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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8dcbceb --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55011 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55011) diff --git a/old/55011-0.txt b/old/55011-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 021638a..0000000 --- a/old/55011-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11830 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Poems of Madison Cawein, vol. 3, by Madison Cawein - -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/license - - -Title: The Poems of Madison Cawein, vol. 3 - -Author: Madison Cawein - -Illustrator: Eric Pape - -Release Date: June 30, 2017 [EBook #55011] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF MADISON CAWEIN, VOL. 3 *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - THE POEMS OF - MADISON CAWEIN - - VOLUME III - - NATURE POEMS - - [Illustration: - - Undreamed of things that happened long ago Page 8 - - _A House in the Hills_] - - - - - THE POEMS OF - MADISON CAWEIN - - _Volume III_ - - NATURE POEMS - - _Illustrated_ - WITH PHOTOGRAVURES AFTER PAINTINGS - BY ERIC PAPE - - INDIANAPOLIS - THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY - PUBLISHERS - - COPYRIGHT 1887, 1888, 1889, 1890, 1892, 1893, 1896, 1898, - 1899, 1901, 1902 AND 1907, BY MADISON - CAWEIN - - COPYRIGHT 1896, BY COPELAND AND DAY; 1898, BY - R. H. RUSSELL - - PRESS OF - BRAUNWORTH & CO. - BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS - BROOKLYN, N. Y. - - - - - TO - DOCTOR HENRY A. COTTELL - WHOSE KIND WORDS OF FRIENDSHIP AND APPROVAL - HAVE ENCOURAGED ME WHEN I MOST - NEEDED ENCOURAGEMENT - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - -IN THE SHADOW OF THE BEECHES - - ALONG THE OHIO 56 - - AMONG THE KNOBS 124 - - AUTUMN 53 - - BENEATH THE BEECHES 99 - - BLACK VESPER’S PAGEANTS 22 - - BOY COLUMBUS, THE 80 - - BRIDLE-PATH, THE 101 - - BROOK, THE 145 - - “BROKEN RAINBOW ON THE SKIES OF MAY, A” 71 - - COIGNE OF THE FOREST, A 6 - - DREAM, THE 63 - - DREAMS 143 - - FALL FANCIES 134 - - FALLEN BEECH, A 3 - - FALLS OF THE OHIO, THE 127 - - FARMSTEAD, THE 74 - - FOREST AND FIELD 29 - - GRASSHOPPER, THE 27 - - GRAY DAY, A 113 - - HAUNTED HOUSE, THE 49 - - HEART O’ SPRING, THE 69 - - HEAT 16 - - HOLLOW OF THE HILLS, A 97 - - HOUSE IN THE HILLS, A 8 - - IN THE SHADOW OF THE BEECHES 1 - - IN THE WILDWOOD 96 - - INDIAN SUMMER 42 - - LATE OCTOBER 136 - - LOG-BRIDGE, THE 121 - - MILL-WATER, THE 60 - - MOOD O’ THE EARTH, THE 116 - - NIGHT 47 - - NOONING 119 - - NORTH BEACH, FLORIDA 82 - - NOVEMBER WALK, A 138 - - OLD FARM, THE 106 - - OLD INN, THE 58 - - OLD SWING, THE 146 - - ON THE JELLICO SPUR OF THE CUMBERLANDS 87 - - ORGIE 73 - - RAIN IN THE WOODS 13 - - SLEET-STORM IN MAY, A 67 - - SPRING TWILIGHT 65 - - STORM, THE 84 - - SUMMER 38 - - TO AUTUMN 148 - - TO SORROW 44 - - TO SUMMER 110 - - TWILIGHT MOTH, A 24 - - VINTAGER, THE 21 - - WHIPPOORWILL, THE 94 - - WHITE EVENING, THE 141 - - WIND, THE 10 - - WINTER DREAMS 149 - - YOUNG SEPTEMBER 19 - - -TANSY AND SWEET-ALYSSUM - - ABANDONED 233 - - AFTER LONG GRIEF AND PAIN 171 - - AIRY TONGUES 184 - - AMBITION 243 - - ARCANA 236 - - AUTUMN SORROW 212 - - BABY MARY 197 - - BARE BOUGHS 191 - - BEFORE THE END 226 - - BY THE TRYSTING-BEECH 170 - - CLEARING 210 - - “CLOUDS OF THE AUTUMN NIGHT” 167 - - COLD 228 - - COMRADERY 174 - - COMRADES 161 - - CREEK-ROAD, THE 232 - - COVERED BRIDGE, THE 231 - - DARK DAY OF SUMMER, A 213 - - DAYS AND DAYS 214 - - DESPAIR 245 - - DESPONDENCY 244 - - DROUTH IN AUTUMN 215 - - DUSK IN THE WOODS 159 - - FEN-FIRE, THE 199 - - FLOWER OF THE FIELDS, A 153 - - FULFILLMENT 237 - - HAUNTED WOODLAND, THE 172 - - HILLS OF THE WEST 204 - - HILLSIDE GRAVE, THE 230 - - HOAR-FROST 227 - - HOME 158 - - IMPERFECTION 235 - - IN SUMMER 216 - - IN WINTER 218 - - LAST WORD, A 249 - - MUSIC AND SLEEP 242 - - OCCULT 176 - - OLD SONG, AN 196 - - OMENS 234 - - ON STONY-RUN 156 - - ON THE FARM 219 - - OPIUM 241 - - PATHS 221 - - QUATRAINS 246 - - RAIN AND WIND 186 - - RED-BIRD, THE 209 - - ROCK, THE 163 - - SNOW 195 - - SOMNAMBULIST, THE 240 - - SONG IN SEASON, A 224 - - STANDING-STONE CREEK 165 - - SUNSET FANCY, A 198 - - THEN AND NOW 169 - - THRENODY, A 193 - - TOO LATE 238 - - UNDER ARCTURUS 188 - - WILLOW BOTTOM, THE 207 - - WIND AT NIGHT, THE 183 - - WIND OF SPRING, THE 206 - - WINTER MOON, THE 229 - - WITCH, THE 239 - - WOOD, THE 200 - - WOOD NOTES 202 - - WOOD WORDS 178 - - -WEEDS BY THE WALL - - AFTER RAIN 308 - - AGE OF GOLD, THE 313 - - ALONG THE STREAM 275 - - ANTHEM OF DAWN 331 - - ARTIST, THE 347 - - AT THE LANE’S END 334 - - BEECH BLOOMS 294 - - BEFORE THE RAIN 306 - - BLUEBIRD, THE 363 - - BROKEN DROUTH, THE 286 - - CAN SUCH THINGS BE 345 - - CAVERNS 364 - - CHIPMUNK, THE 266 - - CRICKET, THE 259 - - DREAMER, THE 355 - - DROUTH 283 - - ENCHANTMENT 343 - - FEUD 288 - - FOREWORD 253 - - IMMORTELLES 320 - - IN THE FOREST 344 - - KNIGHT-ERRANT 346 - - LOVE OF LOVES, THE 316 - - LULLABY, A 321 - - MESSAGE OF THE LILIES, THE 329 - - MID-WINTER 357 - - MUSINGS 325 - - ON CHENOWETH’S RUN 300 - - PATH BY THE CREEK, THE 271 - - PESTILENCE 324 - - POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY 348 - - QUATRAINS 351 - - QUEST, THE 304 - - “QUO VADIS” 349 - - REINCARNATION 299 - - REQUIESCAT 302 - - RESPONSE 360 - - RICHES 312 - - ROAD HOME, THE 280 - - SCREECH-OWL, THE 264 - - SIMULACRA 362 - - SONG FOR LABOR, A 314 - - SPRING 358 - - SUNSET AND STORM 293 - - SUNSET CLOUDS 311 - - SWASHBUCKLER, THE 361 - - TREE TOAD, THE 262 - - THREE THINGS 318 - - TO A CRITIC 350 - - TRANSFORMATION 359 - - UNANOINTED 290 - - UNHEARD 298 - - VOICES 278 - - WILD IRIS, THE 268 - - WINTER 356 - - WORSHIP 297 - - -A VOICE ON THE WIND - - A. D. NINETEEN HUNDRED 479 - - ADVENTURERS 457 - - AFTERWORD 483 - - ALLUREMENT 422 - - AUGUST 423 - - BUSH-SPARROW, THE 426 - - CONTENT 443 - - COMMUNICANTS 420 - - DEAD DAY, THE 421 - - DEATH OF LOVE, THE 462 - - DISCOVERY 447 - - DREAM SHAPE, A 432 - - DUSK 473 - - EARTH AND MOON 472 - - END OF SUMMER, THE 475 - - EPIPHANY 408 - - EVENING ON THE FARM 401 - - FALL 440 - - FOREST SPRING, THE 450 - - FROST 456 - - HILLS, THE 452 - - IN THE LANE 406 - - INVOCATION 458 - - JULY 398 - - LAND OF HEARTS MADE WHOLE, THE 372 - - LEAF-CRICKET, THE 384 - - LIFE 409 - - LIGHT AND WIND 469 - - LOVE DESPISED 465 - - LOVE, THE INTERPRETER 464 - - MAID WHO DIED OLD, A 418 - - MAY 438 - - MEETING IN THE WOODS 413 - - MUSIC 430 - - OCTOBER 445 - - OF THE SLUMS 468 - - OLD BARN, THE 434 - - OLD SPRING, THE 448 - - OWLET, THE 387 - - PASSING GLORY, THE 476 - - PEARLS 466 - - POET, THE 390 - - PROEM 367 - - PROTOTYPES 477 - - QUATRAINS 481 - - QUIET 429 - - RAIN 439 - - ROSE AND RUE 415 - - SEPTEMBER 474 - - SONG OF THE THRUSH, THE 454 - - SUMMER NOONTIDE 393 - - SUNSET IN AUTUMN 441 - - SUPERSTITION 478 - - TO THE LOCUST 396 - - TOUCHES 471 - - TRANSMUTATION 455 - - UNANSWERED 463 - - UNCALLED 480 - - UNDER THE HUNTER’S MOON 404 - - VOICE ON THE WIND, A 369 - - WIND OF SUMMER, THE 378 - - WIND OF WINTER, THE 382 - - WINDS, THE 470 - - WOMAN SPEAKS, THE 467 - - WOOD WITCH, THE 436 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - -UNDREAMED OF THINGS THAT HAPPENED LONG AGO - (See page 8) _Frontispiece_ - - PAGE - -GHOSTLY AND WINDY WHITE 168 - -MY SPIRIT SAW HER PASS 432 - - - - - PROLOGUE - - - _There is a poetry that speaks - Through common things: the grasshopper, - That in the hot weeds creaks and creaks, - Says all of summer to my ear: - And in the cricket’s cry I hear - The fireside speak, and feel the frost - Work mysteries of silver near - On country casements, while, deep lost - In snow, the gatepost seems a sheeted ghost._ - - _And other things give rare delight: - The guttural harps the green-frogs tune, - Those minstrels of the falling night, - That hail the sickle of the moon - From grassy pools that glass her lune: - Or,--all of August in its loud - Dry cry,--the locust’s call at noon, - That emphasizes heat, no cloud - Of lazy white makes less with its cool shroud._ - - _The rain,--whose cloud dark-lids the moon, - That great white eyeball of the night,-- - Makes music for me; to its tune - I hear the flowers unfolding white, - The mushroom growing, and the slight - Green sound of grass that dances near; - The melon ripening with delight; - And in the orchard, soft and clear, - The apple redly rounding out its sphere._ - - _The grigs make music as of old, - To which the fairies whirl and shine - Within the moonlight’s prodigal gold, - On woodways wild with many a vine: - When all the wilderness with wine - Of stars is drunk, I hear it say-- - “Is God restricted to confine - His wonders only to the day, - That yields the abstract tangible to clay?”_ - - _And to my ear the wind of Morn,-- - When on her rubric forehead far - One star burns big,--lifts a vast horn - Of wonder where all murmurs are: - In which I hear the waters war, - The torrent and the blue abyss, - And pines,--that terrace bar on bar - The mountain side,--like lovers kiss, - And whisper words where all of grandeur is._ - - _The jutting crags,--dark, iron-veined - With ore,--the peaks, where eagles scream, - That pour their cataracts, rainbow-stained, - Like hair, in many a mountain stream, - Can lift my soul beyond the dream - Of all religions; make me scan - No mere external or extreme, - But inward pierce the outward plan - And learn that rocks have souls as well as man._ - - - - - IN THE SHADOW OF THE BEECHES - - - In the shadow of the beeches, - Where the fragile wildflowers bloom; - Where the pensive silence pleaches - Green a roof of cool perfume, - Have you felt an awe imperious - As when, in a church, mysterious - Windows paint with God the gloom? - - In the shadow of the beeches, - Where the rock-ledged waters flow; - Where the sun’s slant splendor bleaches - Every wave to foaming snow, - Have you felt a music solemn - As when minster arch and column - Echo organ worship low? - - In the shadow of the beeches, - Where the light and shade are blent; - Where the forest-bird beseeches, - And the breeze is brimmed with scent,-- - Is it joy or melancholy - That o’erwhelms us partly, wholly, - To our spirit’s betterment? - - In the shadow of the beeches - Lay me where no eye perceives; - Where,--like some great arm that reaches - Gently as a love that grieves,-- - One gnarled root may clasp me kindly - While the long years, working blindly, - Slowly change my dust to leaves. - - - - - A FALLEN BEECH - - - Nevermore at doorways that are barken - Shall the madcap wind knock and the moonlight; - Nor the circle which thou once didst darken, - Shine with footsteps of the neighboring moonlight, - Visitors for whom thou oft didst hearken. - - Nevermore, gallooned with cloudy laces, - Shall the morning, like a fair freebooter, - Make thy leaves his richest treasure-places; - Nor the sunset, like a royal suitor, - Clothe thy limbs with his imperial graces. - - And no more, between the savage wonder - Of the sunset and the moon’s up-coming, - Shall the storm, with boisterous hoof-beats, under - Thy dark roof dance, Faun-like, to the humming - Of the Pan-pipes of the rain and thunder. - - Oft the Satyr-spirit, beauty-drunken, - Of the Spring called; and the music measure - Of thy sap made answer; and thy sunken - Veins grew vehement with youth, whose pressure - Swelled thy gnarly muscles, winter-shrunken. - - And the germs, deep down in darkness rooted, - Bubbled green from all thy million oilets, - Where the spirits, rain and sunbeam suited, - Of the April made their whispering toilets, - Or within thy stately shadow footed. - - Oft the hours of blonde Summer tinkled - At the windows of thy twigs, and found thee - Bird-blithe; or, with shapely bodies, twinkled - Lissom feet of naked flowers around thee, - Where thy mats of moss lay sunbeam-sprinkled. - - And the Autumn with his gypsy-coated - Troop of days beneath thy branches rested, - Swarthy-faced and dark of eye; and throated - Songs of hunting; or with red hand tested - Every nut-burr that above him floated. - - Then the Winter, barren-browed, but rich in - Shaggy followers of frost and freezing, - Made the floor of thy broad boughs his kitchen, - Trapper-like, to camp in; grimly easing - Limbs snow-furred and moccasined with lichen. - - Now, alas! no more do these invest thee - With the dignity of whilom gladness! - They--unto whose hearts thou once confessed thee - Of thy dreams--now know thee not! and sadness - Sits beside thee where, forgot, dost rest thee. - - - - - A COIGNE OF THE FOREST - - - The hills hang woods around, where green, below - Dark, breezy boughs of beech-trees, mats the moss, - Crisp with the brittle hulls of last year’s nuts; - The water hums one bar there; and a glow - Of gold lies steady where the trailers toss - Red, bugled blossoms and a rock abuts; - In spots the wild-phlox and oxalis grow - Where beech-roots bulge the loam, and welt across - The grass-grown road and roll it into ruts. - - And where the sumach brakes grow dusk and dense, - Among the rocks, great yellow violets, - Blue-bells and windflowers bloom; the agaric - In dampness crowds; a fungus, thick, intense - With gold and crimson and wax-white, that sets - The May-apples along the terraced creek - At bold defiance. Where the old rail-fence - Divides the hollow, there the bee-bird whets - His bill, and there the elder hedge is thick. - - No one can miss it; for two cat-birds nest, - Calling all morning, in the trumpet-vine; - And there at noon the pewee sits and floats - A woodland welcome; and his very best - At eve the red-bird sings, as if to sign - The record of its loveliness with notes. - At night the moon stoops over it to rest, - And unreluctant stars, in whose faint shine - There runs a whisper as of wind-swept oats. - - - - - A HOUSE IN THE HILLS - - - Old hearts that hold the saddest memories - Are the most beautiful; and such make sweet - Light, happy moods of younger natures which - Their sadness contacts and so sanctifies. - - And such to me is an old gabled house, - Deserted, and neglected, and unknown, - Lost in the tangled hollow of its hills, - Dark, cedared hills, and dreamy orchard-lands; - With but its host of shrouded memories - Haunting its ruined rooms and desolate halls,-- - Pathetic with their fallen finery,-- - And whispering through its cob-webbed crevices - And roomy hearths, that sigh with ceaseless wind, - Undreamed of things that happened long ago. - - Here in gray afternoons I love to sit, - And hear the running rain along the roof; - The creak and crack of noises that are born - Of silence or mysterious agencies; - The fitful footfalls of the wind adown - Grand, winding stairways, massy banistered; - A clapping door and then a sudden hush - As if the old house held its breath to see,-- - Invisible to me,--a presence pass, - That brings a pleasant terror stiffening through - The tingling veins and staring from the eyes. - Then comes the rain again along the roof; - And in rain-rotted room and rain-stained hall - The drip and whisper of the wind and rain - Seem viewless footsteps of the sometime lords - And mistresses who lived here in the past. - And could the state material but assume - A state clairvoyant, then the dream-drugged eyes, - Perhaps, might see, from room to dusty room, - The ghosts of stately gentlemen glide by, - And glimmering ladies, all beruffled, trail - Long, haughty silks miraculously stiff. - - - - - THE WIND - - “_Wind of the East, if thou pass by the land where my - loved ones dwell, I pray, - The fullest of greetings bear to them from me, their lover, and say - That I am the pledge of passion still._”-- - - FROM THE ARABIC. - - - The ways of the wind are eerie, - And I love them all: - The blithe, the mad, and the dreary, - Spring, winter, and fall. - - When it tells to the waiting crocus - Its beak to show; - And hangs on the wayside locust - Bloom-bunches of snow. - - When it comes like a balmy blessing - From the musky wood, - The half-grown roses caressing - Till their cheeks burn blood. - - When it roars in the autumn season, - And whines with rain, - Or sleet, like a mind without reason, - Or a soul in pain. - - When the woodways, once so spicy - With bud and bloom, - Are desolate, dead and icy - As the icy tomb. - - When the puffed owl, crouched and frowsy, - In the hollow tree, - Sobs, dolorous, cold, and drowsy, - Its shuddering melody. - - Then I love to sit in December - Where the big hearth sings, - And, dreaming, forget and remember - A host of things. - - And the wind--I hear how it strangles, - And wails and sighs - On the roof’s sharp, shivering angles - That front the skies. - - How it shouts and romps and tumbles - In attics o’erhead; - In the great-throated chimney rumbles, - Then all at once falls dead; - - Then comes like the footsteps stealing - Of a child on the stair, - Or a bent, old gentleman feeling - His slippered way with care. - - And my soul grows anxious-hearted - For those once dear-- - The long-lost loves, departed, - In the wind draw near. - - And I seem to see their faces-- - Not one estranged-- - In their old accustomed places - Round the wide hearth ranged. - - And the wind, that waits and poises - Where the shadows sway, - Seems their visionary voices - Calling me far away. - - Then I wake in tears and hear it - Wailing outside my door,-- - Or is it some wandering spirit - Weeping upon the moor? - - - - - RAIN IN THE WOODS - - - When on the leaves the rain persists, - And every gust brings showers down; - When copse and woodland smoke with mists, - I take the old road out of town - Into the hills through which it twists. - - I find the vale where catnip grows, - Where boneset blooms, with moisture bowed; - The vale through which the red creek flows, - Turbid with hill-washed clay, and loud - As some wild horn a huntsman blows. - - Around the root the beetle glides, - A burnished beryl; and the ant, - Large, agate-red, a garnet, slides - Beneath the rock; and every plant - Is roof for some frail thing that hides. - - Like knots against the trunks of trees - The lichen-colored moths are pressed; - And, wedged in hollow blooms, the bees - Hang pollen-clotted; in its nest - The wasp has crawled and lies at ease. - - The locust harsh, that sharply saws - The silence of the summer noon; - The katydid, that thinly draws - Its fine file o’er the bars of moon; - And grasshopper that drills each pause: - - The mantis, long-clawed, furtive, lean-- - Fierce feline of the insect hordes-- - And dragonfly, gauze-winged and green, - Beneath the wild-grape’s leaves and gourd’s, - Have housed themselves and rest unseen. - - The butterfly and forest-bird - Are huddled on the same gnarled bough, - From which, like some rain-voweled word - That dampness hoarsely utters now, - The tree-toad’s guttural voice is heard. - - I crouch and listen: and again - The woods are filled with phantom forms-- - With shapes, grotesque in cloudy train, - That rise and reach to me cool arms - Of mist: dim, wandering wraiths of rain. - - I see them come; fantastic, fair; - Chill, mushroom-colored: sky and earth - Grow ghostly with their floating hair - And trailing limbs, that have their birth - In wetness--fungi of the air. - - O wraiths of rain! O ghosts of mist! - Still fold me, hold me, and pursue! - Still let my lips by yours be kissed! - Still draw me with your hands of dew - Unto the tryst, the dripping tryst. - - - - - HEAT - - - I - - Now is it as if Spring had never been, - And Winter but a memory and a dream, - Here where the Summer stands, her lap of green - Heaped high with bloom and beam, - Among her blackberry-lilies, low that lean - To kiss her feet; or, freckle-browed, that stare - Upon the dragonfly which, slimly seen, - Like a blue jewel flickering in her hair, - Sparkles above them there. - - - II - - Knee-deep among the tepid pools the cows - Chew a slow cud or switch a slower tail, - Half-sunk in sleep beneath the beechen boughs, - Where thin the wood-gnats ail. - From bloom to bloom the languid butterflies drowse; - The sleepy bees make hardly any sound; - The only things the sun-rays can arouse, - It seems, are two black beetles rolling round - Upon the dusty ground. - - - III - - Within its channel glares the creek and shrinks, - Beneath whose rocks the furtive crawfish hides - In stagnant places, where the green frog blinks, - And water-strider glides. - Far hotter seems it for the bird that drinks, - The startled kingfisher that screams and flies; - Hotter and lonelier for the purples and pinks - Of weeds that bloom, whose sultry perfumes rise - Stifling the swooning skies. - - - IV - - From ragweed fallows, rye-fields, heaped with sheaves, - From blistering rocks, no moss or lichens crust, - And from the road, where every hoof-stroke heaves - A cloud of burning dust, - The hotness quivers, making limp the leaves, - That loll like panting tongues. The pulsing heat - Seems a wan wimple that the Summer weaves, - A veil, in which she wraps,--as in a sheet,-- - The shriveling corn and wheat. - - - V - - Furious, incessant in the weeds and briers - The sawing weed bugs sing: and, heat-begot, - The grasshoppers, so many strident wires, - Staccato stinging hot: - A lash of whirling sound that never tires, - The locust flails the noon, where harnessed Thirst, - Beside the road-spring, many a shod hoof mires, - Into the trough thrusts his hot head; immersed, - Round which cool bubbles burst. - - - VI - - The sad, sweet voice of some wood-spirit who - Laments while watching a loved oak-tree die, - From the deep forest comes the wood-dove’s coo, - A long, lost, lonely cry.-- - Oh, for a breeze! a mighty wind to woo - The woods to stormy laughter; sow like grain - The world with freshness of invisible dew, - And pile above far, fevered hill and plain - Cloud-bastions, black with rain. - - - - - YOUNG SEPTEMBER - - - I - - With a look and a laugh where the stream was flowing, - September led me along the land; - Where the goldenrod and lobelia, glowing, - Seemed burning torches within her hand. - And faint as the thistle’s or milkweed’s feather - I glimpsed her form in the sparkling weather. - - - II - - Now ’twas her hand and now her hair - That tossed me welcome everywhere; - That lured me onward through the stately rooms - Of forest, hung and carpeted with glooms, - And windowed wide with azure, doored with green, - Through which rich glimmers of her robe were seen-- - Now, like some deep marsh-mallow, rosy-gold; - Now, like the great Joe-Pye-weed, fold on fold - Of heavy mauve; and now, like the intense - Massed ironweed, a purple opulence. - - - III - - Along the bank in a wild procession - Of gold and sapphire the blossoms blew; - And borne on the breeze came their soft confession - In syllabled musk and honey-dew; - In words unheard that their lips kept saying, - Sweet as the lips of children praying. - - - IV - - And so, meseemed, I heard them tell - How here her loving glance once fell - Upon this bank, and from its azure grew - The ageratum mist-flower’s happy hue; - How from her kiss, as crimson as the dawn, - The cardinal-flow’r drew its vermilion; - And from her hair’s blond touch th’ elecampane - Evolved the glory of its golden rain; - While from her starry footsteps, redolent, - The aster pearled its flowery firmament. - - - - - THE VINTAGER - - - Among the fragrant grapes she bows; - Long violet clusters heap her hands: - And, with bright brows, on him bestows - Sweet looks, like soft commands. - - And from her sunburnt throat, at times, - As bubbles burst on new-made wine, - A happy fit of merry rhymes - Rings down the hills of vine. - - And in his heart, remorseless, sweet, - Grew big the red-grape, passion, there; - His heart, that, ever at her feet, - Was filled with love’s despair. - - But she, who ne’er the honeyed must - Of love had drained, a grown-up child, - Saw in him--merely one to trust, - And broke his heart, and smiled. - - - - - BLACK VESPER’S PAGEANTS - - - The day, all fierce with carmine, turns - An Indian face towards Earth and dies; - The west, like some gaunt vase, inurns - Its ashes under smoldering skies; - Athwart whose bowl one red cloud streams, - Wild as some dream an Aztec dreams. - - Now shadows mass above the world, - And night comes on with wind and rain; - The mulberry-colored leaves are hurled - Like frantic hands against the pane. - And through the forests, bending low, - Night stalks like some gigantic Woe. - - In hollows where the thistle shakes - A hoar bloom like a witch’s light, - From weed and flower the rain-wind rakes - Dead sweetness--as a wildman might, - From autumn leaves, the woods among, - Dig some dead woman, fair and young. - - Now let me walk the woodland ways, - Alone! except for thoughts, that are - Akin to such wild nights and days-- - A portion of the storm that far - Fills Heaven and Earth tumultuously, - And my own soul with ecstasy. - - - - - A TWILIGHT MOTH - - - Dusk is thy dawn; when Eve puts on her state - Of gold and purple in the marbled west, - Thou comest forth like some embodied trait, - Or dim conceit, a lily-bud confessed; - Or, of a rose, the visible wish; that, white, - Goes softly messengering through the night, - Whom each expectant flower makes its guest. - - All day the primroses have thought of thee, - Their golden heads close-haremed from the heat; - All day the mystic moonflowers silkenly - Veiled snowy faces,--that no bee might greet - Or butterfly that, weighed with pollen, passed;-- - Keeping Sultana-charms for thee, at last, - Their lord, who comest to salute each sweet. - - Cool-throated flowers that avoid the day’s - Too fervid kisses; every bud that drinks - The tipsy dew and to the starlight plays - Nocturnes of fragrance, thy wing’d shadow links - In bonds of secret brotherhood and faith; - O bearer of their order’s shibboleth, - Like some pale symbol fluttering o’er these pinks. - - What dost thou whisper in the balsam’s ear - That sets it blushing, or the hollyhock’s,-- - A syllabled silence that no man may hear,-- - As dreamily upon its stem it rocks? - What spell dost bear from listening plant to plant, - Like some white witch, some ghostly ministrant, - Some spectre of some perished flower of phlox? - - O voyager of that universe which lies - Between the four walls of this garden fair,-- - Whose constellations are the fireflies - That wheel their instant courses everywhere,-- - ’Mid fairy firmaments wherein one sees - Mimic Boötes and the Pleiades, - Thou steerest like some fairy ship-of-air. - - Gnome-wrought of moonbeam-fluff and gossamer, - Silent as scent, perhaps thou chariotest - Mab or King Oberon; or, haply, her - His queen, Titania, on some midnight quest.-- - Oh for the herb, the magic euphrasy, - That should unmask thee to mine eyes, ah me! - And all that world at which my soul hath guessed! - - - - - THE GRASSHOPPER - - - I - - What joy you take in making hotness hotter, - In emphasizing dullness with your buzz, - Making monotony more monotonous! - When summer comes, and drouth hath dried the water - In all the creeks, we hear your ragged rasp - Filing the stillness. Or,--as urchins beat - A stagnant pond whereon the bubbles gasp,-- - Your switch-like music whips the midday heat. - O burr of sound caught in the Summer’s hair, - We hear you everywhere. - - - II - - We hear you in the vines and berry-brambles, - Along the unkempt lanes, among the weeds, - Amid the shadeless meadows, gray with seeds, - And by the wood, round which the rail-fence rambles, - Sawing the sunlight with your sultry saw. - Or,--like to tomboy truants, at their play - With noisy mirth among the barn’s deep straw,-- - You sing away the careless summer-day. - O brier-like voice that clings in idleness - To Summer’s drowsy dress. - - - III - - You tramp of insects, vagrant and unheeding, - Improvident, who of the summer make - One long green meal-time, and for winter take - No care, aye singing or just merely feeding! - Happy-go-lucky vagabond,--though frost - Shall pierce, ere long, your coat of green or brown, - And pinch your body,--let no song be lost, - But as you lived, into your grave go down-- - Like some small poet with his little rhyme, - Forgotten of all time. - - - - - FOREST AND FIELD - - - I - - Green, watery jets of light let through - The rippling foliage drenched with dew; - And golden glimmers, warm and dim, - That in the vistaed distance swim; - Where, round the wood-spring’s oozy urn, - The limp, loose fronds of forest fern - Trail like the tresses, green and wet, - A wood-nymph binds with violet. - O’er rocks that bulge and roots that knot - The emerald-amber mosses clot; - From matted walls of brier and brush - The elder nods its plumes of plush; - And, Argus-eyed with bloom on bloom, - The wild-rose breathes its wild perfume; - May-apples, ripening yellow, lean - With oblong fruit, a lemon-green, - Near Indian-turnips, long of stem, - That bear an acorn-oval gem, - As if some woodland Bacchus there,-- - While braiding locks of hyacinth hair - With ivy-tod,--had idly tossed - His thyrsus down and so had lost: - And blood-root, that from scarlet wombs - Puts forth, in spring, its milk-white blooms, - That then like starry footsteps shine - Of April under beech and pine; - At which the gnarléd eyes of trees - Stare, big as Fauns’, at Dryadës, - That bend above a fountain’s spar, - As white and naked as a star. - - The stagnant stream flows sleepily - Thick-paved with lily-pads; the bee,-- - Brown, honey-drunk, a Bassarid,-- - Booms past the mottled toad, that, hid - In calamus and blue-eyed grass, - Beside the water’s pooling glass, - Silenus-like, eyes stolidly - The Mænad-glittering dragonfly. - And pennyroyal and peppermint - Pour dry-hot odors without stint - From fields and banks of many streams; - And in their scent one almost seems - To see Demeter pass, her breath - Sweet with her triumph over death.-- - A haze of floating saffron; sound - Of shy, crisp creepings o’er the ground; - The dip and stir of twig and leaf; - Tempestuous gusts of spices brief - Borne over bosks of sassafras - By winds that foot it on the grass; - Sharp, sudden songs and whisperings, - That hint at untold, hidden things-- - Pan and Sylvanus who of old - Kept sacred each wild wood and wold. - A wily light beneath the trees - Quivers and dusks with every breeze-- - A Hamadryad, haply, who,-- - Culling her morning meal of dew - From frail, accustomed cups of flowers,-- - Now sees some Satyr in the bowers, - Or hears his goat-hoof snapping press - A brittle branch, and in distress - Shrinks back; her dark, dishevelled hair - Veiling her limbs one instant there. - - - II - - Down precipices of the dawn - The rivers of the day are drawn, - The soundless torrents, free and far, - Of gold that deluge every star. - There is a sound of winds and wings - That fills the woods with carollings; - And, dashed on moss and flower and fern, - And leaves, that quiver, breathe and burn, - Rose-radiance smites the solitudes, - The dew-drenched hills, the dripping woods - That twitter as with canticles - Of bird and brook; and air that smells - Of flowers, and buds, and boisterous bees, - Delirious honey and wet trees.-- - Through briers that trip them, one by one, - With swinging pails, that flash the sun, - A troop of girls comes--berriers, - Whose bare feet glitter where they pass - Through dewdrop-trembling tufts of grass. - And, oh! their laughter and their cheers - Wake Echo on her shrubby rocks - Who, answering, from her mountain mocks - With rapid fairy horns--as if - Each mossy vale and weedy cliff - Had its imperial Oberon, - Who, seeking his Titania, hid - In coverts caverned from the sun, - In kingly wrath had called and chid. - - Cloud-feathers, oozing orange light, - Make rich the Indian locks of Night; - Her dusky waist with sultry gold - Girdled and buckled fold on fold. - One star. A sound of bleating flocks. - Great shadows stretched along the rocks, - Like giant curses overthrown - By some Arthurian champion. - Soft-swimming sorceries of mist - That streak blue glens with amethyst. - And, tinkling in the clover dells, - The twilight sound of cattle-bells. - And where the marsh in reed and grass - Burns, angry as a shattered glass, - The flies blur sudden gold, and shine - Like drops of amber-scattered wine - Spun high by reeling Bacchanals, - When Bacchus wreathes his curling hair - With vine-leaves, and from every lair - His worshippers around him calls. - They come, they come, a happy throng, - The berriers with lilt and song; - Their pails brimmed black to tin-bright eaves - With luscious fruit, kept cool with leaves - Of aromatic sassafras; - ’Twixt which a berry often slips, - Like laughter, from the purple mass, - Wine-swollen as Silenus’ lips. - - - III - - The tanned and tired Noon climbs high - Up burning reaches of the sky; - Below the drowsy belts of pines - The rock-ledged river leaps and shines; - And over rainless hill and dell - Is blown the harvest’s sultry smell: - While, in the fields, one sees and hears - The brawny-throated harvesters,-- - Their red brows beaded with the heat,-- - By twos and threes among the wheat - Flash their hot scythes; behind them press - The binders--men and maids who sing - Like some mad troop of piping Pan;-- - While all the hillsides, echoing, ring - Such sounds of Ariel airiness - As haunted freckled Caliban. - - “O ho! O ho! ’tis noon I say. - The roses blow. - Away, away, above the hay, - To the song o’ the bees the roses sway; - The love-lays that they hum all day, - So low! so low! - The roses’ Minnesingers they.” - - Up velvet lawns of lilac skies - The tawny moon begins to rise - Behind low, blue-black hills of trees,-- - As rises up, in siren seas, - To rock in purple deeps, hip-hid, - A virgin-bosomed Oceanid.-- - Gaunt shadows crouch by tree and scaur, - Dusk’s shaggy Satyrs waiting for - The Nymphs of moon, the Dryads white, - Who take with loveliness the night, - And glorify it with their love. - The sweet, far notes I hear, I hear, - Beyond dim pines and mellow ways; - The song of some fair harvester, - The lovely Limnad of the grove, - Whose singing charms me while it slays. - - “O deep! O deep! the earth and air - Are sunk in sleep. - Adieu to care! Now everywhere - Is rest; and by the old oak there - The maiden with the nut-brown hair - Doth keep, doth keep - Tryst with her lover the young and fair.” - - - IV - - Like Atalanta’s spheres of gold, - Within the orchard, apples rolled - From sudden hands of boughs that lay - Their leaves, like palms, against the day; - And near them pears of rusty brown - Rolled bruised; and peaches, pink with down, - And furry as the ears of Pan; - Or, like Diana’s cheeks, a tan - Beneath which burnt a tender fire; - Or wan as Psyche’s with desire. - And down the orchard vistas,--young, - A hickory basket by him swung, - A hat of straw against the sun - Drawn shadowy o’er his face,--he strode; - As if he looked to find some one, - His eyes searched every bend of road. - Before him, like a living burr, - Rattled the noisy grasshopper. - And where the cows’ melodious bells - Trailed music up and down the dells, - Beside the spring, that o’er the ground - Went whimpering like a fretful hound, - He saw her waiting, fair and slim, - Her pail forgotten there, for him. - Yellow as sunset skies and pale - As fairy clouds that stay or sail - Through azure vaults of summer, blue - As summer heavens, the wildflowers grew; - And blossoms on which spurts of light - Fell laughing--like the lips one might - Feign once were Hebe’s, or a girl’s - That laughter lights with rows of pearls. - Long ferns, in murmuring masses heaped; - And mosses moist, in beryl steeped - And musk aromas of the wood - And silence of the solitude: - And everything that near her blew - The spring had showered thick with dew.-- - Across the rambling fence she leaned, - Her fresh, round arms all white and bare; - Her artless beauty, bonnet-screened, - Simplicity from feet to hair. - A wood-thrush gurgled in a vine-- - Ah! ’tis his step, ’tis he she hears; - The wild-rose smelt like some rare wine-- - He comes, ah, yes! ’tis he who nears. - And her brown eyes and happy face - Said welcome. And with rustic grace - He leant beside her; and they had - Some talk with youthful laughter glad: - I know not what: I know but this-- - Its final period was a kiss. - - - - - SUMMER - - - I - - Hang out your loveliest star, O Night! O Night! - Your richest rose, O Dawn! - To greet sweet Summer, her, who, clothed in light, - Leads Earth’s best hours on. - Hark! how the wild birds of the woods - Throat it within the dewy solitudes! - The brook sings low and soft, - The trees make song, - As, from her heaven aloft, - Comes blue-eyed Summer like a girl along. - - - II - - And as the Day, her lover, leads her in, - How bright his beauty glows! - How red his lips, that ever try to win - Her mouth’s delicious rose! - And from the beating of his heart - Warm winds arise and sighing thence depart: - And from his eyes and hair - The light and dew - Fall round her everywhere, - And heaven above her is an arch of blue. - - - III - - Come to the forest, or the treeless meadows - Deep with their hay or grain; - Come where the hills lift high their thrones of shadows, - And tawny orchards reign. - Come where the reapers whet the scythe; - Where golden sheaves are heaped; where berriers blithe, - With willow-basket and with pail, - Swarm knoll and plain; - Where flowers freckle every vale, - And Beauty goes with hands of berry-stain. - - - IV - - Come where the dragonflies, a brassy blue, - Flit round the wildwood streams, - And, sucking at some horn of honey-dew, - The wild-bee hums and dreams. - Come where the butterfly waves wings of sleep, - Gold-disked and mottled, over blossoms deep: - Come where beneath the rustic bridge - The creek-frog cries; - Or in the shade the rainbowed midge, - Above the emerald pools, with murmurings flies. - - - V - - Come where the cattle browse within the brake, - As red as oak and strong; - Where cattle-bells the echoes faintly wake, - And milkmaids sing their song. - Come where the vine-trailed rocks, with waters hoary, - Tell to the sun some legend old or story; - Or where the sunset to the land - Speaks words of gold; - Where Ripeness walks, a wheaten band - About her brow, making the buds unfold. - - - VI - - Come where the woods lift up their stalwart arms - Unto the star-sown skies; - Knotted and gnarled, that to the winds and storms - Fling mighty rhapsodies: - Or to the moon repeat what they have seen, - When Night upon their shoulders vast doth lean. - Come where the dew’s clear syllable - Slips from the rose; - And where the fireflies fill - The dark with golden music of their glows. - - - VII - - Now while the dingles and the vine-roofed glens - Whisper their flowery tale - Unto the silence; and the lakes and fens - Unto the moonlight pale - Murmur their rapture, let us seek her out, - Her of the honey throat and peach-sweet pout, - Summer! and at her feet, - The love of old - Lay like a sheaf of wheat, - And of our hearts the purest gold of gold. - - - - - INDIAN SUMMER - - - The dawn is a warp of fever, - The eve is a woof of fire; - And the month is a singing weaver - Weaving a red desire. - - With stars Dawn dices with Even - For the rosy gold they heap - On the blue of the day’s broad heaven, - On the black of the night’s wide deep. - - It’s--“Reins to the blood!” and “Marry!” - The Season’s a prince who burns - With the teasing lusts that harry - His heart for a wench who spurns. - - It’s--“Crown us a beaker with sherry, - To drink to the doxy’s heels; - A tankard of wine o’ the berry, - To lips like a cloven peel’s. - - “’S death! if a king be saddened, - Right so let a fool laugh lies: - But wine! when a king is gladdened, - And a woman’s waist and her eyes.” - - He hath shattered the loom of the weaver, - And left but a leaf that flits, - He hath seized heaven’s gold, and a fever - Of mist and of frost is its. - - He hath tippled the buxom beauty, - And gotten her hug and her kiss-- - The wide world’s royal booty - To pile at her feet for this. - - - - - TO SORROW - - - I - - O dark-eyed spirit of the marble brow, - Whose look is silence and whose touch is night, - Who walkest lonely through the world, O thou, - Who sittest lonely with Life’s blown-out light; - Who in the hollow hours of night’s noon - Criest like some lost child; - Whose anguish-fevered eyeballs seek the moon - To cool their pulses wild. - Thou who dost bend to kiss Joy’s sister cheek, - Turning its rose to alabaster; yea, - Thou who art terrible and mad and meek, - Why in my heart art thou enshrined to-day? - Sorrow, O say! O say! - - - II - - Now Spring is here and all the world is white, - I will go forth, and where the forest robes - Itself in green, and every hill and height - Crowns its fair head with blossoms,--spirit globes - Of hyacinth and crocus dashed with dew,-- - I will forget my grief, - And thee, O Sorrow, gazing at the blue, - Beneath a last year’s leaf, - Of some brief violet the south-wind woos, - Or bluet, whence the west-wind raked the snow; - The baby eyes of love, the darling hues - Of happiness, that thou canst never know, - Mother of pain and woe. - - - III - - On some hoar upland, hoar with clustered thorns, - Hard by a river’s windy white of waves, - I shall sit down with Spring,--whose eyes are morns - Of light; whose cheeks the rose of health enslaves,-- - And so forget thee, braiding in Spring’s hair - The snowdrop, tipped with green, - The cool-eyed primrose and the trillium fair, - And moony celandine. - Contented so to lie within her arms, - Forgetting all the sere and sad and wan, - Remembering Love alone, who, o’er earth’s storms, - High on the mountains of perpetual dawn, - Leads the glad Hours on. - - - IV - - Or in the peace that follows storm, when Even, - Within the west, stands dreaming, lone and far, - Clad on with green and silver, and the Heaven - Is brightly brooched with one gold-glittering star, - I will lie down beside a mountain lake, - Round which the tall pines sigh, - And, breathing musk of rain from boughs that shake - Storm balsam, blowing by, - Make friends of Dream and Contemplation high, - And Music, listening to the mocking-bird,-- - Who through the hush sends its melodious cry,-- - And so forget a while that other word, - That all loved things must die. - - - - - NIGHT - - - Out of the East, as from an unknown shore, - Thou comest with thy children in thine arms,-- - Slumber and Dream,--whom mortals so adore,-- - Their flowing raiment sculptured to their charms: - Soft on thy breast thy lovely children rest, - Laid like two roses in one balmy nest. - Silent thou comest, swiftly too and slow. - There is no other presence like to thine, - When thou approachest with thy babes divine, - Thy shadowy face above them bending low, - Blowing the ringlets from their brows of snow. - - Oft have I taken Sleep from thy dark arms, - And fondled her fair head, with poppies wreathed, - Within my bosom’s depths, until its storms - With her were hushed and I but faintly breathed: - And then her sister, Dream, with frolic art - Arose from rest, and in my sleeping heart - Blew bubbles of dreams where elfin worlds were lost; - Worlds where my stranger soul looked down at me, - Or walked with spirits by a rainbowed sea, - Or smiled, an unfamiliar shape of frost, - Floating on gales of breathless melody. - - Day comes to us in garish glory garbed; - But thou, thou bringest to the tired heart - Rest and sweet silence, wherein are absorbed - All the vain tumults of the mind and mart. - Whether thou comest with hands full of stars, - Or clothed in storm and cloud, the lightning bars, - Rolling the thunder like a mighty dress, - God moves with thee; we seem to hear His feet, - Wind-like, along the floors of Heaven beat; - To see His face, revealed in awfulness, - Through thee, O Night, to ban us or to bless. - - - - - THE HAUNTED HOUSE - - - I - - The shadows sit and stand about its door - Like uninvited guests and poor; - And all the long, hot summer day - The ceaseless locust dins its roundelay - In one old sycamore. - The squirrel leaves upon its rotting roof - Its wandering tracks - In empty hulls; and in its clapboard cracks - The spider weaves a windy woof, - And cells of clay the mud-wasp packs. - The she-fox whelps upon its floor; - And o’er its sun warped door - The owlet roosts; and where the mosses run, - The freckled snake basks in the sun. - - - II - - The children of what fathers sleep - Beneath those melancholy pines? - The slow slugs slime their headstones there where creep - The doddered poison-vines. - The orchard, near the meadow deep, - Lifts up decrepit arms, - Black-lichened in a withering heap. - No sap swells up to make it leap - And shout against spring’s storms; - No blossom lulls its age asleep; - The winds bring sad alarms. - Big, bell-round pears and pippins, russet-red, - No maiden gathers now; - The worm-bored trunks weep tears of gum instead, - Oozing from each old bough. - - - III - - The woodlands around it are solitary - And fold it like gaunt hands; - The sunlight is sad and the moonlight is dreary, - The hum of the country is lonesome and weary, - And the bees go by in bands - To gladder and lovelier lands. - The grasses are rotting in walk and in bower; - The loneliness,--dank and rank - As a chamber where lies for a lonely hour - An old-man’s corpse with many a flower,-- - Is hushed and blank. - And even the birds have passed it by, - Gone with their songs to a happier sky, - A happier sky and bank. - - - IV - - In its desolate halls are lying, - Gold, blood-red, and browned, - Drifted leaves of autumn dying; - And the winds, above them sighing, - Turn them round and round, - Make a ghostly sound - As of footsteps falling, flying, - Ghostly footsteps, faintly flying - Through the haunted house. - - - V - - Gazing down in her white shroud, - Wov’n of windy cloud, - Comes at night the phantom moon; - Comes, and all the shadows soon, - Crowding chambers of the house, - Haunting whispering rooms, arouse;-- - Shadows, ghosts, her rays lead on, - Till beneath the cloud - Like a ghost she’s gone, - In her gusty shroud, - O’er the haunted house. - - - - - AUTUMN - - - I oft have met her slowly wandering - Beside a leafy stream, her locks blown wild, - Her cheeks a hectic flush, more fair than Spring, - As if on her the scarlet copse had smiled: - Or I have seen her sitting, dark and tall,-- - Her gentle eyes with foolish weeping dim,-- - Beneath a twisted oak from whose red leaves - She wound great drowsy wreaths and let them fall; - The west-wind in her hair, that made it swim - Far out behind, brown as the rustling sheaves. - - Or in the hill-lands I have often seen - The marvel of her passage; glimpses faint - Of glimmering woods that glanced the hills between, - Like Indian faces, fierce with forest paint. - Or I have met her ’twixt two beechen hills, - Within a dingled valley near a fall, - Held in her nut-brown hand one cardinal flower; - Or wading dimly where the leaf-dammed rills - Went babbling through the wildwood’s arrased hall, - Where burned the beech and maples glared their power. - - Or I have met her by a ruined mill, - Where trailed the crimson creeper, serpentine, - On fallen leaves that stirred and rustled, chill, - And watched her swinging in the wildgrapevine. - While Beauty, sad among the vales and mountains, - More sad than death, or all that death can teach, - Dreamed of decay and stretched appealing arms, - Where splashed the murmur of the forest’s fountains: - With all her loveliness did she beseech, - And all the sorrow of her wildwood charms. - - Once only in a hollow, girt with trees, - A-dream amid wild asters filled with rain, - I glimpsed her cheeks, red-berried by the breeze, - In her dark eyes the night’s sidereal stain. - And once upon an orchard’s tangled path, - Where all the goldenrod had turned to brown, - Where russets rolled and leaves lay sweet of breath, - I did behold her ’mid her aftermath - Of blossoms standing, in her gypsy gown, - Within her gaze the dreams of life and death. - - - - - ALONG THE OHIO - - - Athwart a sky of brass long welts of gold; - A river of flame the wide Ohio lies; - Beneath the sunset, billowing manifold, - The dark-blue hill-tops rise. - - And, westering, dips the crescent of the moon - Through great cloud-feathers, flushed with rosy ray, - That close around the crystal of her lune - The redbird wings of Day. - - A little skiff slips o’er the burnished stream; - A wake of flame, that broadens far behind, - Follows in ripples; and the paddles gleam - Against the evening wind. - - Was it the boat, the solitude, and hush, - That with dead Indians peopled all the glooms? - That made each bank, meseemed, and every bush, - Start into eagle-plumes? - - That made me seem to hear the breaking brush, - And, as the stag’s great antlers swelled in view, - To hear the arrow twang from cane and rush, - That dipped to the canoe? - - To see the glimmering wigwams by the waves? - And, wildly clad, around the camp-fires’ glow, - The Shawnee chieftains with their painted braves, - Each with his battle-bow?... - - But now the vision like the sunset fades, - The clouds of ribbéd gold have oozed their light; - And from the west, like sombre sachem shades, - Gallop the shades of night. - - The broad Ohio glitters to the stars; - And many murmurs wander through its woods-- - Is it the mourning of dead warriors - For their lost solitudes? - - The moon is set; but, like another moon, - The crescent of the river shimmers there, - Unchanged as when the eyes of Daniel Boone - Beheld it flowing fair. - - - - - THE OLD INN - - - Red-winding from the sleepy town, - One takes the lone, forgotten lane - Straight through the hills. A brush-bird brown - Bubbles in thorn-flowers sweet with rain, - Where breezes bend the gleaming grain - And cautious drip of higher leaves - The lower dips that drip again, - Above the tangled trees it heaves - Its gables and its haunted eaves. - - One creeper, gnarled and blossomless, - O’erforests all its eastern wall; - The sighing cedars rake and press - Dark boughs along the panes they sprawl; - While, where the sun beats, drone and drawl - The mud-wasps; and one bushy bee, - Gold-dusty, hurls along the hall - To crowd into a crack.--To me - The shadows seem too scared to flee. - - Of ragged chimneys martins make - Huge pipes of music; twittering, here - They build and brood.--My footfalls wake - Strange stealing echoes, till I fear - I’ll see my pale self drawing near, - My phantom self as in a glass; - Or one, men murdered, buried--where?-- - Dim in gray, stealthy glimmer, pass - With lips that seem to moan “Alas!” - - - - - THE MILL-WATER - - - The water-flag and wild cane grow - Round banks whereon the sunbeams sow - Ephemeral gold when, on its shores, - The wind sighs through the sycamores. - - In one green angle, just in reach, - Between a willow-tree and beech, - Moss-grown and leaky lies a boat - The thick-grown lilies keep afloat. - - And through its waters, half-awake, - Slow swims the spotted water-snake; - And near its edge, like some gray streak, - Stands gaunt the still fly-up-the-creek. - - Between the lily-pads and blooms - The water-spirits set their looms, - And weave the lace-like light that dims - The glimmering leaves of under limbs. - - Each lily is the hiding-place - Of some dim wood-thing’s elvish face, - That watches you with gold-green eyes - Where bubbles of its breathing rise. - - I fancy, when the waxing moon - Leans through the trees and dreams of June; - And when the black bat slants its wing, - And lonelier the green-frogs sing; - - I fancy, when the whippoorwill - In some old tree sings wildly shrill, - With glow-worm eyes that dot the dark,-- - Each holding high a firefly spark, - - To torch its way,--the wood-imps come: - And some float rocking here; and some - Unmoor the lily-leaves and oar - Around the old boat by the shore. - - They climb through oozy weeds and moss; - They swarm its rotting sides and toss - Their firefly torches o’er its edge - Or hang them in the tangled sedge. - - The boat is loosed. The moon is pale. - Around the dam they slowly sail. - Upon its bow, to pilot it, - A jack-o’-lantern flame doth sit. - - Yes; I have seen it all in dreams: - Naught is forgotten--naught, it seems-- - The strangled face, the matted hair, - Drown’d, of the woman trailing there. - - - - - THE DREAM - - - Thus did I dream: - - It seemed the afternoon - Of some deep, tropic day; and yet the moon - Hung, round and bright with golden alchemy, - High in a heaven sapphire as the sea. - Long, lawny lengths of perishable cloud - Templed the west, o’er rolling forests bowed; - Clouds raining colors, gold and violet, - That, opening, seemed from inner worlds to let - Down hints of Parian beauty and lost charms - Of old romance, peopled with fairy forms. - And all about me fruited orchards grew, - Pear, quince, and peach, and plums of dusty blue; - Rose-apricots, and apples streaked with fire, - Kissed into ripeness by some sun’s desire, - And big with juice. And on far, fading hills, - Down which it seemed a hundred torrent rills - Flashed silent silver, vines and vines and vines - Terraced the world with vintage, cooling wines, - Pleasant and fragrant as the heart of June, - Their delicate tang drawn from the wine-white moon. - - And from the clouds o’er this sweet world there dripped - An odorous music, strange and feverish-lipped, - That swung and swooned and panted as with sighs; - Investing at each throb the air with eyes - And forms of sensuous spirits, limpid white, - Clad on with raiment as of starry night; - Fair, frail embodiments of melody, - From out whose hearts of crystal one could see - The music stream like light through delicate hands - Hollowing a lamp. And as on sounding sands - The ocean murmur haunts the rosy shells,-- - Within whose convolutions beauty dwells,-- - My soul became a harp of vibrant love - Reëchoing all the harmony above. - - - - - SPRING TWILIGHT - - - The sun set late; and left along the west - A furious ruby; o’er which billowy snows - Of clouds unrolled; each cloud a mighty breast - Blooming with almond-rose. - - The sun set late; and wafts of wind beat down, - And cuffed the blossoms from the blossoming quince; - Scattered the petals of the poppy’s crown, - And made the clover wince. - - By dusking forests, through whose fretful boughs - In flying fragments shot the evening’s flame, - Adown the tangled lane the quiet cows - With dreamy tinklings came. - - The sun set late; but scarcely had he gone - When o’er the moon’s gold-litten crescent there, - Bright Phosphor, polished as a precious stone, - Burned in fair deeps of air. - - As from faint stars the glory waned and waned, - The crickets made the old-time garden shrill; - Beyond the luminous pasture-lands complained - The first far whippoorwill. - - - - - A SLEET-STORM IN MAY - - - On southern winds shot through with amber light, - Breathing soft balm and clothed in cloudy white, - The lily-fingered Spring came o’er the hills, - Waking the crocus and the daffodils. - O’er the cold Earth she breathed a tender sigh-- - The maples sang and flung their banners high, - Their crimson tasselled pennons, and the elm - Bound his dark brows with a green-crested helm. - Beneath the musky rot of last year’s leaves, - Under the forest’s myriad naked eaves, - Life woke and rose in gold and green and blue, - Robed in the starlight of the twinkling dew. - With timid tread adown the barren wood - Spring held her way, when, lo! before her stood - White-mantled Winter nodding his white head, - Stormy his brow and stormily he said: - “The God of Terror, and the King of Storm, - Must I remind thee how my iron arm - Raised rebel standards ’mid these conquered bowers, - Turning their green to crimson?--Thou, with flowers, - _Thou_ wouldst supplant me! nay! usurp my throne!-- - Audacious one!”-- - - And at her breast he tossed - A glittering spear of ice and piercing frost, - And struck her down, dead on th’ unfeeling mold. - The fragile blossoms, gathered in the fold - Of her young bosom, fell in desolate rows - About her beauty; and, like fragrant snows, - Covered her lovely hands and beautiful feet, - Or on her lips lay like last kisses sweet - That died there. Lilacs, musky of the May, - And bluer violets and snowdrops lay - Entombed in crystal, icy faint and fair, - Like teardrops scattered through her heavenly hair. - - Alas! sad heart, break not beneath the pain! - Time changeth all; the Beautiful wakes again.-- - We should not question such; a higher power - Knows best what bud is ripest, or what flower, - Silently plucks it at the fittest hour. - - - - - THE HEART O’ SPRING - - - Whiten, oh, whiten, O clouds of lawn! - Lily-like clouds that whiten above, - Now like a dove, and now like a swan, - But never, oh, never--pass on! pass on!