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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Little Window, by Jean M. Snyder
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Little Window
+
+Author: Jean M. Snyder
+
+Release Date: September 16, 2007 [EBook #22637]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE WINDOW ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Sam W. and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from scans of public domain material produced by
+Microsoft for their Live Search Books site.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+    A LITTLE WINDOW
+
+    JEAN M. SNYDER
+
+
+
+
+_A LITTLE WINDOW_
+
+VERSES BY
+
+JEAN M. SNYDER
+
+
+    "_In good sooth, my masters this is no door, yet it is a
+    little window that looketh upon a great world._"
+
+
+FOSTER & STEWART
+PUBLISHING CORPORATION
+BUFFALO, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+All but two of the verses in this volume originally appeared in The
+Christian Science Monitor, and are reprinted by permission.
+
+The two exceptions are "Joy" (page 46) and "Triumph" (page 49), which
+are also copyrighted and reprinted by permission.
+
+
+
+
+TABLE OF CONTENTS
+
+
+    Stars                                        7
+
+    The Brook                                    8
+
+    In Eden Valley                               9
+
+    Benediction                                 10
+
+    A Moment                                    11
+
+    The Month of Moonlight                      12
+
+    Wings                                       13
+
+    Heart's Ease                                14
+
+    The Sign Reads--"To Troutbeck"              15
+
+    I, Too                                      16
+
+    In Early Evening                            17
+
+    Fearless Winging                            18
+
+    Whimsey                                     19
+
+    Remembering                                 20
+
+    Aloofness                                   21
+
+    Listening                                   22
+
+    September's End                             23
+
+    Content                                     24
+
+    Rhythm                                      25
+
+    Contrast                                    26
+
+    Surety                                      27
+
+    Guests                                      28
+
+    Storm                                       30
+
+    A Reminder                                  31
+
+    Buffalo Harbor                              32
+
+    From a Train Window                         34
+
+    Scotland                                    35
+
+    Friends                                     36
+
+    A Poem of Color                             37
+
+    Dream                                       38
+
+    Escape                                      39
+
+    Question                                    40
+
+    When You Were a Little Girl                 42
+
+    Flight                                      44
+
+    Petit Trianon                               45
+
+    Joy                                         46
+
+    Twilight Song Service                       48
+
+    Triumph                                     49
+
+
+
+
+_A Little Window_
+
+
+
+
+_Stars_
+
+(_At Locheven_)
+
+
+    Have you walked in the woods
+    When twilight wraps a veil of mist
+    Around the gray-green trees
+    In early spring?
+    It is then the snow-white trillium
+    Gleam like stars from the carpet
+    Of last year's leaves:
+    And tall white violets glow
+    Like clouds of nebulae along the path.
+    And flecked, like points of light
+    In the quiet pools of water
+    Among the gray-green boles,
+    Are the stars of heaven.
+
+
+
+
+_The Brook_
+
+(_Westfield, N. Y._)
+
+
+    Curling and humming its cadences,
+    It slips past me under the rim of the gorge,
+    As I peer down through the scarlet sumacs.
+    Sparkling in the sunlight,
+    Shimmering in the moonlight,
+    On and on it goes,
+    A silvery sheet of song.
+
+
+
+
+_In Eden Valley_
+
+
+    I saw
+
+    A spray of orange berries etched against the silver of a stone wall:
+
+    A scarlet vine encircling a golden sapling;
+
+    On the ground, a carmine robe that had slipped from the shoulders of
+        a maple.
+
+    A sweep of meadow,
+    A curve of bronzy hill,
+    A glow of ruby and amethyst
+    And the evergreens making deep quiet spots in it.
+
+
+
+
+_Benediction_
+
+
+    Silent, I stood in the forest--
+    Lured by the liquid song
+    Of a thrush.
+    Clear, it was, then fading
+    And softly echoed,
+    As he slipped into the embrace
+    Of the night.
+    So pure, so holy, was his song
+    That my heart was calmed
+    And I was filled
+    With serenity.
+
+
+
+
+_A Moment_
+
+
+    The beaten silver waters cut
+    By the prow of our ship,
+    Send off stars of phosphorous
+    To vie with the stars overhead.
+    Nothing but sky and the starlight,
+    And a stretch of limitless sea,
+    Nothing but peace and dominion,--
+    Silence, immensity.
+
+
+
+
+_The Month of Moonlight_
+
+
+    Moonlight is not cold!
+    It is tender and benignant,
+    Softening all it touches,
+    Hiding the roughness,
+    Covering the coarseness,
+    With a glow of silver splendor
+    And a lucent flood
+    Of beauty.
