SONG

Lilies cast and roses throw

In the way that she must go

Whom the singing planets hymn,

Sister of the seraphim!

Shifting motes of early sun

In the morning freshness spun

To light dresses for the breeze -

Clothe her coming such as these!

Shadows purple, fountain breaths,

Low mists such as dawning wreathes

Round the tree‑tops - these be made

Hers, for whom spring's feast is laid!

She to us from heaven descended

That dreams might with earth seem blended,

And unquietness more blest

Mingle with our life's unrest.

These the chosen offerings

From what earthly deep joy sings -

These to her we daily bear

Lest she pine for heaven here.