Poems (Cromwell)/Thought

by Gladys Cromwell

THOUGHT

Thought is fragrant like shining grass;
It makes for our spirits a lovely mead;
As animals taste the grass in shadow
On pensive lawns, our spirits feed.

There are seasons when thought lies hidden and cold,
As in winter the grass lies under the snow;
But the springtime of thought is unforeseen,
For our fitful need it seems to grow.

Thought is most often like shining grass;—
But thought has a varied form and way;
It is like the round leaf of a violet,
Or the feathery line of a fir-tree spray.