Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/485

Rh Makes shadows that still glow

With burning blossoms—the heart's home

Wherefrom our charmèd feet reluctant roam.

Not pride, nor envy, nor crude wealth

Can bring the drooping roses health,

Nor lift the sanguine poppies, row on row,

Nor from their bed of green

Make every iris spread it like a queen;

While all along the wall

The jeweled colors call.

O, not from these can come the art

That touches the deep heart,

That makes the small blades shove

Through the soft earth into a pictured balm above;

Not sordid thoughts and low

Can make the garden grow

In beauty and delight,

A place to linger in by day or night—

Not these, not these, but love.

"IF, ONE GREAT DAY"