And the rain comes sobbing Through the budding wood, While the low south wind sighs, but dare not be more rude. Were your pure lips fashioned Fairest and most lonely, Were not mortal sorrow Then would I to-morrow Such a flower be made, I give thee love as God gives light, I give thee prayers, like jewels strung On golden threads of hope and fear; And tenderer thoughts than ever hung In a sad angel's pitying tear. As earth pours freely to the sea So flows my silent life to thee, What care I for thy carelessness? And live in the dear woods where my Thy spirit cannot sound or know. lost childhood played. Then sing in the hedgerow green, O And in the open cottage door My pretty babe was playing. Aslant the sill a sunbeam lay: I laughed in careless pleasure, To see his little hand essay To grasp the shining treasure. To-day no shafts of golden flame And hear no lisped replying; To-dayah, baby mine, to-dayGod holds thee in his keeping! And yet I weep, as one pale ray Breaks in upon thy sleeping — I weep to see its shining bands Reach, with a fond endeavor, To where the little restless hands Are crossed in rest forever! I'll bid thee fetch but yesterday, And it shall be too hard a task to do. Beside repentance, what canst 'T were an ill world, I'll swear, for find That it hath left behind? But his past life, who without grief can see, Who never thinks his end too near, every friend, If distance could their union end: But love itself does far advance Above the power of time and space, It scorns such outward circumstance, His time's forever, everywhere, his place. |