A PASSING THOUGHT
JUST that man in the street,
With his commonplace face;
But, could one woman meet
Just that man in the street,
All her life would grow sweet,
Full of glory and grace,
Just that man in the street,
With his commonplace face!
A FREQUENT THOUGHT
I WENT to gather roses, but could not find a flower,
I sought my orchard closes, but all the fruit was sour.
A cold wind nips my posies, when comes the blossom-hour?
Ah, my grief!
The wind is blowing chilly, when will the fruit be riper?
My feet dance willy-nilly, but who's to pay the piper?
I stooped to pluck a lily, my fingers met a viper!
What relief?
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