+
+
+
+
+_Wings_
+
+
+    There come to the flowers
+    In my garden
+    Butterflies, golden-spotted tawny,
+    Blue-spangled and sulphur;
+    Glistening dragon-flies, zooming bumble bees,
+    Droning honey-bees.
+
+    Softly whirring comes
+    The vivid humming-bird,
+      Sipping, sipping all day long.
+    At nightfall I hear the flutter of the
+    Luna's wings, as
+    She caresses the velvet cheek
+    Of the lily.
+
+
+
+
+_Heart's Ease_
+
+(_Locheven_)
+
+
+    I love to tread a winding path
+    Through the woods,
+    And, world weary, pause upon it.
+    The trees bend and enclose me
+    In brooding calm;
+    I feel the presence of Deity.
+
+    I hear the cadence of the stillness--
+    A stillness so alive.
+    The whisper of the leaves,
+    The song of the brook over golden stone
+    The whir of a bird's wings;
+    And I know the presence of Deity.
+
+
+
+
+_The Sign Reads--"To Troutbeck"_
+
+(_English Lakes_)
+
+
+    An upcurving lane, hedged high,
+    An ancient stile,
+    A rambling path,
+    A brook,
+    And musk,--
+    Golden bells of fragrance,
+    Fusing all the odors
+      Of English earth.
+
+
+
+
+_I, Too_
+
+
+    Robin, robin,
+    Shouting your song,
+    Your throat swelling
+    With joy!
+    Yes, I hear, I know
+    What you say.
+    For I, too,
+    Would sing
+    My praise and
+    Gratitude
+    To God!
+
+
+
+
+_In Early Evening_
+
+
+    When I drive through
+    The villages and the countryside
+    In early evening,
+    And see people sitting in gardens
+    Or at their doors
+    In peace and contentment,
+    I long to stop and speak to them.
+    They might tell me of a loved one
+    Doing some great work
+    In a big city,
+    Or of a deep sorrow,
+    And I might say a word
+    To help lighten it.
+    They might show me treasured china
+    Or a bit of lace, handmade;
+    Once some one did.
+    And I could talk with the children.
+    I long to do this,
+    But it always seems
+    That there is a hurry
+    To get to the next place.
+
+
+
+
+_Fearless Winging_
+
+
+    Into Niagara's abyss of blackness,
+    Into its cavernous chaos,
+    I saw birds wing.
+    Sweeping down
+    Through the mist
+    Of its mighty waters,
+    Undaunted by the roar,
+    Unmindful of the churning,
+    Of the terror of its power,
+    On sure pinions
+    And happy in flight
+    They dipped and soared and
+    Mounted, upward and upward.
+    Into the light
+    And the rainbow
+    Above them.
+
+
+
+
+_Whimsey_
+
+
+    In spring my hemlock
+    Dances gayly in flounces
+    Of jade green lace.
+
+    In summer moonlight
+    When a soft wind stirs
+    She dances with a delicate sapling.
+    They sway and bend in the wind,
+    And bow to the trees encircling.
+    I hear the laughter of their leaves.
+
+    In autumn she dances
+    With beech leaves in her hair,
+
+    But in winter I have found her still,
+    Crouching under a blanket of snow.
+
+
+
+
+_Remembering_
+
+(_Locheven_)
+
+
+    There is a spot in the woods
+    That is "forever England" to me.
+    A clump of beech trees
+    Steeped in silence,
+    Whose shade and solitude
+    Shuts me in with my dreams.
+    The sunshine slants through
+    Their limpid leaves
+    And turns them to translucent jade,
+    Just as it does in an English spring.
+    Violets are there, and I pluck them,
+    Remembering the bluebells
+    In the beech wood
+    At Sevenoaks.
+
+
+
+
+_Aloofness_
+
+
+    Down among the docks and elevators and railroad tracks
+    On the way out of the city,
+    I pass a tiny cottage so rickety
+    That its neighbors crowd close
+    To hold it up. But there it is,
+    Its one window shining clean, and glowing
+    With a plant in a tin can and pure white curtains.
+    Hanging over the fence and filling the whole place
+    With its beauty and almost hiding the cottage
+    Is a peach tree in full bloom.
+    In the doorway I glimpse a girl
+    In a purple dress.
+    But what matters the smoke and the noise and the fog
+    To the peach tree?
+
+
+
+
+_Listening_
+
+(_Eden, N. Y._)
+
+
+    Atop Aries hill am I,
+    The lone flyer, throbbing
+    Against the sunset
+    Is higher.
+    He sees more than I,
+    But he cannot hear
+    What I hear.
+
+    I hear the wood-thrush
+    And the veery,
+    Answer each other.