-- - Never as white as the throat of my love. - - Blue-black night on the mountain peaks-- - Oh, not so black as the locks o’ my love! - Stars that shine through the evening’s streaks - Over the torrent that flashes and breaks, - Brighter the eyes of my love, my love! - - Moon in a cloud, as white as snow, - Mist in the vale where the rivulet bounds, - Dropping from ledge to ledge below, - Turning to gold in the sunset’s glow, - Softer and sweeter her footstep sounds. - - Sound o’ May winds in the blossoming trees, - Oh, not so sweet as her laugh that rings; - Song o’ wild birds on the morning breeze, - Birds and brooks and murmur o’ bees, - Sweeter her voice when she laughs or sings. - - The rose o’ my heart is she; my dawn! - My star o’ the east, my moon above! - My soul takes ship for the Avalon - Of her heart of hearts, and shall sail on - Till it anchors safe in its haven of love. - - - - -“A BROKEN RAINBOW ON THE SKIES OF MAY” - - - A broken rainbow on the skies of May, - Touching the dripping roses and low clouds, - And in wet clouds like scattered jewels lost:-- - So in the sorrow of her soul the ghost - Of one great love, of iridescent ray, - Spanning the roses gray of memory, - Against the tumult of life’s rushing crowds-- - A broken rainbow on the skies of May. - - A flashing humming-bird among the flowers, - Deep-colored blooms; its slender tongue and bill - Sucking the calyxed and the honeyed myrrhs, - Till, sick of sweets, to other flow’rs it whirrs:-- - Such was his love that won her heart’s full bowers - To yield to him their all, their sweets in showers, - The flower from which he drank his body’s fill-- - A flashing humming-bird among the flowers. - - A moon, moth-white, that through far mists, like fleece, - Moves amber-girt into a bulk of black, - And, lost to sight, rims all the black with froth:-- - A love that swept its moon, like some great moth, - Across the heaven of her soul’s young peace; - And, smoothly passing, in the clouds did cease - Of time, through which its burning light comes back-- - A moon, moth-white, that moves through mists like fleece. - - A bolt of living thunder downward hurled, - Momental blazing from the piled-up storm, - That etches out the mountains and the ocean, - The towering rocks, then blots the sight’s commotion:-- - Love, love that swiftly coming bared the world, - The deeps of life, round which fate’s clouds are curled, - And, ceasing, left all night and black alarm-- - A bolt of living thunder downward hurled. - - - - - ORGIE - - - On nights like this, when bayou and lagoon - Swoon in the moonlight’s mystic radiance, - I seem to walk like one deep in a trance - With old-world myths born of the mist and moon. - - Lascivious eyes and mouths of sensual rose - Smile into mine: and breasts of luring light, - And tresses streaming golden to the night, - Persuade me onward where the forest glows. - - And then it seems along the haunted hills - There falls a flutter as of beautiful feet, - As if tempestuous troops of Mænads meet - To drain deep bowls and shout and have their wills. - - And then I feel her limbs will be revealed - Like some great snow-white moth among the trees; - Her vampire beauty, waiting there to seize - And drag me downward where my doom is sealed. - - - - - THE FARMSTEAD - - - Yes, I love the Farmstead. There - In the spring the lilacs blew - Plenteous perfume everywhere; - There in summer gladioles drew - Parallels of scarlet glare. - - And the moon-hued primrose cool, - Satin-soft and redolent; - Honeysuckles beautiful, - Filling all the air with scent; - Roses red or white as wool. - - Roses, glorious and lush, - Rich in tender-tinted dyes, - Like the gay tempestuous rush - Of unnumbered butterflies, - Clustering o’er each bending bush. - - Here japonica and box, - And the wayward violets; - Clumps of star-enameled phlox, - And the myriad flowery jets - Of the twilight four-o’-clocks. - - Ah, the beauty of the place! - When the June made one great rose, - Full of musk and mellow grace, - In the garden’s humming close, - Of her comely mother face! - - Bubble-like the hollyhocks - Budded, burst, and flaunted wide - Gypsy beauty from their stocks; - Morning-glories, bubble-dyed, - Swung in honey-hearted flocks. - - Tawny tiger-lilies flung - Doublets slashed with crimson on; - Graceful slave-girls, fair and young, - Like Circassians, in the sun - Alabaster lilies swung. - - Ah, the droning of the bee; - In his dusty pantaloons - Tumbling in the fleurs-de-lis; - In the drowsy afternoons - Dreaming in the pink sweet-pea. - - Ah, the moaning wildwood dove! - With its throat of amethyst - Rippled like a shining cove - Which a wind to pearl hath kissed, - Moaning, moaning of its love. - - And the insects’ gossip thin-- - From the summer hotness hid-- - In lone, leafy deeps of green; - Then at eve the katydid - With its hard, unvaried din. - - Often from the whispering hills, - Borne from out the golden dusk,-- - Gold with gold of daffodils,-- - Thrilled into the garden’s musk - The wild wail of whippoorwills. - - From the purple-tangled trees, - Like the white, full heart of night, - Solemn with majestic peace, - Swam the big moon, veined with light, - Like some gorgeous golden-fleece. - - She was there with me.--And who, - In the magic of the hour, - Had not sworn that they could view, - Beading on each blade and flower - Moony blisters of the dew? - - And each fairy of our home,-- - Firefly,--its taper lit - In the honey-scented gloam, - Dashing down the dusk with it - Like an instant-flaming foam. - - And we heard the calling, calling, - Of the brown owl in the brake; - Where the trumpet-vine hung, crawling - Down the ledge, into the lake - Heard the sighing streamlet falling. - - Then we wandered to the creek - Where the water-lilies, growing - Thick as stars, lay white and weak; - Or against the brooklet’s flowing - Stooped and bathed a bashful cheek. - - And the moonlight, rippling golden, - Fell in virgin aureoles - On their bosoms, half-unfolden, - Where, it seemed, the fairies’ souls - Dreamed as perfume,--unbeholden;-- - - Lying sleeping, pearly-tented, - Baby-cribbed within each bud, - While the night-wind, pinewood-scented, - Swooning over field and flood, - Rocked them on the waters dented. - - Then the low, melodious bell - Of a sleeping heifer tinkled, - In some berry-briered dell, - As her satin dewlap wrinkled - With the cud that made it swell. - - And, returning home, we heard, - In a beech-tree at the gate, - Some brown, dream-behaunted bird, - Singing of its absent mate, - Of the mate that never heard. - - And, you see, now I am gray, - Why within the old, old place, - With such memories, I stay: - Fancy out her absent face - Long since passed away. - - She was mine--yes! still is mine: - And my frosty memory - Reels about her, as with wine - Warmed into young eyes that see - All the past that was divine. - - Yes, I loved her, and have grown - Melancholy in that love, - And the memory alone - Of her loveliness whereof - She did sanctify each stone. - - And where’er her flowers swing, - There she walks,--as if a bee - Fanned them with its airy wing,-- - Down her garden, shadowy - In the hush the evenings bring. - - - - - THE BOY COLUMBUS - - - And he had mused on lands each bird,-- - That winged from realms of Falerina, - O’er seas of the Enchanted Sword,-- - In romance sang him, till he heard - Far foam on Islands of Alcina. - - For rich Levant and old Castile - Let other seamen freight their galleys; - With Polo he and Mandeville - Through stranger seas a dreamy keel - Sailed into wonder-peopled valleys. - - Far continents of flow’r and fruit, - Of everlasting spring; where fountains - ’Mid flow’rs, with human faces, shoot; - Where races dwell, both man and brute, - In cities under golden mountains. - - Where cataracts their thunders hurl - From heights the tempest has at mercy; - Vast peaks that touch the moon, and whirl - Wild torrents down of gold and pearl; - And forests strange as those of Circe. - - Let rapiered Love lute, in the shade - Of royal gardens, to the Palace - And Court, that haunt the balustrade - Of terraces and still parade - Their vanity and guile and malice. - - Him something calls, diviner yet - Than Love, more mighty than a lover; - Heroic Truth, that will not let - Deed lag; a purpose, westward set, - In eyes far-seeing to discover. - - - - - NORTH BEACH, FLORIDA - - - Surge upon surge, the miles of surf uncurl - Volutes of murmur; and the far shore foams; - The thundering billows, boiling into pearl, - The sea-wind clouds and combs. - - Wave upon wave,--as when the Nereids pour, - With streaming tresses, landward, when the arms - Of Tritons reach them, racing towards the shore,-- - Bursts on the beach that storms. - - Oh, thou primeval solitude! that rolled - Out of creation when the world was young! - That shall roll on when man is not, and old - The ages yet unsung! - - Time shall not flaw thy music!--thou hast heard - God’s spirit on thy waters, and no night - Annuls the memory of that one Word - Which blossomed into light. - - With such impression as upon thy face - The soaring seagulls make, man comes and came; - And countless myriads, race on warring race, - Have found thee thus--the same. - - Thy part is--to destroy, and still remain - Immutable ’midst mutability: - The symbol of all change, that clothes again - Mystery in mystery. - - - - - THE STORM - - - Thor, Thor is out on the hills! - The frown of his fierce brow showing; - His breath through his red beard blowing, - With rain, through his beard that it fills. - - The forests are taken; - The mightiest oaks - Are twisted and shaken - As by chariot-spokes, - Where mountains awaken - To th’ hoofs of his yokes, - Reined sheer with the strength of his arm-- - Ride forth, O Spirit of Storm! - - What hope for the sparrow, - Or nest of the bird! - Where fords were once narrow, - What hope for the herd! - When arrow on arrow - He empties the third - Of his quiver against their alarm-- - Descend, O Spirit of Storm! - - You may measure the might that he brings - By the welkin that echoes his felloes; - By the fork of the lightning,--that yellows - The darkness,--the hammer he swings. - - The cattle are scattered - And low from the shore; - The roses are shattered - That grew at the door; - The swallows look tattered, - And twitter and soar, - Made glad with the force of his form-- - Rejoice, O Spirit of Storm! - - On levels that sunder - The roar of the main - He ploughs with the thunder, - And sows with the rain: - No sunbeam shall blunder - Through black till the plain - Is planted with storm as a farm-- - Sweep on, O Spirit of Storm! - - His path is the abysm, which heaps - The wild wind behind him, and hovers - A whirlwind before, that uncovers - The hurricane-lair where he sleeps. - - At night,--through the wrestle - Of winds that contend,-- - To guard the good vessel - From rocks that would rend, - Like a star let it nestle, - The light, to defend - The seaman and his from all harm-- - From thee, O Spirit of Storm! - - - - - ON THE JELLICO SPUR OF THE CUMBERLANDS - - _To ..._ - - - You remember how the mist, - When we climbed to Devil’s Den, - Pearl-white in the mountain glen, - And above us, amethyst, - - Throbbed and circled? then away, - Through the wildwoods opposite, - Torn and scattered, morning-lit, - Vanished into dewy gray?-- - - Vague as in romance we saw, - From the fog one riven trunk, - Talon-like with branches shrunk, - Thrust a monster dragon claw. - - And we climbed for hours through - The dawn-dripping Jellicoes, - To a wooded rock, whence those - Undulating leagues of blue - - Summits,--mountain-chains that lie - Dark with forest, bar on bar,-- - Ranged their wild, irregular, - Purple peaks beneath a sky - - Ocean-azure. Range on range - Billowed their enormous spines, - Where the rocks and priestly pines - Sat eternal, without change. - - We were sons of Nature then: - She had taken us to her, - Drawn us, bound with brier and burr, - Closer her than other men: - - Intimates of all her moods, - From her bloom-anointed looks, - Wisdom of no man-made books - Learned we in those solitudes: - - How the seed contained the flower; - How the acorn held the oak; - How within the vine awoke - The wild impulse still to tower: - - How in fantasy or mirth, - Springing when she summoned there, - Sponge-like fungi everywhere - Bulged, exuded from the earth: - - Coral-vegetable things, - That the underworld exhaled, - Bulbous, fluted, ribbed, and scaled, - Many colored and in rings, - - Like the Indian-Pipe that grew - Pink and white in loamy cracks, - Flowers of a natural wax, - She had turned her fancy to.-- - - On that laureled precipice, - Where the chestnuts dropped their burrs, - Warm with balsam of the firs, - First we felt her mother-kiss - - Full of heaven and the wind; - While the forests, wood on wood, - Murmured like a multitude - Giving praise where none hath sinned.-- - - Freedom met us there; we saw - Freedom giving audience; - In her face the eloquence, - Lightning-like, of love and law: - - Round her, on majestic hips, - Lounged the giant mountains, where - Streaming cataracts tossed their hair, - God and thunder on their lips.-- - - Oft an eagle, or a hawk, - Or a scavenger, we knew - Winged above us through the blue - By its shadow on the rock. - - Or a cloud of templed white - Moved, a lazy berg of pearl, - Through the sky’s pacific swirl, - Shot with cool, cerulean light. - - So we dreamed an hour upon - That high rock the lichens mossed, - While around us, glimmering, tossed - Golden mintings of the sun: - - Then arose; and a ravine, - Which a torrent once had worn, - Made our roadway to the corn - In the valley, deep and green; - - And the farm-house with its bees, - Where old-fashioned flowers spun - Gay rag-carpets in the sun, - Gray among the apple-trees. - - Here we watched the evening fall: - O’er Wolf Mountain sunset made, - Huge, a rhododendron, rayed - Round the sun’s cloud-calyxed ball. - - Then through scents of herb and soil, - To the mining-camp we turned, - In the twinkling dusk discerned - With its white-washed homes of toil. - - * * * * * - - Ah, those nights!--We wandered forth - On some haunted mountain path, - When the moon rose late; and rathe - The large stars, sowed south and north, - - Splashed with gold the purple skies; - And the milky zodiac, - Rolled athwart the belted black, - Seemed a path to Paradise. - - And we walked or tarried till, - In the valley-land beneath, - Like the vapor of a breath - Breathed in frost, arose the still - Architecture of the mist: - And the moon-dawn’s necromance - Touched the mist and made it glance - Terraced pearl and amethyst. - - Then around us, sharp and brusque, - Night’s shrill insects strident strung - Fairy viols that buzzed and sung, - Pixy music of the dusk. - - And we seemed to hear soft sighs, - And hushed steps of ghostly things, - Fluttered feet and rustled wings - All around us. Fireflies, - - Gleaming in the tangled glade, - Seemed the eyes of warriors, - Stealing under watching stars - To some phantom ambuscade; - - To the tepees there that gloomed, - Wigwams of the mist, that slept - By the woodland side, whence crept - Shadowy Shawnees moonbeam-plumed. - - When the moon rose, like a cup - Lay the valley, brimming shine - Of mesmeric mist, like wine, - To the sky’s dim face held up. - - As she rose from out the mines - Of the nacreous darkness, Night - Met her, clad in dewy light - ’Mid Pine Mountain’s sachem pines. - - As through fragmentary fleece - Of the clouds her circle broke, - Orey-seamed, about us woke - Myths of Italy and Greece. - - As, an orb of sparry quartz, - Her serene circumference grew, - Home we turned. And all night through - Slept the sleep of happy hearts. - - - - - THE WHIPPOORWILL - - - I - - Above lone woodland ways that led - To dells the stealthy twilights tread - The west was hot geranium red; - And still, and still, - Along old lanes the locusts sow - With clustered pearls the Maytimes blow, - Deep in the crimson afterglow, - We heard the homeward cattle low, - And then, far off, like some far woe, - The whippoorwill, the whippoorwill. - - - II - - Beneath the idle beechen boughs - We heard the slow bells of the cows - Come softly, jangling towards the house; - And still, and still, - Beyond the light that would not die - Out of the scarlet-haunted sky, - Beyond the evening-star’s white eye - Of glittering chalcedony, - Drained out of dusk the plaintive cry - Of “whippoorwill,” of “whippoorwill.” - - - III - - And in the city oft, when swims - The pale moon o’er the smoke that dims - Its disc, I dream of wildwood limbs, - And still, and still, - I seem to hear, where shadows grope - ’Midst ferns and flowers that dewdrops rope,-- - Lost in faint deeps of heliotrope - Above the clover-sweetened slope,-- - Retreat, despairing, past all hope, - The whippoorwill, the whippoorwill. - - - - - IN THE WILDWOOD - - - I lie where silence sleeps, - And twilight dreams and sighs; - Where all heaven’s azure peeps - Blue from one wildflower’s eyes; - Where, in reflecting deeps, - A world, inverted, lies, - Of dimmer woods and skies: - - Divining God from things - Humble as weed and bee; - From songs the wild bird sings - Guessing at poetry; - And from each flower that swings, - Each star-familiar tree, - Learning philosophy. - - - - - A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS - - - I - - How oft the swallow darted - Above its deeps of blue, - Where leaves close clung or parted - To let the sunlight through! - Where roses, honey-hearted, - Hung full of living dew! - - - II - - How oft, from out the heaven, - Upon me blew the balm - Of soft winds, summer-driven - From continents of calm! - With rustlings as of riven, - Sea-sounding pine and palm! - - - III - - Oft from its leafy cover - I watched the red-bird slip; - And marked, like some rude lover, - The bee, with robber lip, - Bend down the snowy clover, - Or make the wild-rose dip. - - - IV - - Still darts the soaring swallow - Above it; and the rose - Still blooms within its hollow - Where still the runnel flows; - The brook,--that I shall follow - No more,--that seaward goes. - - - V - - There still the white moon shineth - At night through rifted trees; - Upon the stream that twineth - Through blooms that no one sees; - And on,--as I divineth,-- - My soul that sighs for these. - - - - - BENEATH THE BEECHES - - - I - - I long, oh, long to lie - ’Neath beechen branches, twisted, - Green ’twixt the summer sky; - The woodland shadows nigh - Like dryads sunbeam-wristed: - The livelong day to dream - Beside a wildwood stream. - - - II - - I long, oh, long to hear - The claustral forest breathing, - Sound soothing to the ear; - To see the wild-vine near - Its scarlet blooms unsheathing: - The livelong day to cross - Slow o’er the nut-strewn moss. - - - III - - I long, oh, long to see - The nesting red-bird singing - Glad on the wood-rose tree: - To watch the breezy bee, - Half in the wildflower, swinging: - God’s livelong day to pass - Deep in cool forest grass. - - - IV - - Oh, soul, so builded in - With mart and booth and steeple, - Brick alley-ways of sin, - What hope for you to win - Ways free of pelf and people! - Ways of the leaf and root - And soft Mygdonian flute! - - - - - THE BRIDLE-PATH - - - I - - Through meadows of the ironweeds, - Whose purple blooms hang, slipping - The morning dew in twinkling beads, - The thin path twists and, winding, leads - Through woodland hollows dripping; - Down to a creek of rocks and reeds; - On to a lilied dam that feeds - A mill, whose wheel through willow-bredes - Winks, the white water whipping. - - - II - - It wends through meads of mint and brush - Where silvery seeds drift drowsy, - Or swoon along the heatful hush; - And where the bobwhite, in the bush, - The elder, blooming frowsy, - Keeps calling clear: then through a crush - Of crowded saplings, low and lush; - Then by a pool of flag and rush - With brier-rose petaled blowsy. - - - III - - Thence, o’er the ragweed fallow-lot, - Whose low rail-fence encumbers - The dense-packed berries ripening hot; - Where, in the heaven, one far spot - Of gray, the gray hawk slumbers; - Then through the greenwood where the rot - Of leaves and loam smells cool; and, shot - With dotting dark, the touch-me-not - Swings curling horns in numbers. - - - IV - - It winds round rocks that bulge and lie - Deep in damp ferns and mosses,-- - Each like a giant on his thigh - Watching some forest quarry die;-- - And thence it frailly crosses - A bramble-bridge; whence, whirring high, - A partridge startles,--’thwart the sky - A jarring light,--where, babbling by, - The brook its diamonds tosses. - - - V - - And here the cohosh swings its snow, - Gaunt from the forest springing; - There gold the sorrel blossoms blow; - Here vari-colored toadstools sow, - Or swell the soil; and, swinging, - The trumpet-vine hangs red and low - Near boughs,--on which the beech-burrs glow,-- - The woodland wind sways to and fro, - O’er waters wildly ringing. - - - VI - - It leads us deep into the cane - Through spice-bush belts, where “tinkle” - One stray bell sounds, and then again, - Lost in some lone and leafy lane - Where smooth the clay ruts wrinkle ... - A cloud looms up,--a grayish stain - Against the blue;--and wet with rain - The wind blows, denting down the grain - And leaves, the first drops sprinkle. - - - VII - - The dust is drilled with raindrops.--One, - Then two quick gleams, then thunder; - And, scurrying with the dust, we run - Into a whiff of hay and sun, - Of cribs and barns; and under - Low martin-builded eaves,--where dun - The sparrows shelter,--watch the spun - Blue rain sweep down, that seems to stun - The world with wind and wonder. - - - VIII - - A crashing wedge of stormy light, - Vibrating, blinds, and dashes - A monster elm to splinters white: - Then roaring rain: then, blinding bright, - A bolt again that crashes.... - The storm is over. Left and right - The clouds break; and, with green delight, - Fresh rain scents blow from wood and height - Where each blade drips and flashes. - - - IX - - A ghostly gold burns slowly through - The chasm’d clouds; and blended - With rainy rose and rainy blue, - The heavens, pearled with many a hue, - Die like a dolphin splendid.... - High-buoyed in wrack, now one or two - Slight stars peep out--the pirate clue - To night’s rich hoard.--In dusk and dew - Here is our pathway ended. - - - - - THE OLD FARM - - - Dormered and verandaed, cool, - Locust-girdled on the hill, - Stained with weather-wear; at Yule - And Midsummer every sill - Thresholding the beautiful, - - Still I see it standing there, - Brown above the woodland deep, - Wrapped in lights of lavender, - And slow shadows, rocked asleep - By the warm wind everywhere. - - I remember how the spring, - Liberal-lapped, bewildered its - Acred orchards, murmuring, - With the blossoms’ budded bits, - Where the wood-thrush came to sing. - - Barefoot Spring, at first who trod, - Like a beggarmaid, adown - The wet woodland, where the god, - With the bright sun for a crown - And the firmament for rod, - - Met her; clothed her; wedded her; - Her Cophetua: when, lo! - All the hill, one breathing blur, - Burst in blossom, gleam and glow, - Peach and pearl and lavender. - - Seckel, blackheart, palpitant, - Rained their bleaching strays; and white - Snowed the damson, bent aslant; - Rambow-tree and romanite - Seemed beneath deep drifts to pant. - - And it stood there, brown and gray, - In the bee-boom and the bloom, - In the shadow and the ray, - In the passion and perfume, - Grave as age among the gay. - - Sweet with laughter romped the clear - Boyish voices round its walls; - Rare wild-roses were the dear - Girlish faces in its halls, - Music-haunted all the year. - - Far before it meadows full - Of green pennyroyal sank; - Clover-dotted as with wool - Here and there; and now a bank - Of wild color: and the cool - - Dark blue shadows undefined - Of the clouds rolled overhead; - Clouds, from which the summer wind - Blew with rain, and freshly shed - Dew upon the flowerkind. - - Where, through mint and gypsy-lily, - Runs the rocky brook away, - Musical among the hilly - Solitudes,--its flashing spray - Sunbeam-dashed or shadow-stilly,-- - - Buried in thick sassafras, - Memory follows up the hill - Still some cowbell’s mellow brass, - Where the ruined water-mill - Looms, half-hid in cane and grass. - - Ah, the old farm! is it set - On the hilltop still? ’mid musk - Of the meads? where, violet, - Deepens all the dreaming dusk, - And the locust trees hang wet? - - While the sunset, far and low, - On its westward windows dashes - Primrose or pomegranate glow? - And above, in lilac splashes, - Faint, first stars the heavens sow? - - Sleeps it still among its roses, - Yellow roses? while the choir - Of the lonesome insects dozes? - And the white moon, filled with fire, - O’er its mossy roof reposes-- - Sleeps it still among its roses? - - - - - TO SUMMER - - - I - - Thou sit’st among the sunny silences - Of terraced hills and woodland galleries, - Thou utterance of all calm melodies, - Thou lutanist of Earth’s most fecund lute,-- - Where no false note intrudes - To mar the silent music,--branch and root, - Playing the fields ripe, orchards and deep woods, - To song similitudes - Of flower and seed and fruit. - - - II - - Oft have I felt thee, in some sensuous air, - Bewitch the wide wheat-acres everywhere - To imitated gold of thy rich hair: - The peach, by thy red lips’ delicious trouble, - Blown into gradual dyes - Of crimson, have I seen: have watched thee double-- - With interluded music of thine eyes-- - The grapes’ rotundities, - Bubble by purple bubble. - - - III - - Deliberate uttered into life intense, - Out of thy song’s melodious eloquence - Beauty evolves its just preëminence: - The lily, from some pensive-smitten chord - Drawing significance - Of purity, a visible hush stands: starred - With splendor, from thy passionate utterance, - The rose tells its romance - In blushing word on word. - - - IV - - As star by star day harps in evening, - The inspiration of all things that sing - Is in thy hands and from their touch takes wing: - All brooks, all birds,--whom song can never sate,-- - Even the wind and rain, - And frogs and insects, singing soon and late, - Thy sympathies inspire, thy heart’s refrain, - Whose sounds invigorate - With rest life’s weary brain. - - - V - - And as the night, like some mysterious rune, - Its beauty makes emphatic with the moon, - Thou lutest us no immaterial tune: - But where dim whispers haunt the cane and corn, - By thy still strain made strong, - Earth’s awful avatar,--in whom is born - Thy own deep music,--labors all night long - With growth, assuring morn - Assumes like onward song. - - - - - A GRAY DAY - - - I - - Long volleys of wind and of rain, - And the rain on the drizzled pane, - And the day ends chill and murk; - But on yesterday’s eve, I trow, - The new-moon’s thorn-thin bow - Stabbed rosy through gold and through glow, - Like a rich, barbaric dirk. - - - II - - The throats of the snapdragons,-- - Cool-colored with gold like the dawns - That come with spring o’er the hills,-- - Are filled with a sweet rain, fine, - Of starry, scintillant shine, - A faery vat of thin wine, - That the rain for the elfins fills. - - - III - - Dabbled the poppies shrink, - And the coxcomb and the pink; - And the candytuft’s damp crown - Droops, dribbled, low bowed i’ the wet; - And rows of the mignonette - Little musk-sacks open set, - Which the weight o’ the dew drags down. - - - IV - - Stretched taunt ’twixt the blades of grass, - A gossamer-fibered glass, - That the garden-spider spun, - The web, where the round rain clings - In the sag o’ its middle, swings-- - A hammock for elfin things - When the stars succeed the sun. - - - V - - And, mark, where the pale gourd grows - As high as the climbing rose, - How the tiger-moth is pressed - To that wide leaf’s under side.-- - And I know where the red wasps hide, - And the brown bees,--that defied - The first strong gusts,--distressed. - - - VI - - Yet I feel that the gray will blow - Aside for an afterglow; - And the wind, on a sudden, toss - Drenched boughs; a pattering shower - Athwart the red dusk in a glower, - Big drops heard hard on each flower, - The grass and the flowering moss. - - - VII - - And then for a minute, may be,-- - A pearl, hollow-worn, of the sea,-- - A glimmer of moon will smile, - And a star, rinsed clean, through the dusk: - And a freshness of moonlit musk - O’er the showery lawns blow brusque - As spice from an Indian Isle. - - - - - THE MOOD O’ THE EARTH - - - My heart is high as the day is clear, - As the wind in the wood that blows; - My heart is high with a mood that’s cheer, - And glows like a sun-blown rose. - - My heart is high, and up and away - Like a bird in the skies’ deep blue; - My heart goes singing through the day, - As glad as a bee i’ the dew. - - My heart, my heart is high; its beat - Is wild as the scent o’ the wood, - The wild sweet wind, with its pulse of heat, - And its musk of blossom and bud. - - My heart is high; and it leads my feet - Where the sense of summer is full, - To woods and waters where lovers meet - To hills where the creeks run cool. - - My heart is one, is one with the heart, - With the joy o’ the bee that comes - And sucks i’ the flowers, that dip apart - For his dusty body that hums. - - My heart is glad as the glad redstart, - The flame-flecked bird, the spotted bird, - Whose lilt my soul has got by heart, - Fitting each note with a word. - - God’s love! I tread the wind and air! - Am one with the hoiden wind; - And the stars that swim in the blue, I swear, - Right soon in my hair I’ll find. - - To live high up, a life o’ the mist, - With the cloud-things in white skies,-- - With their limbs of pearl and of amethyst,-- - That laugh cerulean eyes! - - To creep and to suck, like an elfin thing, - In the aching heart of a rose; - In the bluebell’s ear to cling and swing, - And whisper what no one knows! - - To live on wild-honey, as fresh, as thin - As the rain that’s left in a flower! - And roll forth, golden from feet to chin, - In the pollen’s Danaë-shower! - - Or free, bird-hearted, bend back the throat, - With a vigorous look at the blue, - And launch from my soul one wild, true note, - Is the thing that my heart would do! - - God’s life! the blood o’ the earth is mine! - And the mood o’ the earth I’ll take, - And brim my soul with her wonderful wine, - And sing till my heart doth break! - - - - - NOONING - - - I - - Weak winds that make the waters wink; - White clouds that sail from lands of Fable - To white Utopias, vague, that brink - Sky-gulfs of blue unfathomable: - Their rolling shadows, drifting - O’er hills of forest, lifting - Wild peaks of purple range, that loom and sink. - - - II - - Warm knolls, whereon the Summer dreams; - And droning dells, where all her brightness - Lies, lulled with hymns of mountain-streams’ - Far-foaming falls of windy whiteness: - Where, from the glooming hollow, - With cawing crows that follow, - The hunted hawk wings wearily and screams. - - - III - - Dry-buzzing heat and drought that shrills - With one harsh locust’s lonesome whirring; - No voice amid the answering hills - Recedes in echoes far-recurring; - As when, with twilight wimpled, - The Morning, rosy dimpled, - From dewy tops called o’er responding rills. - - - IV - - Wan with sweet summer hangs the deep - Hot heaven with the high sun hearted-- - A great, wide bluebell bloom asleep - With golden-pistiled petals parted.-- - So lone, one would not startle - If from yon wood should dartle - Some wildwood Dream, some Myth the wildwoods keep. - - - - - THE LOG-BRIDGE - - - I - - Last month, where the old log-bridge is laid - O’er the woodland creek, in the belts o’ the shade, - To the right and the left, pink-packed, was made - A gloaming glory of scented tangle - By the bramble roses there--that wade, - High-heaped, from the banks--with many a braid - That, wilting, powdered the ruts, and swayed, - To the waters beneath, loose loops of spangle; - Where the breeze that blew and the beam that rayed - Were murmurous-soft with the bees awrangle. - - - II - - This month--’tis August--the lane that leads - To the bramble-bridge runs waste with weeds, - That bloom bright saffron, or satin seeds - Of thistle-fleece blow at you, hazy: - Starry the lane with the thousand bredes - Of the yellow daisy, and bud-like beads - Of marigold eyes, around which speeds - The butterfly, sumptuous with mottle and lazy; - Whereunder the pewee picks and pleads, - On the sumach’s tassel that dips to the daisy. - - - III - - All golden the spot in the noon’s gold shine, - Where the yellow-bird sits with eyes like wine - And swings and whistles; where, line on line, - In coils of warmth the sunbeams nestle; - Where cool by the pool (where the crawfish, fine - As a shadow’s shadow, darts dim) to mine - The wet creek-clay with their peevish whine, - Come mason-hornets; and roll and wrestle - With balls of clay they carry, and twine - In hollow nests on the joists o’ the trestle. - - - IV - - Where the horsemint shoots through the grasses,--high - On the root-thick rivage that roofs,--a dry - Gray knob that bristles with pink, the sigh - Of crickets is heard; and the leaves’ deep bosoms - Are pierced, at dusk, with a bird’s quick cry, - A passing bird that twitters by: - And the frogs’ grave antiphons rise and die; - And here, to drink, come the wild opossums: - And here, to-night, will you and I - Linger and lean while the great moon blossoms. - - - - - AMONG THE KNOBS - - - There is a place embanked with brush - Three wooded knobs beyond, - Lost, in a valley, where the lush - Wild eglantine blows blond. - - Where light the dogwoods earliest - Their torches of white fires, - And, bee-bewildered, east and west - The red haws build their spires. - - The wild crab-apples’ flowery sprays - Blur through the pensive gloom - A fragrant pink; and by lone ways - The close blackberries bloom. - - I love the spot: a shallow brook - Slips from the forest, near - A cane-brake and a violet nook; - Its rustling depths so clear - The minnows glimmer where they glide - Above its rocky bed: - A boyhood-haunted brook, not wide, - That has its sparkling head - - Among the rainy hills; and drops - By five low waterfalls-- - Wild music of a hundred stops-- - Between the forests’ walls: - - Down to a water-gate, that hangs - Across the stream; a dull - Portcullis rude, whose wooden fangs - The moss makes beautiful. - - The brass-bright dragonflies about - Its seeding grasses swim; - The streaked wasps, worrying in and out, - Dart sleepily and slim. - - Here in the moon-gold moss, that glows - Like pools of moonlight, dies - The pale anemone; and blows - The bluet, blue as skies. - - And, where in April tenderly - The wild geranium made - A thin, peculiar fragrance, we, - Cool in pellucid shade, - - Found wild strawberries just a-bud; - Wild berries, tart and fresh,-- - Pale scarlet as a wood-bird’s blood,-- - That May’s low vines would mesh. - - Once from that hill a farm-house ’mid - Deep orchards--cozy brown,-- - In lilacs and old roses hid,-- - With picket-fence looked down. - - O’er ruins now the roses guard; - The plum and seckel-pear - And apricot rot on the sward - Their wasted ripeness there. - - Again when huckleberries blow - Their waxen bells I’ll tread - That dear accustomed way; and go - Adown that orchard; led - - To that avoided spot, which seems - The haunt of vanished springs; - Lost as the hills in drowsy dreams - Of visionary things. - - - - - THE FALLS OF THE OHIO - - - Here on this jutting headland, where the trees - Spread a dusk carpet for the sun to cast - And count his golden guineas on, we’ll rest. - Behold th’ Ohio Falls: see how it seethes! - Though hardly heard from this high, wooded point, - Yet how it still confuses tongue and ear - With its subdued and low monotonous roar! - Not as it did, however, when we stood - And marked it from the spanning of the bridge - Rushing beneath, impetuous as a herd,-- - A tameless herd, with manes of flying spray,-- - Between the pillars towering above. - No more does it confound us and confuse; - Its clamor here is softened to a sound, - Incessant and subdued, like that which haunts - The groves of spring, when, like some dim surprise, - A wind, precursor of the rain, rides down - From a gray cloud and sets the leafy tongues - Cool-gossiping of the approaching shower. - There runs the dam; and where its dark line cuts - The river’s sheen, already you may see - The ripples glancing to the summer sun, - As if a host had couched a thousand spears - And tossed a thousand plumes of fleecy foam, - In answer to the challenge of the Falls, - Blown from his limestone battlements, and cried - From his wave-builded city’s roaring walls. - And there, you see, the waves like champions charge; - Crowding, wild form on form, their foam-hoofs beat - The ragged rocks that roll them on their way: - Billowing they come; knight-like, to ringing lists, - With shout on shout, tossing a thousand plumes, - A thousand spears in sparkling tournament; - Lifting, opposing each, a silvery shield - Or shining pennon, now that sinks or soars, - And many a glittering sword of twinkling foam, - And many a helmet, shattered in flakes of froth, - That, to the trumpeting wind, hisses away: - While, o’er it all, swell out the rush and roar - Of onset, as of battle borne afar.-- - On, on they come, a beautiful, mad troop! - On, on, along the sandy banks that fling - Red pebble-freckled arms far out to stay - Their ruinous rush, the knightly strife of waves, - Warring, and winding wild their watery horns. - - Look, where a thousand oily eddies whirl, - And turn and turn like wheels of liquid steel - Below this headland! ’Tis a place that none - Has bottomed yet with sounding lead and line. - Like some huge kraken, coiling vast its length, - The Eddy sleeps; and, bending from the shores, - The spotted sycamores have gazed and gazed, - Watching its slumber as gray giants might - A dragon in the hollow of gaunt hills, - Its serpent bulk wound round some magic hoard. - So long they’ve watched, their ancient backs have grown - Humped, gnarled, and bent, but still they gaze and gaze, - Leaning above; and from the glassy waves - Their images stare back their wonderment. - Haply they see the guardian Genius lie - At the dark bottom in an oozy cave - Of coral; webbed, recumbent on his mace - Of mineral; his locks of dripping green - Circling a crown of ore; his fishy eyes - Dull with the aqueous dullness of his realms. - But when the storm’s abroad and whips the waves - With stinging lashes of the myriad rain, - Or scars with thunder some ancestral oak, - Sire of a forest, then he wakes in wrath, - And on the dark foundation of the stream - Rises, a monarch, crowned with iron crown, - And hurls his challenge upward at the storm, - And rages through the waters; heaves and breaks - Through the wild waves, whose round and murky bulks, - Ribbed white with foam, wallow their monster way, - Like giant herds, along yon edge of rock - O’erstrewn with petrifactions of far time; - Mollusk and trilobite and honeycomb - Of whitest coral; and with mass on mass - Of root-like reptiles; writhings turned to rock; - Huge saurian bulks that, haply, sported there, - Convolved; and, in a moment, when the change,-- - Which made and unmade continents and seas, - That teemed and groaned with mammoth and plesiosaur,-- - Came, with upheaval of the universe, - Thro’ all their monster spines were struck to stone. - - There where uprises a wild knoll, o’erstrewn - With wrecks of ancient forest, in mid-stream - Once rose an island, green and beautiful - With willow and beech, poplar and sycamore; - A river-island where the woodman built,-- - Stream-guarded from the savage-haunted shore,-- - His rude log cabin. Here he sowed his maize; - Here saw it tassel in the summer heat, - And glance like ranks of feathered Indians through - The glimmering vistas of the broken wood; - Here reaped and sheaved its stalks, all ivory-eared, - In shocks like wigwam rows, when like a maid, - An Indian maid, ruddy in dogwood beads, - The autumn came, soft o’er the sunset hills, - That blushed for love, and underneath her feet - Cast untold gold in leaves and yellow fruit. - Here dwelt the pioneer and here he died, - And mingled his rough dust with the raw earth - And loam of what was once an island; now - A bed of limestone rock and water pools,-- - Where, in the quarry, you may see the blast - Spout heavenward the dust and dirt and stone, - And flap and pound its echoes round the hills - In giant strokes as of some Titan hammer;-- - A mound of stump-pierced soil where once an isle,-- - As rich and fair in forest and in field - As any isle that rises to a sail - In tropic seas,--arose to kiss the sun. - - There lies the other half of what was once - Corn Island: broad the channel beats between. - Lower it lies, and mantled with dwarf brakes - Of willow and of cottonwood and beech, - Degenerate offsprings of the mighty boles - That once o’erbrowed the stream in majesty - Of tall primeval beauty. In the morn, - Ere yet the east assumes its faintest blush, - Here you may hear the melancholy snipe - Piping, or see her paddling in the pools - That splash the low bed of the rocky soil. - - Here once the Indian stole in natural craft - From wahoo-bush to bush, from tree to tree, - His head plumes like a bird, below, above, - Fluttering and nodding ’mid the undergrowth; - In his brown hand the pliant, polished bow, - And at his back his gaudy quiver filled - With tufted arrows headed blue with flint. - And while the deep flamingo-colored west - Flamed on his ruddy cheek, and airy fire - Struck rosy ’thwart the stream, he, swift as thought, - Strung his quick bow and through the gray wild goose, - That rose with clamor from the rushy pool, - Sent a fleet arrow; crested with the quills - Which yesterday, perhaps, its mate’s gray wing - Made beautiful; and plucked to decorate - The painted shaft that should to-day speed home - And redden all their white with kindred blood: - It falling, gasping at his moccasined feet, - Breathed out its wild life, while the lonely brave - Whooped to the sunset, and yon faint blue hills - Answered his exultation with a whoop. - - 1885. - - - - - FALL FANCIES - - - Far off a wind blew, and I heard - Wild echoes of the woods reply-- - The herald of some royal word, - With bannered trumpet, blown on high, - Meseemed, then passed me by: - - Who summoned marvels there to meet, - In pomp, upon a cloth of gold; - Where berries of the bitter-sweet, - That, splitting, showed the coals they hold, - Sowed garnets through the wold: - - Where, under tents of maples, seeds - Of smooth carnelian, oval red, - The spice-bush spangled: where, like beads, - The dogwood’s rounded rubies--fed - With fire--blazed and bled. - - And there I saw amid the rout - Of months, in richness cavalier, - A minnesinger--lips apout; - A gypsy face; straight as a spear; - A rose stuck in his ear: - - Eyes, sparkling like old German wine, - All mirth and moonlight; naught to spare - Of slender beard, that lent a line - Unto his lip; October there, - With chestnut curling hair. - - His blue baretta swept its plume - White through the leaves; his purple hose, - Puffed at the thighs, made gleam of gloom; - His tawny doublet, slashed with rose, - And laced with crimson bows, - - Outshone the wahoo’s scarlet pride, - The haw, in rich vermilion dressed: - A dagger dangling at his side, - A slim lute, banded to his breast, - Whereon his hands did rest, - - I saw him come.... And, lo, to hear - The lilt of his approaching lute, - No wonder that the regnant Year - Bent down her beauty, blushing mute, - Her heart beneath his foot. - - - - - LATE OCTOBER - - - Bulged from its cup the dark brown acorn falls, - And by its gnarly saucer, in the stream’s - Clear puddles, swells; the sweet-gum’s spike-crowned balls - Beside them lie; and, opening all their seams, - Beneath the chestnut-tree the hurry hulls - Split, and, within, each nut like copper gleams. - - Burst silver white, nods,--an exploded husk - Of snowy, woolly smoke,--the milk-weed’s puff - Along the orchard’s fence; where in the dusk - And ashen weeds,--as some grim Satyr’s rough - Red, breezy cheeks burn through his beard,--the brusque - Crab-apples glow, wind-tumbled from above. - - And under withered leaves the crickets’ clicks - Seem some dim dirge sighed into memory’s ears; - One bird sits in the sumach, flits and picks - Its sour seeds. Thro’ all the wood one hears - The dropping hickories. Round the hay’s railed ricks, - Among the fields, gather the lowing steers. - - Some slim, bud-bound Leimoniad hath flocked, - Like birds, the flowers, herding from their homes - To warmer woods and skies. Where once were rocked - Unnumbered bees within unnumbered blooms, - One feeble bee clings to one bloom, or, locked - Within it, dreams of summer’s oozing combs. - - Winds shake the maples, and all suddenly - A storm of leafy stars around you freaks,-- - Some Dryad’s tattered raiment. To her knee - Wading, the Naiad haunts her stream that streaks - Through woodland waifs. Hark! Pan for Helike - Flutes in the forest, while he seeks and seeks. - - - - - A NOVEMBER WALK - - - I - - _Morning_ - - The hoar frost crisps beneath the feet; - And, sparkling in the morning’s strength, - The fence, along its straggling length, - Gleams as if wrought of virgin sleet. - - On broom-sedge fields and sassafras - Neglectfully the dim wind lifts - The dead leaves; and around me drifts - The milkweed, shaken from the grass. - - Reluctantly and one by one - The useless leaves drift slowly down; - And, seen through woodland vistas, brown - The nut-tree patters in the sun. - - Where pools the brook beneath its fall - With scales of ice its edge is bound; - And on the pebbles scattered round - The ooze is frozen; each a ball, - - It seems, of crystal fallen there. - And now the wind sweeps through the wood - With sighings, and the solitude - Seems shaken with a mighty care. - - Decay and melancholy drape - The near-by hills in mysteries - Of mist, through which the rocks and trees - Loom, hazy, each a phantom shape. - - To sullenness the surly crow - All his derisive being yields, - And o’er the barren stubble-fields - Flaps, cawless, wrapped in hungry woe. - - - II - - _Evening_ - - As eve comes on the teasel stoops - Its spike-crowned cone before the blast: - The tattered leaves drive whirling past - In frantic and fantastic troops. - - The matted elder-copses sigh; - Their broad, blue combs, with berries weighed, - Like heavy pendulums are swayed - With every gust that wanders by. - - Through broken walls of tangled brier, - That hedge the lane, the sumachs thrust - Their scarlet torches, red as rust, - Lit with the sunset’s stolid fire. - - The eve is here: Cold, hard, and drear - The cloudless west with livid white - Of flaming silver walls the night - Far as one star’s thin rays appear. - - Wedged ’thwart the west’s white luridness - The wild geese wing; from roseless domes - The far “honk” of the leader comes - Lonely and harsh and colorless. - - The west dies down; and in its cup, - Shadow on shadow, pours the night; - The east glows with a mystic light; - The stars are keen; the moon comes up. - - - - - THE WHITE EVENING - - - On hills, beneath the steely skies, - The wind-tossed forests rock and roar: - Along the river’s ringing shore - Homeward the skimming skater flies. - - On windy meads of icy brakes, - Where, sheathed in sleet, the haw-tree stands, - The moon looks down on glistening lands, - Where with the cold each bramble shakes. - - Last night the sleet made white the world: - All day the wind moaned in the pines: - Now like a wolf, that whines and whines, - Like some wild wolf its hate is hurled - - Against the hut upon the wold, - And the one willow by the stream: - Where, huddled, in the moon’s chill gleam, - The houseless hare leaps through the cold. - - The moon sinks low, the thin new-moon, - And with it, like a bit of spar, - Sinks down the large white evening-star, - Beneath which earth seems crystal-hewn. - - Slim o’er the tree-tops, weighed with white, - The country church’s spire doth swell, - A scintillating icicle; - While fitfully the village light - - Stabs, stains with sallow stars the dark: - Homeward the creaking wagons strain: - The smithy glares: the tavern’s vane - Points northward in its ghostly sark. - - And from the north, with stinging lash, - Driving his herds of snow and sleet, - Upon his steed of wind, whose feet - Hurl through the iron woods and crash - - Along the hills, with blow on blow, - The tempest sweeps; before his shout - The moon and stars are blotted out, - And fold on fold rolls down the snow. - - - - - DREAMS - - - My thoughts have borne me far away - To beauties of an older day, - Where, crowned with roses, stands the Dawn, - Striking her seven-stringed barbiton - Of flame, whose chords give being to - The seven colors, hue for hue; - The music of the color-dream - She builds the day from, beam by beam. - - My thoughts have borne me far away - To myths of a diviner day, - Where, sitting on the mountain, Noon - Sings to the pines a sun-soaked tune - Of rest and shade and clouds and skies, - Wherein her calm dreams idealize - Light as a presence, heavenly fair, - Sleeping with all her beauty bare. - - My thoughts have borne me far away - To visions of a wiser day, - Where, stealing through the wilderness, - Night walks, a sad-eyed votaress, - And prays with mystic words she hears - Behind the thunder of the spheres, - The starry utterance that is hers - With which she fills the universe. - - - - - THE BROOK - - - To it the forest tells - The mystery that haunts its heart and folds - Its form in cogitation deep, that holds - The shadow of each myth that dwells - In nature--be it Nymph or Fay or Faun-- - And whispering of them to the dales and dells, - It wanders on and on. - - To it the heaven shows - The secret of its soul; true images - Of dreams that form its aspect; and with these - Reflected in its countenance it goes, - With pictures of the skies, the dusk and dawn, - Within its breast, as every blossom knows, - For them to gaze upon. - - Through it the world-soul sends - Its heart’s creating pulse that beats and sings - The music of maternity whence springs - All life; and shaping earthly ends,-- - From the deep sources of the heavens drawn,-- - Planting its ways with beauty, on it wends, - On and for ever on. - - - - - THE OLD SWING - - - Under the boughs of spring - She swung in the old rope-swing. - - Her cheeks, with their happy blood, - Glowed pink as the apple-bud. - - Her eyes, with their deep delight, - Shone glad as the stars of night. - - Her curls, with their romp and fun, - Tossed hoiden to wind and sun. - - Her lips, with their laughter shrill, - Rippled like some wild rill. - - Under the boughs of spring - She swung in the old rope-swing. - - And I,--who leaned on the fence, - Watching her innocence, - - As, under the boughs that bent, - Now high, now low, she went, - - In her soul the ecstasies - Of the stars, the brooks, the breeze,-- - - Had given the rest of my years, - With their, blessings, and hopes, and fears, - - To have been as she was then; - And, just for a moment, again - - A boy in the old rope-swing - Under the boughs of spring. - - - - - TO AUTUMN - - - I feel thee as one feels a flower’s, - A dead flower’s fragrance in a room,-- - A dim, gray grief that haunts the hours - With sad perfume. - - Thou charm’st me as a ghostly lily - Might charm a garden’s withered space, - With the pale pathos and the chilly - Hush of thy face. - - I hearken in thy fogs; I hearken - When, like the phantom of dead Night, - With immaterial limbs they darken - The day with white. - - With wrecks of rain and mad winds, heaping - Red ruins of riven rose and leaf, - Make sad my heart, O Autumn! sweeping - The world with grief. - - - - - WINTER DREAMS - - - How does it come that now I go - Down ways made blue with bluets’ eyes? - Along the creek-road as the crow - With mocking laughter flies? - - A wild bird beats a crippled wing - To lure me from its brush-built nest; - Then, like a brook, I hear it sing - Its wildwood happiest. - - Beyond the orchard hills are dells - Of knee-deep huckleberries, white - With little bell-blooms, May-time swells - With sweetness and delight. - - The faun wakes in me, wild and keen, - And, with the joy the rathe months hold, - Kicks happy heels in deeps of green - And rolls in deeper gold. - - My Shakespeare falls: I wake: and frost - And ice seam every flower-bed: - Where once each stalk, an Edgar, tossed, - Poor Tom now shakes instead. - - Where once th’ gladiole, gleaming, shook - A wand of folly at the sun, - The humped stock hath a withered look-- - The poor, pale Fool is done. - - A great, gray beard the rose-bush hath,-- - An old king’s,--where hangs many a tear, - Near the dead lily by the path-- - Cordelia and Lear. - - - - - TANSY AND SWEET-ALYSSUM - - - - - A FLOWER OF THE FIELDS - - - Bee-bitten in the orchard hung - The peach; or, fallen in the weeds, - Lay rotting, where still sucked and sung - The gray bee, boring to the seed’s - Pink pulp and honey blackly stung. - - The orchard-path, which wound around - The garden,--with its heat one twinge - Of dinning locusts,--picket-bound - And ragged, brought me where one hinge - Held up the gate that scraped the ground. - - All seemed the same: the martin-box-- - Sun-warped, with pygmy balconies-- - Still stood, with all its twittering flocks, - Perched on its pole above the peas - And silvery-seeded onion-stocks. - - The clove-pink and the rose; the clump - Of coppery sunflowers, with the heat - Sick to the heart: the garden stump, - Red with geranium-pots, and sweet - With moss and ferns, this side the pump. - - I rested with one hesitant hand - Upon the gate. The lonesome day, - Droning with insects, made the land - One dry stagnation. Soaked with hay - And scents of weeds the hot wind fanned. - - I breathed the sultry scents, my eyes - Parched as my lips. And yet I felt - My limbs were ice.--As one who flies - To some wild woe.--How sleepy smelt - The hay-hot heat that soaked the skies! - - Noon nodded; dreamier, lonesomer - For one long, plaintive, forest-side - Bird-quaver.--And I knew me near - Some heartbreak anguish.... She had died. - I felt it, and no need to hear. - - I passed the quince-and pear-tree; where, - All up the porch, a grape-vine trails.-- - How strange that fruit, whatever air - Or earth it grows in, never fails - To find its native flavor there! - - And she was as a flower, too, - That grows its proper bloom and scent - No matter what the soil: she, who, - Born better than her place, still lent - Grace to the lowliness she knew.... - - They met me at the porch and were - Gaunt-eyed with weeping.--Then the room - Shut out the country’s heat and purr, - And left light stricken into gloom-- - So love and I might look on her. - - - - - ON STONY-RUN - - - O cheerly, cheerly by the road, - And merrily down the hillet, - And where the bottom-lands are sowed - With bristle-bearded millet; - - Then o’er a pebbled path it goes - Through woodland dale and dingle, - Unto a farmstead’s windowed rose, - And roof of moss and shingle. - - Then darkly, darkly through the brush, - And dimly round the boulder, - Where cane and water-weeds grow lush, - Its current clear flows colder. - - Then by the cedared way that leads, - Through burr and bramble-thickets, - Unto a burial-ground of weeds - Fenced in with broken pickets. - - Then slowly, slowly down the vale, - And wearily through the rushes, - Where sunlight of the noon is pale, - Its shadowy water hushes. - - For oft her young face smiled upon - Its deeps here, willow-shaded; - And oft with bare feet in the sun - Its shallows there she waded. - - No more beneath the twinkling leaves - Shall stand the farmer’s daughter!-- - softly past the cottage eaves, - O memory-haunted water! - - No more shall bend her laughing face - Above it where the rose is!-- - Sigh softly past the burial-place - Where all her youth reposes. - - - - - HOME - - - Among the fields the camomile - Seems blown mist in the lightning’s glare: - Cool, rainy odors drench the air; - Night speaks above; the angry smile - Of storm within her stare. - - The way that I shall take to-night - Is through the wood whose branches fill - The road with double darkness, till, - Between the boughs, a window’s light - Shines out upon the hill. - - The fence; and then the path that goes - Around a trailer-tangled rock, - Through puckered pink and hollyhock, - Unto a latch-gate’s unkempt rose, - And door whereat I knock. - - Bright on the old-time flower-place - The lamp streams through the foggy pane - The door is opened to the rain: - And in the door--her happy face - And outstretched hands again. - - - - - DUSK IN THE WOODS - - - Three miles of trees it is: and I - Came through the woods that waited, dumb, - For the cool summer dusk to come; - And lingered there to watch the sky - Up which the gradual sunset clomb. - - A tree-toad quavered in a tree; - And then a sudden whippoorwill - Called overhead, so wildly shrill - The sleeping wood, it seemed to me, - Cried out and then again was still. - - Then through dark boughs its stealthy flight - An owl took; and, at drowsy strife, - The cricket tuned its fairy fife; - And like a ghostflower, silent white, - The wood-moth glimmered into life. - - And in the punk-wood everywhere - The insects ticked, or bored below - The rotted bark; and, glow on glow, - The lambent fireflies here and there - Lit up their jack-o’-lantern show. - - I heard a vesper-sparrow sing, - Withdrawn, it seemed, into the far - Slow sunset’s tranquil cinnabar; - The crimson, softly smouldering - Behind gaunt trunks, with its one star. - - A dog barked: and down ways that gleamed, - Through dew and clover, faint the noise - Of cow-bells moved. And then a voice, - That sang a-milking, so it seemed, - Made glad my heart as some glad boy’s. - - And then the lane: and, full in view, - A farm-house with a rose-grown gate, - And honeysuckle paths, await - For night, the moon, and love and you-- - These are the things that made me late. - - - - - COMRADES - - - Down through the woods, along the way - That fords the stream; by rock and tree, - Where in the bramble-bell the bee - Swings; and through twilights green and gray - The red-bird flashes suddenly, - My thoughts went wandering to-day. - - I found the fields where, row on row, - The blackberries hang black their fruit; - Where, nesting at the elder’s root, - The partridge whistles soft and low; - The fields, that billow to the foot - Of those old hills we used to know. - - There lay the pond, still willow-bound, - On whose bright surface, when the hot - Noon burnt above, we chased the knot - Of water-striders; while around - Our heads, like bits of rainbow, shot - The dragon-flies without a sound. - - The pond, above which evening bent - To gaze upon her gypsy face; - Wherein the twinkling night would trace - A vague, inverted firmament; - In which the green frogs tuned their bass, - And firefly sparkles came and went. - - The old-time woods we often ranged, - When we were playmates, you and I; - The old-time fields, with boyhood’s sky - Still blue above them!