Strange, all-absorbing Love, who gatherest
Unto Thy glowing all my pleasant dew,
Then delicately my garden waterest,
Drawing the old, to pour it back anew:
In the dim glitter of the dawning hours
'Not so,' I said, 'but still these drops of light,
'Heart-shrined among the petals of my flowers,
'Shall hold the memory of the starry night
'So fresh, no need of showers shall there be.'-
Ah, senseless gardener! must it come to pass
That 'neath the glaring noon thou shouldest see
Thine earth become as iron, His heavens as brass?
Nay rather, O my Sun, I will be wise,
Believe in Love which may not yet be seen,
Yield Thee my earth-drops, call Thee from the skies,
In soft return, to keep my bedding green.
So when the bells at Vesper-tide shall sound,
And the dead ocean o'er my garden flows,
Upon the Golden Altar may be found
Some scarlet berries and a Christmas rose.