A PRECIOUS THOUGHT
I have a thought but cannot give it speech;
'Tis like material with which to make
An instrument of song, and, though I reach
The meaning buried there, I cannot break
Its attitude of silence with a word,
And so it lies—unspoken and unheard.
'Tis like material with which to make
An instrument of song, and, though I reach
The meaning buried there, I cannot break
Its attitude of silence with a word,
And so it lies—unspoken and unheard.
'Tis like a flower growing in the gloom,
Which eagerly I search but cannot find;—
But I may freely breathe the sweet perfume,
And let its fragrance penetrate my mind;—
It may be but the promise of a thought
By some inviting white-winged angel brought,
Which eagerly I search but cannot find;—
But I may freely breathe the sweet perfume,
And let its fragrance penetrate my mind;—
It may be but the promise of a thought
By some inviting white-winged angel brought,
Lest I be too content with lower things,
And I, in groping for expression, may
Unconsciously be spreading out my wings
For flight unto yon Heaven's mount, away.
For back of all Earth's longings, doth appear
The Satisfactions thus reflected here.
And I, in groping for expression, may
Unconsciously be spreading out my wings
For flight unto yon Heaven's mount, away.
For back of all Earth's longings, doth appear
The Satisfactions thus reflected here.
35
