The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 07, No. 44, June, 1861 Creator by Various
page 63 of 272 (23%)
page 63 of 272 (23%)
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When day on earth rests royally,--a crown
Of molten glory, flashing diamond rays, From heaven let lightly down. In golden silence, breathless, all things stand. What answer meets this questioning repose? A sudden gush of light and odors bland, And, lo! the Rose! the Rose! The birds break into canticles around; The winds lift Jubilate to the skies: For, twin-born with the rose on Eden-ground, Love blooms in human eyes. Life's marvellous queen-flower blossoms only so, In dust of low ideals rooted fast. Ever the Beautiful is moulded slow From truth in errors past. What fiery fields of Chaos must be won, What battling Titans rear themselves a tomb, What births and resurrections greet the sun, Before the rose can bloom! And of some wonder-blossom yet we dream, Whereof the time that is infolds the seed,-- Some flower of light, to which the rose shall seem A fair and fragile weed. |
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