+    I hear the voices
+    Of happy children
+    And the baying of hounds
+    Float up from the valley;
+    The chirp of the cricket
+    At my feet, and, then,
+    The silence of nightfall.
+
+    He sees more than I,
+    But he cannot hear
+    What I hear.
+
+
+
+
+_September's End_
+
+
+    In the ash tree
+    There is a soft rustling,
+    Lingering, like
+    A silken whisper,
+    Quite different
+    Than sound the other trees;
+    As if the bronzy leaves
+    Had much to say
+    Before they part,
+    And were loath
+    To bid farewell.
+
+
+
+
+_Content_
+
+(_Westfield, N. Y._)
+
+
+    When I linger in my garden
+    And see black swallowtails hovering
+    Over white phlox and orange zinnias,
+    And morning glories, in a heavenly blue mass
+    Surge upward on their trellis;
+    When I watch the scintillating humming-bird
+    Sip from the trumpet blossoms across my doorway,
+    I feel no urge of travel to behold
+    More of earth's beauty.
+    Here in my little garden I have it all--
+    And here I am content.
+
+
+
+
+_Rhythm_
+
+
+    Firelight, and strains of a symphony
+      Wafting in.
+    Outside, bare trees
+      Against leaden skies
+      Weave their own music
+      That throbs with the rhythm
+      Of the orchestra.
+    The wind moans, and
+      Strong, black branches
+      Sway slowly,
+      Mark the beat,
+      Then stop.
+    The wind hums,
+      Delicate, lacelike tops
+      Quiver and ripple
+      With the quick response
+      Of the violins.
+    With the shriek of the wind
+    They writhe and toss,
+      Measuring the crescendo
+      Of the brasses.
+
+
+
+
+_Contrast_
+
+
+    In an old world palace,
+    Room after room
+    Is filled with treasures--
+    Old masters, jewels, glass.
+    Yet all I remember
+    Is the stark whiteness of a gardenia
+    Blowing against a wall,
+    And the fairy music of a fountain
+    In the patio.
+
+
+
+
+_Surety_
+
+
+    I needed the dawn, but
+    My eyes beheld only clouds
+    And a valley filled with mists
+    And a mountain shutting out the east.
+    I needed the dawn, so
+    I could but wait.
+    Surely,
+    Slowly
+    Through the clouds
+    The light came,
+    Like a presence
+    Dispelling mist and cloud:
+    Even the mountain
+    Could not hide it.
+    My eyes beheld all clear,
+    And in the roseate glow,
+    Like a diamond,
+    Hung the morning star.
+
+
+
+
+_Guests_
+
+
+    There was emptiness
+    When the birds left in the fall.
+    But to fill it came late butterflies,
+    Dawdling flocks of brilliant things
+    In clouds of scintillating beauty,
+    Covering every bush and flower.
+    As silently as they came did they disappear
+    And in their place came the music
+    Of the katydid and the cricket.
+    Day and night the cheerful songs
+    Of these tiny insects were our company.
+
+    An early blizzard
+    Buried every green blade and bent to earth
+    Great trees and slender saplings
+    Under a thick weight of snow.
+    To our door came the thrushes
+    That we thought were gone,--
+    Shy thrushes, that had turned their backs
+    Upon us in summer and slipped
+    Into the depth of the woods,--
+    And whitethroats and tree sparrows,
+    Unafraid, waiting for food.
+    Even now the stillness is alive
+    With the memory of these friendly folk.
+
+
+
+
+_Storm_
+
+
+    When the storm rushes upon the deep woods,
+    It lets down curtains of mist
+    And sheets of rain, that drip
+    Crystal beads among the trees.
+    Way above, the branches lash and moan
+    And weave. Below, it is still,
+    Still as the undersea.
+    Soft fern and feathery bracken
+    Loom through the mist
+    Like branching coral,
+    And drifting leaves float down
+    Like snowy fishes,
+    Lazily moving.
+
+
+
+
+_A Reminder_
+
+
+    Down beneath the office windows
+    In a chestnut clump,
+    A robin sings all day long,
+    "Joyously, joyously!"
+
+    Above the whir of traffic,
+    The bands and the sirens,
+    Floats his song all day,
+    "Joyously, joyously!"
+
+    The lilting song brings to me,
+    The peace of field and merry brook,
+    And I myself, sing all day, too,
+    "Joyously, joyously!"
+
+
+
+
+_Buffalo Harbor_
+
+
+    Some say that it is ugly and hurry on through,
+    But I love these impressive symbols
+    Of man's ingenuity.
