Poems (Van Rensselaer)/Tribute
Jump to navigation
Jump to search
For works with similar titles, see Tribute.
TRIBUTE
O love, when thou sittest at home there must verily be
A silence outdoors, a stillness of waiting for thee.
A silence outdoors, a stillness of waiting for thee.
For look: when thou comest, all things that can tremble or move
Are stirring to show it is thou, it is thou, whom they love.
Are stirring to show it is thou, it is thou, whom they love.
The whisper of pines and the thrill of the slender birch-tree,
They tell thou art smiling, they call to the forest to see;
They tell thou art smiling, they call to the forest to see;
The ripples that flow on the brookside, they follow thy feet,
To touch thy white raiment the wind runneth over the wheat;
To touch thy white raiment the wind runneth over the wheat;
The grasses are swaying like waves to be near where thou art,
The rose lifts its bud in the hope of a place on thy heart.
The rose lifts its bud in the hope of a place on thy heart.
O love!—and my own heart would faint and lie still and lie dead,
If never again it could feel the sweet weight of thy head!
If never again it could feel the sweet weight of thy head!