The golden-robin came to build his nest
High in the elm-tree’s ever-nodding crest;
All the long day, upon his task intent,
Backward and forward busily he went,
Gathering from far and near the tiny shreds
That birdies weave for little birdies’ beds;
Now bits of grass, now bits of vagrant string,
And now some queerer, dearer sort of thing...
This world was not
As it now is seen:
It once was clothed
With a deeper green;
And rarer gems
Than the ice-caves hold
The sea brought up
On the sands of gold.
But rust of ages,
The breath of Time,
The meadows covered
With early rime;
And the wild grass faded,
The gems were...
From the Greek by Andrew Lang
AH, Golden Eyes, to win you yet,
I bring mine April coronet,
The lovely blossoms of the spring,
For you I weave, to you I bring:
These roses with the lilies wet,
The dewy dark-eyed violet,
Narcissus, and the wind-flower wet.
Wilt thou disdain mine offering,
Ah, Golden Eyes?
...
O Love, whose patient pilgrim feet
Life’s longest path have trod,
Whose ministry hath symbolled sweet
The dearer love of God,—
The sacred myrtle wreathes again
Thine altar, as of old;
And what was green with summer then,
Is mellowed, now, to gold.
Not now, as then, the Future’s face
Is flushed with fancy’s...
* * *
He has observd the Golden Rule
Till hes become the Golden Fool[3]
* * *
I give you the end of a golden string[3]
Only wind it into a ball
It will lead you in at Heavens gate
Built in Jerusalems wall
