Within and Without
THE tide flows up, the tide flows down:
The water brims the creek and falls;
A cottage weather-stained and brown
Lifts at the brink its time-worn walls.
Beneath the lowly window sill
Two little beds of blossoms gay
The wandering airs with fragrance fill,
Sweeten the night and charm the day.
The tide flows up, the tide flows down:
From the low window’s humble square
A woman in a faded gown,
With care-dimmed eyes and tangled hair,
Looks out across the smiling space
Where golden suns and stars unfold:
Blue larkspur, the pied pansy’s face,
Nasturtium bells of scarlet bold, —
She sees them not, nor cares, nor knows.
A man’s rough figure noon and night
And morning o’er the threshold goes, —
No sense has he for their delight.
The tide flows up, the tide flows down:
In that dull house a little maid
Lives lonely, under Fortune’s frown,
A life unchildlike and afraid.
To her that tiny garden-plot
Means heaven. She comes at eve to stand
'Mid mallow and forget-me-not
And marigolds on either hand.
They look at her with brilliant eyes,
Their scent is greeting and caress;
They spread their rich and glowing dyes
Her saddened soul to cheer and bless.
The tide flows up, the tide flows down:
Within, how base the life and poor!
Without, what wealth and beauty crown
The humble flowers beside the door!
