My Flower of Love. A Poem

MY FLOWER OF LOVE. WRITTEN FOR THE ERA. When life was young, — its promises of bliss Held, as it were, within my one slim hand, I gaily gave my kingdom for a kiss, And planted Love's fair seed in shining sand. The sun filtered among the crystals, and the grains Of sand appeared to me as virgin gold. And summer sent her gentle, pattering rains, Until Love's leaf appeared above the mold. Ah, how I watched it! How I nursed the shoot Of tender green, as mothers 'fend their young; And dug with care about the weakling root; And how my hopes upon its budding hung! And how I wept when floods of bitterness Washed from the plant the shifting sands away; And autumn winds, searing and pitiless, Laid bare the shriveled roots for swift decay.

372 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "My love is gone," I cried, and hid my face, Straightway refusing to be comforted: "Life holds no more of her high-crowning grace, Nor hope, nor joy for planting, in its stead!" Blinded by grief, storm-beaten, bruised, dismayed, Broken by suffering, I turn to hide My disappointment in the solitude, As wounded roe upon the mountain si da. Deep in the virgin forest's dim recess, I lean my head upon a cold, hard stone; Arrest my footsteps in the wilderness, And take no note of how the time has flown. When lo! within a crevice of the rock, Chiseled by time, and watered by my tears, Amid disintegrated stone and moss, A miracle of miracles appears. My plant of love! strong, tender, verdant, blessed; Blooming and fragrant, beautiful as heaven; Deep-rooted, mountain-shielded, wind-caressed! ■ New lease of life, with thee, my flower, is given.