Page:Roses in Rain, by Lilian Wooster Greaves, 1910.pdf/47

 And a grand jubilate of rapture.
 * Rang out from a chorus of birds;

But the few thoughts my spirit could capture
 * Can never be put into words.

I roamed where the summer had gladdened
 * the earth
 * With lavishly bountiful hand;

And a joy that was deeper and sweeter than
 * mirth
 * Lay soft on the thrice-blessed land.

And the bonnie brown bird in her tiny
 * brown nest,
 * As it swung from the frailest of boughs,

Thought her home the dearest and safest
 * and best,

As a maid thinks her lover’s fond vows..

’Neath a sunshade of fern and a lattice of
 * leaves,
 * Until noon lay the dew-gems of morn;

Like the love that still worships and trusts
 * and believes,
 * Thro’ the heat of a world’s cruel scorn.

And the earth gave her life to the beautiful
 * flowers,
 * And the flowers gave their love to the
 * light;