Apollo Dropt a Seed of Song

Into my heart one day, And, smiling godlike, passed along Upon his heavenly way.

I saw him make his golden arc, For many a weary day, But still the little seedling, dark Lay hid beneath the clay.

But gentle eyes, one joyous hour, Shone where my seedling lay,— O Love, tend well thy little flower, And let it not decay.