Flower And Voice

Tremulous out of that long darkness, how Wast thou, O blossom, made Upon the wintry bough? What drew thee to appear, Like a thought in the mind, Ignorant, unafraid, And perfect?--Yet the wind Blew on thee how sharp! how drear The drops fell from the sudden--clouded spring! Those delicate rare petals, all storm--thrilled, Shone into recollection, when my ear From a half--opened door was filled With a voice singing; floating up to sing A song, long ago from a heart's darkness born And upon young lips born again; A voice, flowering clear In beauty stolen from the world of pain. Ah, not to--night of beauty I thought, Yet beautiful beyond all hope's desire, O wonderful, more wonderful to me Than any miracle of beauty wrought Was my Love's voice, saying beside the fire, Where she leaned by my knee, Dear, broken words; words of no art, And yet in them was all my want, I found; Life has no more to give than that sweet sound Breaking and melting deep in my heart's heart.