Читать книгу The Ring of Amethyst - Alice Wellington Rollins - Страница 5

Table of Contents

My heart was once a folded flower,

Within whose jewel-tinted cup,—

Still hidden even from itself,—

A wealth of joy is treasured up.

But now my heart is like a flower

From which a dainty humming-bird

Has rifled all the choicest sweets,

And left without one last fond word

The flower-soul so deeply stirred.

And once my heart was like a gem,

Set in a rich betrothal ring;

Unconscious in its darkened case

How fair it lies there glittering.

But now I think my heart is like

The lady who has worn the ring,

And draws it from her finger slight

With love’s bewildered wondering

That love should be a poor bruised thing.

And once my heart was like a nest,

High in the apple branches hung;

Where in the early April dew

No happy birds have ever sung.

Now ’tis itself a wounded bird;

And though sometimes you hear it sing,

The Heavenly Father knows what pain

It tries to hide by uttering

The same sweet notes it used to sing.