NO light of sun or moon can reach the seed That blindly in the bosom of a flower Ripens through summer, till its living power Breaks the frail clasp that held it, and is freed: Yet not with new-found sunshine can it feed The embryo life, that lighted but an hour Waits long in utter night its glorious dower: Cold grows the earth, and spring-time shall not speed. Not as when warm in fragrant gloom it lay, But living hopeless, tombed in frost-bound sod, Now seems it poorer than the lifeless clod, That lies above it, open to the day: Yet Night shall keep her own, and lose not one, And every child of Day shall find the sun. |