Poems (Van Rensselaer)/To her Poet

by Mariana Griswold Van Rensselaer

TO HER POET

Thy singing cannot ever need that I
Should praise its lessons or its melody,
And secrets of its birth that I might tell
Hide in my heart, hide and are covered well.
  Should I to all the world uncover
     What thou, my lover,
  Learned of thy loving and of me,
  And what is dream and imagery—
     The voice of art,
  God-spoken to the poet's heart?

Nay, did I try I could not well appraise
The harvest of our length of summer days,
Set here thy golden sheaves and yonder mine—
The gold I gathered that it might be thine.
  In all thy pages I discover
     Only, my lover,
  A lore of life and love thy hand
  Learned from two hearts to understand,
     A melody
  God-given as a gift to thee.