the song it is glad,
And our yearning hearts only are heavy and sad.
And lo! on the uplands the flowers appear,
And blithe is the wing, and the song it is glad,
And our yearning hearts only are heavy and sad.
Earth, mother undying, thy tender arms keep
So safe in thy bosom the dear things asleep,
So strong is thy pulse-beat to bid them again
Know battle and conquest, and hunger and pain.
So safe in thy bosom the dear things asleep,
So strong is thy pulse-beat to bid them again
Know battle and conquest, and hunger and pain.
The insistence of growth, the fair crown of the leaf,
The fruit in its ripeness, the rich bending sheaf—
Earth, this thou canst do, yet our dearer loves go,
And return not again from their beds hallowed low.
The fruit in its ripeness, the rich bending sheaf—
Earth, this thou canst do, yet our dearer loves go,
And return not again from their beds hallowed low.
Our hearts are nigh breaking with bliss and with dole;
In the midst of the rapture, how lonely the soul!
Comes the bird to the green bough, the bud to the tree,
But not from the darkness my darling to me.
—Margaret E. Sangster, in Harper's Bazar.
In the midst of the rapture, how lonely the soul!
Comes the bird to the green bough, the bud to the tree,
But not from the darkness my darling to me.
—Margaret E. Sangster, in Harper's Bazar.