Arthur Sherburne Hardy
Oft have I stood within the carven door Of some cathedral at the close of the day, And seen its softened splendors fade away
Within me are two souls that pity each The other for the ends they seek, yet smile Forgiveness, as two friends that love the while
My window is the open sky, The flower in farthest wood is mine; I am the heir to all gone by,
Like the south-flying swallow the summer has flown, Like a fast-falling star, from unknown to unknown Life flashes and falters and fails from our sight,
Oh, what a night for a soul to go! The wind a hawk, and the fields in snow; No screening cover of leaves in the wood,
Not all the pageant of the setting sun Should yield the tired eyes of man delight, No sweet beguiling power had stars at night
O Mary, Mother, if the day we trod In converse sweet the lily-fields of God, From earth afar arose a cry of pain,
I have a friend who came, I know not how, Nor he. Among the crowd, apart, I feel the pressure of his hand, and hear
1 The dew was full of sun that morn (Oh I heard the doves in the ladyricks coop!)
Deem not this book a creed, 't is but the cry Of one who fears not death, yet would not die; Who at the table feigns with sorry jest.
I Last night I dreamed this dream: That I was dead; And as I slept, forgot of man and God,
Fairer than we the woods of May, Yet sweeter blossoms do not grow Than these we send you from our snow,
