Firewheel
You, O Empress of daisies, fire
spark on verdant hills,
blazing defiance, strength emblazoned,
upward in these high-domed halls;
and cool with dew, soft blanket,
you receive languid lovers
with gentlest hospitality.
Reddest ruby heart enhaloed gold,
you are the simplest queen, a maid
enthroned on grassy pillow,
rejoicing in the earth,
but sunlight crowned -- like ardent love.
Ataraxia
Not suspense but dwelling makes for peace;
to live at home upon a little plot
alone can quiet give that will not cease,
alone can bring to rest the restless thought.
Not doubt nor balanced judgment makes for calm
but cottage made of reason's little joys,
with splendid view and garden full of balm
to give shalom that nothing can annoy,
in Sabbath-rest and Sunday with the rose
that flowers by the house in vivid hue,
made music by a stream that softly flows
amid the grassy hills in morning dew,
when morning breeze blows scented, soft, and cool,
and you, in pleasant chair, drink tea and sigh
that all around is yours, though small it be,
and full of joy beneath an endless sky
that somewhere wraps around an endless sea.
Not suspense but dwelling makes for peace,
not judgment in suspense through skeptic's ploy,
but lovely truth to count your own small piece,
in which you spend your days in quiet joy.