--Naught was changed! - Nothing!--Alas! then tell me why - Should we be? whom the years estranged. - - - - - THE ROCK - - - Here, at its base, in dingled deeps - Of spice-bush, where the ivy creeps, - The cold spring scoops its hollow; - And there, three mossy stepping-stones - Make ripple murmurs; undertones - Of foam, whose low falls follow - A voice far in the wood that drones. - - The quail pipes here when noons are hot; - And here, in coolness sunlight-shot, - Beneath a roof of briers, - The red fox skulks at close of day; - And here, at night, the shadows gray - Stand like Franciscan friars, - With moonbeam beads whereon they pray. - - Here yawns the woodchuck’s dark-dug hole; - And there the tunnel of the mole - Heaves under weed and flower; - A sandy pit-fall here and there - The ant-lion digs and lies a-lair - And here, for sun and shower, - The spider weaves a silvery snare. - - The poison-oak’s rank tendrils twine - The rock’s south side; the trumpet-vine, - With crimson bugles sprinkled, - Makes green its eastern side; the west - Is rough with lichens; and, gray-pressed - Into an angle wrinkled, - The hornets hang an oblong nest. - - The north is hid from sun and star, - And here,--like an Inquisitor - Of Faëry Inquisition, - Who roots out Elfland heresy,-- - Deep in the rock, cowled shadowy - And grave as his commission, - The owl sits magisterially. - - - - - STANDING-STONE CREEK - - - A weed-grown slope, whereon the rain - Has washed the brown rocks bare, - Leads tangled from a lonely lane - Down to a creek’s broad stair - Of stone, that, through the solitude, - Winds onward to a quiet wood. - - An intermittent roof of shade - The beech above it throws; - Along its steps a balustrade - Of beauty builds the rose; - In which, a stately lamp of green, - At intervals, the cedar’s seen. - - The water, carpeting each ledge - Of rock that runs across, - Glints ’twixt a flow’r-embroidered edge - Of ferns and grass and moss; - And in its deeps the wood and sky - Seem patterns of the softest dye. - - Long corridors of pleasant dusk - Within the house of leaves - It reaches; where, on looms of musk, - The ceaseless locust weaves - A web of summer; and perfume - Trails a sweet gown from room to room. - - Green windows of the boughs, that swing, - It passes, where the notes - Of birds are glad thoughts entering, - And butterflies are motes; - And now a vista where the day - Opens a door of wind and ray. - - It is a stairway for all sounds - That haunt the woodland sides; - On which, boy-like, the Southwind bounds, - Girl-like, the sunbeam glides; - And, like fond parents, following these, - The old-time dreams of rest and peace. - - - - -“CLOUDS OF THE AUTUMN NIGHT” - - - Clouds of the autumn night, - Under the hunter’s-moon,-- - Ghostly and windy white,-- - Whither, like leaves wild strewn, - Take ye your stormy flight? - - Out of the west, where dusk, - From her red window-sill, - Leaned with a wand of tusk, - Witch-like, and wood and hill - Phantomed with mist and musk - - Into the east, where morn - Sleeps in a shadowy close, - Shut with a gate of horn, - Round which the dreams she knows - Flutter with rose and thorn. - - Blow from the west! oh, blow, - Clouds that the tempest steers! - And with your rain and snow - Bear of my heart the tears, - And of my soul the woe. - - Into the east then pass, - Clouds that the night-winds sweep! - And on her grave’s sere grass, - There where she lies asleep, - There let them fall, alas! - -[Illustration: - - Ghostly and windy white Page 168 - - _Clouds of the Autumn Night_] - - - - - THEN AND NOW - - - When my old heart was young, my dear, - The earth and heaven were so near - That in my dreams I oft could hear - The steps of airy races; - In woodlands, where bright waters ran, - On hills, God’s rainbows used to span, - I followed voices not of man, - And smiled in spirit faces. - - Now my old heart is old, my sweet, - No longer earth and heaven meet; - All life is grown to one dull street - Where fact with fancy clashes; - The voices now that speak to me - Are prose instead of poetry; - And in the faces now I see - Is less of flame than ashes. - - - - - BY THE TRYSTING-BEECH - - - Deep in the west a berry-colored bar - Of sunset gleams; against which one tall fir - Stands outlined dark; above which--courier - Of dew and dreams--burns dusk’s appointed star. - And flash on flash, as when the elves wage war - In Goblinland, the fireflies bombard - The silence; and, like spirits, o’er the sward - The twilight winds bring fragrance from afar. - And now, withdrawn into the hill-wood belts, - A whippoorwill; while, with attendant states - Of pearl and silver, slow the great moon melts - Into the night--to show me where _she_ waits,-- - Like some slim moonbeam,--by the old beech-tree, - Who keeps her lips, fresh as a flower, for me. - - - - - AFTER LONG GRIEF AND PAIN - - - There is a place hung o’er of summer boughs - And dreamy skies wherein the gray hawk sleeps; - Where waters flow, within whose lazy deeps, - Like silvery prisms where the sunbeams drowse, - The minnows twinkle; where the bells of cows - Tinkle the stillness; and the bob-white keeps - Calling from meadows where the reaper reaps, - And children’s laughter haunts an old-time house: - A place where life wears ever an honest smell - Of hay and honey, sun and elder-bloom-- - Like some sweet, modest girl--within her hair; - Where, with our love for comrade, we may dwell - Far from the city’s strife, whose cares consume-- - Oh, take my hand and let me lead you there. - - - - - THE HAUNTED WOODLAND - - - Here in the golden darkness - And green night of the woods, - A flitting form I follow, - A shadow that eludes-- - Or is it but the phantom - Of former forest moods? - - The phantom of some fancy - I knew when I was young, - And in my dreaming boyhood, - The wildwood flow’rs among, - Young face to face with Faëry - Spoke in no unknown tongue. - - Blue were her eyes, and golden - The nimbus of her hair; - And scarlet as a flower - Her mouth that kissed me there; - That kissed and bade me follow, - And smiled away my care. - - A magic and a marvel - Lived in her word and look, - As down among the blossoms - She sate me by the brook, - And read me wonder-legends - In Nature’s Story Book. - - Loved fairy-tales forgotten, - She never reads again, - Of beautiful enchantments - That haunt the sun and rain, - And, in the wind and water, - Chant a mysterious strain. - - And so I search the forest, - Wherein my spirit feels, - In stream, or tree, or flower - Herself she still conceals-- - But now she flies who followed, - Whom Earth no more reveals. - - - - - COMRADERY - - - With eyes hand-arched he looks into - The morning’s face, then turns away - With school-boy feet, all wet with dew, - Out for a holiday. - - The hill brook sings; incessant stars, - Foam-fashioned, on its restless breast; - And where he wades its water-bars - Its song is happiest. - - A comrade of the chinquapin, - He looks into its knotty eyes - And sees its heart; and, deep within, - Its soul that makes him wise. - - The wood-thrush knows and follows him, - Who whistles up the birds and bees; - And round him all the perfumes swim - Of woodland loam and trees. - - Where’er he pass the supple springs’ - Foam-people sing the flowers awake; - And sappy lips of bark-clad things - Laugh ripe each fruited brake. - - His touch is a companionship; - His word, an old authority: - He comes, a lyric on his lip, - Unstudied Poesy. - - - - - OCCULT - - - Unto the soul’s companionship - Of things that only seem to be, - Earth points with magic finger-tip - And bids thee see - How Fancy keeps thee company. - - For oft at dawn hast not beheld - A spirit of prismatic hue - Blow wide the buds, which night hath swelled? - And stain them through - With heav’n’s ethereal gold and blue? - - While at her side another went - With gleams of enigmatic white? - A spirit who distributes scent, - To vale and height, - In footsteps of the rosy light? - - And oft at dusk hast thou not seen - The star-fays bring their caravans - Of dew, and glitter all the green, - Night’s shadow tans, - With drops the rain-hung cobweb spans? - - Nor watched with these the elfins go - Who tune faint instruments--that sound - Like that moon-music insects blow?-- - Then haunted ground - Thou hast not trodden, never found! - - - - - WOOD-WORDS - - - I - - The spirits of the forest, - That to the winds give voice-- - I lie the livelong April day - And wonder what it is they say - That makes the leaves rejoice. - - The spirits of the forest, - That breathe in bud and bloom-- - I walk within the haw-tree brake - And wonder how it is they make - The bubbles of perfume. - - The spirits of the forest, - That dwell in every spring-- - I lean above the brook’s bright blue - And wonder what it is they do - That makes the water sing. - - The spirits of the forest, - That haunt the sun’s green glow-- - Down fungus ways of fern I steal - And would surprise what they conceal, - In dew, that twinkles so. - - O spirits of the forest, - Here are my heart and hand!-- - Oh, send a gleam or glow-worm ray - To guide my soul the firefly way - That leads to Fairyland. - - - II - - The time when dog-tooth violets - Hold up inverted horns of gold,-- - The elvish cups that Spring upsets - With dripping feet, when April wets - The sun-and-shadow-marbled wold,-- - - Is come. And by each leafing way - The sorrel drops pale blots of pink; - And, like an angled star a fay - Sets on her forehead’s pallid day, - The blossoms of the trillium wink. - - Within the vale, by rock and stream,-- - A fragile, fairy porcelain,-- - Blue as a baby’s eyes a-dream, - The bluets blow; and gleam in gleam - The sun-shot dogwoods flash with rain. - - It is the time to cast off care; - To make glad intimates of these:-- - The frank-faced sunbeam laughing there: - The great-heart wind, that bids us share - The optimism of the trees. - - - III - - The white ghosts of the flowers, - The gray ghosts of the trees, - Rise when the April showers, - And haunt the wildwood bowers, - And trail along the breeze: - The white ghosts of the flowers, - The gray ghosts of the trees. - - Oft in the woodless places - I feel their dim control; - The wildflowers’ perished faces, - The great trees’ vanished races, - That meet me soul to soul: - Oft in the woodless places - I feel their dim control. - - - IV - - Crab-apple buds, whose bells - The mouth of April kissed; - That hang,--like rosy shells - Around a Naiad’s wrist,-- - Pink as dawn-tinted mist. - - And paw-paw buds, whose dark - Deep auburn blossoms shake - On boughs,--as ’neath the bark - A dryad’s eyes awake,-- - Brown as a midnight lake. - - These, with symbolic blooms - Of wind-flower and wild-phlox, - I found among the glooms - Of hill-lost woods and rocks, - Lairs of the hare and fox. - - The beetle in the brush, - The bird about the creek, - The bee within the hush, - And I, whose love was meek, - Stood still to hear these speak - - The language that records, - In flower-syllables, - The hieroglyphic words - Of beauty, who enspells - The world and aye compels. - - - - - THE WIND AT NIGHT - - - I - - Not till the wildman wind is shrill, - Howling upon the hill - In every wolfish tree, whose boisterous boughs, - Like desperate arms, gesture and beat the night, - And down huge clouds, in chasms of stormy white, - The frightened moon hurries above the house, - Shall I lie down; and, deep,-- - Letting the mad wind keep - Its shouting revel round me,--fall asleep. - - - II - - Not till its dark halloo is hushed, - And where wild waters rushed,-- - Like some hoof’d terror underneath its whip - And spur of foam,--remains - A ghostly glass, hill-framed; whereover stains - Of moony mists and rains, - And stealthy starbeams, still as spectres, slip; - Shall I--with thoughts that take - Unto themselves the ache - Of silence as a sound--from sleep awake. - - - - - AIRY TONGUES - - - I - - There is a song the wet leaves lisp - When Morn comes down the woodland way; - And misty as a thistle-wisp - Her gown gleams, windy gray: - A song that seems to say, - “Awake! ’tis day!” - - There is a sigh when Day sits down - Beside the sunlight-lulled lagoon; - While on her glistening hair and gown - The rose of rest is strew: - A sigh, that seems to croon, - “Come rest! ’tis noon!” - - There is a whisper when the stars, - Above an evening-purpled height, - Crown the dead Day with nenuphars - Of fire, gold and white: - A voice, that seems t’ invite, - “Come love! ’tis night!” - - - II - - Before the rathe song-sparrow sings - Among the haw-trees in the lane, - And to the wind the locust flings - Its early clusters fresh with rain; - Beyond the morning-star, that swings - Its rose of fire above the spire, - Between the morning’s watchet wings, - A wild voice rings o’er brooks and boughs-- - “Arouse! arouse!” - - Before the first brown owlet cries - Among the grape-vines on the hill, - And in the dam with half-shut eyes - The lilies rock above the mill; - Beyond the oblong moon, that flies, - A pearly flower, above the tower, - Between the twilight’s primrose skies, - A soft voice sighs, from east to west-- - “To rest! to rest!” - - - - - RAIN AND WIND - - - I hear the hoofs of horses - Galloping over the hill, - Galloping on and galloping on, - When all the night is shrill - With wind and rain that beats the pane-- - And my soul with awe is still. - - For every dripping window - Their headlong rush makes bound, - Galloping up, and galloping by, - Then back again and around, - Till the gusty roofs ring with their hoofs, - And the draughty cellars sound. - - And then I hear black horsemen - Hallooing in the night; - Hallooing and hallooing, - They ride o’er vale and height, - And the branches snap and the shutters clap - With the fury of their flight. - - Then at each door a horseman,-- - With burly bearded lip - Hallooing through the keyhole,-- - Pauses with cloak a-drip; - And the door-knob shakes and the panel quakes - ’Neath the anger of his whip. - - All night I hear their gallop, - And their wild halloo’s alarm; - The tree-tops sound and the vanes go round - In forest and on farm; - But never a hair of a thing is there-- - Only the wind and storm. - - - - - UNDER ARCTURUS - - - I - - “I belt the morn with ribboned mist; - With baldricked blue I gird the noon, - And dusk with purple, crimson-kissed, - White-buckled with the hunter’s-moon. - - “These follow me,” the Season says: - “Mine is the frost-pale hand that packs - Their scrips, and speeds them on their ways, - With gipsy gold that weighs their backs.” - - - II - - A daybreak horn the Autumn blows, - As with a sun-tanned hand he parts - Wet boughs whereon the berry glows; - And at his feet the red fox starts. - - The leafy leash that holds his hounds - Is loosed; and all the noonday hush - Is startled; and the hillside sounds - Behind the fox’s bounding brush. - - When red dusk makes the western sky - A fire-lit window through the firs, - He stoops to see the red fox die - Among the chestnut’s broken burrs. - - Then fanfaree and fanfaree, - His bugle sounds; the world below - Grows hushed to hear; and two or three - Soft stars dream through the afterglow. - - - III - - Like some black host the shadows fall, - And blackness camps among the trees; - Each wildwood road, a Goblin Hall, - Grows populous with mysteries. - - Night comes with brows of ragged storm, - And limbs of writhen cloud and mist; - The rain-wind hangs upon his arm - Like some wild girl who cries unkissed. - - By his gaunt hands the leaves are shed - In headlong troops and nightmare herds; - And, like a witch who calls the dead, - The hill-stream whirls with foaming words. - - Then all is sudden silence and - Dark fear--like his who can not see, - Yet hears, lost in a haunted land, - Death rattling on a gallow’s-tree. - - - IV - - The days approach again; the days - Whose mantles stream, whose sandals drag - When in the haze by puddled ways - The gnarled thorn seems a crookéd hag. - - When rotting orchards reek with rain; - And woodlands crumble, leaf and log; - And in the drizzling yard again - The gourd is tagged with points of fog. - - Now let me seat my soul among - The woods’ dim dreams, and come in touch - With melancholy, sad of tongue - And sweet, who says so much, so much. - - - - - BARE BOUGHS - - - O heart,--that beat the bird’s blithe blood, - The blithe bird’s strain, and understood - The song it sang to leaf and bud,-- - What dost thou in the wood? - - O soul,--that kept the brook’s glad flow, - The glad brook’s word to sun and moon,-- - What dost thou here where song lies low, - Dead as the dreams of June? - - Where once was heard a voice of song, - The hautboys of the mad winds sing; - Where once a music flowed along, - The rain’s wild bugles ring. - - The weedy water frets and ails, - And moans in many a sunless fall; - And, o’er the melancholy, trails - The black crow’s eldritch call. - - Unhappy brook! O withered wood! - O days, whom death makes comrades of! - Where are the birds that thrilled the blood - When Life struck hands with Love? - - A song, one soared against the blue; - A song, one bubbled in the leaves: - A song, one threw where orchards grew - Red-appled to the eaves. - - The birds are flown; the flowers are dead; - And sky and earth are bleak and gray; - The wild winds hang i’ the boughs instead, - And wild leaves strew the way. - - - - - A THRENODY - - - I - - The rainy smell of a ferny dell, - Whose shadow no sun-ray flaws, - When Autumn sits in the wayside weeds - Telling her beads - Of haws. - - - II - - The phantom mist, that is moonbeam-kissed, - On hills where the trees are thinned, - When Autumn leans at the oak-root’s scarp, - Touching a harp - Of wind. - - - III - - The cricket’s chirr ’neath brier and burr, - By leaf-strewn pools and streams, - When Autumn stands ’mid the dropping nuts, - With the book, she shuts, - Of dreams. - - - IV - - The gray “Alas” of the days that pass, - And the hope that says “Adieu,” - A parting sorrow, a shriveled flower, - And one ghost’s hour - With you. - - - - - SNOW - - - The moon, like a round device - On a shadowy shield of war, - Hangs white in a heaven of ice - With a solitary star. - - The wind is sunk to a sigh, - And the waters are steeled with frost; - And gray in the eastern sky - The last snow-cloud is lost. - - White fields, that are winter-starved; - Black woods, that are winter-fraught; - And Earth like a face death-carved - With the iron of some black thought. - - - - - AN OLD SONG - - - I - - It’s, Oh, for the hills, where the wind’s some one - With a vagabond foot that follows! - And a cheer-up hand that he claps upon - Your arm with the hearty words, “Come on! - We’ll soon be out of the hollows, - My heart! - We’ll soon be out of the hollows!” - - - II - - It’s, Oh, for the songs, where the hope’s some one - With a renegade foot that doubles! - And a kindly look that he turns upon - Your face with the friendly laugh, “Come on! - We’ll soon be out of the troubles, - My heart! - We’ll soon be out of the troubles!” - - - - - BABY MARY - - - Deep in baby Mary’s eyes, - Baby Mary’s sweet blue eyes, - Dwell the golden memories - Of the music once her ears - Heard in far-off Paradise: - So she has no time for tears,-- - Baby Mary,-- - Listening to the songs she hears. - - Soft in baby Mary’s face, - Baby Mary’s lovely face, - If you watch, you, too, may trace - Dreams her spirit-self hath seen - In some far-off Eden-place, - Whence her soul she can not wean,-- - Baby Mary,-- - Dreaming in a world between. - - - - - A SUNSET FANCY - - - Wide in the west a lake - Of flame that seems to shake - As if the Midgard snake - Deep down did breathe: - An isle of purple glow, - Where rosy rivers flow - Down peaks of cloudy snow - With fire beneath. - - And there the Tower-of-Night, - With windows all a-light, - Frowns on a burning height, - Wherein she sleeps,-- - Young through the years of doom,-- - Veiled with her hair’s gold gloom, - She, the Valkyrie, whom - Enchantment keeps. - - - - - THE FEN-FIRE - - - The misty rain makes dim my face, - The night’s black cloak is o’er me; - I tread the dripping cypress-place, - A flickering light before me. - - Out of the death of leaves that rot - And ooze and weedy water, - My form was breathed to haunt this spot, - Death’s immaterial daughter. - - The owl that whoops upon the yew, - The snake that lairs within it, - Have seen my wild face flashing blue - For one fantastic minute. - - But should you follow where my eyes - Like some pale lamp decoy you, - Beware! lest suddenly I rise - With love that shall destroy you. - - - - - THE WOOD - - - Witch-hazel, dogwood, and the maple here; - And there the oak and hickory; - Linn, poplar, and the beech-tree, far and near - As the eased eye can see. - - Wild-ginger; wahoo, with its flat balloons; - And brakes of briers of a twilight green; - And fox-grapes plumed with summer; and strung moons - Of mandrake flowers between. - - Deep gold-green ferns, and mosses green and gray,-- - Mats for what naked myth’s white feet?-- - And, cool and calm, a cascade far away - With ever-even beat. - - Old logs, made sweet with death; rough bits of bark; - And tangled twig and knotted root; - And sunshine splashes and great pools of dark; - And many a wild-bird’s flute. - - Here let me sit until the Indian, Dusk, - With copper-colored face, comes down; - Sowing the wildwood with star-fire and musk, - And shadows blue and brown. - - Then side by side with some magician Dream, - I’ll take the owlet-haunted lane,-- - Half-roofed with vines,--led by a firefly gleam, - That brings me home again. - - - - - WOOD NOTES - - - I - - There is a flute that follows me - From tree to tree: - A water flute a spirit sets - To silver lips in waterfalls, - And through the breath of violets - A sparkling music calls:-- - “Hither! halloo! Oh, follow! - Down leafy hill and hollow, - Where, through clear swirls, - With feet like pearls, - Wade down the blue-eyed country girls. - Hither! halloo! Oh, follow!” - - - II - - There is a pipe that plays to me - From tree to tree: - A bramble pipe an elfin holds - To golden lips in berry brakes, - And, swinging o’er the elder wolds, - A flickering music makes:-- - “Come over! Come over - The new-mown clover! - Come over the fresh-cut hay! - Where, there by the berries, - With cheeks like cherries, - And locks with which the warm wind merries, - Brown girls are hilling the hay, - All day! - Come over the fields and away!-- - Come over! Come over!” - - - - - HILLS OF THE WEST - - - Hills of the west, that gird - Forest and farm, - Home of the nesting bird, - Housing from harm, - When, on your tops, is heard - Storm. - - Hills of the west, that bar - Belts of the gloam, - Under the twilight’s star, - Where the mists roam, - Take ye the wanderer - Home. - - Hills of the west, that dream - Under the moon, - Making of wind and stream, - Late heard and soon, - Parts of your lives that seem - Tune. - - Hills of the west, that take - Silence to ye, - Be it for sorrow’s sake - Or memory, - Part of such silence make - Me. - - - - - THE WIND OF SPRING - - - The wind that breathes of columbines - And celandines that crowd the rocks; - That shakes the balsam of the pines - With music from his airy locks, - Stops at my city door and knocks. - - He calls me far a-forest, where - The twin-leaf and the blood-root bloom; - And, circled by the amber air, - Life sits with beauty and perfume - Weaving the new web of her loom. - - He calls me where the waters run - Through fronding fern where wades the hern; - And, sparkling in the equal sun, - Song leans beside her brimming urn, - And dreams the dreams that love shall learn. - - The wind has summoned, and I go: - To con God’s meaning in each line - The wildflow’rs write; and, walking slow, - God’s purpose, of which song is sign,-- - The wind’s great, gusty hand in mine. - - - - - THE WILLOW BOTTOM - - - Lush green the grass that grows between - The willows of the bottom-land; - Edged by the careless water, tall and green - The brown-topped cat-tails stand. - - The cows come gently here to browse, - Slow through the great-leafed sycamores: - You hear a dog bark from a low-roofed house - With cedars round its doors. - - Then all is quiet as the wings - Of the one buzzard floating there: - Anon a woman’s high-pitched voice that sings - An old camp-meeting air. - - A cock that flaps and crows; and then-- - Heard drowsy through the rustling corn-- - A flutter, and the cackling of a hen - Within a hay-sweet barn. - - How still again! no water stirs: - No wind is heard: although the weeds - Are waved a little: and from silk-filled burrs - Drift by a few soft seeds. - - So drugged with dreams the place, that you - Expect to see her gliding by,-- - Hummed round of bees, through blossoms spilling dew,-- - The Spirit of July. - - - - - THE RED-BIRD - - - Red clouds and reddest flowers, - And now two redder wings - Swim through the rosy hours; - Red wings among the flowers; - And now the red-bird sings. - - God makes the red clouds ripples - Of flame that seem to split - In rubies and in dripples - Of rose where rills and ripples - The singing flame that lit. - - Red clouds of sundered splendor; - God whispered one small word, - Rich, sweet, and wild and tender-- - Straight, in the vibrant splendor, - The word became a bird. - - He flies beneath the garnet - Of clouds that flame and float,-- - When summer hears the hornet - Hum round the plum, turned garnet,-- - Heaven’s music in his throat. - - - - - CLEARING - - - Before the wind, with rain-drowned stocks, - The pleated, crimson hollyhocks - Are bending; - And, smouldering in the breaking brown, - Above the hills that rim the town, - The day is ending. - - The air is heavy with the damp; - And, one by one, each cottage lamp - Is lighted; - Infrequent passers of the street - Stroll on or stop to talk or greet, - Benighted. - - I look beyond my city yard, - And watch the white moon struggling hard, - Cloud-buried; - The wind is driving toward the east, - A wreck of pearl, all cracked and creased - And serried. - - At times the moon, erupting, streaks - Some long cloud, raised in mountain peaks - Of shadow,-- - That, seamed with silver, vein on vein, - Grows to a far volcano chain - Of Eldorado. - - The wind, that blows from out the hills, - Is like a woman’s touch that stills - A sorrow: - The moon sits high with many a star - In the deep calm: and fair and far - Abides to-morrow. - - - - - AUTUMN SORROW - - - Ah me! too soon the Autumn comes - Among these purple-plaintive hills! - Too soon among the forest gums - Premonitory flame she spills, - Bleak, melancholy flame that kills. - - Her white fogs veil the morn, that rims - With wet the moon-flow’r’s elfin moons; - And, like exhausted starlight, dims - The last slim lily-disk; and swoons - With scents of hazy afternoons. - - Her gray mists haunt the sunset skies, - And build the west’s cadaverous fire, - Where Sorrow sits with lonely eyes, - And hands that wake her ancient lyre, - Beside the ghost of dead Desire. - - - - - A DARK DAY OF SUMMER - - - Though Summer walks the world to-day - With corn-crowned hours for her guard, - Her thoughts have clad themselves in gray, - And wait in Autumn’s weedy yard. - - And where the larkspur and the phlox - Spread carpets for her feet to pass, - She stands with sombre, dripping locks - Bound bleak with fog-washed zinnias. - - Sad terra-cotta-colored flowers, - Whose disks the trickling wet has tinged - With dingy lustre, like the bowers, - Flame-flecked with leaves, the frost has singed. - - She, with slow feet,--’mid gaunt gold blooms - Of marigolds her fingers twist,-- - Passes, dim-swathed in Fall’s perfumes - And dreams of sullen rain and mist. - - - - - DAYS AND DAYS - - - The days that clothed white limbs with heat, - And rocked the red rose on their breast, - Have passed with amber-sandaled feet, - Into the ruby-gated west. - - These were the days that filled the heart - With overflowing riches of - Life; in whose soul no dream shall start - But hath its origin in love. - - Now come the days gray-huddled in - The haze; whose foggy footsteps drip; - Who pin beneath a gypsy chin - The frosty marigold and hip.-- - - The days, whose forms fall shadowy - Athwart the heart; whose misty breath - Shapes saddest sweets of memory - Out of the bitterness of death. - - - - - DROUTH IN AUTUMN - - - Gnarled acorn-oaks against a west - Of copper, cavernous with fire; - A wind of frost that gives no rest - To such lean leaves as haunt the brier, - And hide the cricket’s vibrant wire. - - Sere, shivering shocks, and stubble blurred - With bramble-blots of dull maroon; - And creekless hills whereon no herd - Finds pasture, and whereo’er the loon - Flies, haggard as the rainless moon. - - - - - IN SUMMER - - - When in dry hollows, hilled with hay, - The vesper-sparrow sings afar; - And golden gray dusk dies away - Beneath the amber evening-star: - There, where a warm and shadowy arm - The woodland lays around the farm, - I’ll meet you at the tryst, the tryst! - And kiss your lips no man hath kissed! - I’ll meet you at the twilight tryst,-- - With a hey and a ho!-- - Sweetheart! - I’ll kiss you at the tryst! - - When clover fields smell cool with dew, - And crickets cry, and roads are still; - And faint and few the fireflies strew - The dark where calls the whippoorwill; - There, in the lane, where sweet again - The petals of the wild-rose rain, - I’ll take in mine your hand, your hand! - And say the words you’ll understand! - Your soft hand nestling in my hand,-- - With a hey and a ho!-- - Sweetheart! - All loving hand in hand! - - - - - IN WINTER - - - I - - When black frosts pluck the acorns down, - And in the lane the waters freeze; - And ’thwart red skies the wild-fowl flies, - And death sits grimly in the trees; - When home-lights glitter through the brown - Of dusk like shaggy eyes,-- - Before the door his feet, sweetheart, - And two white arms that greet, sweetheart, - And two white arms that greet. - - - II - - When ways are drifted with the leaves, - And winds make music in the thorns; - And lone and lost above the frost - The new-moon shows its silver horns; - When underneath the lamplit eaves - The opened door is crossed,-- - A happy heart and light, sweetheart, - And lips that kiss good night, sweetheart, - And lips that kiss good night. - - - - - ON THE FARM - - - I - - He sang a song as he sowed the field, - Sowed the field at break of day: - “When the pursed-up leaves are as lips that yield - Balm and balsam, and Spring,--concealed - In the odorous green,--is so revealed, - Halloo and oh! - Hallo for the woods and the far away!” - - - II - - He trilled a song as he mowed the mead, - Mowed the mead as noon begun: - “When the hills are gold with the ripened seed, - As the sunset stairs of the clouds that lead - To the sky where Summer knows naught of need, - Halloo and oh! - Hallo for the hills and the harvest sun!” - - - III - - He hummed a song as he swung the flail, - Swung the flail in the afternoon: - “When the idle fields are a wrecker’s tale, - That the Autumn tells to the twilight pale, - As the Year turns seaward a crimson sail, - Halloo and oh! - Hallo for the fields and the hunter’s-moon!” - - - IV - - He whistled a song as he shouldered his axe, - Shouldered his axe in the evening storm: - “When the snow of the road shows the rabbit’s tracks, - And the wind is a whip that the Winter cracks, - With a herdsman’s cry, o’er the clouds black backs, - Halloo and oh! - Hallo for home and a fire to warm!” - - - - - PATHS - - - I - - What words of mine can tell the spell - Of garden ways I know so well?-- - The path that takes me, in the spring, - Past quince-trees where the bluebirds sing, - Where peonies are blossoming, - Unto a porch, wistaria-hung, - Around whose steps May-lilies blow, - A fair girl reaches down among, - Her arm more white than their sweet snow. - - - II - - What words of mine can tell the spell - Of garden ways I know so well?-- - Another path that leads me, when - The summer-time is here again, - Past hollyhocks that shame the west - When the red sun has sunk to rest; - To roses bowering a nest, - A lattice, ’neath which mignonette - And deep geraniums surge and sough, - Where, in the twilight, starless yet, - A fair girl’s eyes are stars enough. - - - III - - What words of mine can tell the spell - Of garden ways I know so well?-- - A path that takes me, when the days - Of autumn wrap the hills in haze, - Beneath the pippin-pelting tree, - ’Mid flitting butterfly and bee; - Unto a door where, fiery, - The creeper climbs; and, garnet-hued, - The cock’s-comb and the dahlia flare, - And in the door, where shades intrude, - Gleams bright a fair girl’s sunbeam hair. - - - IV - - What words of mine can tell the spell - Of garden ways I know so well?-- - A path that brings me through the frost - Of winter, when the moon is tossed - In clouds; beneath great cedars, weak - With shaggy snow; past shrubs blown bleak - With shivering leaves; to eaves that leak - The tattered ice, whereunder is - A fire-flickering window-space; - And in the light, with lips to kiss, - A fair girl’s welcome-giving face. - - - - - A SONG IN SEASON - - - I - - When in the wind the vane turns round, - And round, and round; - And in his kennel whines the hound: - When all the gable eaves are bound - With icicles of ragged gray, - A tattered gray; - There is little to do, and much to say, - And you hug your fire and pass the day - With a thought of the springtime, dearie. - - - II - - When late at night the owlet hoots, - And hoots, and hoots; - And wild winds make of keyholes flutes: - When to the door the goodman’s boots - Stamp through the snow the light strains red, - The firelight’s red; - There is nothing to do, and all is said, - And you quaff your cider and go to bed - And dream of the summer, dearie. - - - III - - When, nearing dawn, the black cock crows, - And crows, and crows; - And from the barn the milch-cow lows: - And the milkmaid’s cheeks have each a rose, - And the still skies show a star or two, - Or one or two; - There is little to say, and much to do, - And the heartier done the happier you, - With a song of the winter, dearie. - - - - - BEFORE THE END - - - How does the Autumn in her mind conclude - The tragic masque her frosty pencil writes, - Broad on the pages of the days and nights, - In burning lines of orchard, wold, and wood? - What lonelier forms--that at the year’s door stood - At spectral wait--with wildly wasted lights - Shall enter? and with melancholy rites - Inaugurate their sadder sisterhood?-- - Sorrow, who lifts a signal hand, and slow - The green leaf fevers, falling ere it dies; - Regret, whose pale lips summon: and gaunt Woe - Wakes the wild wind-harps with sonorous sighs; - And Sleep, who sits with poppied eyes and sees - The earth and sky grow dream-accessories. - - - - - HOAR-FROST - - - The frail eidolons of all blossoms Spring, - Year after year, about the forest tossed, - The magic touch of the enchanter, Frost, - Back from the Heaven of the Flow’rs doth bring; - Each branch and bush in silence visiting - With phantom beauty of its blooms long lost: - Each dead weed bends, white-haunted of its ghost, - Each dead flower stands ghostly with blossoming. - This is the wonder-legend Nature tells - To the gray moon and mist a winter’s night; - The fairy-tale which from her fancy wells - With all the glamour of her soul’s delight: - Before the summoning sorcery of her eyes - Rising, as might a dream materialize. - - - - - COLD - - - A mist that froze beneath the moon and shook - Minutest frosty crystals in the air. - All night the wind was still as lonely Care - Who sighs before her shivering inglenook. - The face of Winter wore a cruder look - Than when he shakes the icicles from his hair, - And, in the boisterous pauses, lets his stare - Freeze through the forest, fettering bough and brook. - He is the despot now who sits and dreams - Of desolation and despair, and smiles - At poverty, who hath no place to rest, - Who wanders o’er Life’s snow-made-pathless miles, - And sees the Home-of-Comfort’s window gleams, - Hugging her rag-wrapped baby to her breast. - - - - - THE WINTER MOON - - - Deep in the dell I watched her as she rose, - A face of icy fire, o’er the hills; - With snow-sad eyes that froze the forest rills, - And snow-sad feet that bleached the meadow snows: - Pale as some young witch who, a-listening, goes - To her first meeting with the Fiend; whose fears - Fix demon eyes behind each bush she nears; - Stops, yet must on, fearful of following foes. - And so I chased her, startled in the wood - Like a discovered oread, who flies - The faun who found her sleeping, each nude limb - Glittering betrayal through the solitude; - Till in a frosty cloud I saw her swim - Like a drowned face, a blur beneath the ice. - - - - - THE HILLSIDE GRAVE - - - Ten-thousand deep the drifted daisies break - Here at the hill’s foot; on its top, the wheat - Hangs meagre-bearded; and, in vague retreat, - The wisp-like blooms of the moth-mulleins shake. - And where the wild-pink drops a crimson flake, - And morning-glories, like young lips, make sweet - The shadowed hush, low in the honeyed heat, - The wild-bees hum--as if afraid to wake - One sleeping here, with no white stone to tell - If it be youth or maiden. Just the stem - Of one wild rose, towering o’er brier and weed, - Where all the day the wild-birds requiem; - Within whose shade the timid violets spell - An epitaph, the stars alone can read. - - - - - THE COVERED BRIDGE - - - There, from its entrance, lost in matted vines,-- - Where in the valley foams a waterfall,-- - Is glimpsed a ruined mill’s remaining wall; - Here, by the road, the black-eyed Susan mines - Hot brass and bronze; the trumpet-trailer shines - Red as the plumage of the cardinal. - Faint from the forest comes the rain-crow’s call - Where dusty Summer dreams among the pines. - This is the spot where Spring writes wildflower verses - In primrose pink, while, drowsing o’er his reins, - The ploughman, all unnoticing, plods along: - And where the Autumn opens weedy purses - Of sleepy silver, while the corn-piled wains - Rumble the bridge like some deep throat of song. - - - - - THE CREEK-ROAD - - - Calling, the heron flies athwart the blue - That sleeps above it; reach on rocky reach - Of water sings by sycamore and beech, - In whose warm shade bloom lilies not a few. - It is a page whereon the sun and dew - Scrawl sparkling words in dawn’s delicious speech; - A laboratory where the wood-winds teach, - Dissect each scent and analyze each hue. - Not otherwise than beautiful, doth it - Record the happenings of each summer day; - Where we may read, as in a catalogue, - When passed a thresher; when a load of hay; - Or when a rabbit; or a bird, that lit; - And now a barefoot truant and his dog. - - - - - ABANDONED - - - The hornets build in plaster dropping rooms, - And on its mossy porch the lizard lies; - Around its chimneys slow the swallow flies, - And on its roof the locusts snow their blooms. - Like some sad thought that broods here, old perfumes - Haunt its dim stairs; the cautious zephyr tries - Each gusty door, like some dead hand, then sighs - With ghostly lips among the attic glooms. - And now a heron, now a kingfisher, - Flits in the willows where the riffle seems - At each faint fall to hesitate to leap, - Fluttering the silence with a little stir. - Here Summer seems a placid face asleep, - And the near world a figment of her dreams. - - - - - OMENS - - - Sad on the hills the poppied sunset died. - Slow as a fungus breaking through the crusts - Of forest leaves, the waning half-moon thrusts - Through gray-brown clouds one milky silver side; - In her vague light the dogwoods, dim-descried, - Seem dying torches flourished by the gusts; - The apple-orchards seem the restless dusts - Of wind-thinned mists upon the hills they hide. - It is a night of omens whom late May - Meets, like a wraith, among her train of hours; - An apparition with appealing eye - And hesitant foot, that walks a willowed way, - And, speaking through the fading moon and flowers, - Bids her prepare her gentle soul to die. - - - - - IMPERFECTION - - - Not as the eye hath seen shall we behold - Romance and beauty when we’ve passed away; - That robed the dull facts of the intimate day - In life’s wild raiment of unusual gold: - Not as the ear hath heard shall we be told, - Hereafter, myth and legend once that lay - Warm at the heart of Nature, clothing clay - In attributes of no material mold. - These were imperfect of necessity, - That wrought through imperfection for far ends - Of perfectness--as calm philosophy, - Teaching a child, from his high heaven descends - To earth’s familiar things; informingly - Vesting his thoughts in that it comprehends. - - - - - ARCANA - - - Earth hath her images of utterance, - Her hieroglyphic meanings which elude; - A symbol language of similitude, - Into whose secrets science may not glance; - In which the Mind-in-Nature doth romance - In miracles that baffle if pursued-- - No guess shall search them and no thought intrude - Beyond the limits of her sufferance. - So doth the great Intelligence above - Hide His own thought’s creations; and attire - Forms in the dream’s ideal, which He dowers - With immaterial loveliness and love-- - As essences of fragrance and of fire-- - Preaching th’ evangels of the stars and flowers. - - - - - FULFILLMENT - - - There are some souls who may look in on these - Essential peoples of the earth and air-- - That have the stars and flowers in their care-- - And read their soul-suggestive secrecies: - Heart-intimates and comrades of the trees, - Who from them learn, what no known schools declare, - God’s knowledge; and from winds, that, singing, fare, - God’s gospel, filled with mighty harmonies. - Souls, unto whom the waves impart a word - Of fuller faith; the sunset and the dawn - Preach sermons more inspired even than - The tongues of Pentecost; as, distant heard - In forms of change, through Nature upward drawn, - God doth address th’ immortal part of Man. - - - - - TOO LATE - - - I looked upon a dead girl’s face and heard - What seemed the voice of Death cry out to me, - Deep in her heart, all of the agony - Of her lost dreams, complaining word on word:-- - How on her soul no soul had touched, or stirred - Her life’s sad depths to rippling melody, - Or made the imaged longing, there, to be - The realization of a hope deferred. - So in her life had Love behaved to her. - Between the lonely chapters of her years - And her young eyes making no golden blur - With god-bright face and hair; who led me to - Her side at last, and bade me, through my tears, - With Death’s dumb lips, too late, to see and know. - - - - - THE WITCH - - - She gropes and hobbles, where the dropsied rocks - Are hairy with the lichens and the twist - Of knotted wolf’s-bane, mumbling in the mist, - Hawk-nosed and wrinkle-eyed with scrawny locks. - At her bent back the moon, slow-sinking, mocks, - Like some lewd evil whom the Fiend hath kissed; - Once at her feet the slipping serpent hissed, - And once the owl called to the forest fox.-- - What Sabboth brew does she intend? What root - Now seek for, seal for what satanic spell - Of incantations and demonic fire?-- - From her rude hut, hill-huddled in the brier, - What dark Familiar points her sure pursuit, - There, with gaunt eyes, red with the glow of Hell? - - - - - THE SOMNAMBULIST - - - Oaks and a water. By the water--eyes, - Ice-green and steadfast as still stars; and hair - Yellow as eyes deep in a she-wolf’s lair; - And limbs--like mist the lightning’s flicker dyes. - The humped oaks huddle under iron skies; - The dry wind whirls the dead leaves everywhere; - White on the water falls a vulture-glare - Of moon, and black the circling raven flies. - Again the power of this thing hath laid - Compulsion on me: and I seem to hear - A sweet voice calling me beyond the gates - To longed-for love: I come: each forest glade - Seems reaching out white arms to draw me near-- - Nearer and nearer to the death that waits. - - - - - OPIUM - - _On reading De Quincey’s “Confessions of an Opium Eater.”_ - - - I seemed to stand before a temple walled - From shadows and night’s unrealities; - Filled with dark music of dead memories, - And voices,--lost in darkness,--deep that called. - I entered. And beneath the dome’s high-halled - Immensity one forced me to my knees - Before a blackness--throned ’mid semblances - And spectres--crowned with flames of emerald. - Then, lo! two shapes that thundered at mine ears - The names of Horror and Oblivion,-- - Priests of this god,--and bade me die and dream. - Then, in the heart of Hell, a thousand years - Meseemed I lay--dead! while the iron stream - Of Time beat out the seconds, one by one. - - - - - MUSIC AND SLEEP - - - These have a life that hath no part in death: - These circumscribe the soul and make it strong: - Between the breathing of a dream and song, - Building a world of beauty in a breath. - Unto the heart the voice of this one saith - Ideals, its emotions live among; - Unto the mind the other speaks a tongue - Of visions, where the guess,--men christen Faith,-- - May face the fact of immortality-- - As may a rose its unembodied scent, - Or star its own reflected radiance. - We do not know these save subconsciously, - To whose mysterious shadows God hath lent - No certain shape, no certain countenance. - - - - - AMBITION - - - Now to my lips lift thou some opiate - Of dull forgetfulness! while in thy gaze - Still lures the loveless beauty that betrays, - And in thy mouth the music that is hate. - No promise more hast thou to make me wait; - No smile to cozen my sick heart with praise! - Far, far behind thee stretch laborious days, - And far before thee, labors soon and late. - Thine is the fen-fire that we deem a star, - Flying before us, ever fugitive, - Thy mocking policy still holds afar: - And thine the voice to which our longings give - Hope’s siren face, that speaks us sweet and fair, - Only at last to whelm us with despair. - - - - - DESPONDENCY - - - Not all the bravery that day puts on - Of gold and azure, ardent or austere, - Shall ease my soul of sorrow; grief, more dear - Than all the joy that heavenly hope may don. - Far up the skies the rumor of the dawn - May run, and eve like some wild torch appear; - These shall not change the darkness, gathered here, - Of thought that rusts like an old sword undrawn. - Oh, for a place far-sunken from the sun! - A wildwood cave of primitive rocks and moss! - Where Sleep and Silence--breast to married breast-- - Lie with their child, night-eyed Oblivion; - Where, freed from all the burden of my cross, - I might forget, I might forget--and rest! - - - - - DESPAIR - - - Shut in with phantoms of life’s hollow hopes, - And shadows of old sins satiety slew, - And the young ghosts of the dead dreams love knew, - Out of the day into the night she gropes. - Behind her, high the silvered summit slopes - Of hope and faith, she will not turn to view; - But towards the cave of heartbreak, harsh of hue, - She goes, where all the dropsied horror ropes. - There is a voice of waters in her ears, - And on her brow a wind that never dies: - One is the anguish of desired tears; - One is the sorrow of unuttered sighs; - And, burdened with the immemorial years, - Downward she goes with never lifted eyes. - - - - - QUATRAINS - - - I - - _Penury_ - - Above his misered embers, gaunt and gray, - With toil-gnarled limbs he stoops: around his hut, - Want, like a hobbling hag, goes, night and day, - Trying the windows and the doors tight-shut. - - - II - - _Strategy_ - - Craft’s silent sister and the daughter deep - Of Contemplation, she, who spreads below - A hostile tent soft comfort for her foe, - With eyes of Jael watching till he sleep. - - - III - - _Tempest_ - - With helms of lightning, glittering in the skies, - On steeds of thunder, form on cloudy form, - Terrific beauty in their hair and eyes, - Sweep down the wild Valkyries of the storm. - - - IV - - _The Locust Blossom_ - - The spirit Spring, in rainy raiment, met - The spirit Summer for a moonlit hour: - Sweet from their greeting kisses, warm and wet, - Was born the fragrant beauty of this flower. - - - V - - _Melancholy_ - - With shadowy immortelles of memory - About her brow, she sits with eyes that look - Upon the stream of Lethe wearily, - In hesitant hands Death’s partly-opened book. - - - VI - - _Content_ - - Among the meadows of Life’s sad unease-- - In labor still renewing her soul’s youth-- - With trust, for patience, and with love, for peace, - Singing she goes with the calm face of Ruth. - - - VII - - _Life and Death_ - - Of our own selves God makes a glass, wherein - Two shades are imaged, passing like a breath: - And one is Life, whose other name is Sin; - And one is Love, whose other name is Death. - - - VIII - - _Sorrow_ - - Death takes her hand and leads her through the waste - Of her own soul, wherein she hears the voice - Of lost Love’s tears, and, famishing, can but taste - The dead-sea fruit of Life’s remembered joys. - - - - - A LAST WORD - - - _Not for myself, but for the sake of Song, - Would I succeed as others have who gave - Their lives unto her, shaping sure and strong - Her lovely limbs that made them god and slave._ - - _Not for myself, but for the sake of Art, - Would I advance beyond the others’ best, - Winning a deeper secret from her heart - To hang it moonlike ’mid the starry rest._ - - - - - NATURE POEMS - -(SECOND SERIES) - - - - - FOREWORD - - - _In the first rare Spring of song, - In my heart’s young hours, - In my youth ’twas thus I sang, - Choosing ’mid the flowers_:-- - - “_Fair the Dandelion is, - But for me too lowly; - And the winsome Violet - Is, forsooth, too holy. - ‘But the Touch-me-not?’--Go to! - What! a face that’s speckled - Like a common milking-maid’s, - Whom the sun hath freckled. - Then the Wild-Rose is a flirt; - And the Trillium-Lily, - In her spotless gown, ’s a prude, - Sanctified and silly. - By her cap the Columbine, - To my mind, ’s too merry-- - Gossips, I would sooner woo - Some plebeian Berry. - And the shy Anemone-- - Well, her face shows sorrow; - Pale, goodsooth! alive to-day, - Dead and gone to-morrow. - Then that hold-eyed, buxom wench, - Big and blond and lazy,-- - She’s been chosen over oft!-- - Sirs, I mean the Daisy. - Pleasant persons are they all, - And their virtues many; - Faith! I know but good of each, - And naught ill of any. - But I choose a May-Apple; - She shall be my Lady; - Blooming, hidden and refined, - Sweet in places shady.”_ - - _In my youth ’twas thus I sang, - In my heart’s young hours, - In the first rare Spring of song, - Choosing ’mid the flowers. - So I hesitated when - Time alone was reckoned - By the hours that Fancy smiled, - Love and Beauty beckoned. - Hard it was for me to choose - From the flowers that flattered;_ - - _And the blossom that I chose - Soon lay dead and scattered. - Hard I found it then, ah me! - Hard I found the choosing; - Harder, harder since I’ve found, - All too hard, the losing. - Haply had I chosen then - From the weeds that tangle - Wayside, woodland, and the wall - Of my garden’s angle, - I had chosen better, yea, - For these later hours-- - Longer live the weeds, and oft - Sweeter are than flowers._ - - - - - WEEDS BY THE WALL - - - - - THE CRICKET - - - I - - First of the insect choir, in the spring - We hear his faint voice fluttering in the grass, - Beneath some blossom’s rosy covering, - Or frond of fern, upon a wildwood pass. - When in the marsh, in clamorous orchestras, - The shrill hylodes pipe; when, in the haw’s - Bee-swarming blooms, or tasseling sassafras, - Sweet threads of silvery song the sparrow draws, - Bow-like, athwart the vibrant atmosphere,-- - Like some dim dream low-breathed in slumber’s ear,-- - We hear his _Cheer, cheer, cheer_. - - - II - - All summer long the mellowing meadows thrill - To his blithe music. Be it day or night, - Close gossip of the grass, on field and hill - He serenades the silence with delight: - Silence, that hears the melon slowly split - With ripeness; and the plump peach, hornet-bit, - Loosen and fall; and everywhere the white, - Warm, silk-like stir of leafy lights that flit - As breezes blow; above which, loudly clear,-- - Like joy who sings of life and has no fear,-- - We hear his _Cheer, cheer, cheer_. - - - III - - Then in the autumn, by the waterside, - Leaf-huddled; or along the weed-grown walks, - He dirges low the flowers that have died, - Or with their ghosts holds solitary talks. - Lover of warmth, all day above the click - And crunching of the sorghum-press, through thick - Sweet steam of juice; all night when, white as chalk, - The hunter’s-moon hangs o’er the rustling rick, - Within the barn ’mid munching cow and steer,-- - Soft as a memory the heart holds dear,-- - We hear his _Cheer, cheer, cheer_. - - - IV - - Kinsman and cousin of the Faëry Race, - All winter long he sets his sober mirth,-- - That brings good-luck to many a fireplace,-- - To folk-lore song and saga of the hearth. - Between the back-log’s bluster and the slim - High twittering of the kettle,--sounds that hymn - Home-comforts,--when, outside, the starless earth - Is icicled in every laden limb,-- - Defying frost and all the sad and sere,-- - Like love that dies not and is always near,-- - We hear his _Cheer, cheer, cheer_. - - - - - THE TREE TOAD - - - I - - Secluded, solitary on some underbough - Or cradled in a leaf, ’mid glimmering light, - Like Puck thou crouchest: Haply watching how - The slow toadstool comes bulging, moony white, - Through loosening loam; or how, against the night, - The glow-worm gathers silver to endow - The darkness with; or how the dew conspires - To hang at dusk with lamps of chilly fires - Each blade that shrivels now. - - - II - - O vague confederate of the whippoorwill, - Of owl and cricket and the katydid! - Thou gatherest up the silence in one shrill - Vibrating note and send’st it where, half hid - In cedars, twilight sleeps--each azure lid - Drooping a line of golden eyeball still.-- - Afar, yet near, I hear thy dewy voice - Within the Garden of the Hours apoise - On dusk’s deep daffodil. - - - III - - Minstrel of moisture! silent when high noon - Shows her tanned face among the thirsting clover - And parching meadows, thy tenebrious tune - Wakes with the dew or when the rain is over. - Thou troubadour of wetness and damp lover - Of all cool things! admitted comrade boon - Of twilight’s hush, and little intimate - Of eve’s first fluttering star and delicate - Round rim of rainy moon! - - - IV - - Art trumpeter of Dwarfland? does thy horn - Inform the gnomes and goblins of the hour - When they may gambol under haw and thorn, - Straddling each winking web and twinkling flower? - Or bell-ringer of Elfland? whose tall tower - The liriodendron is? from whence is borne - The elfin music of thy bell’s deep bass, - To summon Fairies to their starlit maze, - To summon them or warn. - - - - - THE SCREECH-OWL - - - I - - When, one by one, the stars have trembled through - Eve’s shadowy hues of violet, rose, and fire-- - As on a pansy-bloom the limpid dew - Orbs its bright beads;--and, one by one, the choir - Of insects wakes on nodding bush and brier: - Then through the woods--where wandering winds pursue - A ceaseless whisper--like an eery lyre - Struck in the Erl-king’s halls, where ghosts and dreams - Hold revelry, your goblin music screams, - Shivering and strange as some strange thought come true. - - - II - - Brown as the agaric that frills dead trees, - Or those fantastic fungi of the woods - That crowd the dampness--are you kin to these - In some mysterious way that still eludes - My fancy? you, who haunt the solitudes - With hag-like wailings? voice, that seems to freeze - Out of the darkness,--like the scent which broods, - Rank and rain-sodden, over autumn nooks,-- - That, to the mind, might well suggest such looks, - Ghastly and gray, as pale clairvoyance sees. - - - III - - You people night with weirdness: lone and drear, - Beneath the stars, you cry your wizard runes; - And in the haggard silence, filled with fear, - Your shuddering hoot seems some wild grief that croons - Mockery and terror; or,--beneath the moon’s - Cloud-hurrying glimmer,--to the startled ear, - Crazed, madman snatches of old, perished tunes, - The witless wit of outcast Edgar there - In the wild night; or, wan with all despair, - The mirthless laughter of the Fool in Lear. - - - - - THE CHIPMUNK - - - I - - He makes a roadway of the crumbling fence, - Or on the fallen tree,--brown as a leaf - Fall stripes with russet,--gambols down the dense - Green twilight of the woods. We see not whence - He comes, nor whither--’tis a time too brief!