  B Burn bright, O sunset sky, with tints like wine! From all the west let the glad tidings shine, So beautiful a joy is to be mine. O little lily, lean into the gloom! Pour from thy deep cup all its rare perfume, Sweeter will be my joy when it shall bloom. Sing gayly, that the richer world with me May so rejoice in joy that is to be, O little birds upon the Maple tree! O happy heart, send up to eyes and cheek The gladness that I have no words to speak; The fairest ones too powerless and weak. Nay, burning sky, hide thy too brilliant glow! I would not that the curious world should know The sacred joy that now has blessed me so. O little lily, leaning from the gloom, Hold thy too fragrant breath, that there be room In the deep stillness for my heart to bloom. Hush, little birds upon the Maple tree! I cannot hear, ye sing so noisily, The sweeter song my soul would sing to me. O happy lids, droop over happy eyes, Lest all the marvel of their dear surprise Escape once more to the far Paradise, From which joy came so gently to my breast, Forevermore to be its cherished guest; |
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