HERE, on this upland farm, In the fair mid of May, Where bees in golden swarm Melodiously stray, How sweet the orchard bloom, The honeysuckle scent, The lilac's soft perfume, In one warm fragrance blent! But something sweeter still Exhales from garden ways -- A soul unsoiled by ill, The darling of our praise. Who heard her tones' caress, Or saw her smiling eyes, Ne'er spoke of happiness As a lost paradise. We weep, but we rejoice, Who knew her spirit's spell -- The angel in her voice That told us all is well. In every tempest, calm; Sure, when our doubt would grope; To all our sorrow, balm, The darling of our hope. We place upon her now The symbols she loved best -- One cross upon her brow, Another on her breast. Mother to suffering men, Brief her own motherhood. Her courage served her then That had so much withstood. Hark! from her window-tree I hear the mourning dove; Not gentler it than she, The darling of our love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 23 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE THEME AND THE PUPPET by LETA GRACE BORLAND HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 3 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH PASSIVE PARTICIPLE'S PETITION by JOHN BYROM ODE OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) |