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Poem by Mathilde Blind
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What magic is there in thy mien What sorcery in thy smile, Which charms away all cark and care, Which turns the foul days into fair, And for a little while Changes this disenchanted scene From the sere leaf into the green, Transmuting with love's golden wand This beggared life to fairyland? My heart goes forth to thee, oh friend, As some poor pilgrim to a shrine, A pilgrim who has come from far To seek his spirit's folding star, And sees the taper shine; The goal to which his wanderings tend, Where want and weariness shall end, And kneels ecstatically blest Because his heart hath entered rest.
Mathilde Blind's other poems:
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