WHEN Heaven was stormy, Earth was cold,
And sunlight shunned the wold and wave,--
Thought burrowed in the churchyard mould,
And fed on dreams that haunt the grave:--
But now that Heaven is freed from strife,
And Earth's full heart with rapture swells,
Thought soars the realms of endless life
Above the shining asphodels!
What flower that drinks the south wind's breath,
What sparkling leaf, what Hebe-Morn,
But flouts the sullen graybeard, Death,
And laughs our Arctic doubts to scorn?
Pale scientist! scant of healthful blood,
Your ghostly tomes, one moment, close;
Pluck freshness with a spring-time bud,
Find wisdom in the opening rose:
From toil which, blindly delving, gropes
When time but plays a juggler's part,
Ah go! and breathe the dew-lit hopes
That cluster round a violet's heart:
Mark the white lily whose sweet core
Hath many a wild-bee swarm enticed,
And draw therefrom a honeyed lore
Pure as the tender creed of Christ:
Yea! even the weed which upward holds
Its tiny ear, past bower and lawn,
A lovelier faith than yours enfolds,
Caught from the whispering lips of dawn!
