Poems (Dudley)/A Gift

For works with similar titles, see A Gift.
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A GIFT.
I OPENED my door in the Autumn's soft splendor,
 And noontide rushed inward, calm, regal and tender;
A harp from the bridal, from tumult and tears,
 Stole music from silence to ravish my ears;

Interwoven of perfumes and exquisite dyes
 From Araby's bowers and Italy's skies;
It came like a hope and I fervently bless
 Dear hands that thus proffered their blooming caress:

If kindness could kill one, 'twere bliss thus to die
 And burdened with blessings go home to the sky;
No time can defraud me; when rich hues grow pale
 The heart of the giver I'll hide 'neath their veil.


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