Читать книгу The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 02, No. 09, July, 1858 - Various - Страница 3

All the broad East was laced with tender rings

Of widening light; the Daybreak shone afar;

Deep in the hollow, 'twixt her fiery wings,

Fluttered the morning star.

A cloud, that through the time of darkness went

With wanton winds, now, heavy-hearted, came

And fell upon the sunshine, penitent,

And burning up with shame.

The grass was wet with dew; the sheep-fields lay

Lapping together far as eye could see;

And the great harvest hung the golden way

Of Nature's charity.

My house was full of comfort; I was propped

With life's delights, all sweet as they could be,

When at my door a wretched woman stopped,

And, weeping, said to me,—

"Its rose-root in youth's seasonable hours

Love in thy bosom set, so blest wert thou;

Hence all the pretty little red-mouthed flowers

That climb and kiss thee now!

"I loved, but I must stifle Nature's cries

With old dry blood, else perish, I was told;

Hence the young light shrunk up within my eyes,

And left them blank and bold.

"I take my deeds, all, bad as they have been,—

The way was dark, the awful pitfall bare;—

In my weak hands, up through the fires of sin,

I hold them for my prayer."

"The thick, tough husk of evil grows about

Each soul that lives," I mused, "but doth it kill?

When the tree rots, the imprisoned wedge falls out,

Rusted, but iron still.

"Shall He who to the daisy has access,

Reaching it down its little lamp of dew

To light it up through earth, do any less,

Last and best work, for you?"