SPRING STAR.

Over the lamp-lit street,

Trodden by hurrying feet,

Where mostly pulse and beat

Life's throbbing veins,

See where the April star,

Blue-bright as sapphires are,

Hangs in deep heavens far,

Waxes and wanes.

Strangely alive it seems,

Darting keen, dazzling gleams,

Veiling anon its beams,

Large, clear, and pure.

In the broad western sky

No orb may shine anigh,

No lesser radiancy

May there endure.

Spring airs are blowing sweet:

Low in the dusky street

Star-beams and eye-beams meet.

Rapt in his dreams,

All through the crowded mart

Poet with swift-stirred heart,

Passing beneath, must start,

Thrilled by those gleams.

Naught doth he note anear,

Fain through Night's veil to peer,

Reach that resplendent sphere,

Reading her sign.

Where point those sharp, thin rays,

Guiding his weary maze,

Blesseth she or betrays,

Who may divine?

“Guard me, celestial light,

Lofty, serenely bright:

Lead my halt feet aright,”

Prayerful he speaks.

“For a new ray hath shone

Over my spirit lone.

Be this new soul the one

Whom my soul seeks.”