viii PREFATORY 



Think of the glory of color ! The red of the rose, 

 Green of the myriad leaves and the fields of grass, 



Yellow as bright as the sun where the daffodil blows, 

 Purple where violets nod as the breezes pass. 



Think of the manifold form, of the oak and the vine, 

 Nut, and fruit, and cluster, and ears of corn ; 



Of the anchored water-lily, a thing divine, 



Unfolding its dazzling snow to the kiss of morn. 



Think of the delicate perfumes borne on the gale, 

 Of the golden willow catkin's odor of spring, 



Of the breath of the rich narcissus waxen-pale, 

 Of the sweet pea's flight of flowers, of the nettle's sting. 



Strange that this lifeless thing gives vine, flower, tree, 

 Color and shape and character, fragrance too ; 



That the timber that builds the house, the ship for the sea, 

 Out of this powder its strength and its toughness drew ! 



That the cocoa among the palms should suck its milk 

 From this dry dust, while dates from the self-same soil 



Summon their sweet rich fruit : that our shining silk 

 The mulberry leaves should yield to the worm's slow toil. 



How should the poppy steal sleep from the very source 

 That grants to the grapevine juice that can madden or 

 cheer? 



How does the weed find food for its fabric coarse 

 Where the lilies proud their blossoms pure uprear ? 



Who shall compass or fathom God's thought profound ? 



We can but praise, for we may not understand ; 

 But there 's no more beautiful riddle the whole world round 



Than is hid in this heap of dust I hold in my hand. 



