WILLIAM PHILPOT
In all the blooms that blow so fast,
Thou hast no further part, Save those the hour I saw thee last,
I laid above thy heart.
Two snowdrops for our boy and girl,
A primrose blown for me, Wreathed with one often-play'd-with curl
From each bright head for thee.
And so I graced thee for thy grave,
And made these tokens fast With that old silver heart I gave,
My first gift and my last.
ii
I drcam'd, her babe upon her breast, Here she might lie and calmly rest Her happy eyes on that far hill That backs the landscape frebh and still.
I hoped her thoughts would thrid the boughs Where careless birds on love carouse, And gaze those apple-blossoms through To revel in the boundless blue.
But now her faculty of sight
Is elder sister to the light,
And travels free and unconfined
Through dense and rare, through form and mind.
Or else her life to be complete Hath found new channels full and meet Then, O, what eyes are leaning o'er, If fairer than they were before!
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