|Potted Flowers with Books IV|
That which is marred at birth Time shall not ment,
Nor water out of bitter well make clean;
An evil thing returneth at the end,
Or elseway walketh in our blood unseen.
Whereby the more is sorrow in certaine -
Dayspring mishandled cometh not againe.
To-bruized be that slender, sterting spray
Out of the oake's rind that should betide
A branch of girt and goodliness, straightaway
Her spring is turned on herself, and wried
And knotted like some gall or veiney wen. -
Dayspring mishandled cometh not agen.
Noontime repayeth never morning-bliss -
Sith noon to morn is incomparable;
And, so it be our dawning goth amiss,
None other after-hour serveth well.
Ah! Jesu-Moder, pitie my oe paine -
Dayspring mishandled cometh not againe!
(30th December 1865 - 18th January 1936)