Page:General William Booth enters into Heaven, and other poems.djvu/97

Rh He Gives What He Won to the Indian Girl

I panted in the grassy wood; I kissed the Indian Maid As she took my wings from me: With all the grace I could I gave two throbbing bells to her From the foot of the Laughing Tree. And one she pressed to her golden breast And one, gave back to me.

From Lilies of the valley&mdash; See them fade. From poppy-blooms all frayed, From dandelions gray with care, From pansy-faces, worn and torn, From morning-glories&mdash; See them fade&mdash; From all things fragile, faint and fair Are the Wings of the Morning made!