+    Here are the great grain elevators, looming
+    In tones and shades of grey, veiled
+    In the clouds of black smoke from the
+    Tugs at their feet;
+    Puffing engines shifting strings of cars,
+    And huge ships nosed in against each other
+    Or riding at anchor, and canal boats
+    In straight lines at the docks.
+    Farther on, across a slip, there are
+    Mountains of ore in reds and brown,
+    And pile upon pile of gravel and slag,
+    And sand in soft saffron hues,
+    Heaped up for the steel mills to devour;
+    Those gigantic mills whose tall stacks
+    Belch varicolored gases, against
+    The deep blue of the inner harbor,
+    Where the waves pound in
+    Over the sea wall.
+    All this cupped by the towering
+    City skyscrapers, and outlined against
+    The peaceful Eden hills,
+    Miles to the south.
+    And when I wait for the big bridge to lift
+    For a freighter with its important tugs,
+    I pull out of line, off to the side,
+    And let the other cars go by,
+    And look, and look.
+    I never seem to get enough.
+
+
+
+
+_From a Train Window_
+
+
+    Once, before dawn,
+    In the Mohawk valley,
+    Dots of light flashed
+    And floated off
+    Into the blackness,
+    Like sparks of flame
+    Blasted from the engine.
+    Then more and more,
+    Mile after mile,
+    Almost never ending--
+    Millions of fire-flies,
+    Like tiny torches,
+    Dancing over swamp lands
+    In the night air.
+
+
+
+
+_Scotland_
+
+(_The Highlands_)
+
+
+    Mountains,
+      Veiled in shifting vapors,
+    Mountains,
+      Bleak, foreboding,
+    Mountains,
+      Stark and overpowering.
+    Torrents,
+      Tumbling, crashing,
+      Dragging boulders
+      In their rushing,
+    Lakes,
+      Forlorn and lonesome
+    Heather
+      In magenta patches,
+    Sheep, and cattle
+      Black and somber,
+    Winding roads
+      Through massive passes.
+    Rain,
+    Sun,
+    Flowers,
+    Mist,
+    Rain,--
+      Loved Scotland!
+
+
+
+
+_Friends_
+
+(_At Lake Windermere, England_)
+
+
+    Across the lake
+    Lying calm and black
+    Under the night,
+    Floats the wail
+    Of the pipes:
+    And beyond, loom
+    Langdale Pikes, dim,
+    Shadowy sentinels.
+    Over all, the stars,
+    Like friends, faithful
+    And changeless.
+
+
+
+
+_A Poem of Color_
+
+
+    Stretched on the ground beneath the Hawthorn,
+    The perfume of its blossoms mingled with falling petals, floats
+        down to me.
+    Winged things alight there on the blanket of fragrance above,--a
+        bunting, blue as the sky, a warbler, all gold, an Admiral, wings
+        banded with crimson,
+    Make a poem of color of the Hawthorn tree.
+
+
+
+
+_Dream_
+
+(_Stratford-on-Avon_)
+
+
+    One warm June evening
+    I sat in the churchyard
+    Of old Trinity. I sat there for hours
+    On an ancient stone, forgetting time.
+    The Avon, as silent as the centuries it had known,
+    Glided past, carrying me on with its memories.
+    From the lush meadow across the river came the bleating of lambs,
+    And from the limes floated the song of blackbirds.
+    All about the scent of roses hung heavy.
+    Then, over the roof of Trinity, the moon arose.
+    Shakespeare saw the Avon, thus, and loved it,--
+    Winding on in the moonlight.
+
+
+
+
+_Escape_
+
+
+    How simple life can be!
+    A cabin,
+    Mountains, afar and near,
+    A brook,
+    Deer, blowing at night.
+    Perchance,
+    Rain on the roof,
+    Then,
+    The loved books,
+    A fire on the hearth,
+    And endless time
+    To think.
+    How simple life is!
+
+
+
+
+_Question_
+
+(_Locheven_)
+
+
+    Would you choose
+    The formal garden
+    With lilac hedges
+    And vistas of velvet lawn
+    And marble fountain
+    Shining pool and
+    Marble bench o'er-topped
+    By drooping willow;
+    Massed color in trim beds,
+    And stately garden house
+    Festooned with wisteria
+    And guarded by strutting peacock?
+
+              Or,
+
+    The wood's garden,
+    The wild garden,
+    Tumbling over itself
+    With pale Jacks, and violets--
+    Blue and gold, and
+    Baby ferns, tucked
+    Within sheltering gnarled roots!
+    And mossy mounds, starred
+    With Trillium and Crane's bill;
+    And patches of lavender sunlight,
+    (No, it's wild Phlox,
+    In the flickering light)--
+    And fire-flies and flapping owls,
+    At twilight, and furry rabbits,
+    Bobbing ahead up the path.