-- - He vanishes;--swift carrier of some Fay, - Some pixy steed that haunts our child-belief-- - A goblin glimpse from woodland way to way. - - - II - - What harlequin mood of nature qualified - Him so with happiness? and limbed him with - Such young activity as winds, that ride - The ripples, have, that dance on every side? - As sunbeams know, that urge the sap and pith - Through hearts of trees? yet made him to delight, - Gnome-like, in darkness,--like a moonlight myth,-- - Lairing in labyrinths of the under night. - - - III - - Here, by a rock, beneath the moss, a hole - Leads to his home, the den wherein he sleeps; - Lulled by near noises of the cautious mole - Tunnelling its mine--like some ungainly Troll - --Or by the tireless cricket there that keeps - Picking its drowsy and monotonous lute; - Or slower sounds of grass that creeps and creeps, - And trees unrolling mighty root on root. - - - IV - - Such is the music of his sleeping hours. - Day hath another--’tis a melody - He trips to, made by the assembled flowers, - And light and fragrance laughing ’mid the bowers, - And ripeness busy with the acorn-tree. - Such strains, perhaps, as filled with mute amaze-- - The silent music of Earth’s ecstasy-- - The Satyr’s soul, the Faun of classic days. - - - - - THE WILD IRIS - - - That day we wandered ’mid the hills,--so lone - Clouds are not lonelier,--the forest lay - In emerald darkness round us. Many a stone - And gnarly root, gray-mossed, made wild our way: - And many a bird the glimmering light along - Showered the golden bubbles of its song. - - Then in the valley, where the brook went by, - Silvering the ledges that it rippled from,-- - An isolated slip of fallen sky, - Epitomizing heaven in its sum,-- - An iris bloomed--blue, as if, flower-disguised, - The gaze of Spring had there materialized. - - I have forgotten many things since then-- - Much beauty and much happiness and grief; - And toiled and dreamed among my fellow-men, - Rejoicing in the knowledge life is brief. - “’Tis winter now,” so says each barren bough; - And face and hair proclaim ’tis winter now. - - I would forget the gladness of that spring! - I would forget that day when she and I, - Between the bird-song and the blossoming, - Went hand in hand beneath the soft spring sky!-- - Much is forgotten, yea--and yet, and yet, - The things we would we never can forget.-- - - Nor I how May then minted treasuries - Of crowfoot gold; and molded out of light - The sorrel’s cups, whose elfin chalices - Of limpid spar were streaked with rosy white. - Nor all the stars of twinkling spiderwort, - And mandrake moons with which her brows were girt. - - But most of all, yea, it were well for me, - Me and my heart, that I forget that flower, - The blue wild-iris, azure fleur-de-lis, - That she and I together found that hour. - Its recollection can but emphasize - The pain of loss, remindful of her eyes. - - - - - THE PATH BY THE CREEK - - - There is a path that leads - Through purple ironweeds, - By button-bush and mallow - Along a creek; - A path that wildflowers hallow, - That wild-birds seek; - Roofed thick with eglantine - And grape and trumpet-vine. - - This side, the blackberries sweet - Glow cobalt in the heat; - That side, a creamy yellow, - In summer-time - The pawpaws slowly mellow: - And autumn’s prime - Strews red the Chickasaw, - Persimmon brown and haw. - - The glittering dragon-fly, - A wingéd gem, goes by; - And tawny wasp and hornet - Make drowsy drone; - The beetle, like a garnet, - Basks on the stone; - And butterflies float there, - Spangling with gold the air. - - Here the brown thrashers hide, - And chat and cat-bird chide; - The blue kingfisher houses - Above the stream, - And here the heron drowses, - Lost in his dream; - The vireo’s flitting note - Makes woodlands more remote. - - And now a cow’s slow bell - Tinkles from dale to dell; - Where breeze-dropped petals winnow - From blossomy limbs - On waters, where the minnow, - Faint-twinkling, swims; - Where, in the root-arched shade, - Slim prisms of light are laid. - - When in the tangled thorn - The new-moon hangs a horn, - Or, ’mid the sunset’s islands, - Guides her canoe, - The brown owl in the silence - Calls, and the dew - Beads glimmering orbs of damp, - Each one a glow-worm lamp. - - Then when the night is still - Here sings the whippoorwill; - And stealthy sounds of crickets, - And winds that pass, - Whispering, through bramble thickets - Along the grass, - Faint with warm scents of hay, - Seem feet of dreams astray. - - And where the water shines - Dark through tree-twisted vines, - Some water-spirit, dreaming, - Braids in her hair - A star’s reflection; seeming - A jewel there; - While all the sweet night long - Ripples her quiet song.... - - Would I could imitate, - O path, thy happy state! - Making my life all beauty, - All bloom and beam; - Knowing no other duty - But just to dream, - And far from pain and woe - Lead feet that come and go. - - Leading to calm content, - O’er ways the Master went, - Through lowly things and humble, - To peace and love; - Teaching the lives that stumble - To look above, - Forget the world of toil - And all its mad turmoil. - - - - - ALONG THE STREAM - - - Where the violet shadows brood - Under cottonwoods and beeches, - Through whose leaves the restless reaches - Of the river glance, I’ve stood, - While the red-bird and the thrush - Set to song the morning hush. - - There,--when wakening woods encroach - On the shadowy winding waters, - And the bluets, April’s daughters, - At the darling Spring’s approach, - Star their myriads through the trees,-- - All the land is one with peace. - - Under some imposing cliff, - That, with bush and tree and boulder, - Thrusts a gray, gigantic shoulder - O’er the stream, I’ve oared a skiff, - While great clouds of iceberg hue - Lounged along the noonday blue. - - There,--when harvest heights impend - Over shores of rippling summer, - And to greet the fair new-comer,-- - June,--the wildrose thickets bend - In a million blossoms dressed,-- - All the land is one with rest. - - On some rock, where gaunt the oak - Reddens and the sombre cedar - Darkens, like a sachem leader, - I have lain and watched the smoke - Of the steamboat, far-away, - Trailed along the dying day. - - There,--when margin waves reflect - Autumn colors, gay and sober, - And the Indian-girl, October, - Wampum-like in berries decked, - Leans above the leaf-strewn streams,-- - All the land is one with dreams. - - Through the bottoms where,--out-tossed - By the wind’s wild hands,--ashiver - Bend the willows o’er the river, - I have walked in sleet and frost, - While beneath the cold round moon, - Frozen, gleamed the long lagoon. - - There,--when leafless woods uplift - Spectral arms the storm-blasts splinter, - And the hoary trapper, Winter, - Builds his camp of ice and drift, - With his snow-pelts furred and shod,-- - All the land is one with God. - - - - - VOICES - - - When blood-root blooms and trillium flowers - Unclasp their stars to sun and rain, - My heart strikes hands with winds and showers - And wanders in the woods again. - - O urging impulse, born of spring! - That makes glad April of my soul, - No bird, however wild of wing, - Is more impatient of control. - - Impetuous of pulse it beats - Within my blood and bears me hence; - Above the housetops and the streets - I hear its happy eloquence. - - It tells me all that I would know, - Of birds and buds, of blooms and bees; - I seem to hear the blossoms blow, - And leaves unfolding on the trees. - - I seem to hear the bluebells ring - Faint purple peals of perfume; and - The honey-throated poppies fling - Their golden laughter o’er the land. - - It calls to me; it sings to me; - I hear its far voice night and day; - I can not choose but go when tree - And flower clamor, “Come away!” - - - - - THE ROAD HOME - - - Over the hills as the pewee flies, - Under the blue of the southern skies; - Over the hills where the red-bird wings, - Like a scarlet blossom, or sits and sings; - - Under the shadow of rock and tree, - Where the warm wind drones with the honeybee; - And the tall wild-carrots around you sway - Their lace-like flowers of cloudy gray: - - By the black-cohosh and its pearl-white plume - A-nod in the woodland’s odorous gloom; - By the old rail-fence, in the elder’s shade, - That the myriad hosts of the weeds invade: - - Where the butterfly-weed, like a coal of fire, - Blurs orange-red through brush and brier; - Where the pennyroyal and mint smell sweet, - And blackberries tangle the humming heat, - The old road leads; then crosses the creek, - Where the minnow dartles, a silvery streak; - Where the cows wade deep through the blue-eyed grass, - And the flickering dragon-flies gleaming pass. - - That road is easy, however long, - Which wends with beauty as toil with song; - And the road we follow shall lead us straight - Past creek and wood to a farm-house gate. - - Past hill and hollow, whence scents are blown - Of dew-wet clover that scythes have mown; - To a house that stands with porches wide - And gray low roof on the green hill-side. - - Colonial, stately; ’mid shade and shine - Of the locust tree and the southern pine; - With its orchard acres and meadowlands - Stretched out before it like welcoming hands. - - And gardens, where, in the myrrh-sweet June, - Magnolias blossom with many a moon - Of fragrance; and, in the feldspar light - Of August, roses bloom red and white. - - In a woodbine arbor, a perfumed place, - A slim girl sits with listening face; - Her bonnet by her, a sunbeam lies - On her lovely hair, in her earnest eyes. - - Her eyes, as blue as the distant deeps - Of the heavens above where the high hawk sleeps; - A book beside her, wherein she read - Till she saw _him_ coming, she heard _his_ tread. - - Come home at last; come back from the war; - In his eyes a smile, on his brow a scar: - To the South come back--who wakes from her dream - To the love and the peace of a new regime. - - - - - DROUTH - - - I - - The hot sunflowers by the glaring pike - Lift shields of sultry brass; the teasel tops, - Pink-thorned, advance with bristling spike on spike - Against the furious sunlight. Field and copse - Are sick with summer: now, with breathless stops, - The locusts cymbal; now grasshoppers beat - Their castanets: and rolled in dust, a team,-- - Like some mean life wrapped in its sorry dream,-- - An empty wagon rattles through the heat. - - - II - - Where now the blue, blue flags? the flow’rs whose mouths - Are moist and musky? Where the sweet-breathed mint, - That made the brook-bank herby? Where the South’s - Wild morning-glories, rich in hues, that hint - At coming showers that the rainbows tint? - Where all the blossoms that the wildwood knows? - The frail oxalis hidden in its leaves; - The Indian-pipe, pale as a soul that grieves; - The freckled touch-me-not and forest rose. - - - III - - Dead! dead! all dead beside the drouth-burnt brook, - Shrouded in moss or in the shriveled grass. - Where waved their bells,--from which the wild-bee shook - The dew-drop once,--gaunt, in a nightmare mass, - The rank weeds crowd; through which the cattle pass, - Thirsty and lean, seeking some meagre spring, - Closed in with thorns, on which stray bits of wool - The panting sheep have left, that sought the cool, - From morn till evening wearily wandering. - - - IV - - No bird is heard; no throat to whistle awake - The sleepy hush; to let its music leak - Fresh, bubble-like, through bloom-roofs of the brake: - Only the green-blue heron, famine-weak,-- - Searching the stale pools of the minnowless creek,-- - Utters its call; and then the rain-crow, too, - False prophet now, croaks to the stagnant air; - While overhead,--still as if painted there,-- - A buzzard hangs, black on the burning blue. - - - - - THE BROKEN DROUTH - - - It seemed the listening forest held its breath - Before some vague and unapparent form - Of fear, approaching with the wings of death, - On the impending storm. - - Above the hills, big, bellying clouds loomed, black - And ominous; yet silent as the blue - That pools calm heights of heaven, deepening back - ’Twixt clouds of snowdrift hue. - - Then instantly, as when a multitude - Shout riot and war through some tumultous town, - Innumerable voices swept the wood - As wild the wind rushed down. - - And fierce and few, as when a strong man weeps, - Great rain-drops dashed the dust; and, overhead, - Ponderous and vast down the prodigious deeps, - Went slow the thunder’s tread. - - And swift and furious, as when giants fence, - The lightning foils of tempest went insane; - Then far and near sonorous Earth grew dense - With long sweet sweep of rain. - - - - - FEUD - - - A mile of lane,--hedged high with ironweeds - And dying daisies,--white with sun, that leads - Downward into a wood; through which a stream - Steals like a shadow; over which is laid - A bridge of logs, worn deep with many a team, - Sunk in the tangled shade. - - Far off a wood-dove lifts its lonely cry; - And in the sleepy silver of the sky - A gray hawk wheels scarce larger than a hand.-- - From point to point the road grows worse and worse, - Until that place is reached where all the land - Seems burdened with some curse. - - A ragged fence of pickets, warped and sprung,-- - On which the fragments of a gate are hung,-- - Divides a hill, the fox and ground-hog haunt, - A wilderness of briers; o’er whose tops - A battered barn is seen, low-roofed and gaunt, - ’Mid fields that know no crops. - - Fields over which a path, o’erwhelmed with burrs - And ragweeds, noisy with the grasshoppers, - Leads,--lost, irresolute as paths the cows - Wear through the woods,--unto a woodshed; then, - With wrecks of windows, to a huddled house, - Where men have murdered men. - - A house, whose tottering chimney, clay and rock, - Is seamed and crannied; whose lame door and lock - Are bullet-bored; around which, there and here, - Are sinister stains.--One dreads to look around.-- - The place seems thinking of that time of fear - And dares not breathe a sound. - - Within, is emptiness: the sunlight falls - On faded journals papering its walls; - On advertisement chromos, torn with time - Around a hearth where wasps and spiders build.-- - The house is dead: meseems that night of crime - It, too, was shot and killed. - - - - - UNANOINTED - - - I - - Upon the Siren-haunted seas, between Fate’s mythic shores, - Within a world of moon and mist, where dusk and daylight wed, - I see a phantom galley and its hull is banked with oars, - With ghostly oars that move to song, a song of dreams long dead:-- - - “Oh, we are sick of rowing here! - With toil our arms are numb; - With smiting year on weary year - Salt-furrows of the foam: - Our journey’s end is never near, - And will no nearer come-- - Beyond our reach the shores appear - Of far Elysium.” - - - II - - Within a land of cataracts and mountains old, and sand, - Beneath whose heavens ruins rise, o’er which the stars burn red, - I see a spectral cavalcade with crucifix in hand - And shadowy armor march and sing, a song of dreams long dead:-- - - “Oh, we are weary marching on! - Our limbs are travel-worn; - With cross and sword from dawn to dawn - We wend with raiment torn: - The leagues to go, the leagues we’ve gone - Are sand and rock and thorn-- - The way is long to Avalon - Beyond the deeps of morn.” - - - III - - They are the curs’d! the souls who yearn and evermore pursue - The vision of a vain desire, a splendor far ahead; - To whom God gives the poet’s dream without the grasp to do, - The artist’s hope without the scope between the quick and dead:-- - - I, too, am weary toiling where - The winds and waters beat; - When shall I ease the oar I bear - And rest my tired feet? - When will the white moons cease to glare, - The red suns veil their heat? - And from the heights blow sweet the air - Of Love’s divine retreat? - - - - - SUNSET AND STORM - - - Deep with divine tautology, - The sunset’s mighty mystery - Again has traced the scroll-like west - With hieroglyphs of burning gold: - Forever new, forever old, - Its miracle is manifest. - - Time lays the scroll away. And now - Above the hills a giant brow - Night lifts of cloud; and from her arm, - Barbaric black, upon the world, - With thunder, wind and fire, is hurled - Her awful argument of storm. - - What part, O man, is yours in such? - Whose awe and wonder are in touch - With Nature,--speaking rapture to - Your soul,--yet leaving in your reach - No human word of thought or speech - Expressive of the thing you view. - - - - - BEECH BLOOMS - - - Among the valleys - The wild oxalis - Lifts up its chalice - Of pink and pearl; - And, balsam-breathing - From out their sheathing, - The myriad wreathing - Green leaves uncurl. - - The whole world brightens - With spring, that lightens - The foot that frightens - The building thrush; - Where water tosses - On ferns and mosses - The squirrel crosses - The beechen hush. - - And vision on vision,-- - Like ships elysian - On some white mission,-- - Sails cloud on cloud; - With scents of clover - The winds brim over, - And in the cover - The stream is loud. - - ’Twixt bloom that blanches - The orchard branches - Old farms and ranches - Gleam in the gloam: - Through fields for sowing, - ’Mid blossoms blowing, - The cows come lowing, - The cows come home. - - Where ways are narrow, - A vesper-sparrow - Flits like an arrow - Of living rhyme; - The red sun poises, - And farm-yard noises - Mix with glad voices - Of milking-time. - - When dusk disposes - Of all its roses, - And darkness closes, - And work is done, - A moon’s white feather - In starry weather - And two together - Whose hearts are one. - - - - - WORSHIP - - - I - - The mornings raise - Voices of gold in the Almighty’s praise; - The sunsets soar - In choral crimson from far shore to shore: - Each is a blast, - Reverberant, of color,--seen as vast - Concussions,--that the vocal firmament - In worship sounds o’er every continent. - - - II - - Not for our ears - The cosmic music of the rolling spheres, - That sweeps the skies! - Music we hear, but only with our eyes. - For all too weak - Our mortal frames to bear the words these speak, - Those detonations that we name the dawn - And sunset--hues Earth’s harmony puts on. - - - - - UNHEARD - - - All things are wrought of melody, - Unheard, yet full of speaking spells; - Within the rock, within the tree, - A soul of music dwells. - - A mute symphonic sense that thrills - The silent frame of mortal things; - Its heart beats in the ancient hills, - And in each flow’r sings. - - To harmony all growth is set-- - Each seed is but a music mote, - From which each plant, each violet, - Evolves its purple note. - - Compact of melody, the rose - Woos the soft wind with strain on strain - Of crimson; and the lily blows - Its white bars to the rain. - - The trees are pæans; and the grass - One long green fugue beneath the sun-- - Song is their life; and all shall pass, - Shall end, when song is done. - - - - - REINCARNATION - - - High in the place of outraged Liberty, - He ruled the world, an emperor and god: - His iron armies swept the land and sea, - And conquered nations trembled at his nod. - - By him the love that fills man’s soul with light, - And makes a heaven of earth, was crucified; - Lust-crowned he lived, yea, lived in God’s despite, - And old in infamies, a king he died. - - Justice begins now.--Many centuries - In some vile body must his soul atone - As slave, as beggar, loathsome with disease, - Less than the dog at which we fling a stone. - - - - - ON CHENOWETH’S RUN - - - I thought of the road through the glen, - With its hawk’s nest high in the pine; - With its rock, where the fox had his den, - ’Mid tangles of sumach and vine, - Where she swore to be mine. - - I thought of the creek and its banks, - Now glooming, now gleaming with sun; - The rustic bridge builded of planks, - The bridge over Chenoweth’s Run, - Where I wooed her and won. - - I thought of the house in the lane, - With its pinks and its sweet mignonette; - Its fence, and the gate with its chain, - Its porch where the roses hung wet, - Where I kissed her and met. - - Then I thought of the family graves, - Walled rudely with stone, in the West, - Where the sorrowful cedar-tree waves, - And the wind is a spirit distressed, - Where they laid her to rest. - - And my soul, overwhelmed with despair, - Cried out on the city and mart!-- - How I longed, how I longed to be there, - Away from the struggle and smart, - By her and my heart. - - By her and my heart in the West,-- - Laid sadly together as one;-- - On her grave for a moment to rest, - Far away from the noise and the sun, - On Chenoweth’s Run. - - - - - REQUIESCAT - - - The roses mourn for her who sleeps - Within the tomb; - For her each lily-flower weeps - Dew and perfume. - In each neglected flower-bed - Each blossom droops its lovely head,-- - They miss her touch, they miss her tread, - Her face of bloom, - Of happy bloom. - - The very breezes grieve for her, - A lonely grief; - For her each tree is sorrower, - Each blade and leaf. - The foliage rocks itself and sighs, - And to its woe the wind replies,-- - They miss her girlish laugh and cries, - Whose life was brief, - Was all too brief. - - The sunlight, too, seems pale with care, - Or sick with woe; - The memory haunts it of her hair, - Its golden glow. - No more within the bramble-brake - The sleepy bloom is kissed awake-- - The sun is sad for her dear sake, - Whose head lies low, - Lies dim and low. - - The bird, that sang so sweet, is still - At dusk and dawn; - No more it makes the silence thrill - Of wood and lawn. - In vain the buds, when it is near, - Open each pink and perfumed ear,-- - The song it sings she will not hear - Who now is gone, - Is dead and gone. - - Ah, well she sleeps who loved them well, - The birds and bowers; - The fair, the young, the lovable, - Who once was ours. - Alas! that loveliness must pass! - Must come to lie beneath the grass! - That youth and joy must fade, alas! - And die like flowers, - Earth’s sweetest flowers! - - - - - THE QUEST - - - I - - First I asked the honey-bee, - Busy in the balmy bowers; - Saying, “Sweetheart, tell it me: - Have you seen her, honey-bee? - She is cousin to the flowers-- - All the sweetness of the south - In her wild-rose face and mouth.”-- - But the bee passed silently. - - - II - - Then I asked the forest-bird, - Warbling by the woodland waters; - Saying, “Dearest, have you heard, - Have you heard her, forest-bird? - She is one of Music’s daughters-- - Never song so sweet by half - As the music of her laugh.”-- - But the bird said not a word. - - - III - - Next I asked the evening-sky, - Hanging out its lamps of fire; - Saying, “Loved one, passed she by? - Tell me, tell me, evening-sky! - She, the star of my desire-- - Sister whom the Pleiads lost, - And my soul’s high pentecost.”-- - But the sky made no reply. - - - IV - - Where is she? ah, where is she? - She to whom both love and duty - Bind me, yea, immortally.-- - Where is she? ah, where is she? - Symbol of the Earth-soul’s beauty. - I have lost her. Help my heart - Find her! her, who is a part - Of the pagan soul of me! - - - - - BEFORE THE RAIN - - - Before the rain, low in the obscure east, - Weak and morose the moon hung, sickly gray; - Around its disc the storm mists, cracked and creased, - Wove an enormous web, wherein it lay - Like some white spider hungry for its prey. - Vindictive looked the scowling firmament, - In which each star, that flashed a dagger ray, - Seemed filled with malice of some dark intent. - - The marsh-frog croaked; and underneath the stone - The peevish cricket raised a creaking cry. - Within the world these sounds were heard alone, - Save when the ruffian wind swept from the sky, - Making each tree like some sad spirit sigh; - Or shook the clumsy beetle from its weed, - That, in the drowsy darkness, bungling by, - Sharded the silence with its feverish speed. - - Slowly the tempest gathered. Hours passed - Before was heard the thunder’s sullen drum - Rumbling night’s hollow; and the Earth at last, - Restless with waiting,--like a woman, dumb - With doubting of the love that should have clomb - Her casement hours ago,--avowed again, - ’Mid protestations, joy that he had come. - And all night long I heard the Heavens explain. - - - - - AFTER RAIN - - - Behold the blossom-bosomed Day again, - With all the star-white Hours in her train, - Laughs out of pearl-lights through a golden ray, - That, leaning on the woodland wildness, blends - A sprinkled amber with the showers that lay - Their oblong emeralds on the leafy ends. - Behold her bend with maiden-braided brows - Above the wildflower, sidewise with its strain - Of dewy happiness, to kiss again - Each drop to death; or, under rainy boughs, - With fingers, fragrant as the woodland rain, - Gather the sparkles from the sycamore, - To set within the core - Of crimson roses girdling her hips, - Where each bud dreams and drips. - - Smoothing her blue-black hair,--where many a tusk - Of iris flashes,--like the falchions keen - Of Faery round blue banners of their Queen,-- - Is it a Naiad singing in the dusk, - That haunts the spring, where all the moss is musk - With footsteps of the flowers on the banks? - Or but a wild-bird voluble with thanks? - - Balm for each blade of grass: the Hours prepare - A festival each weed’s invited to. - Each bee is drunken with the honied air: - And all the heaven is eloquent with blue. - The wet hay glitters, and the harvester - Tinkles his scythe,--as twinkling as the dew,-- - That shall not spare - Blossom or brier in its sweeping path; - And, ere it cut one swath, - Rings them they die, and tells them to prepare. - - What is the spice that haunts each glen and glade? - A Dryad’s lips, who slumbers in the shade? - A Faun, who lets the heavy ivy-wreath - Slip to his thigh as, reaching up, he pulls - The chestnut blossoms in whole bosomfuls? - A sylvan Spirit, whose sweet mouth doth breathe - Her viewless presence near us, unafraid? - Or troops of ghosts of blooms, that whitely wade - The brook? whose wisdom knows no other song - But that the bird sings where it builds beneath - The wild-rose and sits singing all day long. - - Oh, let me sit with silence for a space, - A little while forgetting that fierce part - Of man that struggles in the toiling mart; - Where God can look into my heart’s own heart - From unsoiled heights made amiable with grace; - And where the sermons that the old oaks keep - Can steal into me.--And what better then - Than, turning to the moss a quiet face, - To fall asleep? a little while to sleep - And dream of wiser worlds and wiser men. - - - - - SUNSET CLOUDS - - - Low clouds, the lightning veins and cleaves, - Torn from the wilderness of storm, - Sweep westward like enormous leaves - O’er field and farm. - - And in the west, on burning skies, - Their wrath is quenched, their hate is hushed, - And deep their drifted thunder lies - With splendor flushed. - - The black turns gray, the gray turns gold; - And sea’d in deeps of radiant rose, - Summits of fire, manifold, - They now repose. - - What dreams they bring! what thoughts reveal! - That have their source in loveliness, - Through which the doubts I often feel - Grow less and less. - - Through which I see that other night, - That cloud called Death, transformed of Love - To flame, and pointing with its light - To life above. - - - - - RICHES - - - What mines the morning heavens unfold! - What far Alaskas of the skies! - That, veined with elemental gold, - Sierra on Sierra rise. - - Heap up the gold of all the world, - The ore that makes men fools and slaves: - What is it to the gold, cloud-curled, - That rivers through the sunset’s caves. - - Search Earth for riches all who will, - The gold that soils, that turns to dust-- - Mine be the wealth no thief can steal, - The gold of Beauty naught can rust. - - - - - THE AGE OF GOLD - - - The clouds that tower in storm, that beat - Arterial thunder in their veins; - The wildflowers lifting, shyly sweet, - Their perfect faces from the plains,-- - All high, all lowly things of Earth - For no vague end have had their birth. - - Low strips of mist, that mesh the moon - Above the foaming waterfall; - And mountains that God’s hand hath hewn, - And forests where the great winds call,-- - Within the grasp of such as see - Are parts of a conspiracy; - - To seize the soul with beauty; hold - The heart with love: and thus fulfill - Within ourselves the Age of Gold, - That never died, and never will,-- - As long as one true nature feels - The wonders that the world reveals. - - - - - A SONG FOR LABOR - - - I - - Oh, the morning meads, the dewy meads, - Where he ploughs and harrows and sows the seeds, - Singing a song of manly deeds, - In the blossoming springtime weather: - The heart in his bosom as high as the word - Said to the sky by the mating bird, - While the beat of an answering heart is heard, - His heart and hers together. - - - II - - Oh, the noonday heights, the sunlit heights, - Where he stoops to the harvest his keen scythe smites, - Singing a song of the work that requites, - In the ripening summer weather: - The soul in his body as light as the sigh - Of the little cloud-breeze that cools the sky, - While he hears an answering soul reply, - His soul and hers together. - - - III - - Oh, the evening vales, the twilight vales, - Where he labors and sweats to the thud of flails, - Singing a song of the toil that he hails, - In the fruitful autumn weather: - In heart and in soul as free from fears - As the first white star in the sky that appears, - While the music of life and of love he hears, - Her life and his together. - - - - - THE LOVE OF LOVES - - - I have not seen her face, and yet - She is more sweet than anything - Of earth--than rose or violet - That winds of May and sunbeams bring. - Of all we know, past or to come, - That beauty holds within its net, - She is the high compendium: - And yet-- - - I have not touched her robe, and still - She is more dear than lyric words - And music; or than strains that fill - The throbbing throats of forest birds. - Of all we mean by poetry, - That rules the soul and charms the will, - She is the deep epitome: - And still-- - - She is my world: ah, pity me! - A dream that flies whom I pursue: - Whom all pursue, whoe’er they be, - Who toil for Art and dare and do. - The shadow-love for whom they sigh, - The far ideal affinity, - For whom they live and gladly die-- - Ah me! - - - - - THREE THINGS - - - There are three things of Earth - That help us more - Than those of heavenly birth - That all implore-- - Than Love or Faith or Hope, - For which we strive and grope. - - The first one is Desire,-- - Who takes our hand - And fills our hearts with fire - None may withstand;-- - Through whom we’re lifted far - Above both moon and star. - - The second one is Dream,-- - Who leads our feet - By an immortal gleam - To visions sweet;-- - Through whom our forms put on - Dim attributes of dawn. - - The last of these is Toil,-- - Who maketh true, - Within the world’s turmoil - The other two;-- - Through whom we may behold - Ourselves with kings enrolled. - - - - - IMMORTELLES - - - I - - As some warm moment of repose - In one rich rose - Sums all the summer’s lovely bloom - And pure perfume-- - So did her soul epitomize - All hopes that make life wise, - Who lies before us now with lidded eyes, - Faith’s amaranth of truth - Crowning her youth. - - - II - - As some melodious note or strain - May so contain - All of sweet music in one chord, - Or lyric word-- - So did her loving heart suggest - All dreams that make life blessed, - Who lies before us now with pulseless breast, - Love’s asphodel of duty - Crowning her beauty. - - - - - A LULLABY - - - I - - In her wimple of wind and her slippers of sleep - The twilight comes like a little goose-girl, - Herding her owls with many “Tu-whoos,” - Her little brown owls in the forest deep, - Where dimly she walks in her whispering shoes, - And gown of glimmering pearl. - - Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep: - This is the road to Rockaby Town. - Rockaby, lullaby, where dreams are cheap; - Here you can buy any dream for a crown. - Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep; - The cradle you lie in is soft and is deep, - The wagon that takes you to Rockaby Town. - Now you go up, sweet, now you go down, - Rockaby, lullaby, now you go down. - - - II - - And after the twilight comes midnight, who wears - A mantle of purple so old, so old! - Who stables the lily-white moon, it is said, - In a wonderful chamber with violet stairs, - Up which you can see her come, silent of tread, - On hoofs of pale silver and gold. - - Dream, dream, little one, dream: - This is the way to Lullaby Land. - Lullaby, rockaby, where, white as cream, - Sugar-plum bowers drop sweets in your hand. - Dream, dream, little one, dream; - The cradle you lie in is tight at each seam, - The boat that goes sailing to Lullaby Land. - Over the sea, sweet, over the sand, - Lullaby, rockaby, over the sand. - - - III - - The twilight and midnight are lovers, you know, - And each to the other is true, is true! - And there on the moon through the heavens they ride, - With the little brown owls all huddled a-row, - Through meadows of heaven where, every side, - Blossom the stars and the dew. - - Rest, rest, little one, rest: - Rockaby Town is in Lullaby Isle. - Rockaby, lullaby, set like a nest - Deep in the heart of a song and a smile. - Rest, rest, little one, rest; - The cradle you lie in is warm as my breast, - The white bird that bears you to Lullaby Isle. - Out of the East, sweet, into the West, - Rockaby, lullaby, into the West. - - - - - PESTILENCE - - - High on a throne of noisome ooze and heat, - ’Mid rotting trees of bayou and lagoon, - Ghastly she sits beneath the skeleton moon, - A tawny horror coiling at her feet-- - Fever, whose eyes keep watching, serpent-like, - Until her eyes shall bid him rise and strike. - - - - - MUSINGS - - - I - - _Inspiration_ - - All who have toiled for Art, who’ve won or lost, - Sat equal priests at her high Pentecost; - Only the chrism and sacrament of flame, - Anointing all, inspired not all the same. - - - II - - _Apportionment_ - - How often in our search for joy below - Hoping for happiness we chance on woe. - - - III - - _Victory_ - - They who take courage from their own defeat - Are victors too, no matter how much beat. - - - IV - - _Preparation_ - - How often hope’s fair flower blooms richest where - The soul was fertilized with black despair. - - - V - - _Disillusion_ - - Those unrequited in their love who die - Have never drained life’s chief illusion dry. - - - VI - - _Success_ - - Success allures us in the earth and skies: - We seek to win her, but, too amorous, - Mocking, she flees us.--Haply, were we wise, - We should not strive and she would come to us. - - - VII - - _Science_ - - Miranda-like, above the world she waves - The wand of Prospero; and, beautiful, - Ariel the airy, Caliban the dull,-- - Lightning and Steam,--are her unwilling slaves. - - - VIII - - _The Universal Wind_ - - Wild son of Heav’n, with laughter and alarm, - Now east, now west, now north, now south he goes, - Bearing in one harsh hand dark death and storm, - And in the other, sunshine and a rose. - - - IX - - _Compensation_ - - Yea, whom He loves the Lord God chasteneth - With disappointments, so that this side death, - Through suffering and failure, they know Hell - To make them worthy in that Heaven to dwell - Of Love’s attainment, where they come to be - Parts of its beauty and divinity. - - - X - - _Poppies_ - - Summer met Sleep at sunset, - Dreaming within the south,-- - Drugged with his soul’s deep slumber, - Red with her heart’s hot drouth, - These are the drowsy kisses - She pressed upon his mouth. - - - XI - - _Her Eyes and Mouth_ - - There is no Paradise like that which lies - Deep in the heavens of her azure eyes: - There is no Eden here on Earth that glows - Like that which smiles rich in her mouth’s red rose. - - - XII - - _Her Soul_ - - To me not only does her soul suggest - Palms and the peace of tropic shore and wood, - But, oceaned far beyond the golden West, - The Fortunate Islands of true Womanhood. - - - XIII - - _Her Face_ - - The gladness of our Southern spring; the grace - Of summer; and the dreaminess of fall - Are parts of her sweet nature.--Such a face - Was Ruth’s, methinks, divinely spiritual. - - - - - THE MESSAGE OF THE LILIES - - - My soul and I went walking - Beneath the moon of spring; - The lilies pale were talking, - We heard them murmuring. - - From dimly moonlit places - They thrust long throats of white, - And lifted fairy faces - Of fragrant snow and light. - - Their language was an essence, - Yet clear as any bird’s; - And from it grew a presence, - As music grows from words. - - A spirit born of silence - And chastity and dew - Among Elysian islands - Were not more white to view. - - A spirit born of fire - And holiness and snow, - Within the Heaven’s desire, - Were not more pure to know. - - He smiled among them, lifting - Pale hands of prayer and peace-- - And through the moonlight, drifting, - Came words to me like these:-- - - “We are His lilies, lilies, - Whose praises here we sing! - We are the lilies, lilies - Of Christ our Lord and King!” - - - - - ANTHEM OF DAWN - - - I - - Then up the orient heights to the zenith that balanced the crescent,-- - Up and far up and over,--the heaven grew erubescent, - Vibrant with rose and with ruby from hands of the harpist Dawn, - Smiting symphonic fire on the firmament’s barbiton; - And the East was a priest who adored with offerings of gold and of gems, - And a wonderful carpet unrolled for the inaccessible hems - Of the glittering robes of her limbs; that, lily and amethyst, - Swept glorying on and on through temples of cloud and mist. - - - II - - Then out of the splendor and richness, that burned like a magic stone, - The torrent suffusion that deepened and dazzled and broadened and shone, - The pomp and the pageant of color, triumphal procession of glare, - The sun, like a king in armor, breathing splendor from feet to hair, - Stood forth with majesty girdled, as a hero who towers afar - Where the bannered gates are bristling hells and the walls - are roaring war: - And broad on the back of the world, like a Cherubin’s fiery blade, - The effulgent gaze of his aspect fell in glittering accolade. - - - III - - Then billowing blue, like an ocean, rolled from the shores of dawn - to even: - And the stars like rafts went down; and the moon, like a - ghost-ship driven, - A feather of foam, from port to port of the cloud-built isles - that dotted, - With pearl and cameo, bays of the day,--her canvas webbed and rotted,-- - Lay lost in the gulf of heaven; while over her mixed and melted - The beautiful children of Morn, whose bodies are opal-belted; - The beautiful daughters of Dawn, who, over and under and after - The rivered radiance wrestled; and rainbowed heaven with laughter - Of halcyon sapphire.--O Dawn! thou visible mirth, - Thou hallelujah of heaven! hosanna of Earth! - - - - - AT THE LANE’S END - - - I - - No more to strip the roses from - The rose-sprays of her porch’s place!-- - I dreamed last night that I was home - Kissing a rose--her face. - - I must have smiled in sleep--who knows?-- - The rose-aroma filled the lane; - I saw her white hand’s lifted rose - That welcomed home again. - - And yet when I awoke--so wan, - My old face wet with icy tears-- - Somehow, it seems, she was not gone, - Though dead now thirty years. - - - II - - The clouds roll up and the clouds roll down - Over the roofs of the little town; - Out in the hills, where the pike winds by - Fields of clover and bottoms of rye, - You will hear no sound but the barking cough - Of the striped chipmunk where the lane leads off; - You will hear no bird but the sapsuckér - Far off in the forest,--that seems to purr, - As the warm wind fondles its top, grown hot, - Like the docile back of an ocelot: - You will see no thing but the shine and shade - Of briers that climb and of weeds that wade - The glittering creeks of the heat, that fills - The dusty road and the red-keel hills.-- - And all day long in the pennyroyal - The grasshoppers at their anvils toil; - Thick click of their tireless hammers thrum, - And the wheezy belts of their bellows hum; - Tinkers who solder the silence and heat - To make the loneliness more complete. - Around old rails where the blackberries - Are reddening ripe, and the bumblebees - Are a drowsy rustle of Summer’s skirts, - And the bob-white’s wing is the fan she flirts; - Under the hill, through the ironweeds - And ox-eyed daisies and milkweeds, leads - The path forgotten of all but one. - Where elder-bushes are sick with sun, - And wild raspberries branch big, blue veins - O’er the face of the rock where the old spring rains - Its sparkling splinters of molten spar - On the gravel bed where the tadpoles are,-- - You will find the pales of a fallen fence, - And the tangled orchard and vineyard, dense - With the weedy neglect of thirty years. - The garden there,--where the soft sky clears - Like an old sweet face that has dried its tears;-- - The garden-plot where the cabbage grew - And the pompous pumpkin; and beans that blew - Balloons of white by the melon patch; - Maize; and tomatoes that seemed to catch - Oblong amber and agate balls - Globed of the sun in the frosty falls: - Long rows of currants and gooseberries, - And the balsam-gourd with its honey-bees. - And here was a nook for the princess-plumes, - The snapdragons and the poppy-blooms, - Quaint sweet-williams and pansy-flowers, - And the morning-glories’ bewildered bowers, - Tipping their cornucopias up - For the humming-birds that came to sup. - And over it all was the Sabbath peace - Of the land whose lap was the love of these; - And the old log-house where my innocence died, - With my boyhood buried side by side. - Shall a man with a face as withered and gray - As the wasp-nest stowed in a loft away,-- - Where the hornets haunt and the mortar drops - From the loosened logs of the clapboard tops;-- - Whom vice has aged as the rotting rooms - The rain where memories haunt the glooms; - A hitch in his joints like the rheum that gnars - In the rasping hinge of the door that jars; - A harsh, cracked throat like the old stone flue - Where the swallows build the summer through;-- - Shall a man, I say, with the spider sins - That the long years spin in the outs and ins - Of his soul, returning to see once more - His boyhood’s home, where his life was poor - With toil and tears and their fretfulness, - But rich with health and the hopes that bless - The unsoiled wealth of a vigorous youth; - Shall he not take comfort and know the truth - In its threadbare raiment of falsehood?--Yea! - In his crumbled past he shall kneel and pray, - Like a pilgrim come to the shrine again - Of the homely saints that shall soothe his pain, - And arise and depart made clean again! - - - III - - Years of care can not efface - Visions of the hills and trees - Closing in its dam and race; - Nor the mile-long memories - Of the mill-stream’s lovely place. - - How the sunsets used to stain - Mirrors of the waters lying - Under eaves made dark with rain! - Where the red-bird, westward flying, - Lit to try its song again. - - Dingles, hills and woods, and springs, - Where we came in calm and storm, - Swinging in the grapevine swings, - Wading where the rocks were warm, - With our fishing-nets and strings. - - Here the road plunged down the hill, - Under ash and chinquapin,-- - Where the grasshoppers would drill - Ears of silence with their din,-- - To the willow-girdled mill. - - There the path beyond the ford - Takes the woodside; just below - Shallows that the lilies sword, - Where the scarlet blossoms blow - Of the trumpet-vine and gourd. - - Summer winds, that sink with heat, - On the pelted waters winnow - Moony petals that repeat - Crescents, where the startled minnow - Beats a glittering retreat. - - Summer winds that bear the scent - Of the ironweed and mint, - Weary with sweet freight and spent, - On the deeper pools imprint - Stumbling steps, whose ripples dent. - - Summer winds, that split the husk - Of the peach and nectarine, - Trail along the amber dusk - Hazy skirts of gold and green, - Spilling balms of dew and musk. - - Where with balls of bursting juice - Summer sees the red wild-plum - Strew the gravel; ripened loose, - Autumn hears the pawpaw drum - Plumpness on the rocks that bruise: - - There we found the water-beech, - One forgotten August noon, - With a hornet-nest in reach,-- - Like a fairyland balloon, - Full of bustling fairy speech. - - Some invasion, sure, it was; - For we heard the captains scold; - Waspish cavalry a-buzz,-- - Troopers uniformed in gold, - Sable-slashed,--to charge on us. - - Could I find the sedgy angle, - Where the dragon-flies would turn - Slender flittings into spangle - On the sunlight? or would burn-- - Where the berries made a tangle-- - - Sparkling green and brassy blue; - Rendezvousing, by the stream, - Bands of elf-banditti, who, - Brigands of the bloom and beam, - Drunken were with honey-dew. - - Could I find the pond that lay - Where vermilion blossoms showered - Fragrance down the daisied way? - That the sassafras embowered - With the spice of early May? - - Could I find it--should I seek-- - The old mill? Its weather-beaten - Wheel and gable by the creek? - With its warping roof; worm-eaten, - Dusty rafters worn and weak. - - Where old shadows haunt old places, - Loft and hopper, stair and bin; - Ghostly with the dust that laces - Webs that usher phantoms in, - Wistful with remembered faces. - - While the frogs’ grave litanies - Drowse in far-off antiphone, - Supplicating, till the eyes - Of dead friendships, long alone - In the dusky corners,--rise. - - Moonbeams? or the twinkling tip - Of a star? or, in the darkling - Twilight, fireflies? there that dip-- - As if Night a myriad sparkling - Jewels from her hands let slip. - - Where, I dream, my youth still crosses, - With a corn-sack for the meal, - Through the sprinkled ferns and mosses, - To the gray mill’s lichened wheel, - Where the water drips and tosses. - - - - - ENCHANTMENT - - - The deep seclusion of this forest path,-- - O’er which the green boughs weave a canopy; - Along which bluet and anemone - Spread a dim carpet; where the Twilight hath - Her dark abode; and, sweet as aftermath, - Wood-fragrance roams,--has so enchanted me, - That yonder blossoming bramble seems to be - Some Sylvan resting, rosy from her bath: - Has so enspelled me with tradition’s dreams, - That every foam-white stream that, twinkling, flows, - And every bird that flutters wings of tan, - Or warbles hidden, to my fancy seems - A Naiad dancing to a Faun who blows - Wild woodland music on the pipes of Pan. - - - - - IN THE FOREST - - - One well might deem, among these miles of woods, - Such were the Forests of the Holy Grail,-- - Brocéliand and Dean: where, clothed in mail, - The Knights of Arthur rode, and all the broods - Of legend laired.--And, where no sound intrudes - Upon the ear, except the glimmering wail - Of some far bird; or, in some flowery swale, - A brook that murmurs to the solitudes, - Might think he hears the laugh of Vivien - Blent with the moan of Merlin, muttering bound - By his own magic to one stony spot: - And, in the cloud that looms above the glen,-- - In which the sun burns like the Table Round,-- - Might dream he sees the towers of Camelot. - - - - - CAN SUCH THINGS BE - - - Meseemed that while she played, while lightly yet - Her fingers fell, as roses bloom by bloom, - I listened--dead within a mighty room - Of some old palace where great casements let - Gaunt moonlight in, that glimpsed a parapet - Of statued marble: in the arrased gloom - Majestic pictures towered, dim as doom, - The dreams of Titian and of Tintoret. - And then, it seemed, along a corridor, - A mile of oak, a stricken footstep came, - Hurrying, yet slow.... I thought long centuries - Passed ere she entered--she, I loved of yore, - For whom I died, who wildly wailed my name - And bent and kissed me on the mouth and eyes. - - - - - KNIGHT-ERRANT - - - Onward he gallops through enchanted gloom.-- - The phantoms of the forest, dark and dim, - And shadows of vast death environ him-- - Onward he spurs victorious over doom. - Before his eyes that love’s far fires illume-- - Where courage sits, impregnable and grim-- - The form and features of _her_ beauty swim, - Beckoning him on with looks that fears consume. - The thought of her distress, her lips to kiss, - Mails him in triple might; and so at last - To Lust’s huge keep he comes; its giant wall, - Wild-towering, frowning from the precipice: - And through its gate, borne like a bugle-blast, - O’er night and hell he thunders to his all. - - - - - THE ARTIST - - - In story books, when I was very young, - I knew her first, one of the Fairy Race; - And then it was her picture took its place, - Framed round with love’s deep gold, and draped and hung - High in my heart’s red room: no song was sung, - No tale of passion told, I did not grace - With her associated form and face, - And intimated charm of touch and tongue. - As years went on she grew to more and more, - Until each thing, symbolic to my heart - Of beauty,--such as honor, truth, and fame,-- - Within the studio of my soul’s thought wore - Her lineaments, whom I, with all my art, - Strove to embody and to give a name. - - - - - POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY - - - Out of the past the dim leaves spake to me - The thoughts of Pindar with a voice so sweet - Hyblæan bees seemed swarming my retreat - Around the reedy well of Poesy. - I closed the book. Then, knee to neighbor knee, - Sat with the soul of Plato, to repeat - Doctrines, till mine seemed some Socratic seat - High on the summit of Philosophy. - Around the wave of one Religion taught - Her first rude children. From the stars that burned - Above the mountained ether, Science learned - The first vague lessons of the work she wrought. - Daughters of God, in whom we still behold - The Age of Iron and the Age of Gold. - - - - -“QUO VADIS” - - - It is as if imperial trumpets broke - Again the silence on War’s iron height; - And Cæsar’s armored legions marched to fight, - While Rome, blood-red upon her mountain-yoke, - Blazed like an awful sunset. At a stroke, - Again I see the living torches light - The horrible revels, and the bloated, white, - Bayed brow of Nero smiling through the smoke: - And here and there a little band of slaves - Among dark ruins; and the form of Paul, - Bearded and gaunt, expounding still the Word: - And towards the North the tottering architraves - Of empire; and, wild-waving over all, - The flaming figure of a Gothic sword. - - - - - TO A CRITIC - - R. H. S. - - - Song hath a catalogue of lovely things - Thy kind hath oft defiled,--whose spite misleads - The world too often!--where the poet reads, - As in a fable, of old envyings, - Crows, such as thou, which hush the bird that sings, - Or kill it with their cawings: thorns and weeds, - Such as thyself, ’midst which the wind sows seeds - Of flow’rs, these crush before one blossom swings. - But here and there the wisdom of a School - Unknown to these hath often written down - “Fame” in white ink the future hath turned brown; - When every beauty, heaped with ridicule, - In their ignoble prose, proved their renown, - Making each famous--as an ass or fool. - - - - - QUATRAINS - - - I - - _Poetry_ - - Who hath beheld the goddess face to face, - Blind with her beauty, all his days shall go - Climbing lone mountains towards her temple’s place, - Weighed with Song’s sweet, inexorable woe. - - - II - - _The Unimaginative_ - - Each form of beauty’s but the new disguise - Of thoughts more beautiful than forms can be; - Sceptics, who search with unanointed eyes, - Never the Earth’s wild Fairy-dance shall see. - - - III - - _Music_ - - God-born before the Sons of God, she hurled, - With awful symphonies of flood and fire, - God’s name on rocking chaos--world by world - Flamed as the universe rolled from her lyre. - - - IV - - _The Three Elements_ - - They come as couriers of Heaven: their feet - Sonorous-sandaled with majestic awe; - In raiment of swift foam and wind and heat, - Blowing the trumpets of God’s wrath and law. - - - V - - _Rome_ - - Above the Circus of the World she sat, - Beautiful and base, a harlot crowned with pride: - Fierce Nations, upon whom she sneered and spat, - Shrieked at her feet and for her pastime died. - - - VI - - _On Reading the Life of Haroun er Reshid_ - - Down all the lanterned Bagdad of our youth - He steals, with golden justice for the poor: - Within his palace--you shall know the truth!-- - A blood-smeared headsman hides behind each door. - - - VII - - _Mnemosyne_ - - In classic beauty, cold, immaculate, - A voiceful sculpture, stern and still she stands, - Upon her brow deep-chiselled love and hate, - That sorrow o’er dead roses in her hands. - - - VIII - - _Beauty_ - - High as a star, yet lowly as a flower, - Unknown she takes her unassuming place - At Earth’s proud masquerade--the appointed hour - Strikes, and, behold! the marvel of her face. - - - IX - - _The Stars_ - - These--the bright symbols of man’s hope and fame, - In which he reads his blessing or his curse-- - Are syllables with which God speaks His name - In the vast utterance of the universe. - - - X - - _Echo_ - - Dweller in hollow places, hills and rocks, - Daughter of Silence and old Solitude, - Tip-toe she stands within her cave or wood, - Her only life the noises that she mocks. - - - - - THE DREAMER - - - Even as a child he loved to thrid the bowers, - And mark the loafing sunlight’s lazy laugh; - Or, on each season, spell the epitaph - Of its dead months repeated in their flowers; - Or list the music of the strolling showers, - Whose vagabond notes strummed through a twinkling staff, - Or read the day’s delivered monograph - Through all the chapters of its dædal hours. - Still with the same child-faith and child regard - He looks on Nature, hearing, at her heart, - The Beautiful beat out the time and place, - Through which no lesson of this life is hard, - No struggle vain of science or of art, - That dies with failure written on its face. - - - - - WINTER - - - The flute, whence Summer’s dreamy finger-tips - Drew music,--ripening the cramped kernels in - The burly chestnut and the chinquapin, - Red-rounding-out the oval haws and hips,-- - Now Winter crushes to his stormy lips, - And surly songs whistle around his chin; - Now the wild days and wilder nights begin - When, at the eaves, the lengthening icicle drips. - Thy songs, O Summer, are not lost so soon! - Still dwells a memory in thy hollow flute, - Which unto Winter’s masculine airs doth give - Thy own creative qualities of tune, - Through which we see each bough bend white with fruit, - Each branch with bloom, in snow commemorative. - - - - - MID-WINTER - - - All day the clouds hung ashen with the cold; - And through the snow the muffled waters fell; - The day seemed drowned in grief too deep to tell, - Like some old hermit whose last bead is told. - At eve the wind woke, and the snow clouds rolled - Aside to leave the fierce sky visible; - Harsh as an iron landscape of wan Hell - The dark hills hung framed in with gloomy gold. - And then, towards night, the wind seemed some one at - My window, wailing: now a little child - Crying outside my door; and now the long - Howl of some starved beast down the flue.--I sat - And knew ’twas Winter with his madman song - Of miseries on which he stared and smiled. - - - - - SPRING - - - First came the rain, loud, with sonorous lips; - A pursuivant who heralded a prince: - And dawn put on her livery of tints, - And dusk bound gold about her hair and hips: - And, all in silver mail, the sunlight came, - A knight, who bade the winter let him pass; - And freed imprisoned beauty, naked as - The Court of Love, in all her wildflower shame. - And so she came, in breeze-borne loveliness, - Across the hills; and heav’n bent down to bless: - Above her head the birds were as a choir; - And at her feet, like some strong worshiper, - The shouting water pæan’d praise of her, - Who, with blue eyes, set the wild world on fire. - - - - - TRANSFORMATION - - - It is the time when, by the forest falls, - The touch-me-nots hang faery folly-caps; - When ferns and flowers fill the lichened laps - Of rocks with color, rich as orient shawls: - And in my heart I hear a voice that calls - Me woodward, where the hamadryad wraps - Her limbs in bark, and, bubbling in the saps, - Sings the sweet Greek of Pan’s old madrigals: - There is a gleam that lures me up the stream-- - A Naiad swimming with wet limbs of light? - Perfume that leads me on from dream to dream-- - An oread’s footprints flowering into flight? - And, lo! meseems I am a Faun again, - One with the myths that I pursue in vain. - - - - - RESPONSE - - - There is a music of immaculate love, - That beats within the virginal veins of Spring,-- - And trillium blossoms, (like the stars that cling - To fairies’ wands;) and, strung on sprays above, - White-hearts and mandrake blooms, (that look enough - Like the elves’ washing--white with laundering - Of May-moon dews;) and all pale-opening - Wildflowers of the woods are born thereof. - There is no sod Spring’s white foot brushes but - Must feel the music that vibrates within, - And thrill to the communicated touch - Responsive harmonies, that must unshut - The heart of Beauty for Song’s concrete kin, - Emotions--that are flowers--born of such. - - - - - THE SWASHBUCKLER - - - Squat-nosed and broad, of big and pompous port; - A tavern visage, apoplexy haunts, - All pimple-puffed: the Falstaff-like resort - Of fat debauchery, whose veined cheek flaunts - A flabby purple: rusty-spurred he stands - In rakehell boots and belt, and hanger that - Claps when, with greasy gauntlets on his hands, - He swaggers past in cloak and slouch-plumed hat. - Aggression marches armies in his words; - And in his oaths great deeds ride cap-à-pie; - His looks, his gestures breathe the breath of swords; - And in his carriage camp all wars to be:-- - With him, of battles there shall be no lack - While buxom wenches are and stoops of sack. - - - - - SIMULACRA - - - Dark in the west the sunset’s sombre wrack - Unrolled vast walls the rams of war had split, - Along whose battlements the battle lit - Tempestuous beacons; and, with gates hurled back, - A mighty city, red with ruin and sack, - Through burning breaches, crumbling bit by bit, - Showed where the God of Slaughter seemed to sit - With Conflagration glaring at each crack.