31.12.2010, 12:19
A PHOTOGRAPH ON THE RED GOLD.
Jersey, 1867.
About the knoll the airs blew fresh and brisk,
And, musing as I sat, I held my watch
Upon my open palm ; its smooth bright disk
Was uppermost, and so it came to catch,
And dwarf, the figure of a waving tree,
Back'd by the West. A tiny sunshine peep'd
About a tiny elm,—and both were steep'd
In royal metal, flaming ruddily :
How lovely was that vision to behold !
How passing sweet that fairy miniature,
That stream'd and flicker'd o'er the burning gold !
God of small things and great ! do Thou ensure
Thy gift of sight, till all my days are told.
Bless all its bliss, and keep its pleasures pure !
Jersey, 1867.
About the knoll the airs blew fresh and brisk,
And, musing as I sat, I held my watch
Upon my open palm ; its smooth bright disk
Was uppermost, and so it came to catch,
And dwarf, the figure of a waving tree,
Back'd by the West. A tiny sunshine peep'd
About a tiny elm,—and both were steep'd
In royal metal, flaming ruddily :
How lovely was that vision to behold !
How passing sweet that fairy miniature,
That stream'd and flicker'd o'er the burning gold !
God of small things and great ! do Thou ensure
Thy gift of sight, till all my days are told.
Bless all its bliss, and keep its pleasures pure !