The Morning-Glory So lit as with a sunrise, That we could only say, "She is the morning-glory true, And her poor types are they." So always from that happy time But not so beautiful they rear As turned her sweet eyes to the light, Round their supports are thrown, We used to think how she had come, Even as comes the flower, The last and perfect added gift To crown Love's morning hour; We never could have thought, O God, Like the morning-glory's cup; We never thought to see her droop Her fair and noble head, Till she lay stretched before our eyes, 299 The morning-glory's blossoming Will soon be coming round We see the rows of heart-shaped leaves But the glory of our morning Has passed away from earth. O Earth! in vain our aching eyes Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air Her spirit to sustain; But up in groves of Paradise Full surely we shall see Our morning-glory beautiful Twine round our dear Lord's knee. Maria White Lowell [1821-1855] SHE CAME AND WENT As a twig trembles, which a bird As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven, As, at one bound, our swift spring heaps An angel stood and met my gaze, The First Snow-fall Oh, when the room grows slowly dim, 301 James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] THE FIRST SNOW-FALL THE Snow had begun in the gloaming, Had been heaping field and highway Every pine and fir and hemlock From sheds new-roofed with Carrara I stood and watched by the window I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?" And I told of the good All-father Again I looked at the snow-fall, And thought of the leaden sky That arched o'er our first great sorrow, When that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience And again to the child I whispered, "The snow that husheth all, Darling, the merciful Father Alone can make it fall!" Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her; James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] "WE ARE SEVEN" A SIMPLE Child, That lightly draws its breath, I met a little cottage Girl: She was eight years old, she said: She had a rustic, woodland air, "Sisters and brothers, little Maid, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea; "Two of us in the church-yard lie, Dwell near them with my mother." "You say that two at Conway dwell, Yet ye are seven!-I pray you tell, Then did the little Maid reply, "You run about, my little Maid; Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the church-yard laid, Then ye are only five." "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little Maid replied: "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. "My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; "And often after sunset, Sir, I take my little porringer, "The first that died was sister Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain; And then she went away. |