122
POEMS.
And so stands he calm and childlike,
High in wind and tempest wild;
O, were I like him exalted,
I would be like him, a child!
High in wind and tempest wild;
O, were I like him exalted,
I would be like him, a child!
And my songs,—green leaves and blossoms,—
To the doors of heaven would bear,
Calling, even in storm and tempest,
Round me still these birds of air.
To the doors of heaven would bear,
Calling, even in storm and tempest,
Round me still these birds of air.
