We found them, flowers of summer hue:
Their golden cups were lighted
With sparkles of the pearly dew--
We left them blighted!
We found them,--like those fairy flowers;
And the light of morn lay holy
Over their sad and sainted bowers--
We left them, lowly.
We found them,--like twin stars, alone,
In brightness and in feeling;
We left them,--and the curse was on
Their beauty stealing.
They rest in quiet, where they are:
Their lifetime is the story
Of some fair flower--some silver star,
Faded in glory!
POEMS
THE IRIS
A pale and broken Iris in the mirror
Of a gray cloud,--as gray as death,
Slow sailing in the breath
Of thunder! Like a child, that lies in terror
Through the dark night, an Iris fair
Trembled midway in air.
The blending of its elfin hues
Was as the pure enamel on
The early morning dews;
And gloriously they shone,
Waving everyone his wing,
Like a young aerial thing!
That Iris came
Over the shells of gold, beside
The blue and waveless tide;
Its girdle, of resplendent flame,
Met shore and sea, afar,
Like angel that shall stand
On flood and land,
Crown'd with a meteor star.
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