Edith Matilda Thomas
Comments about Edith Matilda Thomas
The Blessed Present
Pluck me yon rose, but say not, '‘T will not last!'
Or that 'To-morrow’s rose may be more sweet.'
Say not, the darling bird I hear, will fleet
When its green summer home yields to the blast.
This moment, freed from Fear, that shrank aghast—
From Hope, that ran on wing'd, mercurial feet,
I, Sovereign of the Present, hold my seat!
All smile on me, and smiles on all I cast.
Oh, hitherto, my love, I have been thrall