+
+    Which would you choose?
+
+
+
+
+_When You Were a Little Girl_
+
+
+    When you were a little girl
+    And you went driving with Grandfather,
+    If it rained, didn't he braid up the horse's tail
+    Binding it round with a bright silver band,
+    And fasten on the side curtains of the carriage
+    And pull the rubber "boot" over the dashboard?
+    And do you remember how the horse's feet
+    Went "Plop, plop," in and out of the mud,
+    And you felt the mist blow in on your face
+    When you managed to peer out over the curtain?
+    And didn't you snuggle up close to Grandfather
+    And hug the Fairy Tale book
+    Which he was going to listen to
+    When the rain stopped and you lunched
+    Beside the road?
+
+    Didn't your Grandfather always drive over
+    To the cheese factory, and bring out
+    The fresh cheese curd to you?
+    Can't you remember the taste, even now?
+    And sometimes, when it stormed hard, and thundered
+    And lightened, and the crashing made the horse
+    Want to run, wouldn't your Grandfather always say:
+    "Steady there, now, boy! Steady, boy!" so gently,
+    That neither you nor the horse were afraid after that
+    Because Grandfather said everything was all right,
+    And he knew. And wasn't your Grandmother
+    Waiting in the doorway, watching a bit anxiously,
+    Until you turned into the yard?
+            Mine was.
+
+
+
+
+_Flight_
+
+
+    So still lay the city,
+    So very quietly it slept,
+    That from high in the west
+    I heard the honking of geese
+    Winging southward.
+    Yearningly I listened
+    As they swept over,
+    Yearningly I cried--
+    O wild things, that I
+    Could fly as do you!
+    Then out of the silent darkness,
+    Like a flying star,
+    Flashed a plane
+    With its skyborne humans.
+    And all of a sudden
+    I remembered that I, too,
+    Could take to wings.
+
+
+
+
+_Petit Trianon_
+
+(_Versailles, France_)
+
+
+    When the long drawn notes of a bird's song
+    Echoes through the trees,
+    It brings to remembrance the songs
+    Of the blackbirds at Petit Trianon:
+    Chiming, reverberating, floating down
+    From the tops of the tall cedars
+    As from an invisible, celestial choir.
+
+    Nor can I forget the ages-old wisteria
+    Clambering over gray palace walls,
+    Nor the gamut of color in the azaleas there--
+    Pink, orange, cerise, yellow--
+    In pale green foliage.
+
+
+
+
+_Joy_
+
+
+    When your heavens are as brass
+    And joy has fled, and
+    Every door is shut,
+    Do not forget the one
+    That opens inward--
+    The door of your heart,
+    Whose handle is on the inside
+    And which only you can open.
+    Go out through that door
+    And find one whose skies
+    Are darker than yours,
+    Whose burden is heavier;
+    Bring him back with you
+    Into your heart.
+
+    There can you cleanse him with love,
+    And clothe him with garments of truth,
+    And put the ring of his unity
+    With God upon his hand;
+    There feed him with the word,
+    And let him go.
+    Then will your heavens be
+    As radiant light,
+    And your happiness and joy
+    Such as never were
+    On land or sea.
+
+
+
+
+_Twilight Song Service_
+
+(_"B.A." Chestnut Hill, Mass._)
+
+
+    In the deepening twilight there floats
+    From the chapel above, the loved hymns of healing--
+    Hymns of comfort, of courage, welling up from grateful hearts
+    And bringing reassurance of God's power
+    To one who listens below in silent prayer and praise.
+    Great peace of God, be with us all!
+    Great peace of God encompass us!
+    Speak to the waves tonight, Father, that they stand.
+    Stretch forth Thy hand and stay their power,
+    Calm them, that they overwhelm not.
+    For Thy voice is "mightier than the noise of many waters,
+    Yea, than the mighty waves of the sea."
+    This Thou canst do, O my God.
+
+
+
+
+_Triumph_
+
+
+    These are they, O God,
+    Who came out of great tribulation
+    And have washed their robes white.
+    Oh, holy triumph of those
+    Who have endured the fire
+    And the tempest's rage and, delivered,
+    Stand exalted in this very hour,
+    Purged, sanctified, and satisfied.
+    These are they who have surrendered
+    All the vanities of mortal selfhood,
+    And serve Thee
+    Day and night in Thy temple,
+    Lifting others to behold
+    The tearless, ageless, deathless reality
+    Of Thy glory.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note
+
+Minor typographic errors have been corrected without note.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Little Window, by Jean M. Snyder
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