Blue Gentian: A Thought.
By the author of “John Halifax, Gentleman.”

I
                              shall never be a child.1
                        
                        With its dancing footsteps wild,2
                        
                        Nor a free-footed maiden any more,3
                        
                        Yet my heart leaps up to see4
                        
                        The new leaf upon the tree,5
                        
                        And to hear the light winds pass6
                        
                        O’er the flowers in the grass,7
                        
                        And for very joy brims o’er,8
                        
                        As I kneel and pluck this store9
                        
                        Of blue gentian.10
                        A shall never climb thy peak,11
                        
                        Great white Alt, that cannot speak12
                        
                        Of the centuries that float over thee like dreams,13
                        
                        Dumb of all God’s secret things14
                        
                        Sealed to beggars and to kings—15
                        
                        
                        Yet I sit in a world of sight16
                        
                        Colour, beauty, sound, and light,17
                        
                        While at every step, meseems,18
                        
                        Small sweet joys spring up, like gleams19
                        
                        Of blue gentian.20
                        I shall not live o’er again21
                        
                        This strange life, half bliss, half pain ;22
                        
                        I shall sleep till Thou call’st me to arise23
                        
                        Body and soul with new-born powers24
                        
                        If Thou wakenest these poor flowers,25
                        
                        Wilt Thouh not awaken me,26
                        
                        Who am thirsting after Thee ?27
                        
                        Ah !  when faith grows dim and dies,28
                        
                        Let me think of Alpine skies29
                        
                        And blue gentian.30