The White Bees by Henry Van Dyke
page 43 of 72 (59%)
page 43 of 72 (59%)
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To veil the joys too sacred to be seen.
III Come, put your hand in mine, True love, long sought and found at last, And lead me deep into the Spring divine That makes amends for all the wintry past. For all the flowers and songs I feared to miss Arrive with you; And in the lingering pressure of your kiss My dreams come true; And in the promise of your generous eyes I read the mystic sign Of joy more perfect made Because so long delayed, And bliss enhanced by rapture of surprise. Ah, think not early love alone is strong; He loveth best whose heart has learned to wait Dear messenger of Spring that tarried long, You're doubly dear because you come so late. NEPENTHE Yes it was like you to forget, And cancel in the welcome of your smile My deep arrears of debt, And with the putting forth of both your hands To sweep away the bars my folly set Between us--bitter thoughts, and harsh de- |
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