Lizette Woodworth Reese

The little Jesus came to town;
The wind blew up, the wind blew down;
Out in the street the wind was bold;
Now who would house Him from the cold

Love came back at fall o' dew,
Playing his old part;
But I had a word or
That would break his heart

Oh, gray and tender is the rain,
That drips, drips on the pane
A hundred things come in the door,
The scent of herbs, the thought of yore

When I consider Life and its few years—A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun;
A call to battle, and the battle
Ere the last echo dies within our ears;
A rose choked in the grass; an hour of fears;

CH special sweetness was about That day God sent you here,
I knew the lavender was out, And it was mid of year
Their common way the great winds blew, The ships sailed out to sea;
Yet ere that day was spent I knew Mine own had come t...

I set a candle at my pane,
Yellowy in the drip of rain;
My love came in and looked at me;
I hid my face upon my knee

A long the thousand roads of France,
Now there, and here, swift as a glance,
A cloud, a mist blown down the sky,
Good Joan of Arc goes riding by

An apple orchard smells like wine;
A succory flower is blue;
Until Grief touched these eyes of mine,
Such things I never knew