A sonnet for David

The Earth sends forth her spirit in gold-blooms,
sweet perfumes, let loose to rise to Heaven:
fràgrance of marigold and pine assumed,
Earth’s offering to Father of that leaven

which is our joy and makes mens’ spirits rise!
In Joseph-month, cool-lemon-sunlight season,
God’s grandeur: our inheritance and prize!
His love, hearts’-fire and the air we breathe in.

The noon-day devil whispers, “Vanity—
love given lavishly more love engenders.
To be alone must be insanity—
no hand to hold? no one to love you tender?”

Hold fast the blessèd Lady-chain which moors!
Feel the tend’rest touch of Mary fairest!
“I am always with you,” says the Lord.
Laugh, and hold her hand, and devil-darest.

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