The Gift Divine Poem by Annie Adams Fields

DIVE, O diver, and bring
A pearl for her throat;
Dip, O fisher, and sing
Lying afloat;
Thus perchance in your net
You may find the magic ring.

Strive, O striver, no more!
When the apple is ripe,
When the south wind blows from the shore,
And the wild-birds pipe,
Late shall the song be yours;
Oh remember, ye who implore!

Beautiful is she and dear:
In vain would you give her
Jewels both rare and clear;
No stream nor river
Shall give you her love
Till the stately planets draw near.