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What are they, if they know their calling high,
But crushed perfumes, exhaling to the sky?
Or weeping clouds, that but a while are seen,
Yet keep the earth they haste to, bright and green?
But crushed perfumes, exhaling to the sky?
Or weeping clouds, that but a while are seen,
Yet keep the earth they haste to, bright and green?
Once, and but once,—nor with a scornful face
Tried worth will hear,—that scene again took place.
Partly by chance they met, partly to see
The spot where they had last gone smilingly,
But most, from failure of all self-support;—
And oh! the meeting in that loved resort!
No peevishness there was, no loud distress,
No mean, recriminating selfishness;
But a mute gush of hiding tears from one
Clasped to the core of him, who yet shed none,—
And self-accusings then, which he began,
And into which her tearful sweetness ran;
And then kind looks, with meeting eyes again,
Starting to deprecate the other's pain;
Tried worth will hear,—that scene again took place.
Partly by chance they met, partly to see
The spot where they had last gone smilingly,
But most, from failure of all self-support;—
And oh! the meeting in that loved resort!
No peevishness there was, no loud distress,
No mean, recriminating selfishness;
But a mute gush of hiding tears from one
Clasped to the core of him, who yet shed none,—
And self-accusings then, which he began,
And into which her tearful sweetness ran;
And then kind looks, with meeting eyes again,
Starting to deprecate the other's pain;