-- - Who knows? perhaps as sleep unto us makes - Our dreams as real as our waking seems - With recollections time can not destroy, - So in the mind of Nature now awakes, - Haply, some wilder memory, and she dreams - The stormy story of the fall of Troy. - - - - - THE BLUEBIRD - - - From morn till noon upon the window-pane - The tempest tapped with rainy finger-nails, - And all the afternoon the blustering gales - Beat at the door with furious feet of rain. - The rose, near which the lily’s bloom lay slain, - Like some red wound dripped by the garden rails, - On which the sullen slug left silvery trails-- - It seemed the sun would never shine again. - Then in the drench, long, loud, and clarion-clear,-- - A skyey herald tabarded in blue,-- - A bluebird warbled ... and at once a bow - Was bent in heaven, and I seemed to hear - God’s sapphire spaces crystallizing through - The strata’d clouds in azure tremolo. - - - - - CAVERNS - - _Written of Colossal Cave, Kentucky._ - - - Aisles and abysses; leagues, no man explores, - Of rock that labyrinths and night that drips; - Where everlasting silence broods, with lips - Of adamant, o’er earthquake-builded floors. - Where forms, such as the Dæmon-World adores, - Laborious water carves; whence echo slips - Wild-tongued o’er pools where petrifaction strips - Her breasts of crystal from which crystal pours.-- - Here where primordial fear, the Gorgon, sits, - Staring all life to stone in ghastly mirth, - I seem to tread, with awe no tongue can tell,-- - Beneath vast domes, by torrent-tortured pits, - ’Mid wrecks terrific of the ruined Earth,-- - An ancient causeway of forgotten Hell. - - - - - A VOICE ON THE WIND - - - - - PROEM - - - _Oh, for a soul that fulfills - Music like that of a bird! - Thrilling with rapture the hills, - Heedless if any one heard._ - - _Or, like the flower that blooms - Lone in the midst of the trees, - Filling the woods with perfumes, - Careless if any one sees._ - - _Or, like the wandering wind, - Over the meadows that swings, - Bringing wild sweets to mankind, - Knowing not that which it brings._ - - _Oh, for a way to impart - Beauty, no matter how hard! - Like unto Nature, whose art - Never once dreams of reward._ - - - - - A VOICE ON THE WIND - - - I - - She walks with the wind on the windy height - When the rocks are loud and the waves are white, - And all night long she calls through the night, - “O my children, come home!” - Her bleak gown, torn as a tattered cloud, - Tosses around her like a shroud, - While over the deep her voice rings loud,-- - “O my children, come home, come home! - O my children, come home!” - - - II - - Who is she who wanders alone, - When the wind drives sheer and the rain is blown? - Who walks all night and makes her moan, - “O my children, come home!” - Whose face is raised to the blinding gale; - Whose hair blows black and whose eyes are pale, - While over the world goes by her wail,-- - “O my children, come home, come home! - O my children, come home!” - - - III - - She walks with the wind in the windy wood; - The dark rain drips from her hair and hood, - And her cry sobs by, like a ghost pursued, - “O my children, come home!” - Where the trees loom gaunt and the rocks stretch drear, - The owl and the fox crouch back in fear, - As wild through the wood her voice they hear,-- - “O my children, come home, come home! - O my children, come home!” - - - IV - - Who is she who shudders by - When the boughs blow bare and the dead leaves fly? - Who walks all night with her wailing cry, - “O my children, come home!” - Who, strange of look, and wild of tongue, - With wan feet wounded and hands wild-wrung, - Sweeps on and on with her cry, far-flung,-- - “O my children, come home, come home! - O my children, come home!” - - - V - - ’Tis the Spirit of Autumn, no man sees, - The mother of Death and of Mysteries, - Who cries on the wind all night to these, - “O my children, come home!” - The Spirit of Autumn, pierced with pain, - Calling her children home again, - Death and Dreams, through ruin and rain,-- - “O my children, come home, come home! - O my children, come home!” - - - - - THE LAND OF HEARTS MADE WHOLE - - - Do you know the way that goes - Over fields of rue and rose,-- - Warm of scent and hot of hue, - Roofed with heaven’s bluest blue,-- - To the Vale of Dreams Come True? - - Do you know the path that twines, - Banked with elder bosks and vines, - Under boughs that shade a stream, - Hurrying, crystal as a gleam, - To the Hills of Love a-Dream? - - Tell me, tell me, have you gone - Through the fields and woods of dawn, - Meadowlands and trees that roll, - Great of grass and huge of bole, - To the Land of Hearts Made Whole? - - On the way, among the fields, - Poppies lift vermilion shields, - In whose hearts the golden Noon, - Murmuring her drowsy tune, - Rocks the sleepy bees that croon. - - On the way, amid the woods, - Mandrakes muster multitudes, - ’Mid whose blossoms, white as tusk, - Glides the glimmering Forest-Dusk, - With her moths of fluttering musk. - - Here you hear the stealthy stir - Of shy lives of hoof and fur; - Harmless things that hide and peer, - Hearts that sucked the milk of fear-- - Fox and rabbit, squirrel and deer. - - Here you see the mossy flight - Of faint forms that love the night-- - Whippoorwill and owlet-things, - Whose weird call before you brings - Wonder-worlds of happenings. - - Now in sunlight, now in shade, - Water, like a brandished blade, - Foaming forward, wild of flight, - Startles, then arrests the sight, - Whirling steely loops of light. - - Through the tree-tops, down the vale, - Breezes roam, and leave a trail - Of cool music that the birds,-- - Following in happy herds,-- - Gather up in twittering words. - - Blossoms, frail and manifold, - Shower the way with pearl and gold; - Blurs, that seem the darling print - Of the Springtime’s feet, or glint - Of her twinkling gown’s torn tint. - - There the Myths of old endure: - Dreams that are the world-soul’s cure; - Things that have no place or play - In the facts of Everyday - Round your presence smile and sway. - - Suddenly your eyes may see, - Stepping softly from a tree,-- - Slim of form and wet with dew,-- - The brown Dryad; lips the hue - Of a berry bit into. - - You may mark the Naiad rise - From her pool’s reflected skies; - In her gaze the heaven that dreams, - Starred, in twilight-haunted streams, - Mixed with water’s grayer gleams. - - You may see the laurel’s girth, - Big with bloom, give fragrant birth - To the Oread whose hair,-- - Musk and darkness, light and air,-- - Fills the hush with wonder there. - - You may mark the rocks divide, - And the Faun before you glide, - Piping on a magic reed, - Sowing many a music-seed, - From which bloom and mushroom bead. - - Of the rain and sunlight born, - Young of beard and young of horn, - You may see the Satyr lie, - With a very knowing eye, - Teaching fledgeling birds to fly. - - These shall cheer and follow you - Through the Vale of Dreams Come True: - Wind-like voices, leaf-like feet; - Forms of mist and hazy heat, - In whose pulses sunbeams beat. - - Lo! you tread enchanted ground! - From the hollows all around - Elf and spirit, gnome and fay, - Guide your feet along the way - Till the dewy close of day. - - Then beside you, jet on jet, - Emerald-hued and violet, - Flickering, floats a firefly light, - Aye to guide your steps aright - From the valley to the height. - - Steep the way is; when at last, - Vale and wood and stream are passed, - From the heights you shall behold - Panther heavens of spotted gold - Tiger-tawny deeps unfold. - - You shall see on stocks and stones - Sunset’s bell-deep color tones - Fallen; and the valleys filled - With dusk’s purple music, spilled - On the silence, rapture-thrilled. - - Then, as answering bell greets bell, - Night ring in her miracle - Of the doméd dark, o’er-rolled, - Note on note, with starlight cold, - ’Twixt the moon’s broad peal of gold. - - On the hill-top Love-a-Dream - Shows you then her window-gleam; - Brings you home and folds your soul - In the peace of vale and knoll, - In the Land of Hearts Made Whole. - - - - - THE WIND OF SUMMER - - - From the hills and far away - All the long, warm summer day - Comes the Wind and seems to say: - - “Come, oh, come! and let us go - Where the meadows bend and blow, - Waving with the white-tops’ snow. - - “’Neath the hyssop-colored sky - ’Mid the meadows we will lie - Watching the white clouds roll by; - - “While your hair my hands shall press - With a cooling tenderness - Till your grief grows less and less: - - “Come, oh, come! and let us roam - Where the rock-cut waters comb - Flowing crystal into foam. - - “Under trees whose trunks are brown, - On the banks that violets crown, - We will watch the fish flash down; - - “While my voice your ear shall soothe - With a whisper soft and smooth - Till your care shall wax uncouth. - - “Come! where forests, line on line,-- - Armies of the oak and pine,-- - Scale the hills and shout and shine. - - “We will wander, hand in hand, - Ways where tall the toadstools stand, - Mile-stones white of Fairyland. - - “While your eyes my lips shall kiss, - Dewy as a wild-rose is, - Till they gaze on naught but bliss. - - “On the meadows you will hear, - Leaning low your spirit ear, - Cautious footsteps drawing near. - - “You will deem it but a bee, - Murmuring soft and sleepily, - Till your inner sight shall see - - “’Tis a presence passing slow, - All its shining hair ablow, - Through the white-tops’ tossing snow. - - “By the waters, if you will, - And your inmost soul is still, - Melody your ears shall fill. - - “You will deem it but the stream - Rippling onward in a dream, - Till upon your gaze shall gleam - - “Arm of spray and throat of foam-- - ’Tis a spirit there a-roam - Where the radiant waters comb. - - “In the forest, if you heed, - You shall hear a magic reed - Sow sweet notes like silver seed. - - “You will deem your ears have heard - Stir of tree or song of bird, - Till your startled eyes are blurred - - “By a vision, instant seen, - Naked gold and naked green, - Glimmering the boughs between. - - “Follow me! and you shall see - Wonder-worlds of mystery - That are only known to me!” - - Thus outside my city door - Speaks the Wind its wildwood lore, - Speaks, and lo! I go once more. - - - - - THE WIND OF WINTER - - - The Winter Wind, the wind of death, - Who knocked upon my door, - Now through the key-hole entereth, - Invisible and hoar: - He breathes around his icy breath - And treads the flickering floor. - - I heard him, wandering in the night, - Tap at my window pane, - With ghostly fingers, snowy white, - I heard him tug in vain, - Until the shuddering candle-light - Did cringe with fear and strain. - - The fire, awakened by his voice, - Leapt up with frantic arms, - Like some wild babe that greets, with noise, - Its father home who storms, - With rosy gestures that rejoice - And crimson kiss that warms. - - Now in the hearth he sits and, drowned - Among the ashes, blows; - Or through the room goes stealing round - On cautious-stepping toes, - Deep-mantled in the drowsy sound - Of night that sleets and snows. - - And oft, like some thin fairy-thing, - The stormy hush amid, - I hear his captive trebles ring - Beneath the kettle’s lid; - Or now a harp of elfland string - In some dark cranny hid. - - Again I hear him, imp-like, whine, - Cramped in the gusty flue; - Or knotted in the resinous pine - Raise goblin cry and hue, - While through the smoke his eyeballs shine, - A sooty red and blue. - - At last I hear him, nearing dawn, - Take up his roaring broom, - And sweep wild leaves from wood and lawn, - And from the heavens the gloom, - To show the gaunt world lying wan, - And morn’s cold rose a-bloom. - - - - - THE LEAF-CRICKET - - - I - - Small twilight singer - Of dew and mist: thou ghost-gray, gossamer winger - Of dusk’s dim glimmer, - How cool thy note sounds; how thy wings of shimmer - Vibrate, soft-sighing, - Meseems, for Summer that is dead or dying. - I stand and listen, - And at thy song the garden-beds, that glisten - With rose and lily, - Seem touched with sadness; and the tuberose chilly, - Breathing around its cold and colorless breath, - Fills the pale evening with wan hints of death. - - - II - - I see thee quaintly - Beneath the leaf; thy shell-shaped winglets faintly-- - As thin as spangle - Of cobwebbed rain--held up at airy angle; - I hear thy tinkle, - Thy fairy notes, the silvery stillness sprinkle; - Investing wholly - The moonlight with divinest melancholy: - Until, in seeming, - I see the Spirit of the Summer dreaming - Amid her ripened orchards, apple-strewn, - Her great, grave eyes fixed on the harvest-moon. - - - III - - As dewdrops beady, - As mist minute, thy notes ring low and reedy: - The vaguest vapor - Of melody, now near; now, like some taper - Of sound, far fading-- - Thou will-o’-wisp of music aye evading. - Among the bowers, - The fog-washed stalks of Autumn’s weeds and flowers, - By hill and hollow, - I hear thy murmur and in vain I follow-- - Thou jack-o’-lantern voice, thou elfin cry, - Thou dirge, that tellest Beauty she must die. - - - IV - - And when the frantic - Wild winds of Autumn with the dead leaves antic; - And walnuts scatter - The mire of lanes; and dropping acorns patter - In grove and forest, - Like some frail grief, with the rude blast thou warrest, - Sending thy slender - Far cry against the gale, that, rough, untender, - Untouched of sorrow, - Sweeps thee aside, where, haply, I to-morrow - Shall find thee lying, tiny, cold and crushed, - Thy weak wings folded and thy music hushed. - - - - - THE OWLET - - - I - - When dusk is drowned in drowsy dreams, - And slow the hues of sunset die; - When firefly and moth go by, - And in still streams the new-moon gleams, - A sickle in the sky: - Then from the hills there comes a cry, - The owlet’s cry: - A shivering voice that sobs and screams, - That, frightened, screams:-- - - “Who is it, who is it, who? - Who rides through the dusk and dew, - With a pair of horns, - As thin as thorns, - And face a bubble-blue? - Who, who, who! - Who is it, who is it, who?” - - - II - - When night has dulled the lily’s white, - And opened wide the moonflower’s eyes, - When pale mists rise and veil the skies, - And round the height in whispering flight - The night wind sounds and sighs: - Then in the woods again it cries, - The owlet cries: - A shivering voice that calls in fright, - In maundering fright:-- - - “Who is it, who is it, who? - Who walks with a shuffling shoe, - ’Mid the gusty trees, - With a face none sees, - And a form as ghostly too? - Who, who, who! - Who is it, who is it, who?” - - - III - - When midnight leans a listening ear - And tinkles on her insect lutes; - When ’mid the roots the cricket flutes, - And marsh and mere, now far, now near, - A jack-o’-lantern foots: - Then o’er the pool again it hoots, - The owlet hoots: - A voice that shivers as with fear, - That cries in fear:-- - - “Who is it, who is it, who? - Who creeps with his glow-worm crew - Above the mire - With a corpse-light fire, - As only dead men do? - Who, who, who! - Who is it, who is it, who?” - - - - - THE POET - - - He stands above all worldly schism, - And, gazing over life’s abysm, - Beholds, within the starry range - Of heaven, laws of death and change, - That, through his soul’s prophetic prism, - Are turned to rainbows wild and strange. - - Through nature is his hope made surer - Of that ideal, his allurer, - By whom his life is upward drawn - To mount pale pinnacles of dawn, - ’Mid which all that is fairer, purer - Of love and lore it comes upon. - - An alkahest, that makes gold metal - Of dross, his mind is--where one petal - Of one wild-rose will well outweigh - The piled-up facts of every-day-- - Where commonplaces, there that settle, - Are changed to things of heavenly ray. - - He climbs by steps of stars and flowers, - Companioned of the spirit Hours, - And sets his feet in pastures where - No merely mortal feet may fare; - And higher than the stars he towers - Though lowly as the flowers there. - - His comrades are his own high fancies - And thoughts in which his soul romances; - And every part of heaven or earth - He visits, lo, assumes new worth; - And touched with loftier traits and trances - Reshines as with a lovelier birth. - - He is the play, also the player; - The word that’s said, likewise the sayer; - And in the books of heart and head - There is no thing he has not read; - Of time and tears he is the weigher, - And mouthpiece ’twixt the quick and dead. - - He dies: but, mounting ever higher, - Wings Phœnix-like from out his pyre - Above our mortal day and night, - Clothed on with sempiternal light; - And raimented in thought’s fine fire - Flames on in everlasting flight. - - Unseen, yet seen, on heights of visions, - Above all praise and world derisions, - His spirit and his deathless brood - Of dreams fare on, a multitude, - While on the pillar of great missions - His name and place are granite-hewed. - - - - - SUMMER NOONTIDE - - - The slender snail clings to the leaf - Gray on its silvered underside; - And slowly, slowlier than the snail, with brief - Bright steps, whose ripening touch foretells the sheaf, - Her warm hands berry-dyed, - Comes down the tanned Noontide. - - The pungent fragrance of the mint - And pennyroyal drench her gown, - That leaves long shreds of trumpet-blossom tint - Among the thorns, and everywhere the glint - Of gold and white and brown - Her flowery steps waft down. - - The leaves, like hands with emerald veined, - Along her way try their wild best - To reach the jewel--whose hot hue was drained - From some rich rose that all the June contained-- - The butterfly, soft pressed - Upon her sunny breast. - - Her shawl, the lace-like elder bloom, - She hangs upon the hillside brake, - Smelling of warmth and of her breast’s perfume, - And, lying in the citron-colored gloom - Beside the lilied lake, - She stares the buds awake. - - Or, with a smile, through watery deeps - She leads the oaring turtle’s legs; - Or guides the crimson fin, that swims and sleeps, - From pad to pad, from which the young frog leaps; - And to its nest’s green eggs - The reed-bird there that begs. - - Then ’mid the fields of unmown hay - She shows the bees where sweets are found; - And points the butterflies, at airy play, - And dragon-flies, along the water-way, - Where honeyed flowers abound - For them to flicker round. - - Or where ripe apples pelt with gold - Some barn--around which, coned with snow, - The wild-potato blooms--she mounts its old - Mossed roof, and through warped sides, the knots have holed, - Lets her long glances glow - Into the loft below. - - To show the mud-wasp at its cell - Slenderly busy: swallows, too, - Packing against a beam their nest’s clay shell; - And crouching in the dark the owl as well - With all her downy crew - Of owlets gray of hue. - - These are her joys; and until dusk - Lounging she walks where reapers reap, - From sultry raiment shaking scents of musk, - Rustling the corn within its silken husk, - And driving down heav’n’s deep - White herds of clouds like sheep. - - - - - TO THE LOCUST - - - Thou pulse of hotness, who, with reed-like breast, - Makest meridian music, long and loud, - Accentuating summer!--dost thy best - To make the sunbeams fiercer, and to crowd - With lonesomeness the long, close afternoon-- - When Labor leans, swart-faced and beady-browed, - Upon his sultry scythe--thou tangible tune - Of heat, whose waves incessantly arise - Quivering and clear beneath the cloudless skies. - - Thou singest, and upon his haggard hills - Drouth yawns and rubs his heavy eyes and wakes; - Brushes the hot hair from his face; and fills - The land with death as sullenly he takes - Downward his dusty way: ’midst woods and fields - At every pool his burning thirst he slakes; - No grove so deep, no bank so high it shields - A spring from him; no creek evades his eye; - He needs but look and they are withered dry. - - Thou singest, and thy song is as a spell - Of somnolence to charm the land with sleep; - A thorn of sound that pierces dale and dell, - Diffusing slumber over vale and steep. - Sleepy the forest, nodding sleepy boughs; - Sleepy the pastures with their sleepy sheep; - Sleepy the creek where sleepily the cows - Stand knee-deep, and the very heaven seems - Sleepy and lost in undetermined dreams. - - Art thou a rattle that Monotony, - Summer’s dull nurse, old sister of slow Time, - Shakes for Day’s peevish pleasure, who in glee - Takes its discordant music for sweet rhyme? - Or oboe that the Summer Noontide plays, - Sitting with Ripeness ’neath the orchard-tree, - Trying repeatedly the same shrill phrase, - Until the musky peach with weariness - Drops, and the hum of murmuring bees grows less? - - - - - JULY - - - Now ’tis the time when, tall, - The long blue torches of the bellflower gleam - Among the trees; and, by the wooded stream, - In many a fragrant ball, - Blooms of the button-bush fall. - - Let us go forth and seek - Woods where the wild plums redden and the beech - Plumps its stout burrs; and, swelling, just in reach, - The pawpaw, emerald-sleek, - Ripens along the creek. - - Now ’tis the time when ways - Of glimmering green flaunt white the giant plumes - Of the black-cohosh; and through bramble glooms,-- - A blur of orange rays,-- - The butterfly-blossoms blaze. - - Let us go forth and hear - The spiral music that the locusts beat, - And that small spray of sound, so grassy sweet, - Dear to a country ear, - The cricket’s summer cheer. - - Now golden celandine - Is hairy hung with silvery sacs of seeds, - And bugled o’er with freckled gold, like beads, - Beneath the fox-grape vine, - The jewel-weed’s blossoms shine. - - Let us go forth and see - The dragon-and the butterfly, like gems, - Spangling the sunbeams; and the clover stems, - Weighed down with many a bee, - Nodding mellifluously. - - Now morns are full of song; - The cat-bird and the red-bird and the jay - Upon the hilltops rouse the ruddy day, - Who, dewy, blithe, and strong, - Lures their wild wings along. - - Now noons are full of dreams; - The clouds of heaven and the wandering breeze - Follow a vision; and the flowers and trees, - The hills and fields and streams, - Are lapped in mystic gleams. - - The nights are full of love; - The stars and moon take up the golden tale - Of the sunk sun, and passionate and pale, - Mixing their fires above, - Grow eloquent thereof. - - Such days are like a sigh - That beauty heaves from a full heart of bliss: - Such nights are like the sweetness of a kiss - On lips that half deny-- - The warm lips of July. - - - - - EVENING ON THE FARM - - - From out the hills where twilight stands, - Above the shadowy pasture-lands, - With strained and strident cry, - Beneath pale skies that sunset bands, - The bull-bats fly. - - A cloud hangs over, strange of shape, - And, colored like the half-ripe grape, - Seems some uneven stain - On heaven’s azure, thin as crape, - And blue as rain. - - By ways, that sunset’s sardonyx - O’erflares, and gates the farm-boy clicks, - Through which the cattle came, - The mullein stalks seem giant wicks - Of downy flame. - - From woods no glimmer enters in, - Above the streams that, wandering, win - From out the violet hills, - Those haunters of the dusk begin, - The whippoorwills. - - Adown the dark the firefly marks - Its flight in golden-emerald sparks; - And, loosened from his chain, - The shaggy watch-dog bounds and barks, - And barks again. - - Each breeze brings scents of hill-heaped hay; - And now an owlet, far away, - Cries twice or thrice, “T-o-o-w-h-o-o”; - And cool dim moths of mottled gray - Flit through the dew. - - The silence sounds its frog-bassoon, - Where, on the woodland creek’s lagoon, - Pale as a ghostly girl - Lost ’mid the trees, looks down the moon - With face of pearl. - - Within the shed where logs, late hewed, - Smell forest-sweet, and chips of wood - Make blurs of white and brown, - The brood-hen cuddles her warm brood - Of teetering down. - - The clattering guineas in the tree - Din for a time; and quietly - The hen-house, near the fence, - Sleeps, save for some brief rivalry - Of cocks and hens. - - A cow-bell tinkles by the rails, - Where, streaming white in foaming pails, - Milk makes an uddery sound; - While overhead the black bat trails - Around and round. - - The night is still. The slow cows chew - A drowsy cud. The bird that flew - And sang is in its nest. - It is the time of falling dew, - Of dreams and rest. - - The brown bees sleep; and round the walk, - The garden path, from stalk to stalk - The bungling beetle booms, - Where two soft shadows stand and talk - Among the blooms. - - The stars are thick: the light is dead - That dyed the west: and Drowsyhead, - Tuning his cricket-pipe, - Nods, and some apple, round and red, - Drops over-ripe. - - Now down the road, that shambles by, - A window, shining like an eye - Through climbing rose and gourd, - Shows where Toil sups and these things lie-- - His heart and hoard. - - - - - UNDER THE HUNTER’S MOON - - - White from her chrysalis of cloud, - The moth-like moon swings upward through the night; - And all the bee-like stars that crowd - Heav’n’s hollow hive wane in her silvery light. - - Along the distance folds of mist - Hang frost-pale, ridging all the dark with gray; - Tinting the trees with amethyst, - Touching with pearl and purple every spray. - - All night the stealthy frost and fog - Conspire to slay the rich-robed weeds and flowers; - To strip the woods of wealth, and clog - With piled-up gold of leaves the creek that cowers. - - I seem to see their Spirits stand, - Molded of moonlight, faint of form and face, - Now reaching high a chilly hand - To pluck some walnut from its spicy place: - - Now with fine fingers, phantom-cold, - Splitting the wahoo’s pods of rose, and thin - The bittersweet’s globes of gold, - To show the coal-red berries packed within: - - Now on frail threads of gossamer - Stringing slim pearls of moisture; necklacing - The flow’rs; and spreading cobweb fur, - Crystalled with stardew, over everything; - - While ’neath the moon, with moon-white feet, - They wander and a moon-chill music draw - From thin leaf-cricket flutes--the sweet, - Dim dirge of Autumn dying in the shaw. - - - - - IN THE LANE - - - When the hornet hangs in the hollyhock, - And the brown bee drones i’ the rose, - And the west is a red-streaked four-o’-clock, - And summer is near its close-- - It’s--Oh, for the gate and the locust lane - And dusk and dew and home again! - - When the katydid sings and the cricket cries, - And ghosts of the mists ascend, - And the evening-star is a lamp i’ the skies, - And summer is near its end-- - It’s--Oh, for the fence and the leafy lane, - And the twilight peace and the tryst again! - - When the owlet hoots in the dogwood-tree, - That leans to the rippling Run, - And the wind is a wildwood melody, - And summer is almost done-- - It’s--Oh, for the bridge and the bramble lane, - And the fragrant hush and her hands again! - - When fields smell moist with the dewy hay, - And woods are cool and wan, - And a path for dreams is the Milky-way, - And summer is nearly gone-- - It’s--Oh, for the rock and the woodland lane, - And the silence and stars and her lips again! - - When the weight of the apples breaks down the limbs, - And musk-melons split with sweet, - And the moon’s broad boat in the heaven swims, - And summer has spent its heat-- - It’s--Oh, for the lane, the trysting lane, - And the deep-mooned night and her love again! - - - - - EPIPHANY - - - There is nothing that eases my heart so much - As the wind that blows from the great green hills; - ’Tis a hand of balsam whose healing touch - Unburdens my bosom of ills. - - There is nothing that maketh my soul to rejoice - Like the sunset flaming without a flaw: - ’Tis a burning bush whence God’s own voice - Addresses my spirit with awe. - - There is nothing that hallows my mind, meseems, - Like the night with its moon and its starry slope: - ’Tis a mystical lily whose golden gleams - Fulfill my being with hope. - - There is nothing, no, nothing, we see and feel, - That speaks to our souls some beautiful thought, - That was not created to help us and heal - Our lives that are overwrought. - - - - - LIFE - - - I - - _Pessimist_ - - There is never a thing we dream or do - But was dreamed and done in the ages gone; - Everything’s old; there is nothing that’s new, - And so it will be while the world goes on. - - The thoughts we think have been thought before; - The deeds we do have long been done; - We pride ourselves on our love and lore - And both are as old as the moon and sun. - - We strive and struggle and swink and sweat, - And the end for each is one and the same; - Time and the sun and the frost and wet - Will wear from its pillar the greatest name. - - No answer comes for our prayer or curse, - No word replies though we shriek in air; - Ever the taciturn universe - Stretches unchanged for our curse or prayer. - - With our mind’s small light in the dark we crawl,-- - Glow-worm glimmers that creep about,-- - Till the Power that made us, over us all - Poises His foot and treads us out. - - Unasked He fashions us out of clay, - A little water, a little dust, - And then in our holes He thrusts us away, - With never a word, to rot and rust. - - ’Tis a sorry play with a sorry plot, - This life of hate and of lust and pain, - Where we play our parts and are soon forgot, - And all that we do is done in vain. - - - II - - _Optimist_ - - There is never a dream but it shall come true, - And never a deed but was wrought by plan; - And life is filled with the strange and new, - And ever has been since the world began. - - As mind develops and soul matures - These two shall parent Earth’s mightier acts; - Love is a fact, and ’tis love endures - ‘Though the world make wreck of all other facts. - - Through thought alone shall our age obtain - Above all ages gone before; - The tribes of sloth, of brawn, not brain, - Are the tribes that perish, are known no more. - - Within ourselves is a voice of Awe, - And a hand that points to balanced Scales; - The one is Love, and the other, Law, - And their presence alone it is avails. - - For every shadow about our way - There is a glory of moon and sun; - But the hope within us hath more of ray - Than the light of the sun and the moon made one. - - Behind all being a purpose lies, - Undeviating as God hath willed; - And he alone it is who dies, - Who leaves that purpose unfulfilled. - - Life is an epic the Master sings, - Whose theme is Man, and whose music, Soul, - Where each is a word in the Song of Things, - That shall roll on while the ages roll. - - - - - MEETING IN THE WOODS - - - Through ferns and moss the path wound to - A hollow where the touch-me-nots - Swung horns of honey filled with dew; - And where--like footprints--violets blue - And bluets made sweet sapphire blots, - ’Twas there that she had passed I knew. - - The grass, the very wilderness - On either side, breathed rapture of - Her passage: ’twas her hand or dress - That touched some tree--a slight caress-- - That made the wood-birds sing above; - Her step that woke the flowers, I guess. - - I hurried, till across my way, - Foam-footed, bounding through the wood, - A brook, like some wild child at play, - Went laughing loud its roundelay; - And there upon its bank she stood, - A sunbeam clad in forest gray. - - And when she saw me, all her face - Bloomed like a wild-rose by the stream; - And to my breast a moment’s space - I gathered her; and all the place - Seemed conscious of some happy dream - Come true to add to Earth its grace: - - Some union, that was Heav’n’s intent-- - For which God made the world--the bliss, - The love, that raised her innocent - Young face to mine that, smiling, bent - And sealed her first words with a kiss-- - As Love might close his testament. - - - - - ROSE AND RUE - - - Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean, - Do you remember where - The willows used to screen - The water flowing fair? - The mill-stream’s banks of green - Where first our love begun, - When you were seventeen, - And I was twenty-one? - - Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean, - Do you remember how - From th’ old bridge we would lean-- - The bridge that’s broken now-- - To watch the minnows sheen - Through ripples of the Run, - When you were seventeen, - And I was twenty-one? - - Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean, - Do you remember, too, - The old beech-tree, between - Whose roots the windflowers grew? - Where oft we sat at E’en, - When stars were few or none, - When you were seventeen, - And I was twenty-one? - - Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean, - The bark is grown around - The names I cut therein, - And the true-love knot that bound; - The love-knot, clear and clean, - I carved when our love begun, - When you were seventeen, - And I was twenty-one. - - Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean, - The roof of the farm-house gray - Is fallen and mossy green; - Its rafters rot away: - The old path scarce is seen - Where oft our feet would run, - When you were seventeen, - And I was twenty-one. - - Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean, - Through each old tree and bough - The lone winds cry and keen-- - The place is haunted now - With ghosts of what-has-been, - And dreams of love-long-done, - When you were seventeen, - And I was twenty-one. - - Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean, - There, in your world of wealth, - There, where you move a queen, - Broken in heart and health, - Does there ever rise a scene - Of days, your thought would shun, - When you were seventeen, - And I was twenty-one? - - Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean, - Here, ’mid the rose and rue, - Would God that your grave were green, - And I were lying, too! - Here on the hill, I mean, - Where oft we laughed in the sun, - When you were seventeen, - And I was twenty-one. - - - - - A MAID WHO DIED OLD - - - Frail, shrunken face, so pinched and worn, - That life has carved with care and doubt! - So weary waiting, night and morn, - For that which never came about! - Pale lamp, so utterly forlorn, - In which God’s light at last is out. - - Gray hair, that lies so thin and prim - On either side the sunken brows! - And soldered eyes, so deep and dim, - No word of man could now arouse! - And hollow hands, so virgin slim, - Forever clasped in silent vows! - - Poor breasts! that God designed for love, - For baby lips to kiss and press! - That never felt, yet dreamed thereof, - The human touch, the child caress-- - That lie like shriveled blooms above - The heart’s long-perished happiness. - - O withered body, Nature gave - For purposes of death and birth, - That never knew, and could but crave - Those things perhaps that make life worth-- - Rest now, alas! within the grave, - Sad shell that served no end of Earth. - - - - - COMMUNICANTS - - - Who knows the things they dream, alas! - Or feel, who lie beneath the ground? - Perhaps the flowers, the leaves and grass - That close them round. - - In spring the violets may spell - The moods of them we know not of; - Or lilies sweetly syllable - Their thoughts of love. - - Haply, in summer, dew and scent - Of all they feel may be a part; - Each red rose be the testament - Of some rich heart. - - The winds of fall be utterance, - Perhaps, of saddest things they say; - Wild leaves may word some dead romance - In some dim way. - - In winter all their sleep profound - Through frost may speak to grass and stream, - Stilling them with the silent sound - Of all they dream. - - - - - THE DEAD DAY - - - The west builds high a sepulchre - Of cloudy granite and of gold, - Where twilight’s priestly hours inter - The day like some great king of old. - - A censer, rimmed with silver fire, - The new moon swings above his tomb; - While, organ-stops of God’s own choir, - Star after star throbs in the gloom. - - And night draws near, the sadly sweet-- - A nun whose face is calm and fair-- - And kneeling at the dead day’s feet - Her soul goes up in silent prayer. - - In prayer, we feel through dewy gleam - And flowery fragrance, and--above - All Earth--the ecstasy and dream - That haunt the mystic heart of love. - - - - - ALLUREMENT - - - Across the world she sends me word, - From gardens fair as Falerina’s, - Now by a blossom, now a bird, - To come to her, who long has lured - With magic sweeter than Alcina’s. - - I know not what her word may mean, - I know not what may mean the voices - She sends as messengers unseen, - That through the hush around me lean, - And whisper till my heart rejoices. - - Soon must I go. I must away. - Must take the path that is appointed. - God grant I reach her realm some day, - Where by her love, as by a ray, - My soul shall be anointed. - - - - - AUGUST - - - I - - Clad on with glowing beauty and the peace, - Benign, of calm maturity, she stands - Among her meadows and her orchard-lands, - And on her mellowing gardens and her trees, - Out of the ripe abundance of her hands - Bestows increase - And fruitfulness, as, wrapped in sunny ease, - Blue-eyed and blonde she goes, - Upon her bosom Summer’s richest rose. - - - II - - And he who follows where her footsteps lead, - By hill and rock, by forest-side and stream, - May glimpse the glory of her visible dream, - In flower and fruit, in rounded nut and seed: - She, in whose path the very shadows gleam; - Whose humblest weed - Seems lovelier than June’s loveliest flower, indeed, - And sweeter to the smell - Than April’s self within a rainy dell. - - - III - - Hers is a sumptuous simplicity - Within the fair Republic of her flowers, - Where you may see her standing hours on hours, - Breast-deep in gold, soft-holding up a bee - To her hushed ear; or sitting under bowers - Of greenery, - A butterfly a-tilt upon her knee; - Or lounging on her hip, - Dancing a cricket on her finger-tip. - - - IV - - Ay, let me breathe hot scents that tell of you: - The hoary catnip and the meadow-mint, - On which the honor of your touch doth print - Itself as odor. Let me drink the hue - Of ironweed and mist-flower here that hint - With purple and blue, - The rapture that your presence doth imbue - Their inmost essence with, - Immortal, though as transient as a myth. - - - V - - Yea, let me feed on sounds that still assure - Me where you hide: the brooks’, whose happy din - Tells where, the deep, retired woods within, - Disrobed, you bathe; the birds’, whose drowsy lure - Tells where you slumber, your warm, nestling chin - Soft on the pure, - Pink cushion of your palm.... What better cure - For care and memory’s ache - Than to behold you thus, and watch you wake. - - - - - THE BUSH-SPARROW - - - I - - Ere wild-haws, looming in the glooms, - Build bolted drifts of breezy blooms; - And in the whistling hollow there - The red-bud bends, as brown and bare - As buxom Roxy’s up-stripped arm; - From some gray hickory or larch, - Sighed o’er the sodden meads of March, - The sad heart thrills and reddens warm - To hear you braving the rough storm, - Frail courier of green-gathering powers; - Rebelling sap in trees and flowers; - Love’s minister come heralding-- - O sweet saint-voice among bleak bowers! - O brown-red pursuivant of Spring! - - - II - - “Moan,” sob the woodland waters still - Down bloomless ledges of the hill; - And gray, gaunt clouds like harpies hang - In harpy heavens, and swoop and clang - Sharp beaks and talons of the wind: - Black scowl the forests, and unkind - The far fields as the near: while song - Seems murdered and all beauty wrong. - One weak frog only in the thaw - Of spawny pools wakes cold and raw, - Expires a melancholy bass - And stops as if bewildered: then - Along the frowning wood again, - Flung in the thin wind’s vulture face, - From woolly tassels of the proud, - Red-bannered maples, long and loud, - “The Spring is come! is here! her Grace! her Grace! - - - III - - “Her Grace, the Spring! her Grace! her Grace! - Climbs, beautiful and sunny browed, - Up, up the kindling hills and wakes - Blue berries in the berry brakes: - With fragrant flakes, that blow and bleach, - Deep-powders smothered quince and peach: - Eyes dogwoods with a thousand eyes: - Teaches each sod how to be wise - With twenty wildflowers to one weed, - And kisses germs that they may seed. - In purest purple and sweet white - Treads up the happier hills of light, - Bloom-, cloudy-borne, song in her hair - And balm and beam of odorous air. - Winds, her retainers; and the rains - Her yeomen strong who sweep the plains: - Her scarlet knights of dawn, and gold - Of eve, her panoply unfold: - Her herald tabarded behold! - Awake to greet! prepare to sing! - She comes, the darling Duchess, Spring!” - - - - - QUIET - - - A log-hut in the solitude, - A clapboard roof to rest beneath! - This side, the shadow-haunted wood; - That side, the sunlight-haunted heath. - - At daybreak Morn will come to me - In raiment of the white winds spun; - Slim in her rosy hand the key - That opes the gateway of the sun. - - Her smile will help my heart enough - With love to labor all the day, - And cheer the road, whose rocks are rough, - With her smooth footprints, each a ray. - - At dusk a voice will call afar, - A lone voice like the whippoorwill’s; - And, on her shimmering brow one star, - Night will descend the western hills. - - She at my door till dawn will stand, - With gothic eyes, that, dark and deep, - Are mirrors of a mystic land, - Fantastic with the towns of sleep. - - - - - MUSIC - - - Thou, oh, thou! - Thou of the chorded shell and golden plectrum, thou - Of the dark eyes and pale pacific brow! - Music, who by the plangent waves, - Or in the echoing night of labyrinthine caves, - Or on God’s mountains, lonely as the stars, - Touchest reverberant bars - Of immemorial sorrow and amaze;-- - Keeping regret and memory awake, - And all the immortal ache - Of love that leans upon the past’s sweet days - In retrospection!--now, oh, now, - Interpreter and heart-physician, thou - Who gazest on the heaven and the hell - Of life, and singest each as well, - Touch with thy all-mellifluous finger-tips - Or thy melodious lips, - This sickness named my soul, - Making it whole - As is an echo of a chord, - Or some symphonic word, - Or sweet vibrating sigh, - That deep, resurgent, still doth rise and die - On thy voluminous roll; - Part of the beauty and the mystery - That axles Earth with music; as a slave, - Swinging it round and round on each sonorous pole, - ’Mid spheric harmony, - And choral majesty, - And diapasoning of wind and wave; - Speeding it on its far elliptic way - ’Mid vasty anthemings of night and day.-- - O cosmic cry - Of two eternities, wherein we see - The phantasms, Death and Life, - At endless strife - Above the silence of a monster grave. - - - - - A DREAM SHAPE - - - With moon-white hearts that held a gleam - I gathered wildflowers in a dream, - And shaped a woman, whose sweet blood - Was odor of the wildwood bud. - - From dew, the starlight arrowed through, - I wrought a woman’s eyes of blue; - The lids that on her eyeballs lay - Were rose-pale petals of the May. - - Out of a rosebud’s veins I drew - The fragrant crimson beating through - The languid lips of her, whose kiss - Was as a poppy’s drowsiness. - - Out of the moonlight and the air - I wrought the glory of her hair, - That o’er her eyes’ blue heaven lay - Like some gold cloud o’er dawn of day. - -[Illustration: - - My spirit saw her pass Page 432 - - _A Dream Shape_] - - I took the music of the breeze - And water, whispering in the trees, - And shaped the soul that breathed below - A woman’s blossom breasts of snow. - - A shadow’s shadow in the glass - Of sleep, my spirit saw her pass: - And thinking of it now, meseems - We only live within our dreams. - - For in that time she was to me - More real than our reality; - More real than Earth, more real than I-- - The unreal things that pass and die. - - - - - THE OLD BARN - - - Low, swallow-swept and gray, - Between the orchard and the spring, - All its wide windows overflowing hay, - And crannied doors a-swing, - The old barn stands to-day. - - Deep in its hay the Leghorn hides - A round white nest; and, humming soft - On roof and rafter, or its log-rude sides, - Black in the sun-shot loft, - The building hornet glides. - - Along its corn-crib, cautiously - As thieving fingers, skulks the rat; - Or in warped stalls of fragrant timothy, - Gnaws at some loosened slat, - Or passes shadowy. - - A dream of drouth made audible - Before its door, hot, harsh, and shrill - All day the locust sings.... What other spell - Shall hold it, lazier still - Than the long day’s, now tell:-- - - Dusk and the cricket and the strain - Of tree-toad and of frog; and stars - That burn above the rich west’s ribbéd stain; - And dropping pasture bars, - And cowbells up the lane. - - Night and the moon and katydid, - And leaf-lisp of the wind-touched boughs; - And mazy shadows that the fireflies thrid; - And sweet breath of the cows, - And the lone owl here hid. - - - - - THE WOOD WITCH - - - There is a woodland witch who lies - With bloom-bright limbs and beam-bright eyes, - Among the water-flags that rank - The slow brook’s heron-haunted bank. - The dragonflies, in brass and blue, - Are signs she works her sorcery through; - Weird, wizard characters she weaves - Her spells with under forest leaves,-- - These wait her word, like imps, upon - The gray flag-pods; their wings, of lawn - And gauze; their bodies, gleaming green. - While o’er the wet sand,--left between - The running water and the still,-- - In pansy hues and daffodil, - The fancies that she doth devise - Assume the forms of butterflies, - Rich-colored.--And ’tis she you hear, - Whose sleepy rune, hummed in the ear - Of silence, bees and beetles purr, - And the dry-droning locusts whirr; - Till, where the wood is very lone, - Vague monotone meets monotone, - And Slumber is begot and born, - A faery child beneath the thorn. - There is no mortal who may scorn - The witchery she spreads around - Her dim demesne, wherein is bound - The beauty of abandoned time, - As some sweet thought ’twixt rhyme and rhyme. - And through her spells you shall behold - The blue turn gray, the gray turn gold - Of hollow heaven; and the brown - Of twilight vistas twinkled down - With fireflies; and in the gloom - Feel the cool vowels of perfume - Slow-syllabled of weed and bloom. - But, in the night, at languid rest,-- - When like a spirit’s naked breast - The moon slips from a silver mist,-- - With star-bound brow, and star-wreathed wrist, - If you should see her rise and wave - You welcome--ah! what thing could save - You then? forevermore her slave! - - - - - MAY - - - The golden discs of the rattlesnake-weed, - That spangle the woods and dance-- - No gleam of gold that the twilights hold - Is strong as their necromance: - For, under the oaks where the woodpaths lead, - The golden discs of the rattlesnake-weed - Are the May’s own utterance. - - The azure stars of the bluet bloom, - That sprinkle the woodland’s trance-- - No blink of blue that a cloud lets through - Is sweet as their countenance: - For, over the knolls that the woods perfume, - The azure stars of the bluet bloom - Are the light of the May’s own glance. - - With her wondering words and her looks she comes, - In a sunbeam of a gown; - She needs but think and the blossoms wink, - But look, and they shower down. - By orchard ways, where the wild bee hums, - With her wondering words and her looks she comes - Like a little maid to town. - - - - - RAIN - - - I - - Around, the stillness deepened; then the grain - Went wild with wind; and every briery lane - Was swept with dust; and then, tempestuous black, - Hillward the tempest heaved a monster back, - That on the thunder leaned as on a cane; - And on huge shoulders bore a cloudy pack, - That gullied gold from many a lightning crack: - One great drop splashed and wrinkled down the pane, - And then field, hill, and wood were lost in rain. - - - II - - At last, through clouds,--as from a cavern hewn - Into night’s heart,--the sun burst, angry roon; - And every cedar, with its weight of wet, - Against the sunset’s fiery splendor set, - Startled to beauty, seemed with rubies strewn: - Then in drenched gardens, like sweet phantoms met, - Dim odors rose of pink and mignonette; - And in the east a confidence, that soon - Grew to the calm assurance of the moon. - - - - - FALL - - - Sad-hearted Spirit of the solitudes, - Who comest through the ruin-wedded woods! - Gray-gowned in fog, gold-girdled with the gloom - Of tawny sunsets; burdened with perfume - Of rain-wet uplands, chilly with the mist; - And all the beauty of the fire-kissed - Cold forests crimsoning thy indolent way, - Odorous of death and drowsy with decay. - I think of thee as seated ’mid the showers - Of languid leaves that cover up the flowers,-- - The little flower-sisterhoods, whom June - Once gave wild sweetness to, as to a tune - A singer gives her soul’s wild melody,-- - Watching the squirrel store his granary. - Or, ’mid old orchards, I have pictured thee: - Thy hair’s profusion blown about thy back; - One lovely shoulder bathed with gypsy black; - Upon thy palm one nestling cheek, and sweet - The rosy russets tumbled at thy feet. - - Was it a voice lamenting for the flowers? - Or heart-sick bird that sang of happier hours? - A cricket dirging days that soon must die? - Or did the ghost of Summer wander by? - - - - - SUNSET IN AUTUMN - - - Blood-colored oaks, that stand against a sky of gold and brass; - Gaunt slopes, on which the bleak leaves glow of brier and sassafras, - And broom-sedge strips of smoky pink and pearl-gray clumps of grass - In which, beneath the ragged sky, the rain pools gleam like glass. - - From west to east, from wood to wood, along the forest-side, - The winds,--the sowers of the Lord,--with thunderous footsteps stride; - Their stormy hands rain acorns down; and mad leaves, wildly dyed, - Like tatters of their rushing cloaks, stream round them far and wide. - - The frail leaf-cricket in the weeds sounds its far fairy-bell; - And like a torch of phantom ray the milkweed’s windy shell - Glimmers; while, wrapped in withered dreams, the wet, autumnal smell - Of loam and leaf, like Fall’s own ghost, steals over field and dell. - - The oaks, against a copper sky--o’er which, like some black lake - Of Dis, bronze clouds, (like surges fringed with sullen fire) break-- - Loom sombre as Doom’s citadel above the vales that make - A pathway to a land of mist the moon’s pale feet shall take. - - Now, dyed with burning carbuncle, a limbo-litten pane, - Red in wild walls of storm, the west opens to hill and plain, - On which the wild-geese ink themselves, a far triangled train; - And then the shuttering clouds close down--and night it comes again. - - - - - CONTENT - - - When I behold how some pursue - Fame that is Care’s embodiment, - Or fortune, whose false face looks true,-- - An humble home with sweet content - Is all I ask for me and you. - - An humble home, where pigeons coo, - Whose path leads under breezy lines - Of frosty-berried cedars to - A gate, one mass of trumpet-vines, - Is all I ask for me and you. - - A garden, which, all summer through, - The roses old make redolent, - And morning-glories, gay of hue, - And tansy with its homely scent, - Is all I ask for me and you. - - An orchard, that the pippins strew, - From whose bruised gold the juices spring; - A vineyard, where the grapes hang blue, - Wine-big and ripe for vintaging, - Is all I ask for me and you. - - A lane, that leads to some far view - Of forest or of fallow-land, - Bloomed o’er of rose and meadow-rue, - Each with a bee in its hot hand, - Is all I ask for me and you. - - At morn, a pathway deep with dew, - And birds that vary time and tune; - At eve, a sunset avenue, - And whippoorwills that haunt the moon, - Is all I ask for me and you. - - Dear heart, with wants so small and few, - And faith, that’s better far than gold, - A lowly friend; a child or two, - To care for us when we are old, - Is all I ask for me and you. - - - - - OCTOBER - - - Long hosts of sunlight, and the bright wind blows - A tourney-trumpet on the listed hill; - Past is the splendor of the royal rose - And duchess daffodil. - - Crowned queen of beauty, in the garden’s space, - Strong daughter of a bitter race and bold, - A ragged beggar with a lovely face, - Reigns the sad marigold. - - And I, who sought June’s butterfly for days, - Now find it--like a coreopsis bloom-- - Amber and seal, rain-murdered ’neath the blaze - Of this sunflower’s plume. - - Here drones the bee; and there, sky-voyaging wings - Dare the blue gulfs of heaven: the last song - The red-bird flings me as adieu, still rings - Upon that pear-tree’s prong. - - No angry sunset brims with rubier red - The bowl of heaven than the days, indeed, - Pour in the blossoms of this salvia-bed - Where each leaf seems to bleed. - - And where the wood-gnats dance, a little mist, - Above the efforts of the weedy stream, - The girl, October, tired of the tryst, - Dreams a diviner dream. - - One foot just dipping the caressing wave, - One knee at languid angle; locks that drown - Hands nut-stained; hazel-eyed, she lies, and grave, - Watching the leaves drift down. - - - - - DISCOVERY - - - What is it now that I shall seek - Where woods dip downward, in the hills?-- - A mossy nook, a ferny creek, - And May among the daffodils. - - Or in the valley’s vistaed glow, - Past rocks of terraced trumpet-vines, - Shall I behold her coming slow, - Sweet May, among the columbines? - - With red-bud cheeks and bluet eyes, - Big eyes, the homes of happiness, - To meet me with the old surprise, - Her hoiden hair all bonnetless. - - Who waits for me, where, note for note, - The birds make glad the forest trees? - A dogwood blossom at her throat, - My May among th’ anemones. - - As sweetheart breezes kiss the blooms, - And dewdrops drink the moon’s bright beams, - My soul shall kiss her lips’ perfumes, - And drain the magic of her dreams. - - - - - THE OLD SPRING - - - I - - Under rocks whereon the rose - Like a strip of morning glows; - Where the azure-throated newt - Drowses on the twisted root; - And the brown bees, humming homeward, - Stop to suck the honeydew; - Fern and leaf-hid gleaming gloamward, - Drips the wildwood spring I knew, - Drips the spring my boyhood knew. - - - II - - Myrrh and music everywhere - Haunt its cascades--like the hair - That a Naiad tosses cool, - Swimming strangely beautiful, - With white fragrance for her bosom, - And her mouth a breath of song:-- - Under leaf and branch and blossom - Flows the woodland spring along, - Sparkling, singing flows along. - - - III - - Still the wet wan mornings touch - Its gray rocks, perhaps; and such - Slender stars as dusk may have - Pierce the rose that roofs its wave; - Still the thrush may call at noontide - And the whippoorwill at night; - Nevermore, by sun or moontide, - Shall I see it gliding white, - Falling, flowing, wild and white. - - - - - THE FOREST SPRING - - - Push back the brambles, berry-blue; - The hollowed spring is full in view: - Deep-tangled with luxuriant fern - Ripples its rock-embedded urn. - - Not for the loneliness that keeps - The coigne wherein its crystal sleeps; - Not for wild butterflies that sway - Their pansy pinions all the day - Above its mirror; nor the bee, - Nor dragon-fly, that, passing, see - Themselves reflected in its spar; - Not for the one white liquid star - That twinkles in its firmament; - Nor moon-shot clouds, so slowly sent - Athwart it when the kindly night - Beads its long grasses with the light - Small jewels of the dimpled dew: - Not for the day’s inverted blue, - Nor the quaint, dimly colored stones - That dance within it where it moans; - Not for all these I love to sit - In silence and to gaze in it. - But, lo! a nymph with merry eyes - Greets mine within its laughing skies; - A glimmering, shimmering nymph who plays - All the long fragrant summer days - With instant sights of bees and birds, - And talks with them in water-words; - And for whose nakedness the air - Weaves moony mists; and on whose hair, - Unfilleted, the night will set - That lone star as a coronet. - - - - - THE HILLS - - - There is no joy of earth that thrills - My bosom like the far-off hills! - Th’ unchanging hills, that, shadowy, - Beckon our mutability - To follow and to gaze upon - Foundations of the dusk and dawn. - Meseems the very heavens are massed - Upon their shoulders, vague and vast - With all the skyey burden of - The winds and clouds and stars above. - Lo, how they sit before us, seeing - The laws that give all Beauty being! - Behold! to them, when dawn draws near, - The nomads of the air appear, - Unfolding crimson camps of day - In brilliant bands; then march away; - And under burning battlements - Of evening plant their tinted tents. - The truth of olden myths, that brood - By haunted stream and haunted wood, - They see; and feel the happiness - Of old at which we only guess: - The dreams, the ancients loved and knew, - Still as their rocks and trees are true: - Not otherwise than presences - The tempest and the calm to these: - One, shouting on them all the night, - Black-limbed and veined with lambent light: - The other, with the ministry - Of all soft things that company - With music--whose embodied form - Fills all the solitude with charm - Of leaves and waters and the peace - Of bird-begotten melodies-- - And who at night doth still confer - With the mild moon, that telleth her - Pale tale of lonely love, until - Wan shadows of her passion fill - The heights with shapes that glimmer by - Clad on with sleep and memory. - - - - - THE SONG OF THE THRUSH - - - Overhead, overhead a wood thrush flutes, - And it seems to me - All the sweet words in the world, - Married to melody, could not express - What its few, wild notes, - Inspired, and simple, and free, express, - Say to me - Of expectation and woodland mystery, - Dreams, and wonder-visions never appearing, - Remote and unattainably beautiful-- - O indescribable song! - Song of the wild brown thrush! - O June! O love! O youth! - Of you, of you it speaks to me! - Of the lost, the irremediable, - The indescribably fair and far and yet to be found; - The mysteriously hidden, too: - The lure of the undiscoverable calling, calling, - Bidding me on and on, - In the voice of all my longings, - Down the dim, the deep, the cadenced aisles of the forest. - - - - - TRANSMUTATION - - - To me all beauty that I see - Is melody made visible: - An earth-translated state, may be, - Of music heard in Heaven or Hell. - - Out of some love-impassioned strain - Of saints, the rose evolved its bloom; - And, dreaming of it here again, - Perhaps relives it as perfume. - - Out of some chant, that demons sing - Of hate and pain, the sunset grew; - And, haply, still remembering, - Relives it here as some wild hue. - - - - - FROST - - - Magician he, who, autumn nights, - Down from the starry darkness whirls; - Heav’n’s harlequin, whose spangled tights - And wand are powdered thick with pearls. - - Through him each pane presents a scene, - A Lilliputian landscape, where - The world is white instead of green, - And trees and houses hang in air. - - Where Elfins gambol and delight, - And bow the jewelled bells of flowers; - Where upside-down we see the night - With many moons and meteor showers. - - And surely in his wand and hand - Lies Midas magic, for, behold, - Some morn we wake and find the land, - Both field and forest, turned to gold. - - - - - ADVENTURERS - - - Seemingly over the hilltops, - Possibly under the hills, - A tireless wing that never drops, - And a song that never stills. - - Epics heard on the stars’ lips? - Lyrics read in the dew?