49
THE UN-ATTAINED.
Long years ago in dreams a strange sweet
voice
Said unto me, “Take up thy pen, and
write
A song that shall of all songs be the choice,
And fill the hearts of all men with
delight.”
And in my soul I pondered long and oft
Where I the wondrous harmonies might
learn—
The strain sublime, the cadence low and soft,
Rich chords of triumph, tender tones that
yearn.
What marvellous word-painting must I do
To fitly with the magic music wed!
How could I write interpretation true
Of all my inner keener sense had read?
<poem>
<poem>
’Twas a feast for the eye to remember,
When, as guest to the fair forest queen,
Thro’ the garlanded gates of September
Came Spring, in her garments of green.
Gay banners of blossom were flying
This laughing young fairy to greet;
Sweet welcome the zephyrs were sighing
The stream sang its bliss at her feet.
