Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/152

124 Then through the graveyard's straight and narrow portal

Our journey led. How dark the place! How strange

Its steep, black mountain wall—as if the immortal

Spirit could thus be stayed its skyward range!

Beyond, the smoky olives clothed the mountains

In green that grew through many a moonlit night.

Below, down cleft and chasm leapt snowy fountains;

Above, the sky was warm, and blue, and bright;

When, sudden, from out a fair and smiling heaven

Burst forth the rain, quick as a trumpet-blare;

Yet still the Italian sun each drop did leaven,

And turned the rain to diamonds in the air.

So past the day in shade, and shower, and sun,

Like thine own moods, thou sweet and changeful maiden!

Great Heaven! deal kindly with this gentle one,

Nor let her soul too heavily be laden.

IMPROMPTUS

I—TO F. F. C. ON THE PANSY, HER CLASS FLOWER

is the flower of thought;

Take it, thou empress of a land

Of true hearts, from a loyal subject's hand;

And with it naught,

O, naught beneath life's ever-brightening dome

Of sad remembrance! May it bring

Dreams of joy only, and of happy days

Backward and still to come;