While The Billy BoilsSearchGlint of woodland, and glamour of dew,Reeling riot of sap in the tree,Lilt of lark-song aloft in the blueOr cicada’s importunate glee!O to rest on a somnolent leaWhere the gold of the buttercup glows —And the winds bring us guerdon and feeFrom the heart of a mystical rose!
Tho’ we winnow the false from the trueTo the sob of Adversity’s seaFor a vision that fired us and flew,For a choked inarticulate plea,From a valley of Never To BeComes a wind of the morning that blows,Incense-laden for you and for me,From the heart of a mystical rose.
Tho’ a phantom of joy we pursue,Tho’ it flash like a phantom and flee,Tho’ life’s roses be choked with its rue,And vain shadows of shadows are we,Tho’ dark be the doom we must dreeIn our camps of the sands or the snows,Yet our dreams shall be passport and keyTo the heart of a mystical rose.
Sweetheart mine, tho’ the gods may decreeNever mortal may roam where it grows,Still earthward a rapture floats freeFrom the heart of a mystical rose.