Blue Gentian: a Thought

I shall never be a child, With its dancing footsteps wild, Nor a free-footed maiden any more, Yet my heart leaps up to see The new leaf upon the tree, And to hear the light winds pass O'er the flowers in the grass, And for very joy brims o'er, As I kneel and pluck this store Of blue gentian.

I shall never climb thy peak, Great white Alp, that cannot speak Of the centuries that float over thee like dreams, Dumb of all God's secret things Sealed to beggars and to kings; Yet I sit in a world of sight, Color, beauty, sound, and light, While at every step, meseems, Small sweet joys spring up, like gleams Of blue gentian.

I shall not live o'er again This strange life, half bliss, half pain; I shall sleep till Thou call'st me to arise, Body and soul, with new-born powers. If thou wakenest these poor flowers, Wilt thou not awaken me, Who am thirsting after thee? Ah! when faith grows dim and dies, Let me think of Alpine skies And blue gentian.