-- - To sing the song at our finger-tips, - And live the world anew! - - Cavaliers of the Cortés kind, - Bold and free and strong,-- - And, oh, for a fine and muscular mind - To sing a New-World’s song! - - Sailing seas of the silver morn, - Blown of its balm and spice, - To put the Old-World art to scorn - At the price of any price! - - Danger, death, but the hope high! - God’s, though the purpose fail!-- - Into the deeds of a vaster sky - Sailing a dauntless sail. - - - - - INVOCATION - - - I - - O Life! O Death; O God! - Have we not striven? - Have we not known Thee, God, - As Thy stars know Heaven? - Have we not held Thee true, - True as Thy deepest, - Sweet and immaculate blue - Heaven whence rains Thy dew! - Have we not _known_ Thee true, - O God who keepest! - - - II - - O God, our Father, God!-- - Who gav’st us fire, - To rise above the sod, - To soar, aspire-- - What though we strive and strive, - And all our soul says “live”? - Will not the scorn of men, - Like some wild bird, again - Falcon it down with sneers, - As often in past years? - And, O sun-centered high, - Thou, too, who ’rt Poet, - Beneath Thy seeing sky - Each day new Keatses die, - Crying, “Why should we try! - That which we seek ’s a lie!”-- - Why is this so?--O why?-- - Thou who dost know it! - - - III - - We know Thee beautiful, - We know Thee bitter! - Help Thou!--Men’s eyes are dull, - O God most beautiful! - Make Thou their souls less full - Of things mere glitter. - Dost Thou not see our tears? - Dost Thou not hear the years - Treading our hearts to shards, - O Lord of all the Lords?-- - Give heed, O God of Hosts, - There ’mid Thy glorious ghosts, - Most high and holy! - Have mercy on our tears! - Have mercy on our years! - Our strivings and our fears, - O Lord of lordly peers, - On us, so lowly! - - - IV - - On us, so fondly fain - To tell what mother-pain - Of Nature haunts the rain. - - On us, so glad to show - What sorrow wings the snow, - And her wild winds that blow. - - Us, who interpret right - Her mystic rose of light, - Her moony rune of night. - - Us, who have utterance for - Each warm, flame-hearted star - That stammers from afar. - - Who hear the tears and sighs - Of every bud that dies - While heav’n’s dew on it lies. - - Who see the power that dowers - The wildwood bosks and bowers - With musk and sap of flowers. - - Who see what no man sees - In water, earth and breeze, - And in the hearts of trees. - - Turn not away Thy light, - O God!--Our strength is slight! - Help us who breast the height! - Have mercy, Infinite! - Have mercy! - - - - - THE DEATH OF LOVE - - - So Love is dead, the Love we knew of old! - And in the sorrow of our heart’s hushed halls - A lute lies broken and a rose-flower falls; - Love’s house stands empty and his hearth lies cold. - Lone in dim places, where sweet vows were told, - In walks grown desolate, by ruined walls - Beauty decays; and on their pedestals - Dreams crumble, and th’ immortal gods are mold. - Music is slain or sleeps; one voice alone, - One voice awakes, and like a wandering ghost - Haunts all the echoing chambers of the Past-- - The voice of Memory, that stills to stone - The soul that hears; the mind, that, utterly lost, - Before its beautiful presence stands aghast. - - - - - UNANSWERED - - - How long ago it is since we went Maying! - Since she and I went Maying long ago! - The years have left my forehead lined, I know, - Have thinned my hair around the temples graying. - Ah, time will change us: yea, I hear it saying-- - “She, too, grows old: the face of rose and snow - Has lost its freshness: in the hair’s brown glow - Some strands of silver sadly, too, are straying. - The form you knew, whose beauty so enspelled, - Has lost the litheness of its loveliness: - And all the gladness that her blue eyes held - Tears and the world have hardened with distress.”-- - “True! true!” I answer, “O ye years that part! - These things are changed--but is her heart, her heart?” - - - - - LOVE, THE INTERPRETER - - - Thou art the music that I hear in sleep, - The poetry that lures me on in dreams; - The magic, thou, that holds my thought with themes - Of young romance in revery’s mystic keep.-- - The lily’s aura, and the damask deep - That clothes the rose; the whispering soul that seems - To haunt the wind; the rainbow light that streams, - Like some wild spirit, ’thwart the cataract’s leap-- - Are glimmerings of thee and thy loveliness, - Pervading all my world; interpreting - The marvel and the wonder these disclose: - For, lacking thee, to me were meaningless - Life, love, and hope, the joy of everything, - And all the beauty that the wide world knows. - - - - - LOVE DESPISED - - - Why not resolve and hunt it from one’s heart? - This love, this god and fiend, that makes a hell - Of all one’s life, in ways no tongue can tell, - No mind divine, nor any word impart. - Would not one think the slights that make hearts smart, - The ice of love’s disdain, the wintry well - Of love’s disfavor, otherwise would quell? - Or school one’s nature, too, to its own art? - Why will men cringe and cry forever here - For that which, once obtained, may prove a curse? - Why not remember that, however fair, - Decay is wed to Beauty? that each year - Robs somewhat from the riches of her purse, - Until at last her house of pride stands bare? - - - - - PEARLS - - - Baroque, but beautiful, between the lunes, - The valves of nacre of a mussel-shell, - Behold, a pearl! shaped like the burnished bell - Of some strange blossom that long afternoons - Of summer coax to open: all the moon’s - Chaste lustre in it; hues that only dwell - With purity.... It takes me, like a spell, - Back to a day when, whistling truant tunes, - A barefoot boy I waded ’mid the rocks, - Searching for shells strewn in the creek’s slow swirl, - Unconscious of the pearls that round me lay: - While, ’mid wild-roses,--all her tomboy locks - Blond-blowing,--stood, unnoticed then, a girl, - My sweetheart once, the pearl I flung away. - - - - - THE WOMAN SPEAKS - - - Why have you come?--To see me in my shame? - A thing to spit upon, despise and scorn?-- - You, you who ask me! You, by whom was torn, - Then cast aside, like some vile rag, my name! - What shelter could you give me, now, that blame - And loathing would not share? that wolves of vice - Would not besiege with eyes of glaring ice? - Wherein Sin sat not with her face of flame? - “You love me”?--God!--If yours be love, for lust - Hell must invent another synonym! - If yours be love, then whoredom is the way - To Heaven and God! and not with soul but dust - Must burn the faces of the Cherubim,-- - O beast of beasts, if yours be love, I say! - - - - - OF THE SLUMS - - - Red-faced as old carousal, and with eyes - A hard, hot blue; her hair a frowsy flame, - Bold, dowdy bosomed, from her window-frame - She leans, her mouth all insult and all lies. - Or slattern-slippered and in sluttish gown, - With ribald mirth and words too vile to name, - A new Doll Tearsheet, glorying in her shame, - Armed with her Falstaff now she takes the town. - The flaring lights of alley-way saloons, - The reek of hideous gutters and black oaths - Of drunkenness from vice-infested dens, - Are to her senses what the silvery moon’s - Chaste splendor is, and what the blossoming growths - Of Earth and bird-song are to Innocence. - - - - - LIGHT AND WIND - - - Where, through the myriad leaves of many trees, - The daylight falls, beryl and chrysoprase, - The glamour and the glimmer of its rays - Seem visible music, tangible melodies: - Light that is music; music that one sees-- - Wagnerian music--where forever sways - The spirit of romance, and gods and fays - Take form, clad on with dreams and mysteries. - And now the wind’s transmuting necromance - Touches the light and makes it fall and rise, - Vocal, a harp of multitudinous waves - That speaks as ocean speaks--an utterance - Of far-off whispers, mermaid-murmuring sighs-- - Pelagian, vast, deep down in coral caves. - - - - - THE WINDS - - - Those hewers of the clouds, the Winds,--that lair - At the four compass-points,--are out to-night; - I hear their sandals trample on the height, - I hear their voices trumpet through the air: - Builders of Storm, God’s workmen, now they bear, - Up the steep stair of sky, on backs of might, - Huge tempest bulks, while,--sweat that blinds their sight,-- - The rain is shaken from tumultuous hair: - Now, sweepers of the firmament, they broom, - Like gathered dust, the rolling mists along - Heaven’s floors of sapphire; all the beautiful blue - Of skyey corridor and aëry room - Preparing, with large laughter and loud song, - For the white moon and stars to wander through. - - - - - TOUCHES - - - In heavens of rivered blue, that sunset dyes - With glaucous flame, deep in the west the day - Stands Midas-like; or, wading on his way, - Touches with splendor all the twilight skies. - Each cloud that, like a stepping-stone, he tries - With rosy foot, transforms its sober gray - To blazing gold; while, ray on crystal ray, - Within his wake the stars like bubbles rise. - So should the artist in his work accord - All things with beauty, and communicate - His soul’s high magic and divinity - To all he does; and, hoping no reward, - Toil onward, making darkness aureate - With light of worlds that be and are to be. - - - - - EARTH AND MOON - - - I saw the day like some great monarch die, - Gold-couched, behind the clouds’ rich tapestries. - Then, purple-sandaled, clothed in silences - Of sleep, through halls of skyey lazuli, - The twilight, like a mourning queen, trailed by, - Dim-paged of dreams and shadowy mysteries; - And now the night, the star-robed child of these, - In meditative loveliness draws nigh. - Earth,--like to Romeo,--deep in dew and scent, - Beneath Heaven’s window, watching till a light, - Like some white blossom, in its square be set,-- - Lifts a faint face unto the firmament, - That, with the moon, grows gradually bright, - Bidding him climb and clasp his Juliet. - - - - - DUSK - - - Corn-colored clouds upon a sky of gold, - And ’mid their sheaves,--where, like a daisy-bloom - Left by the reapers to the gathering gloom, - The star of twilight flames,--as Ruth, ’tis told, - Dreamed homesick ’mid the harvest fields of old, - The Dusk goes gleaning color and perfume - From Bible slopes of heaven, that illume - Her pensive beauty deep in shadows stoled. - Hushed is the forest; and blue vale and hill - Are still, save for the brooklet, sleepily - Stumbling the stone with one foam-fluttering foot: - Save for the note of one far whippoorwill, - And in my heart _her_ name,--like some sweet bee - Within a rose,--blowing a fairy flute. - - - - - SEPTEMBER - - - The bubbled blue of morning-glory spires, - Balloon-blown foam of moonflowers, and sweet snows - Of clematis, through which September goes, - Song-hearted, rich in realized desires, - Are flanked with hotter hues: with tawny fires - Of acrid marigolds,--that light long rows - Of lamps,--and salvias, red as day’s red close,-- - That torches seem,--by which the Month attires - Barbaric beauty; like some Asian queen, - Towering imperial in her two-fold crown - Of harvest and of vintage; all her form - Gold and majestic purple: in her mien - The might of motherhood; her baby brown, - Abundance, high on one exultant arm. - - - - - THE END OF SUMMER - - - Pods are the poppies, and slim spires of pods - The hollyhocks; the balsam’s pearly bredes - Of rose-stained snow are little sacs of seeds - Collapsing at a touch; the lote, that sods - The pond with green, has changed its flowers to rods - And discs of vesicles; and all the weeds, - Around the sleepy water and its reeds, - Are one white smoke of seeded silk that nods. - Summer is dead, ay me! sweet Summer’s dead! - The sunset clouds have built her funeral pyre, - Through which, e’en now, runs subterranean fire: - While from the East, as from a garden-bed, - Mist-vined, the Dusk lifts her broad moon--like some - Great golden melon--saying, “Fall has come.” - - - - - THE PASSING GLORY - - - Slow sinks the sun,--a great carbuncle ball - Red in the cavern of a sombre cloud,-- - And in her garden, where the dense weeds crowd, - Among her dying asters stands the Fall, - Like some lone woman in a ruined hall, - Dreaming of desolation and the shroud; - Or through decaying woodlands goes, down-bowed, - Hugging the tatters of her gipsy shawl. - The gaunt wind rises, like an angry hand, - And sweeps the sprawling spider from its web, - Smites frantic music in the twilight’s ear; - And all around, like melancholy sand, - Rains dead leaves down--wild leaves, that mark the ebb, - In Earth’s dark hour-glass, of another year. - - - - - PROTOTYPES - - - Whether it be that we in letters trace - The pure exactness of a woodbird’s strain, - And name it song; or with the brush attain - The high perfection of a wildflower’s face; - Or mold in difficult marble all the grace - We know as man; or from the wind and rain - Catch elemental rapture of refrain - And mark in music to due time and place: - The aim of art is Nature; to unfold - Her truth and beauty to the souls of men - In close suggestions; in whose forms is cast - Nothing so new but ’tis long eons old; - Nothing so old but ’tis as young as when - The mind conceived it in the ages past. - - - - - SUPERSTITION - - - In the waste places, in the sinister night, - When the wood whispers like a wandering mind, - And silence sits and listens to the wind, - Or, ’mid the rocks, to some wild torrent’s flight; - Bat-browed thou wadest with thy wisp of light - Among black pools the moon can never find; - Or, owlet-eyed, thou hootest to the blind - Deep darkness from some cave or haunted height. - He who beholds but once thy fearsome face, - Never again shall walk alone! but wan - And terrible attendants shall be his-- - Unutterable things that have no place - In God or Beauty--that compel him on, - Against all hope, where endless horror is. - - - - - A. D. NINETEEN HUNDRED - - - War and Disaster, Famine and Pestilence, - Vaunt-couriers of the Century that comes, - Behold them shaking their tremendous plumes - Above the world! Lo, all the air grows dense - With rumors of destruction and a sense, - Cadaverous, of corpses and of tombs - Predestined; while,--like monsters in the glooms,-- - Bristling with battle, shadowy and immense, - The Nations rise in dread apocalypse.-- - Where now the boast Earth makes of civilization? - Its brag of Christianity?--In vain - We seek to see them in the wild eclipse - Of hell and horror and the devastation - Of Death triumphant on his hills of slain. - - - - - UNCALLED - - - As one, who, journeying westward with the sun, - Beholds at length from the up-towering hills, - Far-off, a land unspeakable beauty fills, - Circeän peaks and vales of Avalon: - And, sinking weary, watches, one by one, - The big seas beat between; and knows it skills - No more to try; that now, as Heaven wills, - This is the helpless end, that all is done: - So ’tis with him, whom long a vision led - In quest of Beauty--and who finds at last, - She lies beyond his effort; all the waves - Of all the world between them: while the dead, - The myriad dead, who populate the Past - With failure, hail him from forgotten graves. - - - - - QUATRAINS - - - I - - _Moths and Fireflies_ - - Since Fancy taught me in her school of spells - I know her tricks: These are not moths at all, - Nor fireflies; but masking Elfland belles - Whose link-boys torch them to Titania’s ball. - - - II - - _Autumn Wildflowers_ - - Like colored lanterns swung in Elfin towers, - Wild morning-glories light the tangled ways, - And, like the rosy rockets of the Fays, - Burns the sloped crimson of the cardinal-flowers. - - - III - - _The Wind in the Pines_ - - When winds go organing through the pines - On hill and headland, darkly gleaming, - Meseems I hear sonorous lines - Of Iliads that the woods are dreaming. - - - IV - - _Opportunity_ - - Behold a hag whom Life denies a kiss - As he rides questward in knighterrant-wise; - Only when he hath passed her is it his - To know, too late, the Fairy in disguise. - - - V - - _Dreams_ - - They mock the present and they haunt the past, - And in the future there is naught agleam - With hope, the soul desires, that at last - The heart, pursuing, does not find a dream. - - - - - AFTERWORD - - - _What vague traditions do the golden eves, - What legends do the dawns - Inscribe in fire on Heaven’s azure leaves, - The red sun colophons?_ - - _What ancient stories do the waters verse? - What tales of war and love - Do winds within the Earth’s vast house rehearse, - God’s stars stand guard above?_ - - _Would I could know them as they are expressed - In hue and melody! - And say, in words, the beauties they suggest, - Language their mystery!_ - - _And in one song magnificently rise, - The music of the spheres, - That more than marble should immortalize - My name in after years._ - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poems of Madison Cawein, vol. 3, by -Madison Cawein - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF MADISON CAWEIN, VOL. 3 *** - -***** This file should be named 55011-0.txt or 55011-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/0/1/55011/ - -Produced by Larry B. 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Volume 3; Nature Poems. -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} - -.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.cb {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;} - -.lftspc {margin-left:.15em;} - -.rt {text-align:right;} - -.red {color:#D56236;} - -small {font-size: 70%;} - -big {font-size: 130%;} - - h1 {margin:5% auto 8% auto;text-align:center;clear:both;} - - h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:115%;} - - h3 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:105%;} - - h4 {margin:1% auto .5% auto;text-align:center;clear:both; -font-size:105%;font-weight:normal;} - - hr {width:90%;margin:2em auto 2em auto;clear:both;color:black;} - - hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; -padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} - - table {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;} - -th {padding-top:1em;padding-bottom:.5em;text-align:left;} - -.indd {padding-left:1em;} - - body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} - -a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - - link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - -a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} - -a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} - -.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} - - img {border-color:#E6E7E2;border:24px solid #E6E7E2;} - -.bbox {border:solid 4px black; 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margin-left: 2.45em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i5 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.iq {display: block; margin-left: -.45em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i14 {display: block; margin-left: 14em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; -left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; -background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} -@media print, handheld -{.pagenum - {display: none;} - } -</style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's The Poems of Madison Cawein, vol. 3, by Madison Cawein - -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/license - - -Title: The Poems of Madison Cawein, vol. 3 - -Author: Madison Cawein - -Illustrator: Eric Pape - -Release Date: June 30, 2017 [EBook #55011] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF MADISON CAWEIN, VOL. 3 *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="border:none;" height="500" alt="[Image -of the book's cover unavailable.]" /> -</div> - -<p class="cb">THE POEMS OF<br /> -MADISON CAWEIN<br /><br /> -VOLUME III<br /><br /> -NATURE POEMS</p> - -<p><a name="front" id="front"></a></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_frontis_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_frontis.jpg" width="330" height="500" alt="[Image -unavailable: Undreamed of things that happened long ago]" /></a> -</div> - -<div class="poetry"><div class="poem"> -Undreamed of things that happened long ago <a href="#page_008">Page 8</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 50%;"><i>A House in the Hills</i></span><br /> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="bbox"> -<h1> -<small>THE POEMS OF<br /> -M A D I S O N C A W E I N<br /> -<br /> -<i>Volume III</i></small><br /> -<br /> -<span class="red">NATURE POEMS</span></h1> - -<p class="cb"><i>Illustrated</i><br /> -WITH PHOTOGRAVURES AFTER PAINTINGS<br /> -BY ERIC PAPE<br /><br /> -<br /> -INDIANAPOLIS<br /> -THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY<br /> -PUBLISHERS</p> -</div> - -<p class="c"> -<span class="smcap">Copyright 1887, 1888, 1889, 1890, 1892, 1893, 1896, 1898,<br /> -1899, 1901, 1902 and 1907, by Madison<br /> -Cawein</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">Copyright 1896, by Copeland and Day; 1898, by<br /> -R. H. Russell</span><br /> -<br /> -PRESS OF<br /> -BRAUNWORTH & CO.<br /> -BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS<br /> -BROOKLYN, N. Y.<br /> -<br /><br /><br /> -TO<br /><br /> -DOCTOR HENRY A. COTTELL<br /><br /> -WHOSE KIND WORDS OF FRIENDSHIP AND APPROVAL<br /><br /> -HAVE ENCOURAGED ME WHEN I MOST<br /><br /> -NEEDED ENCOURAGEMENT<br /> -</p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2">IN THE SHADOW OF THE BEECHES</th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ALONG_THE_OHIO"><span class="smcap">Along the Ohio</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_056">56</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#AMONG_THE_KNOBS"><span class="smcap">Among the Knobs</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_124">124</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#AUTUMN"><span class="smcap">Autumn</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_053">53</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BENEATH_THE_BEECHES"><span class="smcap">Beneath the Beeches</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_099">99</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BLACK_VESPERS_PAGEANTS"><span class="smcap">Black Vesper’s Pageants</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_022">22</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BOY_COLUMBUS"><span class="smcap">Boy Columbus, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_080">80</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BRIDLE-PATH"><span class="smcap">Bridle-Path, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_101">101</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BROOK"><span class="smcap">Brook, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_145">145</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BROKEN_RAINBOW_ON_THE_SKIES_OF_MAY"><span class="smcap">“Broken Rainbow on the Skies of May, A”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_071">71</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#COIGNE_OF_THE_FOREST"><span class="smcap">Coigne of the Forest, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_006">6</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DREAM"><span class="smcap">Dream, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_063">63</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DREAMS"><span class="smcap">Dreams</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_143">143</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FALL_FANCIES"><span class="smcap">Fall Fancies</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_134">134</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FALLEN_BEECH"><span class="smcap">Fallen Beech, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_003">3</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FALLS_OF_THE_OHIO"><span class="smcap">Falls of the Ohio, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_127">127</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FARMSTEAD"><span class="smcap">Farmstead, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_074">74</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FOREST_AND_FIELD"><span class="smcap">Forest and Field</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_029">29</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#GRASSHOPPER"><span class="smcap">Grasshopper, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_027">27</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#GRAY_DAY"><span class="smcap">Gray Day, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_113">113</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#HAUNTED_HOUSE"><span class="smcap">Haunted House, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_049">49</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#HEART_O_SPRING"><span class="smcap">Heart O’ Spring, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_069">69</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#HEAT"><span class="smcap">Heat</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_016">16</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#HOLLOW_OF_THE_HILLS"><span class="smcap">Hollow of the Hills, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_097">97</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#HOUSE_IN_THE_HILLS"><span class="smcap">House in the Hills, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_008">8</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_THE_SHADOW_OF_THE_BEECHES"><span class="smcap">In the Shadow of the Beeches</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_001">1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_THE_WILDWOOD"><span class="smcap">In the Wildwood</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_096">96</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#INDIAN_SUMMER"><span class="smcap">Indian Summer</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_042">42</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#LATE_OCTOBER"><span class="smcap">Late October</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_136">136</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#LOG-BRIDGE"><span class="smcap">Log-Bridge, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_121">121</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#MILL-WATER"><span class="smcap">Mill-Water, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_060">60</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#MOOD_O_THE_EARTH"><span class="smcap">Mood O’ the Earth, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_116">116</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#NIGHT"><span class="smcap">Night</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_047">47</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#NOONING"><span class="smcap">Nooning</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_119">119</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#NORTH_BEACH_FLORIDA"><span class="smcap">North Beach, Florida</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_082">82</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#NOVEMBER_WALK"><span class="smcap">November Walk, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_138">138</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#OLD_FARM"><span class="smcap">Old Farm, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_106">106</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#OLD_INN"><span class="smcap">Old Inn, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_058">58</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#OLD_SWING"><span class="smcap">Old Swing, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_146">146</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ON_THE_JELLICO_SPUR_OF_THE_CUMBERLANDS"><span class="smcap">On the Jellico Spur of the Cumberlands</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_087">87</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ORGIE"><span class="smcap">Orgie</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_073">73</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#RAIN_IN_THE_WOODS"><span class="smcap">Rain in the Woods</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_013">13</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SLEET-STORM_IN_MAY"><span class="smcap">Sleet-Storm in May, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_067">67</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SPRING_TWILIGHT"><span class="smcap">Spring Twilight</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_065">65</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#STORM"><span class="smcap">Storm, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_084">84</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SUMMER"><span class="smcap">Summer</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_038">38</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TO_AUTUMN"><span class="smcap">To Autumn</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_148">148</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TO_SORROW"><span class="smcap">To Sorrow</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_044">44</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TO_SUMMER"><span class="smcap">To Summer</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_110">110</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TWILIGHT_MOTH"><span class="smcap">Twilight Moth, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_024">24</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#VINTAGER"><span class="smcap">Vintager, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_021">21</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WHIPPOORWILL"><span class="smcap">Whippoorwill, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_094">94</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WHITE_EVENING"><span class="smcap">White Evening, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_141">141</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WIND"><span class="smcap">Wind, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_010">10</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WINTER_DREAMS"><span class="smcap">Winter Dreams</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_149">149</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#YOUNG_SEPTEMBER"><span class="smcap">Young September</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_019">19</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2">TANSY AND SWEET-ALYSSUM</th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ABANDONED"><span class="smcap">Abandoned</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_233">233</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#AFTER_LONG_GRIEF_AND_PAIN"><span class="smcap">After Long Grief and Pain</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_171">171</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#AIRY_TONGUES"><span class="smcap">Airy Tongues</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_184">184</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#AMBITION"><span class="smcap">Ambition</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_243">243</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ARCANA"><span class="smcap">Arcana</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_236">236</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#AUTUMN_SORROW"><span class="smcap">Autumn Sorrow</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_212">212</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BABY_MARY"><span class="smcap">Baby Mary</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_197">197</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BARE_BOUGHS"><span class="smcap">Bare Boughs</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_191">191</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BEFORE_THE_END"><span class="smcap">Before the End</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_226">226</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BY_THE_TRYSTING-BEECH"><span class="smcap">By the Trysting-Beech</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_170">170</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#CLEARING"><span class="smcap">Clearing</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_210">210</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#CLOUDS_OF_THE_AUTUMN_NIGHT"><span class="smcap">“Clouds of the Autumn Night”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_167">167</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#COLD"><span class="smcap">Cold</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_228">228</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#COMRADERY"><span class="smcap">Comradery</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_174">174</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#COMRADES"><span class="smcap">Comrades</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_161">161</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#CREEK-ROAD"><span class="smcap">Creek-Road, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_232">232</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#COVERED_BRIDGE"><span class="smcap">Covered Bridge, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_231">231</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DARK_DAY_OF_SUMMER"><span class="smcap">Dark Day of Summer, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_213">213</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DAYS_AND_DAYS"><span class="smcap">Days and Days</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_214">214</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DESPAIR"><span class="smcap">Despair</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_245">245</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DESPONDENCY"><span class="smcap">Despondency</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_244">244</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DROUTH_IN_AUTUMN"><span class="smcap">Drouth in Autumn</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_215">215</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DUSK_IN_THE_WOODS"><span class="smcap">Dusk in the Woods</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_159">159</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FEN-FIRE"><span class="smcap">Fen-Fire, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_199">199</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FLOWER_OF_THE_FIELDS"><span class="smcap">Flower of the Fields, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_153">153</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FULFILLMENT"><span class="smcap">Fulfillment</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_237">237</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#HAUNTED_WOODLAND"><span class="smcap">Haunted Woodland, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_172">172</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#HILLS_OF_THE_WEST"><span class="smcap">Hills of the West</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_204">204</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#HILLSIDE_GRAVE"><span class="smcap">Hillside Grave, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_230">230</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#HOAR-FROST"><span class="smcap">Hoar-Frost</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_227">227</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#HOME"><span class="smcap">Home</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_158">158</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IMPERFECTION"><span class="smcap">Imperfection</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_235">235</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_SUMMER"><span class="smcap">In Summer</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_216">216</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_WINTER"><span class="smcap">In Winter</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_218">218</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#LAST_WORD"><span class="smcap">Last Word, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_249">249</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#MUSIC_AND_SLEEP"><span class="smcap">Music and Sleep</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_242">242</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#OCCULT"><span class="smcap">Occult</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_176">176</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#AN_OLD_SONG"><span class="smcap">Old Song, An</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_196">196</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#OMENS"><span class="smcap">Omens</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_234">234</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ON_STONY-RUN"><span class="smcap">On Stony-Run</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_156">156</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ON_THE_FARM"><span class="smcap">On the Farm</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_219">219</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#OPIUM"><span class="smcap">Opium</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_241">241</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#PATHS"><span class="smcap">Paths</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_221">221</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#QUATRAINS"><span class="smcap">Quatrains</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_246">246</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#RAIN_AND_WIND"><span class="smcap">Rain and Wind</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_186">186</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#RED-BIRD"><span class="smcap">Red-Bird, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_209">209</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ROCK"><span class="smcap">Rock, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_163">163</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SNOW"><span class="smcap">Snow</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_195">195</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SOMNAMBULIST"><span class="smcap">Somnambulist, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_240">240</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SONG_IN_SEASON"><span class="smcap">Song in Season, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_224">224</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#STANDING-STONE_CREEK"><span class="smcap">Standing-Stone Creek</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_165">165</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SUNSET_FANCY"><span class="smcap">Sunset Fancy, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_198">198</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#THEN_AND_NOW"><span class="smcap">Then and Now</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_169">169</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#THRENODY"><span class="smcap">Threnody, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_193">193</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TOO_LATE"><span class="smcap">Too Late</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_238">238</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#UNDER_ARCTURUS"><span class="smcap">Under Arcturus</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_188">188</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WILLOW_BOTTOM"><span class="smcap">Willow Bottom, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_207">207</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WIND_AT_NIGHT"><span class="smcap">Wind at Night, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_183">183</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WIND_OF_SPRING"><span class="smcap">Wind of Spring, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_206">206</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WINTER_MOON"><span class="smcap">Winter Moon, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_229">229</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WITCH"><span class="smcap">Witch, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_239">239</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WOOD"><span class="smcap">Wood, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_200">200</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WOOD_NOTES"><span class="smcap">Wood Notes</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_202">202</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WOOD-WORDS"><span class="smcap">Wood Words</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_178">178</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2">WEEDS BY THE WALL</th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#AFTER_RAIN"><span class="smcap">After Rain</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_308">308</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#AGE_OF_GOLD"><span class="smcap">Age of Gold, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_313">313</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ALONG_THE_STREAM"><span class="smcap">Along the Stream</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_275">275</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ANTHEM_OF_DAWN"><span class="smcap">Anthem of Dawn</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_331">331</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ARTIST"><span class="smcap">Artist, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_347">347</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#AT_THE_LANES_END"><span class="smcap">At the Lane’s End</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_334">334</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BEECH_BLOOMS"><span class="smcap">Beech Blooms</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_294">294</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BEFORE_THE_RAIN"><span class="smcap">Before the Rain</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_306">306</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BLUEBIRD"><span class="smcap">Bluebird, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_363">363</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BROKEN_DROUTH"><span class="smcap">Broken Drouth, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_286">286</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#CAN_SUCH_THINGS_BE"><span class="smcap">Can Such Things Be</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_345">345</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#CAVERNS"><span class="smcap">Caverns</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_364">364</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#CHIPMUNK"><span class="smcap">Chipmunk, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_266">266</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#CRICKET"><span class="smcap">Cricket, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_259">259</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DREAMER"><span class="smcap">Dreamer, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_355">355</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DROUTH"><span class="smcap">Drouth</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_283">283</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ENCHANTMENT"><span class="smcap">Enchantment</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_343">343</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FEUD"><span class="smcap">Feud</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_288">288</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FOREWORD"><span class="smcap">Foreword</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_253">253</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IMMORTELLES"><span class="smcap">Immortelles</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_320">320</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_THE_FOREST"><span class="smcap">In the Forest</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_344">344</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#KNIGHT-ERRANT"><span class="smcap">Knight-Errant</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_346">346</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#LOVE_OF_LOVES"><span class="smcap">Love of Loves, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_316">316</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#LULLABY"><span class="smcap">Lullaby, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_321">321</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#MESSAGE_OF_THE_LILIES"><span class="smcap">Message of the Lilies, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_329">329</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#MID-WINTER"><span class="smcap">Mid-winter</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_357">357</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#MUSINGS"><span class="smcap">Musings</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_325">325</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ON_CHENOWETHS_RUN"><span class="smcap">On Chenoweth’s Run</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_300">300</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#PATH_BY_THE_CREEK"><span class="smcap">Path by the Creek, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_271">271</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#PESTILENCE"><span class="smcap">Pestilence</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_324">324</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#POETRY_AND_PHILOSOPHY"><span class="smcap">Poetry and Philosophy</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_348">348</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#QUATRAINS"><span class="smcap">Quatrains</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_351">351</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#QUEST"><span class="smcap">Quest, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_304">304</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#QUO_VADIS"><span class="smcap">“Quo Vadis”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_349">349</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#REINCARNATION"><span class="smcap">Reincarnation</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_299">299</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#REQUIESCAT"><span class="smcap">Requiescat</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_302">302</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#RESPONSE"><span class="smcap">Response</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_360">360</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#RICHES"><span class="smcap">Riches</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_312">312</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ROAD_HOME"><span class="smcap">Road Home, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_280">280</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SCREECH-OWL"><span class="smcap">Screech-Owl, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_264">264</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SIMULACRA"><span class="smcap">Simulacra</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_362">362</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SONG_FOR_LABOR"><span class="smcap">Song for Labor, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_314">314</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SPRING"><span class="smcap">Spring</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_358">358</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SUNSET_AND_STORM"><span class="smcap">Sunset and Storm</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_293">293</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SUNSET_CLOUDS"><span class="smcap">Sunset Clouds</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_311">311</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SWASHBUCKLER"><span class="smcap">Swashbuckler, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_361">361</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TREE_TOAD"><span class="smcap">Tree Toad, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_262">262</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#THREE_THINGS"><span class="smcap">Three Things</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_318">318</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TO_A_CRITIC"><span class="smcap">To a Critic</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_350">350</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TRANSFORMATION"><span class="smcap">Transformation</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_359">359</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#UNANOINTED"><span class="smcap">Unanointed</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_290">290</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#UNHEARD"><span class="smcap">Unheard</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_298">298</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#VOICES"><span class="smcap">Voices</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_278">278</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WILD_IRIS"><span class="smcap">Wild Iris, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_268">268</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WINTER"><span class="smcap">Winter</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_356">356</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WORSHIP"><span class="smcap">Worship</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_297">297</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2">A VOICE ON THE WIND</th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#D_NINETEEN_HUNDRED"><span class="smcap">A. D. Nineteen Hundred</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_479">479</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ADVENTURERS"><span class="smcap">Adventurers</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_457">457</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#AFTERWORD"><span class="smcap">Afterword</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_483">483</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ALLUREMENT"><span class="smcap">Allurement</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_422">422</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#AUGUST"><span class="smcap">August</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_423">423</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BUSH-SPARROW"><span class="smcap">Bush-Sparrow, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_426">426</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#CONTENT"><span class="smcap">Content</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_443">443</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#COMMUNICANTS"><span class="smcap">Communicants</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_420">420</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DEAD_DAY"><span class="smcap">Dead Day, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_421">421</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DEATH_OF_LOVE"><span class="smcap">Death of Love, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_462">462</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DISCOVERY"><span class="smcap">Discovery</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_447">447</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DREAM_SHAPE"><span class="smcap">Dream Shape, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_432">432</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DUSK"><span class="smcap">Dusk</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_473">473</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#EARTH_AND_MOON"><span class="smcap">Earth and Moon</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_472">472</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#END_OF_SUMMER"><span class="smcap">End of Summer, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_475">475</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#EPIPHANY"><span class="smcap">Epiphany</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_408">408</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#EVENING_ON_THE_FARM"><span class="smcap">Evening on the Farm</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_401">401</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FALL"><span class="smcap">Fall</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_440">440</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FOREST_SPRING"><span class="smcap">Forest Spring, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_450">450</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FROST"><span class="smcap">Frost</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_456">456</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#HILLS"><span class="smcap">Hills, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_452">452</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_THE_LANE"><span class="smcap">In the Lane</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_406">406</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#INVOCATION"><span class="smcap">Invocation</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_458">458</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#JULY"><span class="smcap">July</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_398">398</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#LAND_OF_HEARTS_MADE_WHOLE"><span class="smcap">Land of Hearts Made Whole, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_372">372</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#LEAF-CRICKET"><span class="smcap">Leaf-Cricket, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_384">384</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#LIFE"><span class="smcap">Life</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_409">409</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#LIGHT_AND_WIND"><span class="smcap">Light and Wind</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_469">469</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#LOVE_DESPISED"><span class="smcap">Love Despised</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_465">465</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#LOVE_THE_INTERPRETER"><span class="smcap">Love, The Interpreter</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_464">464</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#MAID_WHO_DIED_OLD"><span class="smcap">Maid Who Died Old, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_418">418</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#MAY"><span class="smcap">May</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_438">438</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#MEETING_IN_THE_WOODS"><span class="smcap">Meeting in the Woods</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_413">413</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#MUSIC"><span class="smcap">Music</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_430">430</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#OCTOBER"><span class="smcap">October</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_445">445</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#OF_THE_SLUMS"><span class="smcap">Of the Slums</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_468">468</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#OLD_BARN"><span class="smcap">Old Barn, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_434">434</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#OLD_SPRING"><span class="smcap">Old Spring, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_448">448</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#OWLET"><span class="smcap">Owlet, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_387">387</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#PASSING_GLORY"><span class="smcap">Passing Glory, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_476">476</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#PEARLS"><span class="smcap">Pearls</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_466">466</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#POET"><span class="smcap">Poet, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_390">390</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#PROEM"><span class="smcap">Proem</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_367">367</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#PROTOTYPES"><span class="smcap">Prototypes</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_477">477</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#QUATRAINS"><span class="smcap">Quatrains</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_481">481</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#QUIET"><span class="smcap">Quiet</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_429">429</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#RAIN"><span class="smcap">Rain</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_439">439</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ROSE_AND_RUE"><span class="smcap">Rose and Rue</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_415">415</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SEPTEMBER"><span class="smcap">September</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_474">474</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SONG_OF_THE_THRUSH"><span class="smcap">Song of the Thrush, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_454">454</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SUMMER_NOONTIDE"><span class="smcap">Summer Noontide</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_393">393</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SUNSET_IN_AUTUMN"><span class="smcap">Sunset in Autumn</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_441">441</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#SUPERSTITION"><span class="smcap">Superstition</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_478">478</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TO_THE_LOCUST"><span class="smcap">To the Locust</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_396">396</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TOUCHES"><span class="smcap">Touches</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_471">471</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TRANSMUTATION"><span class="smcap">Transmutation</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_455">455</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#UNANSWERED"><span class="smcap">Unanswered</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_463">463</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#UNCALLED"><span class="smcap">Uncalled</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_480">480</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#UNDER_THE_HUNTERS_MOON"><span class="smcap">Under the Hunter’s Moon</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_404">404</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#VOICE_ON_THE_WIND2"><span class="smcap">Voice on the Wind, A</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_369">369</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WIND_OF_SUMMER"><span class="smcap">Wind of Summer, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_378">378</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WIND_OF_WINTER"><span class="smcap">Wind of Winter, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_382">382</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WINDS"><span class="smcap">Winds, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_470">470</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WOMAN_SPEAKS"><span class="smcap">Woman Speaks, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_467">467</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WOOD_WITCH"><span class="smcap">Wood Witch, The</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_436">436</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="c"><a href="#front"><span class="smcap">Undreamed of Things that Happened Long Ago</span></a><br /> - (See <a href="#page_008">page 8</a>) </td> <td class="rt" valign="bottom"><i>Frontispiece</i></td></tr> - -<tr><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#GHOSTLY_AND_WINDY_WHITE"><span class="smcap">Ghostly and Windy White</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_168">168</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#MY_SPIRIT_SAW_HER_PASS"><span class="smcap">My Spirit Saw Her Pass</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_432">432</a></td></tr> - -</table> - -<h3><a name="PROLOGUE" id="PROLOGUE"></a>PROLOGUE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">There is a poetry that speaks<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through common things: the grasshopper,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That in the hot weeds creaks and creaks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Says all of summer to my ear:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And in the cricket’s cry I hear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fireside speak, and feel the frost<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Work mysteries of silver near<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On country casements, while, deep lost<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In snow, the gatepost seems a sheeted ghost.