Poems (Cook)/Song of the Blind One
SONG OF THE BLIND ONE.
They talk of rainbows in the sky, and blossoms on the earth;They sing the beauty of the stars in songs of love and mirth;They say the rippling wave is fair—they tell of dewdrops bright;They praise the sun that warms the day, and moon that cheers the night.I do not sigh to watch the sky, I do not care to seeThe lustre drop on green hill-top, or fruit upon the tree;I've pray'd to have my lids unseal'd, but 'twas not to behold.The pearly dawn of misty morn, or evening cloud of gold.No, no, my Mary, I would turn from flower, star, and sun;For well I know thou'rt fairer still, my own, my gentle one.
I hear the music others deem most eloquent and sweet,The merry lark above my head—the cricket at my feet;The laughing tones of childhood's glee that gladden while they ring,The robin in the winter time—the cuckoo in the spring;But never do I think those tones so beautiful as thine,When kind words from a kinder heart confirm that heart is mine.There is no melody of sound that bids my soul rejoiceAs when I hear my simple name breathed by thy happy voice;And, Mary, I will ne'er believe that flower, star, or sun,Can ever be so bright as thee, my true, my gentle one.