Kate Seymour Maclean Poems

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,
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h bells of Easter morn, oh solemn sounding bells,
Which fill the hollow cells
Of the blue April air with a most sweet refrain,
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All night a slow soft rain,
A shadowy stranger from a cloudy land,
Sighing and sobbing, with unsteady hand
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Under the orchard boughs,
That drop red leaves like coals into the grass.
The golden arrows of the sunset fall;
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When the earliest south winds softly blow
Over the brown earth, and the waning snow
In the last days of the discrowned March,-
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The wind croons under the icicled eaves-
Croons and mutters a wordless song,
And the old elm chafes its skeleton leaves
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I touch but the things which are near;
The heavens are too high for my reach:
In shadow and symbol and creed,
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If Thou who seest this heart of mine
To earthly idols prone,
Should'st all those clinging cords untwine,
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Into the darkness and the deeps
My thoughts have strayed, where silence dwells,
Where the old world encrypted sleeps,-
...