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">And other things give rare delight:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The guttural harps the green-frogs tune,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those minstrels of the falling night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That hail the sickle of the moon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From grassy pools that glass her lune:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or,—all of August in its loud<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dry cry,—the locust’s call at noon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That emphasizes heat, no cloud<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of lazy white makes less with its cool shroud.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">The rain,—whose cloud dark-lids the moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That great white eyeball of the night,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Makes music for me; to its tune<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I hear the flowers unfolding white,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The mushroom growing, and the slight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Green sound of grass that dances near;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The melon ripening with delight;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the orchard, soft and clear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The apple redly rounding out its sphere.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">The grigs make music as of old,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To which the fairies whirl and shine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within the moonlight’s prodigal gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On woodways wild with many a vine:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When all the wilderness with wine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of stars is drunk, I hear it say—<br /></span> -<span class="iq">“Is God restricted to confine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His wonders only to the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That yields the abstract tangible to clay?”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">And to my ear the wind of Morn,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When on her rubric forehead far<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One star burns big,—lifts a vast horn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of wonder where all murmurs are:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In which I hear the waters war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The torrent and the blue abyss,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And pines,—that terrace bar on bar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mountain side,—like lovers kiss,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And whisper words where all of grandeur is.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">The jutting crags,—dark, iron-veined<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With ore,—the peaks, where eagles scream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That pour their cataracts, rainbow-stained,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like hair, in many a mountain stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Can lift my soul beyond the dream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all religions; make me scan<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No mere external or extreme,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But inward pierce the outward plan<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And learn that rocks have souls as well as man.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="IN_THE_SHADOW_OF_THE_BEECHES" id="IN_THE_SHADOW_OF_THE_BEECHES"></a>IN THE SHADOW OF THE BEECHES<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_001" id="page_001"></a>{1}</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the shadow of the beeches,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the fragile wildflowers bloom;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the pensive silence pleaches<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Green a roof of cool perfume,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have you felt an awe imperious<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As when, in a church, mysterious<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Windows paint with God the gloom?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the shadow of the beeches,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the rock-ledged waters flow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the sun’s slant splendor bleaches<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Every wave to foaming snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have you felt a music solemn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As when minster arch and column<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Echo organ worship low?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the shadow of the beeches,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the light and shade are blent;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the forest-bird beseeches,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the breeze is brimmed with scent,—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a>{2}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is it joy or melancholy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That o’erwhelms us partly, wholly,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To our spirit’s betterment?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the shadow of the beeches<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lay me where no eye perceives;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where,—like some great arm that reaches<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gently as a love that grieves,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One gnarled root may clasp me kindly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the long years, working blindly,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Slowly change my dust to leaves.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a>{3}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="FALLEN_BEECH" id="FALLEN_BEECH"></a>A FALLEN BEECH</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nevermore at doorways that are barken<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall the madcap wind knock and the moonlight;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor the circle which thou once didst darken,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shine with footsteps of the neighboring moonlight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Visitors for whom thou oft didst hearken.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nevermore, gallooned with cloudy laces,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall the morning, like a fair freebooter,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Make thy leaves his richest treasure-places;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor the sunset, like a royal suitor,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clothe thy limbs with his imperial graces.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And no more, between the savage wonder<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the sunset and the moon’s up-coming,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall the storm, with boisterous hoof-beats, under<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy dark roof dance, Faun-like, to the humming<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the Pan-pipes of the rain and thunder.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oft the Satyr-spirit, beauty-drunken,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the Spring called; and the music measure<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of thy sap made answer; and thy sunken<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a>{4}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Veins grew vehement with youth, whose pressure<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swelled thy gnarly muscles, winter-shrunken.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the germs, deep down in darkness rooted,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bubbled green from all thy million oilets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the spirits, rain and sunbeam suited,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the April made their whispering toilets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or within thy stately shadow footed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oft the hours of blonde Summer tinkled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At the windows of thy twigs, and found thee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bird-blithe; or, with shapely bodies, twinkled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lissom feet of naked flowers around thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where thy mats of moss lay sunbeam-sprinkled.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the Autumn with his gypsy-coated<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Troop of days beneath thy branches rested,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swarthy-faced and dark of eye; and throated<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Songs of hunting; or with red hand tested<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Every nut-burr that above him floated.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then the Winter, barren-browed, but rich in<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shaggy followers of frost and freezing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Made the floor of thy broad boughs his kitchen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trapper-like, to camp in; grimly easing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Limbs snow-furred and moccasined with lichen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a>{5}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now, alas! no more do these invest thee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the dignity of whilom gladness!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They—unto whose hearts thou once confessed thee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of thy dreams—now know thee not! and sadness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sits beside thee where, forgot, dost rest thee.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a>{6}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="COIGNE_OF_THE_FOREST" id="COIGNE_OF_THE_FOREST"></a>A COIGNE OF THE FOREST</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The hills hang woods around, where green, below<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dark, breezy boughs of beech-trees, mats the moss,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crisp with the brittle hulls of last year’s nuts;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The water hums one bar there; and a glow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of gold lies steady where the trailers toss<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red, bugled blossoms and a rock abuts;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In spots the wild-phlox and oxalis grow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where beech-roots bulge the loam, and welt across<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The grass-grown road and roll it into ruts.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And where the sumach brakes grow dusk and dense,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the rocks, great yellow violets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blue-bells and windflowers bloom; the agaric<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In dampness crowds; a fungus, thick, intense<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With gold and crimson and wax-white, that sets<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The May-apples along the terraced creek<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At bold defiance. Where the old rail-fence<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Divides the hollow, there the bee-bird whets<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His bill, and there the elder hedge is thick.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a>{7}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No one can miss it; for two cat-birds nest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Calling all morning, in the trumpet-vine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there at noon the pewee sits and floats<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A woodland welcome; and his very best<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At eve the red-bird sings, as if to sign<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The record of its loveliness with notes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At night the moon stoops over it to rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And unreluctant stars, in whose faint shine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There runs a whisper as of wind-swept oats.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a>{8}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="HOUSE_IN_THE_HILLS" id="HOUSE_IN_THE_HILLS"></a>A HOUSE IN THE HILLS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Old hearts that hold the saddest memories<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are the most beautiful; and such make sweet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Light, happy moods of younger natures which<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their sadness contacts and so sanctifies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And such to me is an old gabled house,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deserted, and neglected, and unknown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lost in the tangled hollow of its hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dark, cedared hills, and dreamy orchard-lands;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With but its host of shrouded memories<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Haunting its ruined rooms and desolate halls,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pathetic with their fallen finery,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And whispering through its cob-webbed crevices<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And roomy hearths, that sigh with ceaseless wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Undreamed of things that happened long ago.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here in gray afternoons I love to sit,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hear the running rain along the roof;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The creak and crack of noises that are born<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of silence or mysterious agencies;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a>{9}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fitful footfalls of the wind adown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grand, winding stairways, massy banistered;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A clapping door and then a sudden hush<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As if the old house held its breath to see,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Invisible to me,—a presence pass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That brings a pleasant terror stiffening through<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tingling veins and staring from the eyes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then comes the rain again along the roof;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in rain-rotted room and rain-stained hall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The drip and whisper of the wind and rain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seem viewless footsteps of the sometime lords<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mistresses who lived here in the past.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And could the state material but assume<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A state clairvoyant, then the dream-drugged eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perhaps, might see, from room to dusty room,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ghosts of stately gentlemen glide by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And glimmering ladies, all beruffled, trail<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long, haughty silks miraculously stiff.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a>{10}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WIND" id="WIND"></a>THE WIND</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“<i>Wind of the East, if thou pass by the land where my loved ones dwell, I pray,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The fullest of greetings bear to them from me, their lover, and say</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>That I am the pledge of passion still.</i>”—<br /></span> -<span class="i14"><small>FROM THE ARABIC.</small><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The ways of the wind are eerie,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I love them all:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The blithe, the mad, and the dreary,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Spring, winter, and fall.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When it tells to the waiting crocus<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its beak to show;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hangs on the wayside locust<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bloom-bunches of snow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When it comes like a balmy blessing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From the musky wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The half-grown roses caressing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Till their cheeks burn blood.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a>{11}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When it roars in the autumn season,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And whines with rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or sleet, like a mind without reason,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or a soul in pain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the woodways, once so spicy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With bud and bloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are desolate, dead and icy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As the icy tomb.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the puffed owl, crouched and frowsy,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the hollow tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sobs, dolorous, cold, and drowsy,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its shuddering melody.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then I love to sit in December<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the big hearth sings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, dreaming, forget and remember<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A host of things.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the wind—I hear how it strangles,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And wails and sighs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the roof’s sharp, shivering angles<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That front the skies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How it shouts and romps and tumbles<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In attics o’erhead;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the great-throated chimney rumbles,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then all at once falls dead;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a>{12}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then comes like the footsteps stealing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of a child on the stair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or a bent, old gentleman feeling<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His slippered way with care.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And my soul grows anxious-hearted<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For those once dear—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The long-lost loves, departed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the wind draw near.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And I seem to see their faces—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Not one estranged—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In their old accustomed places<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Round the wide hearth ranged.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the wind, that waits and poises<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the shadows sway,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seems their visionary voices<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Calling me far away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then I wake in tears and hear it<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wailing outside my door,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or is it some wandering spirit<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Weeping upon the moor?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a>{13}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="RAIN_IN_THE_WOODS" id="RAIN_IN_THE_WOODS"></a>RAIN IN THE WOODS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When on the leaves the rain persists,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And every gust brings showers down;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When copse and woodland smoke with mists,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I take the old road out of town<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into the hills through which it twists.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I find the vale where catnip grows,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where boneset blooms, with moisture bowed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The vale through which the red creek flows,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Turbid with hill-washed clay, and loud<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As some wild horn a huntsman blows.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Around the root the beetle glides,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A burnished beryl; and the ant,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Large, agate-red, a garnet, slides<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath the rock; and every plant<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is roof for some frail thing that hides.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like knots against the trunks of trees<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The lichen-colored moths are pressed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, wedged in hollow blooms, the bees<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hang pollen-clotted; in its nest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wasp has crawled and lies at ease.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a>{14}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The locust harsh, that sharply saws<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The silence of the summer noon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The katydid, that thinly draws<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its fine file o’er the bars of moon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And grasshopper that drills each pause:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The mantis, long-clawed, furtive, lean—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fierce feline of the insect hordes—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dragonfly, gauze-winged and green,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath the wild-grape’s leaves and gourd’s,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have housed themselves and rest unseen.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The butterfly and forest-bird<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are huddled on the same gnarled bough,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From which, like some rain-voweled word<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That dampness hoarsely utters now,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tree-toad’s guttural voice is heard.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I crouch and listen: and again<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The woods are filled with phantom forms—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With shapes, grotesque in cloudy train,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That rise and reach to me cool arms<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of mist: dim, wandering wraiths of rain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I see them come; fantastic, fair;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Chill, mushroom-colored: sky and earth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grow ghostly with their floating hair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And trailing limbs, that have their birth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In wetness—fungi of the air.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a>{15}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O wraiths of rain! O ghosts of mist!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Still fold me, hold me, and pursue!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still let my lips by yours be kissed!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Still draw me with your hands of dew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto the tryst, the dripping tryst.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a>{16}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="HEAT" id="HEAT"></a>HEAT</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now is it as if Spring had never been,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Winter but a memory and a dream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here where the Summer stands, her lap of green<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Heaped high with bloom and beam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among her blackberry-lilies, low that lean<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To kiss her feet; or, freckle-browed, that stare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the dragonfly which, slimly seen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a blue jewel flickering in her hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Sparkles above them there.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Knee-deep among the tepid pools the cows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Chew a slow cud or switch a slower tail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Half-sunk in sleep beneath the beechen boughs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where thin the wood-gnats ail.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From bloom to bloom the languid butterflies drowse;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sleepy bees make hardly any sound;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a>{17}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The only things the sun-rays can arouse,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It seems, are two black beetles rolling round<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Upon the dusty ground.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Within its channel glares the creek and shrinks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath whose rocks the furtive crawfish hides<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In stagnant places, where the green frog blinks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And water-strider glides.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far hotter seems it for the bird that drinks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The startled kingfisher that screams and flies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hotter and lonelier for the purples and pinks<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of weeds that bloom, whose sultry perfumes rise<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Stifling the swooning skies.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From ragweed fallows, rye-fields, heaped with sheaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From blistering rocks, no moss or lichens crust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from the road, where every hoof-stroke heaves<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A cloud of burning dust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hotness quivers, making limp the leaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That loll like panting tongues. The pulsing heat<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a>{18}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seems a wan wimple that the Summer weaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A veil, in which she wraps,—as in a sheet,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The shriveling corn and wheat.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Furious, incessant in the weeds and briers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sawing weed bugs sing: and, heat-begot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The grasshoppers, so many strident wires,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Staccato stinging hot:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A lash of whirling sound that never tires,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The locust flails the noon, where harnessed Thirst,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beside the road-spring, many a shod hoof mires,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Into the trough thrusts his hot head; immersed,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Round which cool bubbles burst.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sad, sweet voice of some wood-spirit who<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Laments while watching a loved oak-tree die,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the deep forest comes the wood-dove’s coo,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A long, lost, lonely cry.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, for a breeze! a mighty wind to woo<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The woods to stormy laughter; sow like grain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The world with freshness of invisible dew,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And pile above far, fevered hill and plain<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Cloud-bastions, black with rain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a>{19}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="YOUNG_SEPTEMBER" id="YOUNG_SEPTEMBER"></a>YOUNG SEPTEMBER</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With a look and a laugh where the stream was flowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">September led me along the land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the goldenrod and lobelia, glowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Seemed burning torches within her hand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And faint as the thistle’s or milkweed’s feather<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I glimpsed her form in the sparkling weather.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Now ’twas her hand and now her hair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That tossed me welcome everywhere;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That lured me onward through the stately rooms<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of forest, hung and carpeted with glooms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And windowed wide with azure, doored with green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through which rich glimmers of her robe were seen—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now, like some deep marsh-mallow, rosy-gold;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a>{20}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now, like the great Joe-Pye-weed, fold on fold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of heavy mauve; and now, like the intense<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Massed ironweed, a purple opulence.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Along the bank in a wild procession<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of gold and sapphire the blossoms blew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And borne on the breeze came their soft confession<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In syllabled musk and honey-dew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In words unheard that their lips kept saying,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet as the lips of children praying.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">And so, meseemed, I heard them tell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How here her loving glance once fell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon this bank, and from its azure grew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ageratum mist-flower’s happy hue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How from her kiss, as crimson as the dawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cardinal-flow’r drew its vermilion;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from her hair’s blond touch th’ elecampane<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Evolved the glory of its golden rain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While from her starry footsteps, redolent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The aster pearled its flowery firmament.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a>{21}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="VINTAGER" id="VINTAGER"></a>THE VINTAGER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Among the fragrant grapes she bows;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Long violet clusters heap her hands:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, with bright brows, on him bestows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sweet looks, like soft commands.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And from her sunburnt throat, at times,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As bubbles burst on new-made wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A happy fit of merry rhymes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rings down the hills of vine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And in his heart, remorseless, sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Grew big the red-grape, passion, there;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His heart, that, ever at her feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was filled with love’s despair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But she, who ne’er the honeyed must<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of love had drained, a grown-up child,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saw in him—merely one to trust,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And broke his heart, and smiled.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a>{22}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BLACK_VESPERS_PAGEANTS" id="BLACK_VESPERS_PAGEANTS"></a>BLACK VESPER’S PAGEANTS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The day, all fierce with carmine, turns<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An Indian face towards Earth and dies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The west, like some gaunt vase, inurns<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its ashes under smoldering skies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Athwart whose bowl one red cloud streams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wild as some dream an Aztec dreams.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now shadows mass above the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And night comes on with wind and rain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mulberry-colored leaves are hurled<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like frantic hands against the pane.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And through the forests, bending low,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Night stalks like some gigantic Woe.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In hollows where the thistle shakes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A hoar bloom like a witch’s light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From weed and flower the rain-wind rakes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dead sweetness—as a wildman might,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From autumn leaves, the woods among,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dig some dead woman, fair and young.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a>{23}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now let me walk the woodland ways,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Alone! except for thoughts, that are<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Akin to such wild nights and days—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A portion of the storm that far<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fills Heaven and Earth tumultuously,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And my own soul with ecstasy.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a>{24}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TWILIGHT_MOTH" id="TWILIGHT_MOTH"></a>A TWILIGHT MOTH</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dusk is thy dawn; when Eve puts on her state<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of gold and purple in the marbled west,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou comest forth like some embodied trait,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or dim conceit, a lily-bud confessed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or, of a rose, the visible wish; that, white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Goes softly messengering through the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whom each expectant flower makes its guest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All day the primroses have thought of thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their golden heads close-haremed from the heat;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All day the mystic moonflowers silkenly<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Veiled snowy faces,—that no bee might greet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or butterfly that, weighed with pollen, passed;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Keeping Sultana-charms for thee, at last,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their lord, who comest to salute each sweet.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Cool-throated flowers that avoid the day’s<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Too fervid kisses; every bud that drinks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tipsy dew and to the starlight plays<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nocturnes of fragrance, thy wing’d shadow links<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a>{25}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In bonds of secret brotherhood and faith;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O bearer of their order’s shibboleth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like some pale symbol fluttering o’er these pinks.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What dost thou whisper in the balsam’s ear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That sets it blushing, or the hollyhock’s,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A syllabled silence that no man may hear,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As dreamily upon its stem it rocks?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What spell dost bear from listening plant to plant,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some white witch, some ghostly ministrant,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some spectre of some perished flower of phlox?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O voyager of that universe which lies<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Between the four walls of this garden fair,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose constellations are the fireflies<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That wheel their instant courses everywhere,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Mid fairy firmaments wherein one sees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mimic Boötes and the Pleiades,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thou steerest like some fairy ship-of-air.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Gnome-wrought of moonbeam-fluff and gossamer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Silent as scent, perhaps thou chariotest<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a>{26}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mab or King Oberon; or, haply, her<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His queen, Titania, on some midnight quest.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh for the herb, the magic euphrasy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That should unmask thee to mine eyes, ah me!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all that world at which my soul hath guessed!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a>{27}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="GRASSHOPPER" id="GRASSHOPPER"></a>THE GRASSHOPPER</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What joy you take in making hotness hotter,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In emphasizing dullness with your buzz,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Making monotony more monotonous!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When summer comes, and drouth hath dried the water<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In all the creeks, we hear your ragged rasp<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Filing the stillness. Or,—as urchins beat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A stagnant pond whereon the bubbles gasp,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your switch-like music whips the midday heat.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O burr of sound caught in the Summer’s hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">We hear you everywhere.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We hear you in the vines and berry-brambles,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along the unkempt lanes, among the weeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Amid the shadeless meadows, gray with seeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And by the wood, round which the rail-fence rambles,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a>{28}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sawing the sunlight with your sultry saw.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or,—like to tomboy truants, at their play<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With noisy mirth among the barn’s deep straw,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You sing away the careless summer-day.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O brier-like voice that clings in idleness<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To Summer’s drowsy dress.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You tramp of insects, vagrant and unheeding,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Improvident, who of the summer make<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One long green meal-time, and for winter take<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No care, aye singing or just merely feeding!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Happy-go-lucky vagabond,—though frost<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall pierce, ere long, your coat of green or brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And pinch your body,—let no song be lost,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But as you lived, into your grave go down—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some small poet with his little rhyme,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Forgotten of all time.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a>{29}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="FOREST_AND_FIELD" id="FOREST_AND_FIELD"></a>FOREST AND FIELD</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Green, watery jets of light let through<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rippling foliage drenched with dew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And golden glimmers, warm and dim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That in the vistaed distance swim;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, round the wood-spring’s oozy urn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The limp, loose fronds of forest fern<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trail like the tresses, green and wet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A wood-nymph binds with violet.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er rocks that bulge and roots that knot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The emerald-amber mosses clot;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From matted walls of brier and brush<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The elder nods its plumes of plush;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, Argus-eyed with bloom on bloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wild-rose breathes its wild perfume;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May-apples, ripening yellow, lean<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With oblong fruit, a lemon-green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Near Indian-turnips, long of stem,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That bear an acorn-oval gem,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As if some woodland Bacchus there,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While braiding locks of hyacinth hair<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a>{30}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With ivy-tod,—had idly tossed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His thyrsus down and so had lost:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And blood-root, that from scarlet wombs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Puts forth, in spring, its milk-white blooms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That then like starry footsteps shine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of April under beech and pine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At which the gnarléd eyes of trees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stare, big as Fauns’, at Dryadës,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That bend above a fountain’s spar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As white and naked as a star.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The stagnant stream flows sleepily<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thick-paved with lily-pads; the bee,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brown, honey-drunk, a Bassarid,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Booms past the mottled toad, that, hid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In calamus and blue-eyed grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beside the water’s pooling glass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Silenus-like, eyes stolidly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Mænad-glittering dragonfly.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And pennyroyal and peppermint<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pour dry-hot odors without stint<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From fields and banks of many streams;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in their scent one almost seems<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To see Demeter pass, her breath<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet with her triumph over death.