Deep, grave and sedate is the gaze of expectant intensity bent for awhile And absorbed on its aim as the tale that enthralls him uncovers the weft of its wile, Till the goal of attention is touched, and expectancy kisses delight in a smile. And it seems to us here that in Paradise hardly the spirit of Lamb or of Blake May hear or behold aught sweeter than lightens and rings when his bright thoughts break In laughter that well might lure them to look, and to smile as of old for his sake. O singers that best loved children, and best for their sakes are beloved of us here, In the world of your life everlasting, where love has no thorn and desire has no fear, All else may be sweeter than aught is on earth, nought dearer than these are dear. MAYTIME IN MIDWINTER. A NEW year gleams on us, tearful And troubled and smiling dim As the smile on a lip still fearful, As glances of eyes that swim : But the bird of my heart makes cheerful The days that are bright for him. Child, how may a man's love merit The grace you shed as you stand, The gift that is yours to inherit ? Through you are the bleak days bland; Your voice is a light to my spirit ; You bring the sun in your hand. The year's wing shows not a feather Yet here in the shrill grey weather The spring's self stands at my knee, And laughs as we commune together, The rains are as dews for the christening Of dawns that the nights benumb : The spring's voice answers me listening For speech of a child to come, While promise of music is glistening On lips that delight keeps dumb. The mists and the storms receding At sight of you smile and die : Your eyes held wide on me reading Shed summer across the sky : Your heart shines clear for me, heeding No more of the world than I. The world, what is it to you, dear, And the new-born year be a shrewd year For flowers that the fierce winds fray? You smile, and the sky seems blue, dear; You laugh, and the month turns May. |