Thomas Edward Brown Poems

A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,
Fringed pool,
Ferned grot--
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The Man that hath great griefs I pity not;
’Tis something to be great
In any wise, and hint the larger state,
Though but in shadow of a shade, God wot!
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When He appoints to meet thee, go thou forth—
It matters not
If south or north,
Bleak waste or sunny plot.
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WHEN Jessie comes with her soft breast,
   And yields the golden keys,
Then is it as if God caress'd
   Twin babes upon His knees--
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SHE knelt upon her brother's grave,
   My little girl of six years old--
He used to be so good and brave,
   The sweetest lamb of all our fold;
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TO live within a cave--it is most good;
   But, if God make a day,
   And some one come, and say,
'Lo! I have gather'd faggots in the wood!'
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I bended unto me a bough of May,
That I might see and smell:
It bore it in a sort of way,
It bore it very well.
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Expecting Him, my door was open wide:
Then I looked round
If any lack of service might be found,
And saw Him at my side
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High stretched upon the swinging yard,
I gather in the sheet;
But it is hard
And stiff, and one cries haste.
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To-night I saw three maidens on the beach,
Dark-robed descending to the sea,
So slow, so silent of all speech,
And visible to me
...