AS flower to sun its drop of dew
Gives from its crystal cup,
So I, as morning gift to you,
This poor verse offer up.
As flowers upon the summer wind
Their air-born odours shake,
So, in all fragrance you may find,
I give but what I take.
My tree blooms green through snow and heat;
Your love is sap and root,—
And this is but the breathing sweet
Of fairest blossom-shoot.
An outgrowth of the happy days
In wedded lives begun—
Two lives, in all their work and ways,
The force that was to bind us so
We very dimly knew.
Ah, love! it seems so long ago,
And yet the years are few.
We did not wait for tides to rise,
Nor cared that winds were rough;
They call'd us foolish—we were wise;
God gave us wealth enough.
He only knows what precious change
We took of Him for gold;
What blessing such a narrow range
Of circumstance can hold.
No troubles now could memory spare,
No lightest touch of pain;
No hard experience of care
Would we unlearn again.
Such love surrounds, such beauty lies
On our most common needs,
As silver hoar-frost glorifies
The wayside sticks and weeds.
All trials that are overpast,
All cares that are to be,
But make more sacred and more fast
The ties 'twixt you and me.
They are but clear lights shining through
The mist that round us rolls;
They are but touchstones, fine and true,
For fond and faithful souls.
They are but fires, to cleanse and clean
Our human love from stain;
For naught of sordid, false, or mean
From those blest fires remain.
They are but keys within the wards
Of that last, inmost door,
Where the heart's dearest treasure-hoards
Are garner'd evermore.
Ah, dear! our very griefs are glad
Our every cross is crown'd;
We are not able to be sad,
Such comfort wraps us round.
How calm the haven where we rest,
Now passion's storms are past!
How warm and soft the little nest
Which shelters us at last!
How—blue, pellucid, and divine—
Through all our days and nights,
The clear eyes of our children shine
Like heavenly beacon-lights!
We listen to the laughter sweet
Whose echoes come and go,
The music of the little feet
That patter to and fro.
And deepest thoughts of God awake,
Who hath reveal'd Him thus,
And, in His goodness, deign'd to make
His own abode with us.
To God, in Christ, we kneel to-day
(Whose will on earth be done);
As He hath made us, let us pray
That He will keep us, one.
Together, may we feel Him stand
About our path and bed;
Together may we, hand in hand,
His royal highway tread.
The dear ones He has given, to be
Of His redeem'd the type—
Together, may we live to see
Their budding promise ripe.
And, O my dearest! may we lie,
In our last night of rest,
Asleep together, peacefully,
Upon our Father's breast
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Comments about this poem (An Anniversary by Ada Cambridge )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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