A WEARY HEART by PHOEBE CARY

YE winds, that talk among the pines,
In pity whisper soft and low;
And from my trailing garden vines,
Bear the faint odors as ye go;

Take fragrance from the orchard trees,
From the meek violet in the dell;
Gather the honey that the bees
Had left you in the lily's bell;

Pass tenderly as lovers pass,
Stoop to the clover-blooms your wings,
Find out the daisies in the grass,
The sweets of all insensate things;

With muffled feet, o'er beds of flowers,
Go through the valley to the height,
Where frowning walls and lofty towers
Shut in a weary heart to-night;

Go comfort her, who fain would give
Her wealth below, her hopes above,
For the wild freedom that ye have
To kiss the humblest flower ye love!

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