large/11091/among_the_trees_again_1609_librivox_64kb_mp3/trees_09_stein_64kb_1
large/11091/among_the_trees_again_1609_librivox_64kb_mp3/trees_09_stein_64kb
English
11091
O heart, my heart, throb high and fast With rapture! for how couldst thou know Amid the far off frost and snow Where all the skies are overcast And shrill and chill the north winds blow, How couldst thou know December heavens anywhere Could show such rare Such tender and divinest guise, That earth and air Could weave such strange, resistless spell As this that folds us flower wise At sweet San Gabriel! O HEART MY HEART THROB HIGH AND FAST WITH RAPTURE FOR HOW COULDST THOU KNOW AMID THE FAR OFF FROST AND SNOW WHERE ALL THE SKIES ARE OVERCAST AND SHRILL AND CHILL THE NORTH WINDS BLOW HOW COULDST THOU KNOW DECEMBER HEAVENS ANYWHERE COULD SHOW SUCH RARE SUCH TENDER AND DIVINEST GUISE THAT EARTH AND AIR COULD WEAVE SUCH STRANGE RESTLESS SPELL AS THIS THAT FOLDS US FLOWER WISE AS SWEET SANG GABRIEL
ewell!—the anchor rope strains, Loose cable and canvas, and hasten we forth! The fire of desire quivers hot in our veins, We must sail with the gale, to the north! to the north! Must speed with the blast to its ultimate goal, The path of its pinions must follow and find The lure of the ages, the boreal pole, And the measureless halls of the house of the wind! _IN THE MISSION GARDEN, SAN GABRIEL_ O golden day, wherein at last, Long leagues and wintry overpast, I stand beneath a sky as blue As April violets drenched in dew, And live within a dream come true! From rosy-berried pepper-trees The winds blow spicy fragrances; The palms sway softly to and fro, And down below, Between the glossy leaves of these, The sparkling, yellow sunbeams steep The mission garden, where the bees Are hoarding deep Of heliotrope that hangs the wall As for some princely festival, While white and tall Bright lilies bloom in grace untold, And those rare roses, passing all In splendor, called “The Cloth of Gold!”  IN THE MISSION GARDEN SAINT GABRIEL BY EVERLEEN STEYNE READ FOR LIVERPOXTT ORG BY SILVESTER LAND O GOLDEN DAY WHEREIN I LAST LONG LEAGUES AND WINTRY OVERPAST I STAND BENEATH A SKY AS BLUE AS APRIL VIOLETS DRENCHED IN DEW AND LIVE WITHIN THE DREAM COME TRUE FROM ROSY BURIED PEPPER TREES THE WINDS BLOW SPICY FRAGRANCES THE PALMS SWAY SOFTLY TO AND FRO AND DOWN BELOW BETWEEN THE GLOSSY LEAVES OF THESE THE SPARKLING YELLOW SUNBEAMS STEEP THE MISSION GARDEN WHERE THE BEES ARE HOARDING DEEP OF HELOTROPE THAT HANGS THE WALL AS FOR SOME PRINCELY FESTIVAL WHILE WHITE AND TALL BRIGHT LILY BLOOM AND GRACE UNTOLD AND THOSE RARE ROSES PASSING ALL IN SPLENDOUR CALLED THE CLOTH OF GOLD
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