Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/461

Rh Or where the tragic sunset is reborn,

Or the sweet, virginal mystery of morn.

One little pool holds ocean, brink to brink;

One little heart can hold the world, I think.

THE TABLE ROUND

think you of the Table Round

Which the garden's rustic arbor

In pride doth harbor?

And what its weight, how many a pound?

Or shall you reckon that in tons?

For this is of earth's mighty ones:

A mill-stone 't is, that turns no more,

But, on a pier sunk deep in ground,

Like a ship that s come to shore,

Content among its flowery neighbors

It rests forever from its labors.

Now no more 'mid grind and hammer

Are the toiling moments past,

But amid a milder clamor

Stays it fast.

For the Garden Lady here,

When the summer sky is clear,

With her bevy of bright daughters

(Each worth a sonnet)

To the tune of plashing waters

Serves the tea upon it.

And when Maria, and when Molly,

Frances, Alice, Grace, Cecilia,

Clara, Bess, and Pretty Polly,