The youthful spring with wondrous might
Bursts out in all its clarity
Upon our wistful words and sight,
And bathes them deep in purity.
The wind and the slender lips of the flowers,
Trembling, scatter abroad in showers
Their syllables of light.
But the soul of us will not be caught
Within the chains that language wrought;
One simple flight of spirit doth enshrine,
Better than word or fitful thought,
Our joy in its abiding place divine,--
That heaven of thine wherein thy soul
Kneels gently down to mine,
And that where wistfully my soul
Kneels humbly there to thine.
X
Come out into the garden fair
Where now the brooding eve
Has closed the flowers with its tranquil light,
And in thy soul let sink the peaceful night;
For no longer may its gloom achieve
To trouble our deep prayer.
Above, the crystal stars are shining forth
With light translucent and more pure
Than ever came from out the frozen North;
Beyond them all, the peaceful skies endure.
The million voices of this mystery
Murmur around thee,
The million laws of nature's realm
Are stirring about thee.
The silver tides from all the universe o'erwhelm
Thy heart, but thou hast naught of fear or strife,
For thy soul knows--it is that love may be,
The love that is the work of life
And its mystery in thee.
Take then this peace the skies have sent,
And lay it to thy soul, since fear has gone,
This peace that floats, like some strange dawn,
Across the midnight of the firmament.