A noisette on my garden path An ever-swaying shadow throws; But if I pluck it strolling by, I pluck the shadow with the rose. Just near enough my heart you stood To shadow it,—but was it fair In him, who plucked and bore you off, To leave your shadow lingering there?
A Noisette on my garden path An ever-swaying shadow throws; But if I pluck it strolling by, I pluck the shadow with the rose. Just near enough my heart you stood To shadow it,—but was it fair In him, who plucked and bore you off, To leave your shadow lingering there?
The hours I spent with thee, dear heart, Are as a string of pearls to me; I count them over, every one apart, My rosary. Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer, To still a heart in absence wrung; I tell each bead unto the end and there A cross is hung. Oh memories that...
Broncho dan halts midway of the stream, Sucking up the water that goes tugging at his knees; High noon and dry noon,—to-day it doesn’t seem As if the country ever knew the blessing of a breeze. A torn felt hat with the brim cockled up, A dip form the saddle—there you are— It ’s the brew of...
Slow, groping giant, whose unsteady limbs Waver and bend and cannot keep the path, Thy feet are foul with mire, and thy knees Torn by the nettles of the wayside fen; The dust of dogmas dead is in thy mouth, Yet down the ages thou hast followed him— Clear-eyed Belief—who journeys with light heart...
A noisette on my garden path An ever-swaying shadow throws; But if I pluck it strolling by, I pluck the shadow with the rose. Just near enough my heart you stood To shadow it,—but was it fair In him, who plucked and bore you off, To leave your shadow lingering there?
