MYRTLE FLOWERS

Since Love within my heart made nest, With the fond trust of brooding bird, I find no all-embracing word To say how deeply I am blest.

Though wintry clouds are in the air And the dead leaves unburied lie, Nor open is the violet's eye, I see new beauty everywhere.

I walk beneath the naked trees, Where wild streams shiver as they pass, Yet in the sere and sighing grass I hear a murmur as of bees,—

The bees that in love's morning rise From tender eyes and lips to drain, In ecstasies of blissful pain, The sweets that bloomed in Paradise.

There twines a joy with every care That springs within this sacred ground; But, oh! to give what I have found Doth thrill me with divine despair.

If distant, thou dost rise a star Whose beams are with my being wrought, And curvest all my teeming thought With sweet attractions from afar.

As a winged ship, in calmest hour, Still moves upon the mighty sea To some deep ocean melody, I feel thy spirit and thy power.