Why make so much of fragmentary blue In here and there a bird, or butterfly, Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye, When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue.
Why make so much of fragmentary blue In here and there a bird, or butterfly, Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye, When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue.
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest keep us here All simply in the springing of the year.
Lovers, forget your love,
And list to the love of these,
She a window flower,
And he a winter breeze.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories