I droop by the cold, grey stone!--
I faint in the smitten day!--
I hear not the song of my own free bird
Whose joyous music my glad heart stirred
But yester-morn! I can see no more
The humming-bird's wing as it flutters o'er
The fragrant clover-bloom!
The brook, with a far-off, sorrowful tone,
Seemeth in measureless grief to moan
As it hurrieth on its way--
The breath of my lost perfume
Floats on the wandering breeze,
Over the meadow's perishing bloom,
Over the cold, blue seas!
I would not gather it back,
I would not fill anew
With love's pure incense my broken urn,
For the lost can never more return
From the sky's encompassing blue!
It is well!--I would not hang
A weight on his fetterless wing;
For was he not make for the sun-bright sky?--
To face the glories that burn on high?--
And I, to sit 'mid Earth's fading bloom,
And waste my life in the faint perfume
I fling to the thankless breeze?--
Let him cleave the azure infinite!--
Let him pour his soul out in song's free might!--
Till the white-robed seraphs that dwell in light
Shall stoop to hear him sing!--
Be it mine to fade ere the day-beams die,
And alone in the sighing grass to lie,
With my dull face turned to the tearless sky,
A faded, forgotten thing!
THE GRACIOUS PROVIDER.
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