98
AN UNWRITTEN POEM.
What do they care for your sighing,
Or the frost down under the mold.
Or the frost down under the mold.
In their hearts throbs a mystical rhyme,
A song that shall never grow old,
That is new while the cycles of Time,
The century's pages unfold.
A song that shall never grow old,
That is new while the cycles of Time,
The century's pages unfold.
Blow winds, fall rains, and flow over,
The rivers that on to the sea,
Are bearing their burden of blessing,
For the thirsting of bright summer days.
The rivers that on to the sea,
Are bearing their burden of blessing,
For the thirsting of bright summer days.
Oh! wonderful heart of creation,
Thy depths ever tremble and thrill,
With the far-off music of ages,
O'er thy love-harp echoing still.
Thy depths ever tremble and thrill,
With the far-off music of ages,
O'er thy love-harp echoing still.
Bare brown hollow, thou holdest,
A poem, with cadence more sweet,
Than the pen of the rhymer may trace,
A picture more tender and sweet.
A poem, with cadence more sweet,
Than the pen of the rhymer may trace,
A picture more tender and sweet.
Than the pencil may shape in the hand,
Of the artistic dreamer of Thought,
Thou hast jewels more precious and rare,
Than ever from Indies were brought.
Of the artistic dreamer of Thought,
Thou hast jewels more precious and rare,
Than ever from Indies were brought.
Beautiful eyes, shine on,
Beautiful lips, thy troth,
Repeat, who gave thee blessing of Love,
Speaks, and bids thee rejoice.
Beautiful lips, thy troth,
Repeat, who gave thee blessing of Love,
Speaks, and bids thee rejoice.
