Brother O’ mine.

And mother to wipe all our tears away.

Tho’ sodden the sky, and shadows be grey

God will speak clear of the mist some day,

Brother O’ mine.

{73}

Dream

THE flowers upon my lady’s hat,

T

Kept bobbing so this way then that,

Until the Church seemed faint and blurred

The morning Psalms I scarcely heard.

Unless I see I cannot hear,

So, I just admired that flower so near.

’Twas unlike any bloom that blows

On trees or waves in garden rows,

Where clings the morning glory vine

Or beds of phlox or columbine,

Like nothing in the drowsy south

With love songs oozing from its mouth,

 Prev. P 59/70 next