A FLOWER OF A DAY.
37
Flower, thou and I a moment face to face—
My face as clear as thine, this July noon
Shining on both, on bee and butterfly
And golden beetle creeping in the sun—
Will pause, and, lifting up, page after page,
The many-colored history of life,
Look backwards, backwards.
My face as clear as thine, this July noon
Shining on both, on bee and butterfly
And golden beetle creeping in the sun—
Will pause, and, lifting up, page after page,
The many-colored history of life,
Look backwards, backwards.
So, the volume close!
This July day, with the sun high in heaven,
And the whole earth rejoicing,—let it close.
This July day, with the sun high in heaven,
And the whole earth rejoicing,—let it close.
I think we need not sigh, complain, nor rave;
Nor blush,—our doings and misdoing all
Being more 'gainst heaven than man, heaven them does keep
With all its doings and undoings strange
Concerning us.—Ah, let the volume close:
I would not alter in it one poor line.
Nor blush,—our doings and misdoing all
Being more 'gainst heaven than man, heaven them does keep
With all its doings and undoings strange
Concerning us.—Ah, let the volume close:
I would not alter in it one poor line.
My dainty flower, my innocent white flower
With such a pure smile looking up to heaven,
With such a bright smile looking down on me—
(Nothing but smiles,—as if in all the world
Were no such things as thunder-storms or frosts,
Or broken petals trampled on the ground,
Or shivering leaves whirled in the wintry air
Like ghosts of last year's joys:)—my pretty flower,
With such a pure smile looking up to heaven,
With such a bright smile looking down on me—
(Nothing but smiles,—as if in all the world
Were no such things as thunder-storms or frosts,
Or broken petals trampled on the ground,
Or shivering leaves whirled in the wintry air
Like ghosts of last year's joys:)—my pretty flower,
