With a wreath of Gentianella and other Alpine flowers from St. Beatenberg
You give me much, I little, but I know
That for poor deed you take the generous will,
And so I send from off this ‘Blessèd Hill’
The sweetest flowers in Switzerland that grow.
Take them, and let them tell you what I owe,—
For you it was who taught mine eyes to thrill
At sight of ‘gentian’ glory, and to fill
My soul with wonders of the Alpine snow.
Still do these lowly stars of azure blue
Unto that star in Heaven, the great Sun, turn,
And in his joy their secret selves unfold;
And still your fond disciples turn to you,
Open their hearts that for your sunshine yearn,
And seek the smile they learned to love of old.
(Sonnets in Switzerland and Italy, p. vi)