Part I

Deep down in the garden closes, In the wildering April weather, The embryo lilies and roses Whispered and wondered together:— “What doth it mean, this thrill And stir in the mould about us? Will it prophecies sweet fulfil, Or cometh it but to flout us?” A Lily It may be a downward drift From that unknown world above us, Some mystical stir or lift Of beings that know and love us,— That world of wonderful things, Ineffable tints and glories, And blossoms that wander on wings— A Red Rose Now, do you believe those stories! That world and its wings and its glow, I fear me are only fancies Why, barely a fortnight ago, Went thither our friends, the pansies! A Lily Did any return to tell How the blindfold journey ended,— If joy at the last befell, Or a deadly frost descended? A White Rose Nathless, it is pleasant to stray In limitless dream and vision. A Red Rose Nay, better be senseless as clay And feel not the walls that imprison! A Pink Rose What more than this warm brown nest Need any one dream or desire? A Lily Ah, me! in my aching breast Is a thirst for something higher! I may surely trust I go To some lovely goal unknowing, To some better thing I grow— At least, I think I am growing.