Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/382

354 Such elements in her are exquisitely blent

She cannot but be kind;

A spiritual radiance in her beauty

Makes itself inly felt, even by the blind.

Ah, thou and I, dear soul! we know

How the rich courtesy that touched full many a heart

Is no mere learnt and gracious art;

For when, to those she loved, keen trouble came,

How leaped her spirit, like a flame;

How quick, sure, self-forgetting, beyond thought,

The angelic succor that brave spirit brought!

III

How may I fitly name them all—

The graces, gentlenesses, benedicities,

That in a white processional

Move before these musing eyes;

Nor would I shame

That proud humility which is the crown and chief

Of all the virtues that make up her golden sheaf;

Tho' should I name

Each separate goodness, clearly, that is her very own,

To her calm eyes, alone,

The authentic picture would be never known—

The portrait of another it would seem;

And should one say, "This, this indeed is you!"

No," she would cry, "'t is but a poet's dream,

And, save as a dream, it cannot all be true!"

IV

This, then, the dream: Large, innocent eyes,

Lit with life's romance and surprise,

And with a child's strange wisdom wise.