IS Soul fared forth (as from the deep
The father-songster plies the hour-long quest),
To feed his soul-brood hungering in the nest;
But his warm Heart, the mother-bird,
Their callow fledgling progeny still
With tented roof of wings and fostering
Till the Soul fed the soul-brood.
Richly
From Heaven their growth, whose food was Human Love.
Yet ah!
Like desert pools that show the
Once in long leagues,—even such the scarce-snatched
Which deepening pain left to his lordliest powers:—Heaven lost through spider-trammelled prison-bars.
Six years, from sixty saved!
Yet kindling
Own them, a beacon to our centuries.
