Kate Seymour Maclean

There is a splendid tropic flower which flings
Its fiery disc wide open to the core-
One pulse of subtlest fragrance-once a life
...

A little white soul went up to God,
Out of the mire of the city street;
It grew like a flower in the highway broad,
...

h bells of Easter morn, oh solemn sounding bells,
Which fill the hollow cells
Of the blue April air with a most sweet refrain,
...

All night a slow soft rain,
A shadowy stranger from a cloudy land,
Sighing and sobbing, with unsteady hand
...

Under the orchard boughs,
That drop red leaves like coals into the grass.
The golden arrows of the sunset fall;
...

When the earliest south winds softly blow
Over the brown earth, and the waning snow
In the last days of the discrowned March,-
...

The wind croons under the icicled eaves-
Croons and mutters a wordless song,
And the old elm chafes its skeleton leaves
...

I touch but the things which are near;
The heavens are too high for my reach:
In shadow and symbol and creed,
...

If Thou who seest this heart of mine
To earthly idols prone,
Should'st all those clinging cords untwine,
...

Into the darkness and the deeps
My thoughts have strayed, where silence dwells,
Where the old world encrypted sleeps,-
...

Swift and silent and strong
Under the low-browed arches,
Through culverts, and under bridges,
Sweeping with long forced marches
...

'Oh! spare dual idols of the past,
Whose lips are dumb, whose eyes are dim;
Truth's diadem is not for him
...

O rain, Summer Rain! forever,
Out of the crystal spheres,
And cool from my brain the fever,
...

Along the floors of heaven the music rolls,
Fills the vast dome, and lifts our fainting souls:
Praise God! Oh praise Him all created things,
...

The Autumn hills are golden at the top,
And rounded as a poet's silver rhyme;
The mellow days are ruby ripe, that drop
...

Dread phantom, with pale finger on thy lips,
Who dost unclose the awful doors for each,
That ope but once, and are unclosed no more,
...

Down the steep west unrolled,
I watch the river of the sunset flow,
With all its crimson lights, and gleaming gold,
Into the dusk below.
...

The lily-bells ring underground,
Their music small I hear
When globes of dew that shine pearl round
...

Dead leaves are deep in all our forest walks;
Their brightest tints not all extinguished yet,
Shine redly glimmering through the dewy wet;
...

The poet's song, and the bird's,
And the waters' that chant as they run
And the waves' that kiss the beach,
And the wind's--they are but one.
...