Читать книгу Poems, and The Spring of Joy - Mary Webb - Страница 54

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So the old, dear freemasonry goes on—

The busy life, the laughter-under-sod,

The leafy hosts with spear and gonfalon

Guarding the earthy mysteries of God.

I did not think the violets came so soon,

Yet here are five, and all my room is sweet;

And here’s an aconite—a golden moon

Shining where all her raying leaflets meet;

And here a snowdrop, finely veined—ah, see!

Fresh from the artist’s hand, and folded close:

She only waits the sunshine and the bee;

Then she will open like a golden rose.