The Broken Wing/The Garden Vigil

​The Garden Vigil

In the deep silence of the garden-bowersOnly the stealthy zephyr glides and goes,Rifling the secret of sirisha flowers,And to the new-born hoursBequeathes the subtle anguish of the rose.
Pain-weary and dream-worn I lie awake,Counting like beads the blazing stars o'erhead;Round me the wind-stirred champak branches shakeBlossoms that fall and breakIn perfumed rain across my lonely bed.
Long ere the sun's first far-off beacons shine,Or her prophetic clarions call afar,The gorgeous planets wither and decline,Save in its eastern shrine,Unquenched, unchallenged, the proud morning star.
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O glorious light of hope beyond all reach!O lovely symbol and sweet sign of himWhose voice I yearn to hear in tender speechTo comfort me or teach,Before whose gaze thy golden fires grow dim!
I care not what brave splendours bloom or dieSo thou dost burn in thine appointed place,Supreme in the still dawn-uncoloured sky,And daily grant that IMay in thy flame adore his hidden face.
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