I'm the spirit Enimalina, thy guardian angel, and <br />Drawn hither by a subtle law but few can understand— <br />The golden cord of sympathy, I leave the summer-land, <br /> Thy aching brows with lilies to entwine. <br /> <br />I've watched thee late and early, I've watched thee on the <br /> morn; <br />And when the sun has left the sky, and Luna like a lorn <br />Dejected maid has brought the hour most prized by hearts, <br /> I thy aching brows with lilies have entwined. <br /> <br />I've watched thee in the battle with the many ills of Life, <br />And then when sleep has seized thee, only to renew the <br /> strife <br />In dreams, has made, thy woe too rife, appear more keen <br /> and rife, <br /> I thy aching brows with lilies have entwined. <br /> <br />I've watched when dark and dreary has been thy horoscope; <br />And when thou strength has needed most with cark and <br /> care to cope, <br />I've nerved thy arm, into thy heart have poured the oil of <br /> hope— <br /> I thy aching brows with lilies have entwined. <br /> <br /> <br />1878.<br /><br />Joseph Skipsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-guardian-angel-7/
