Poems (Jackson)/To A. C. L. B.
HY house hath gracious freedom, like the airOf open fields; its silence hath a speechOf royal welcome to the friends who reachIts threshold and its upper chambers bear,Above their doors such spells, that, entering thereAnd laying off the dusty garments, eachSoul whispers to herself: "'T were like a breachOf reverence in a temple could I dareHere speak untruth, here wrong my inmost thought.Here I grow strong and pure; here I may yield,Without shamefacedness, the little broughtFrom out my poorer life, and stand revealed,And glad, and trusting, in the sweet and rareAnd tender presence which hath filled this air."
TO A. C. L. B.
HY house hath gracious freedom, like the airOf open fields; its silence hath a speechOf royal welcome to the friends who reachIts threshold and its upper chambers bear,Above their doors such spells, that, entering thereAnd laying off the dusty garments, eachSoul whispers to herself: "'T were like a breachOf reverence in a temple could I dareHere speak untruth, here wrong my inmost thought.Here I grow strong and pure; here I may yield,Without shamefacedness, the little broughtFrom out my poorer life, and stand revealed,And glad, and trusting, in the sweet and rareAnd tender presence which hath filled this air."