She sees her image in the glass,— How fair a thing to gaze upon! She lingers while the moments run, With happy thoughts that come and pass, Like winds across the meadow grass When the young June is just begun: She sees her image in the glass,— How fair a thing to gaze upon! What wealth of gold the skies amass! How glad are all things ’neath the sun! How true the love her love has won! She recks not that this hour will pass,— She sees her image in the glass.
A Picture by Burne-Jones PALLID with too much longing, White with passion and prayer, Goddess of love and beauty, She sits in the picture there,— Sits with her dark eyes seeking Something more subtle still Than the old delights of loving Her measureless days to fill. She has loved and...
Roses and butterflies snared on a fan, All that is left of summer gone by; Of swift, bright wings that flashed in the sun, And loveliest blossoms that bloomed to die! By what subtle spell did you lure them here, Fixing a beauty that will not change,— Roses whose petals never will fall,...
The Spacious Noon enfolds me with its peace— The affluent Midsummer wraps me round— So still the earth and air, that scarce a sound Affronts the silence, and the swift caprice Of one stray bird’s lone call does but increase The sense of some compelling hush profound, Some spell by which...
Round among the quiet graves, When the sun was low, Love went grieving,—Love who saves: Did the sleepers know? At his touch the flowers awoke, At his tender call Birds into sweet singing broke, And it did befall From the blooming, bursting sod All Love’s dead arose...
As the wind at play with a spark Of fire that glows through the night, As the speed of the soaring lark That wings to the sky his flight, So swiftly thy soul has sped On its upward, wonderful way, Like the lark, when the dawn is red, In search of the shining day. Thou art not with the...
