Page:Roses in Rain, by Lilian Wooster Greaves, 1910.pdf/47

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And a grand jubilate of rapture.
Rang out from a chorus of birds;
But the few thoughts my spirit could capture
Can never be put into words.

I roamed where the summer had gladdened
the earth
With lavishly bountiful hand;
And a joy that was deeper and sweeter than
Lay soft on the thrice-blessed land.

And the bonnie brown bird in her tiny
brown nest,
As it swung from the frailest of boughs,
Thought her home the dearest and safest
and best,
As a maid thinks her lover’s fond vows..

’Neath a sunshade of fern and a lattice of
Until noon lay the dew-gems of morn;
Like the love that still worships and trusts
and believes,
Thro’ the heat of a world’s cruel scorn.

<poem> And the earth gave her life to the beautiful

And the flowers gave their love to the