Or where the tragic sunset is reborn,
Or the sweet, virginal mystery of morn.
One little pool holds ocean, brink to brink;
One little heart can hold the world, I think.
THE TABLE ROUND
I
What think you of the Table Round
Which the garden's rustic arbor
In pride doth harbor?
And what its weight, how many a pound?
Or shall you reckon that in tons?
For this is of earth's mighty ones:
A mill-stone 't is, that turns no more,
But, on a pier sunk deep in ground,
Like a ship that s come to shore,
Content among its flowery neighbors
It rests forever from its labors.
II
Now no more 'mid grind and hammer
Are the toiling moments past,
But amid a milder clamor
Stays it fast.
For the Garden Lady here,
When the summer sky is clear,
With her bevy of bright daughters
(Each worth a sonnet)
To the tune of plashing waters
Serves the tea upon it.
III
And when Maria, and when Molly,
Frances, Alice, Grace, Cecilia,
