Bayard Taylor

Higher than the perfect song
For which love longeth,
Is the tender fear of wrong,
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Higher than the perfect song
For which love longeth,
Is the tender fear of wrong,
That never wrongeth.

But who will watch my lilies,
When their blossoms open white?
By day the sun shall be read more

But who will watch my lilies,
When their blossoms open white?
By day the sun shall be sentry,
And the moon and the stars by night!

The bravest are the most tender; the loving are the daring.

The bravest are the most tender; the loving are the daring.

And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens,
Are singing the selfsame strain.

And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens,
Are singing the selfsame strain.

Shelved around us lie
The mummied authors.

Shelved around us lie
The mummied authors.