Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Dear Lord, though I be changed to senseless clay,
And serve the Potter as he turn his wheel,
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Dear Lord, though I be changed to senseless clay,
And serve the Potter as he turn his wheel,
I thank Thee for the gracious gift of tears!

In her eyes a thought
Grew sweeter and sweeter, deepening like the dawn,
A mystical forewarning.

In her eyes a thought
Grew sweeter and sweeter, deepening like the dawn,
A mystical forewarning.

When I behold what pleasure is Pursuit,
What life, what glorious eagerness it is,
Then mark how read more

When I behold what pleasure is Pursuit,
What life, what glorious eagerness it is,
Then mark how full Possession falls from this,
How fairer seems the blossom than the fruit,--
I am perplext, and often stricken mute.
Wondering which attained the higher bliss,
The wing'd insect, or the chrysalis
It thrust aside with unreluctant foot.

What is lovely never dies,
But passes into other loveliness,
Star-dust, or sea-foam, flower or winged air.

What is lovely never dies,
But passes into other loveliness,
Star-dust, or sea-foam, flower or winged air.

These Winter nights against my window-pane
Nature with busy pencil draws designs
Of ferns and blossoms and read more

These Winter nights against my window-pane
Nature with busy pencil draws designs
Of ferns and blossoms and fine spray of pines,
Oak-leaf and acorn and fantastic vines,
Which she will make when summer comes again--
Quaint arabesques in argent, flat and cold,
Like curious Chinese etchings.