The Sentinel
Each flower is a sentinel of God,
And ev'ry tree and ev'ry grassblade. Not
An unseen little stem, but that will stand
And wait and shine, and never ask wherefore
It came and why it has to whither. Thou
Art such a sentinel, O Heart! Thou hast
To stand and bloom and love beside the others,
And wither when thy work is done, the spot
Being given to another, whereupon
Thou standest. And that other heart is growing
And blooming into life beneath thy shade,
As strong as thine, as ruby-red as thine,
To wither and to fall beneath the scythe,
As thine has done. Why ask and why despair?
Why not be happy with the sun, the dew,
The other flowery hearts that, full of life
Unfold their petals, which are deep like thine,
And rich as thine? Ye are to be a glorious
And many-coloured meadow. Is it not
Enough? And must ye grumble? Must ye strive
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poem by Carmen Sylva
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Lethe
When dark thy childhood, tears and grief have filled
Thy swelling heart, that understood too much,
Yet not enough to be forgiving, when
The sun was pale, and darkness lonely, when
The fear of unknown evil made thy lips
Turn cold, and wonder changed to horror, then
To dumb despair, to childhood's hopelessness,
More hopeless than old age's iron clutch
Of unbelief, the shadow of the past
Will cast a pall o'er all thy life, then say:
Go down, Remembrance, into Lethe, go!
When work was hard and sacrifice in vain,
And stones were hurled at thee, thy flowers trodden
Into the soil, that, soaked with all thy blood,
Could not resist, and giving way would swallow
Thy noblest thoughts, and teach thee to undo
Thyself, gainsay thyself, as if a coward
Were crouching on thy shoulders, making thee
Believe that all thy heroism was
A sham--then say: Go down to Lethe, Thought,
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poem by Carmen Sylva
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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"Vengeance is Mine," Saith the Lord
Thou wouldst not be avenged if thou hadst but
Insight enough into the human heart,
Into its frailty and its cowardice.
Thou wouldst not be avenged if thou but sawest
How mad, how childish and how selfish are
The helpless ones, that did thee harm because
They thought--Ah! What then thought they! That perchance
You hated them, or trod them down, or took
Their sun away; and e'en for love will they
Destroy thee, meaning well with thee--so well,
That they as lief would see thee dead, not to
Belong to what they hate--thy work, thy friend,
Thy strong ambition, or the gift that God
Hath put into thy soul, that calleth thee
Away to other heights and other temples,
Then where they long have worshipped. They dislike
Thy road, they word, they call it strange and dark,
And they would lead thee back to where they started
So long ago with thee, and show the wrong
Thou doest quite unwittingly. A sigh,
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poem by Carmen Sylva
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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