CHAMOMILE.
Now heart! send forth thy sweetness!
Crushed,—trampled in the dust,—
Remember God is just:
And for man's incompleteness
Let the soft incense of thy pity rise:
Make a burnt-offering of the sacrifice!
Crushed,—trampled in the dust,—
Remember God is just:
And for man's incompleteness
Let the soft incense of thy pity rise:
Make a burnt-offering of the sacrifice!
Think, in thy bitter anguish,
Thou hast not done the wrong,—
This echo of a song
Whose faint, sad minors languish
Against thy will or care, shall comfort thee,
Wouldst thou the wounded or the weapon be?
Thou hast not done the wrong,—
This echo of a song
Whose faint, sad minors languish
Against thy will or care, shall comfort thee,
Wouldst thou the wounded or the weapon be?
Art thou too weak and weary,
Too pitiless in pain,
To love where love is vain?
Waste starlight on the dreary,
The self-lost, and the cold? for such is one
For whom thy vernal life is all undone.
Too pitiless in pain,
To love where love is vain?
Waste starlight on the dreary,
The self-lost, and the cold? for such is one
For whom thy vernal life is all undone.
