Page:Poems, Volume 2, Coates, 1916.djvu/146



HOUGH full of care

I tread the round

Of toil in which man's eager life is bound,

I faint not 'neath the load I bear;

For grievous though the burden sometimes be,

I dream of thee!

And when, at night,

I lie enwound

In silence that is sweeter than all sound,

The darkness, kindlier than light,

Shuts out the busy world awhile, and free,

I dream of thee!

Like to a breath

Of fragrance blown

From some shy blossom, hidden and alone,

Redeeming frost and wintry death,

So ever comes, like scent of bloom to me,

My dream of thee!