Explore "Sweet Hours" by Carmen Sylva on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Whitewashed or panelled, filled with books, with light, / With flowers, with trifles sacred to the heart, / And work so pure and sweet that morning-dew / Might settle there and feel itself at home / As though 'mid garden fragrance; while the carol / Of birds streams through the window joyously, / Mistaking that abode of peace and love / For their own woodland haunts! And in that room / A woman's dainty hands ever at work, / A woman's loving heart ever awake / For others' happiness, a woman's thought / Alive in tender memories that embalm / The past in mute forgiveness. Enter then / As 'twere a sanctuary, lay aside / Thy load of care, and yield thy weary soul / To the deep sense of comfort reigning there.
Not many words -- nay, not a single word -- / Need tremble through the stillness, not a sigh / With untoward avowal break the peace / That folds thee to its heart and asks no question.