30 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. He the young and strong, who cherished By the road-side fell and perished, They, the holy ones and weakly, Who the cross of suffering bore, Folded their pale hands so meekly, And with them the Being Beauteous, With a slow and noiseless footstep Lays her gentle hand in mine. FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies. Uttered not, yet comprehended, O, though oft depressed and lonely If I but remember only Such as these have lived and died! 31 FLOWERS. SPAKE full well, in language quan..t and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As astrologers and seers of eld; Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, Like the burning stars, which they beheld. Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, O FLOWERS. Bright and glorious is that revelation, Written all over this great world of ours; Making evident our own creation, 33 In these stars of earth, these golden flowers. And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay; Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, Large desires, with most uncertain issues, 34 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. These in flowers and men are more than seeming; Workings are they of the self-same powers, Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, Seeth in himself and in the flowers. Everywhere about us are they glowing, Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born, Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn; Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, Not alone in meadows and green alleys, |