OD made a day of blue and gold,
Sweet as a violet,
As merry as a marigold;
It may be shining
In some blest vale, some dreamy
Among the heavenly hills,
Where here and there the
Is flecked by
And gentians, flowers that twinkled
The fields our childhood knew,
Too lovely for oblivion,
Fed with immortal dew.
That summer day, all
With laughters of old mirth,
How tenderly 'twould comfort us,
Still homesick for the earth;
With what dear touch 'twould fold us in,
As to a mother's knee,
From those strange spaces
Of vast eternity,— A day God saw with smiling eyes,
The summer's coronet!
In His far cycles of
It may be shining yet.
