You Moon, Have You Done

I Wish, And I Wish That The Spring Would Go Faster, Nor Long Summer Bide So Late; And I Could Grow On Like The Foxglove And Aster, For Some Things Are Ill To Wait.

Work Is Its Own Best Earthly Meed, Else Have We None More Than The Sea-born Throng Who Wrought Those Marvellous Isles That Bloom Afar.

Quoth The Ocean, "dawn! O Fairest, Clearest, Touch Me With Thy Golden Fingers Bland; For I Have No Smile Till Thou Appearest For The Lovely Land.

I Have Lived Life Long Enough To Thank God That All My Prayers Have Not Been Answered

And The Guelder Rose In A Great Stillness Dropped, And Ever Dropped, Her Wealth About Her Feet.