It's little that I care About my darling's place In books of beauty rare, Or heraldries of race: For when she steps in view, A NOVEMBER DAISY AFTERTHOUGHT of summer's bloom! Late arrival at the feast, Coming when the songs have ceased Nay, I wrong you, little flower, Glad, contented, free, and fearless,— When a sunny day is given; Makes a summer of its own, -- Once the daisies gold and white THE RIVER OF DREAMS THE river of dreams runs softly down And From its hidden spring in the forest of sleep, Their drowsy blooms in the stream, that By a secret way that no man knows, Under the branches bending, On through the shadows blending, While the body rests, and the passive soul And the river of dreams runs down. The river of dreams runs smoothly down, Over the mountains shimmering, Up from the fountains glimmering, — 'Tis the mystical glow of the inner light, That shines in the very noon of night, Where the river of dreams runs down. |