Anne Whitney

1821-1915

 

Yet are there sunbeams, though the kingly sun...

by Anne Whitney

Yet are there sunbeams, though the kingly sun
Reveal not his full eye; yet flowers, to bear
Mute witness of the Heart that keeps the year,
Through all its wintry chill; and I have won,
Where was no face nor voice, a glance, a tone,
A spirit, call it, that all shapes doth wear,
And brings me knowledge which I scarcely dare
Call mine. Now, out of grief it sings; anon,
It calls me in another's deed or word.
Capricious is the sprite, and now will herd
With common things, now wing me wind-warm cheer
From far-off times and climates happier,
And when from distant fields I call the bird,
A quiet chirp proclaims it nested here.

Source:

Poems
Copyright 1859
346 & 348 Broadway
D. Appleton & Company
New York
 

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