WITH A BUNCH OF POND LILIES.
I SEND these lilies, poet, unto thee,
All dewy-fresh from cool Nequempo's breast,
Where they were anchored tenderly at rest
By rootlets far below where I could see
The prison birth that left the blossoms free
To draw from mold and slime, at God's behest,
The beauty that in all things He has blest.
O miracle of love, that this should be!
Such is the wonder of creative power,
That lies, O friend, within thy being's core,
And brings from life's dark ooze the perfect flower
Of poetry, which sheds its royal store
Upon the wide world's bosom, to endower
Poor human kind in ways unknown before.
FOR A PICTURE.
A GRACIOUS figure, clad in living green,
Enwrought with gold, and broidered thick with flowers!
A woman, strong in woman's noblest powers,
Who holds the scepter of a fearless queen,