Upon the road there is a Passer-By Who, pausing, beckons one of us—and lo! Quickly he goes, nor stays to tell us why. One day I shall look up and see him there Beckoning me, and with the Passer-By I, too, shall take the road—I wonder where?
The tired lines Etch her white face with look so wholly pure I tremble—dare I speak to her of aught? Yet her lips Part on a word whose honey she doth taste And fears to lose by uttering too soon. I know the word; its meaning is plain writ In the wide eyes she turns upon the Child. I dare not speak. No word of mine could find Its way into a soul close sealed with God And busy with the thousand mysteries Revealed to every mother. The soft hair Veiling her placid brow is all unbound, Ungentle hands are mine but, trained by love, She might conceive them gentle—yet, I pause— I'll not disturb her thought.
What meant those men, Far-famed and wise, who came to see the Child? Their gifts lie by forgotten, though the Babe Smiled on the shining treasure in his hands. Those tiny hands like crumpled bits of gauze Their sayings were mysterious to me. What King? The thing disturbs me much! I'll ask—but no. The breathless shepherds, too; Plain men, blank-eyed with awe, in broken speech Stumbling some strange, glad tale of midnight sky A-shine with angel wings!
And at their word Again the mother smiled, as one who sees No wonder but what well might happen since A child is born to her. Are mothers so? And are they prone to dream the careless earth And distant heaven wait upon their joy? I'll speak to her. What is that in her look Which answers me—yet leaves me wondering still, With wonder so like rapture that I seem Caught up a breathless second into Heaven? She turns deep eyes upon me, and she smiles, Always she smiles! Ah, Mary!
I dare not dream, save that the mystery Is not yet given. She nestled to me, and I kept her near and warm, surprised to find The arms that held my babe so close were opened wider to her kind. I hid her safe within my heart. She left the door ajar and all the world came flocking through.
She needed me. I learned to know the royal joy that service brings, She was so helpless that I grew to love all little helpless things. She trusted me, and I who ne'er had trusted, save in self, grew cold With panic lest this precious life should know no stronger, surer hold. She lay and smiled and in her eyes I watched my narrow world grow broad, Within her tiny, crumpled hand I touched the mighty hand of God! Sing low, the barley and the corn! From o'er the waking earth's green rim Another Springtime calleth Him!
Bend low, the barley and the corn! O mother!
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While love still holds what love must yield Hide well the path across the field! Murmur not, sleeper! How you were born of it? Why was the thorn of it? Where the new morn of it? Yours is the Key! Sleep deeper, brother!http://inspirafenae2019.fenae.org.br/wanyd-budget-dedicated.php
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Pass, friend, upon your way! I give you Death, O child—a boon more great— That, when your Rose has withered and 'tis late, You may pass out and, smiling, close the gate! To some deep calm would I drift and nestle Close to the heart of the Great Surprise. O strong wind, do you laugh to see us? We are so little and oh, so wise!
They looked but could not see.
Neuheiten, Bestseller, Bildung
He strove, but uselessly— The very clouds which veiled the heaven they sought Hid from his eyes the hearts of them he taught! One golden day when dawn shall blush to noon And noon incline to dark, and, oversoon, My joy lie buried 'neath a rounded moon. Only a day—it's worth you scarce could tell From other days; but in my life 'twill dwell An oasis with palm trees and a well!
The long road and the dark shore, pools with stars aflame, The ache in my heart's core, the hope I dare not name— Ah, me, but the night's long—and every night the same! Of the world's roads I am weary— You, with song so brave and cheery, Happy troubadour must be On the way to Arcady?
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Haunting is your verse and airy With the grace and gleam of faery— Dweller you must surely be In the land of Arcady? Some sweet bourne your haste confesses— Know you paths no other guesses? Does your gaze, so far away, See the road to Arcady? In the Lover's eyes there gleamed Radiance of all things dreamed— "Nay, detain me not," he cried "I am hasting to my bride; What have roads to do with me, Love's at home in Arcady! I love my love. O words that be too feeble and too few! I love my love! Spring awoke to-day! Somewhere out there in the country There's a brook that's overflowing, And a quaker pussy-willow Sews grey velvet on her gown; Rushes whisper to each other That marsh marigolds are showing, And those saucy crocus fellows— But I'm glad that I'm in town.
Long ago, when we were younger, How those little things enthralled us; King-birds nesting in the hedges, Baby field-mice soft as down, Muskrats in the sun-warmed shallows— Strange how all these voices called us! When's the next train out of town? Explore Airbnb. Cooking on Airbnb Experiences. Learn more. Introducing Airbnb Adventures. Show all adventures.
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