Page:The Garden of Years.djvu/32



I have come far. If my lips cannot say

The words that younger lovers use to woo,

It is because the long and thirsty day,

The sun-baked stretches of my weary way,

Have dried their memory of the holy dew.

If I cannot at once my claim renew

To light, and perfume, music, and a smile,

It is because of discords, had in lieu

Of harmonies. Sweet, patience for a while!

I shall praise later. Grant me time to pray.

Heart of my heart, blame not the arid sand:—

It has but lent the turf a deeper green.

Blame not the copper skies that overspanned

The heartless reaches of that backward land:—

For them the water shows a smoother sheen.

And blame me not if at the brink I lean

Mutely, and seem uneloquent and cold:—

Viewing the verdure of this fair demesne.

I am so young, who yesterday was old!

It is enough to try to understand.