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A haze of floating saffron; sound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of shy, crisp creepings o’er the ground;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a>{31}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dip and stir of twig and leaf;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tempestuous gusts of spices brief<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Borne over bosks of sassafras<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By winds that foot it on the grass;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sharp, sudden songs and whisperings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That hint at untold, hidden things—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pan and Sylvanus who of old<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Kept sacred each wild wood and wold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A wily light beneath the trees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quivers and dusks with every breeze—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Hamadryad, haply, who,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Culling her morning meal of dew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From frail, accustomed cups of flowers,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now sees some Satyr in the bowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or hears his goat-hoof snapping press<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A brittle branch, and in distress<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shrinks back; her dark, dishevelled hair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Veiling her limbs one instant there.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Down precipices of the dawn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rivers of the day are drawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The soundless torrents, free and far,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of gold that deluge every star.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is a sound of winds and wings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That fills the woods with carollings;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a>{32}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, dashed on moss and flower and fern,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And leaves, that quiver, breathe and burn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rose-radiance smites the solitudes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dew-drenched hills, the dripping woods<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That twitter as with canticles<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of bird and brook; and air that smells<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of flowers, and buds, and boisterous bees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Delirious honey and wet trees.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through briers that trip them, one by one,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With swinging pails, that flash the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A troop of girls comes—berriers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose bare feet glitter where they pass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through dewdrop-trembling tufts of grass.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, oh! their laughter and their cheers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wake Echo on her shrubby rocks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, answering, from her mountain mocks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With rapid fairy horns—as if<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each mossy vale and weedy cliff<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had its imperial Oberon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, seeking his Titania, hid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In coverts caverned from the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In kingly wrath had called and chid.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Cloud-feathers, oozing orange light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Make rich the Indian locks of Night;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her dusky waist with sultry gold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Girdled and buckled fold on fold.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a>{33}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">One star. A sound of bleating flocks.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Great shadows stretched along the rocks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like giant curses overthrown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By some Arthurian champion.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soft-swimming sorceries of mist<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That streak blue glens with amethyst.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, tinkling in the clover dells,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The twilight sound of cattle-bells.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where the marsh in reed and grass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Burns, angry as a shattered glass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flies blur sudden gold, and shine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like drops of amber-scattered wine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spun high by reeling Bacchanals,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Bacchus wreathes his curling hair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With vine-leaves, and from every lair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His worshippers around him calls.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They come, they come, a happy throng,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The berriers with lilt and song;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their pails brimmed black to tin-bright eaves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With luscious fruit, kept cool with leaves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of aromatic sassafras;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Twixt which a berry often slips,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like laughter, from the purple mass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wine-swollen as Silenus’ lips.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a>{34}</span></p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The tanned and tired Noon climbs high<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Up burning reaches of the sky;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Below the drowsy belts of pines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rock-ledged river leaps and shines;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And over rainless hill and dell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is blown the harvest’s sultry smell:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While, in the fields, one sees and hears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brawny-throated harvesters,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their red brows beaded with the heat,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By twos and threes among the wheat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flash their hot scythes; behind them press<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The binders—men and maids who sing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some mad troop of piping Pan;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While all the hillsides, echoing, ring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such sounds of Ariel airiness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As haunted freckled Caliban.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“O ho! O ho! ’tis noon I say.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The roses blow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Away, away, above the hay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the song o’ the bees the roses sway;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The love-lays that they hum all day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So low! so low!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The roses’ Minnesingers they.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a>{35}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Up velvet lawns of lilac skies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tawny moon begins to rise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Behind low, blue-black hills of trees,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As rises up, in siren seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To rock in purple deeps, hip-hid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A virgin-bosomed Oceanid.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gaunt shadows crouch by tree and scaur,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dusk’s shaggy Satyrs waiting for<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Nymphs of moon, the Dryads white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who take with loveliness the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And glorify it with their love.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sweet, far notes I hear, I hear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond dim pines and mellow ways;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The song of some fair harvester,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lovely Limnad of the grove,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose singing charms me while it slays.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“O deep! O deep! the earth and air<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are sunk in sleep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Adieu to care! Now everywhere<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is rest; and by the old oak there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The maiden with the nut-brown hair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Doth keep, doth keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tryst with her lover the young and fair.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a>{36}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like Atalanta’s spheres of gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within the orchard, apples rolled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From sudden hands of boughs that lay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their leaves, like palms, against the day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And near them pears of rusty brown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rolled bruised; and peaches, pink with down,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And furry as the ears of Pan;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or, like Diana’s cheeks, a tan<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath which burnt a tender fire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or wan as Psyche’s with desire.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And down the orchard vistas,—young,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A hickory basket by him swung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A hat of straw against the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drawn shadowy o’er his face,—he strode;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As if he looked to find some one,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His eyes searched every bend of road.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before him, like a living burr,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rattled the noisy grasshopper.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where the cows’ melodious bells<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trailed music up and down the dells,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beside the spring, that o’er the ground<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went whimpering like a fretful hound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He saw her waiting, fair and slim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her pail forgotten there, for him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a>{37}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yellow as sunset skies and pale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As fairy clouds that stay or sail<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through azure vaults of summer, blue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As summer heavens, the wildflowers grew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And blossoms on which spurts of light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fell laughing—like the lips one might<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Feign once were Hebe’s, or a girl’s<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That laughter lights with rows of pearls.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long ferns, in murmuring masses heaped;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mosses moist, in beryl steeped<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And musk aromas of the wood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And silence of the solitude:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And everything that near her blew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spring had showered thick with dew.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Across the rambling fence she leaned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her fresh, round arms all white and bare;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her artless beauty, bonnet-screened,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Simplicity from feet to hair.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A wood-thrush gurgled in a vine—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah! ’tis his step, ’tis he she hears;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wild-rose smelt like some rare wine—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He comes, ah, yes! ’tis he who nears.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her brown eyes and happy face<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Said welcome. And with rustic grace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He leant beside her; and they had<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some talk with youthful laughter glad:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I know not what: I know but this—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its final period was a kiss.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a>{38}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SUMMER" id="SUMMER"></a>SUMMER</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hang out your loveliest star, O Night! O Night!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your richest rose, O Dawn!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To greet sweet Summer, her, who, clothed in light,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leads Earth’s best hours on.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hark! how the wild birds of the woods<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Throat it within the dewy solitudes!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The brook sings low and soft,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The trees make song,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As, from her heaven aloft,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes blue-eyed Summer like a girl along.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And as the Day, her lover, leads her in,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How bright his beauty glows!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How red his lips, that ever try to win<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her mouth’s delicious rose!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from the beating of his heart<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a>{39}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Warm winds arise and sighing thence depart:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And from his eyes and hair<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The light and dew<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fall round her everywhere,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And heaven above her is an arch of blue.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come to the forest, or the treeless meadows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Deep with their hay or grain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come where the hills lift high their thrones of shadows,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And tawny orchards reign.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come where the reapers whet the scythe;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where golden sheaves are heaped; where berriers blithe,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With willow-basket and with pail,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Swarm knoll and plain;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where flowers freckle every vale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Beauty goes with hands of berry-stain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come where the dragonflies, a brassy blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Flit round the wildwood streams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, sucking at some horn of honey-dew,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wild-bee hums and dreams.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a>{40}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come where the butterfly waves wings of sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gold-disked and mottled, over blossoms deep:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come where beneath the rustic bridge<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The creek-frog cries;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or in the shade the rainbowed midge,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the emerald pools, with murmurings flies.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come where the cattle browse within the brake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As red as oak and strong;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where cattle-bells the echoes faintly wake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And milkmaids sing their song.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come where the vine-trailed rocks, with waters hoary,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tell to the sun some legend old or story;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or where the sunset to the land<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Speaks words of gold;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where Ripeness walks, a wheaten band<br /></span> -<span class="i0">About her brow, making the buds unfold.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come where the woods lift up their stalwart arms<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unto the star-sown skies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Knotted and gnarled, that to the winds and storms<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a>{41}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fling mighty rhapsodies:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or to the moon repeat what they have seen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Night upon their shoulders vast doth lean.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come where the dew’s clear syllable<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Slips from the rose;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And where the fireflies fill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dark with golden music of their glows.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now while the dingles and the vine-roofed glens<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whisper their flowery tale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto the silence; and the lakes and fens<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unto the moonlight pale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Murmur their rapture, let us seek her out,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her of the honey throat and peach-sweet pout,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Summer! and at her feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The love of old<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lay like a sheaf of wheat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And of our hearts the purest gold of gold.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a>{42}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="INDIAN_SUMMER" id="INDIAN_SUMMER"></a>INDIAN SUMMER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The dawn is a warp of fever,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The eve is a woof of fire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the month is a singing weaver<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Weaving a red desire.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With stars Dawn dices with Even<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For the rosy gold they heap<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the blue of the day’s broad heaven,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the black of the night’s wide deep.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It’s—“Reins to the blood!” and “Marry!”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Season’s a prince who burns<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the teasing lusts that harry<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His heart for a wench who spurns.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It’s—“Crown us a beaker with sherry,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To drink to the doxy’s heels;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A tankard of wine o’ the berry,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To lips like a cloven peel’s.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a>{43}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“<span class="lftspc">’</span>S death! if a king be saddened,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Right so let a fool laugh lies:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But wine! when a king is gladdened,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a woman’s waist and her eyes.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He hath shattered the loom of the weaver,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And left but a leaf that flits,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He hath seized heaven’s gold, and a fever<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of mist and of frost is its.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He hath tippled the buxom beauty,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And gotten her hug and her kiss—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wide world’s royal booty<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To pile at her feet for this.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a>{44}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TO_SORROW" id="TO_SORROW"></a>TO SORROW</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O dark-eyed spirit of the marble brow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose look is silence and whose touch is night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who walkest lonely through the world, O thou,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who sittest lonely with Life’s blown-out light;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who in the hollow hours of night’s noon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Criest like some lost child;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose anguish-fevered eyeballs seek the moon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To cool their pulses wild.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou who dost bend to kiss Joy’s sister cheek,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Turning its rose to alabaster; yea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou who art terrible and mad and meek,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Why in my heart art thou enshrined to-day?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Sorrow, O say! O say!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now Spring is here and all the world is white,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I will go forth, and where the forest robes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Itself in green, and every hill and height<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a>{45}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Crowns its fair head with blossoms,—spirit globes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of hyacinth and crocus dashed with dew,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I will forget my grief,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thee, O Sorrow, gazing at the blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath a last year’s leaf,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of some brief violet the south-wind woos,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or bluet, whence the west-wind raked the snow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The baby eyes of love, the darling hues<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of happiness, that thou canst never know,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Mother of pain and woe.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On some hoar upland, hoar with clustered thorns,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hard by a river’s windy white of waves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I shall sit down with Spring,—whose eyes are morns<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of light; whose cheeks the rose of health enslaves,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And so forget thee, braiding in Spring’s hair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The snowdrop, tipped with green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cool-eyed primrose and the trillium fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And moony celandine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Contented so to lie within her arms,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a>{46}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forgetting all the sere and sad and wan,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Remembering Love alone, who, o’er earth’s storms,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">High on the mountains of perpetual dawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Leads the glad Hours on.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or in the peace that follows storm, when Even,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Within the west, stands dreaming, lone and far,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clad on with green and silver, and the Heaven<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is brightly brooched with one gold-glittering star,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I will lie down beside a mountain lake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Round which the tall pines sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, breathing musk of rain from boughs that shake<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Storm balsam, blowing by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Make friends of Dream and Contemplation high,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Music, listening to the mocking-bird,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who through the hush sends its melodious cry,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And so forget a while that other word,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That all loved things must die.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a>{47}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="NIGHT" id="NIGHT"></a>NIGHT</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Out of the East, as from an unknown shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thou comest with thy children in thine arms,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slumber and Dream,—whom mortals so adore,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their flowing raiment sculptured to their charms:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soft on thy breast thy lovely children rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Laid like two roses in one balmy nest.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Silent thou comest, swiftly too and slow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is no other presence like to thine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When thou approachest with thy babes divine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thy shadowy face above them bending low,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blowing the ringlets from their brows of snow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oft have I taken Sleep from thy dark arms,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And fondled her fair head, with poppies wreathed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within my bosom’s depths, until its storms<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With her were hushed and I but faintly breathed:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then her sister, Dream, with frolic art<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a>{48}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Arose from rest, and in my sleeping heart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blew bubbles of dreams where elfin worlds were lost;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Worlds where my stranger soul looked down at me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or walked with spirits by a rainbowed sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or smiled, an unfamiliar shape of frost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Floating on gales of breathless melody.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Day comes to us in garish glory garbed;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But thou, thou bringest to the tired heart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rest and sweet silence, wherein are absorbed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All the vain tumults of the mind and mart.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whether thou comest with hands full of stars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or clothed in storm and cloud, the lightning bars,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rolling the thunder like a mighty dress,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God moves with thee; we seem to hear His feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wind-like, along the floors of Heaven beat;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To see His face, revealed in awfulness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through thee, O Night, to ban us or to bless.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a>{49}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="HAUNTED_HOUSE" id="HAUNTED_HOUSE"></a>THE HAUNTED HOUSE</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The shadows sit and stand about its door<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like uninvited guests and poor;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the long, hot summer day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ceaseless locust dins its roundelay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In one old sycamore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The squirrel leaves upon its rotting roof<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its wandering tracks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In empty hulls; and in its clapboard cracks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spider weaves a windy woof,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cells of clay the mud-wasp packs.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The she-fox whelps upon its floor;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And o’er its sun warped door<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The owlet roosts; and where the mosses run,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The freckled snake basks in the sun.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The children of what fathers sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath those melancholy pines?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a>{50}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The slow slugs slime their headstones there where creep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The doddered poison-vines.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The orchard, near the meadow deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lifts up decrepit arms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Black-lichened in a withering heap.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No sap swells up to make it leap<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And shout against spring’s storms;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No blossom lulls its age asleep;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The winds bring sad alarms.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Big, bell-round pears and pippins, russet-red,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No maiden gathers now;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The worm-bored trunks weep tears of gum instead,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Oozing from each old bough.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The woodlands around it are solitary<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And fold it like gaunt hands;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sunlight is sad and the moonlight is dreary,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hum of the country is lonesome and weary,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the bees go by in bands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To gladder and lovelier lands.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The grasses are rotting in walk and in bower;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a>{51}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">The loneliness,—dank and rank<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As a chamber where lies for a lonely hour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An old-man’s corpse with many a flower,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is hushed and blank.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And even the birds have passed it by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gone with their songs to a happier sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A happier sky and bank.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In its desolate halls are lying,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gold, blood-red, and browned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drifted leaves of autumn dying;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the winds, above them sighing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Turn them round and round,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Make a ghostly sound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As of footsteps falling, flying,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ghostly footsteps, faintly flying<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through the haunted house.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Gazing down in her white shroud,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wov’n of windy cloud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes at night the phantom moon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes, and all the shadows soon,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Crowding chambers of the house,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Haunting whispering rooms, arouse;—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a>{52}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shadows, ghosts, her rays lead on,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till beneath the cloud<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like a ghost she’s gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In her gusty shroud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er the haunted house.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a>{53}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="AUTUMN" id="AUTUMN"></a>AUTUMN</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I oft have met her slowly wandering<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beside a leafy stream, her locks blown wild,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her cheeks a hectic flush, more fair than Spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As if on her the scarlet copse had smiled:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or I have seen her sitting, dark and tall,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her gentle eyes with foolish weeping dim,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Beneath a twisted oak from whose red leaves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She wound great drowsy wreaths and let them fall;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The west-wind in her hair, that made it swim<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Far out behind, brown as the rustling sheaves.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or in the hill-lands I have often seen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The marvel of her passage; glimpses faint<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of glimmering woods that glanced the hills between,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like Indian faces, fierce with forest paint.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or I have met her ’twixt two beechen hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Within a dingled valley near a fall,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a>{54}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Held in her nut-brown hand one cardinal flower;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or wading dimly where the leaf-dammed rills<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Went babbling through the wildwood’s arrased hall,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where burned the beech and maples glared their power.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or I have met her by a ruined mill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where trailed the crimson creeper, serpentine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On fallen leaves that stirred and rustled, chill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And watched her swinging in the wildgrapevine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Beauty, sad among the vales and mountains,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">More sad than death, or all that death can teach,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Dreamed of decay and stretched appealing arms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where splashed the murmur of the forest’s fountains:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With all her loveliness did she beseech,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And all the sorrow of her wildwood charms.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Once only in a hollow, girt with trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A-dream amid wild asters filled with rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I glimpsed her cheeks, red-berried by the breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In her dark eyes the night’s sidereal stain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a>{55}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And once upon an orchard’s tangled path,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where all the goldenrod had turned to brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where russets rolled and leaves lay sweet of breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I did behold her ’mid her aftermath<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of blossoms standing, in her gypsy gown,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Within her gaze the dreams of life and death.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a>{56}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ALONG_THE_OHIO" id="ALONG_THE_OHIO"></a>ALONG THE OHIO</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Athwart a sky of brass long welts of gold;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A river of flame the wide Ohio lies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the sunset, billowing manifold,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The dark-blue hill-tops rise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And, westering, dips the crescent of the moon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through great cloud-feathers, flushed with rosy ray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That close around the crystal of her lune<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The redbird wings of Day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A little skiff slips o’er the burnished stream;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A wake of flame, that broadens far behind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Follows in ripples; and the paddles gleam<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Against the evening wind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Was it the boat, the solitude, and hush,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That with dead Indians peopled all the glooms?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That made each bank, meseemed, and every bush,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Start into eagle-plumes?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a>{57}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That made me seem to hear the breaking brush,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And, as the stag’s great antlers swelled in view,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hear the arrow twang from cane and rush,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That dipped to the canoe?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To see the glimmering wigwams by the waves?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And, wildly clad, around the camp-fires’ glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Shawnee chieftains with their painted braves,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Each with his battle-bow?...<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But now the vision like the sunset fades,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The clouds of ribbéd gold have oozed their light;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from the west, like sombre sachem shades,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Gallop the shades of night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The broad Ohio glitters to the stars;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And many murmurs wander through its woods—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is it the mourning of dead warriors<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For their lost solitudes?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The moon is set; but, like another moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The crescent of the river shimmers there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unchanged as when the eyes of Daniel Boone<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Beheld it flowing fair.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a>{58}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="OLD_INN" id="OLD_INN"></a>THE OLD INN</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Red-winding from the sleepy town,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One takes the lone, forgotten lane<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Straight through the hills. A brush-bird brown<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bubbles in thorn-flowers sweet with rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where breezes bend the gleaming grain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cautious drip of higher leaves<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The lower dips that drip again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the tangled trees it heaves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its gables and its haunted eaves.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">One creeper, gnarled and blossomless,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’erforests all its eastern wall;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sighing cedars rake and press<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dark boughs along the panes they sprawl;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While, where the sun beats, drone and drawl<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mud-wasps; and one bushy bee,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gold-dusty, hurls along the hall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To crowd into a crack.—To me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shadows seem too scared to flee.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a>{59}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Of ragged chimneys martins make<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Huge pipes of music; twittering, here<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They build and brood.—My footfalls wake<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Strange stealing echoes, till I fear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I’ll see my pale self drawing near,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My phantom self as in a glass;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or one, men murdered, buried—where?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dim in gray, stealthy glimmer, pass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With lips that seem to moan “Alas!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a>{60}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="MILL-WATER" id="MILL-WATER"></a>THE MILL-WATER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The water-flag and wild cane grow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Round banks whereon the sunbeams sow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ephemeral gold when, on its shores,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wind sighs through the sycamores.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In one green angle, just in reach,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between a willow-tree and beech,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moss-grown and leaky lies a boat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The thick-grown lilies keep afloat.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And through its waters, half-awake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slow swims the spotted water-snake;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And near its edge, like some gray streak,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stands gaunt the still fly-up-the-creek.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Between the lily-pads and blooms<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The water-spirits set their looms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And weave the lace-like light that dims<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The glimmering leaves of under limbs.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Each lily is the hiding-place<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of some dim wood-thing’s elvish face,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a>{61}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">That watches you with gold-green eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where bubbles of its breathing rise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I fancy, when the waxing moon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leans through the trees and dreams of June;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when the black bat slants its wing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lonelier the green-frogs sing;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I fancy, when the whippoorwill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In some old tree sings wildly shrill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With glow-worm eyes that dot the dark,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each holding high a firefly spark,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To torch its way,—the wood-imps come:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And some float rocking here; and some<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unmoor the lily-leaves and oar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around the old boat by the shore.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They climb through oozy weeds and moss;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They swarm its rotting sides and toss<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their firefly torches o’er its edge<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or hang them in the tangled sedge.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The boat is loosed. The moon is pale.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around the dam they slowly sail.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon its bow, to pilot it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A jack-o’-lantern flame doth sit.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a>{62}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yes; I have seen it all in dreams:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Naught is forgotten—naught, it seems—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The strangled face, the matted hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drown’d, of the woman trailing there.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a>{63}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DREAM" id="DREAM"></a>THE DREAM</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thus did I dream:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i10">It seemed the afternoon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of some deep, tropic day; and yet the moon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hung, round and bright with golden alchemy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High in a heaven sapphire as the sea.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long, lawny lengths of perishable cloud<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Templed the west, o’er rolling forests bowed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clouds raining colors, gold and violet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, opening, seemed from inner worlds to let<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down hints of Parian beauty and lost charms<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of old romance, peopled with fairy forms.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all about me fruited orchards grew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pear, quince, and peach, and plums of dusty blue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rose-apricots, and apples streaked with fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Kissed into ripeness by some sun’s desire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And big with juice. And on far, fading hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down which it seemed a hundred torrent rills<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flashed silent silver, vines and vines and vines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Terraced the world with vintage, cooling wines,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a>{64}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pleasant and fragrant as the heart of June,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their delicate tang drawn from the wine-white moon.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And from the clouds o’er this sweet world there dripped<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An odorous music, strange and feverish-lipped,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That swung and swooned and panted as with sighs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Investing at each throb the air with eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And forms of sensuous spirits, limpid white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clad on with raiment as of starry night;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fair, frail embodiments of melody,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From out whose hearts of crystal one could see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The music stream like light through delicate hands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hollowing a lamp. And as on sounding sands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ocean murmur haunts the rosy shells,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within whose convolutions beauty dwells,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My soul became a harp of vibrant love<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reëchoing all the harmony above.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a>{65}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SPRING_TWILIGHT" id="SPRING_TWILIGHT"></a>SPRING TWILIGHT</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sun set late; and left along the west<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A furious ruby; o’er which billowy snows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of clouds unrolled; each cloud a mighty breast<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Blooming with almond-rose.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sun set late; and wafts of wind beat down,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And cuffed the blossoms from the blossoming quince;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scattered the petals of the poppy’s crown,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And made the clover wince.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By dusking forests, through whose fretful boughs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In flying fragments shot the evening’s flame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Adown the tangled lane the quiet cows<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With dreamy tinklings came.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sun set late; but scarcely had he gone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When o’er the moon’s gold-litten crescent there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bright Phosphor, polished as a precious stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Burned in fair deeps of air.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a>{66}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As from faint stars the glory waned and waned,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The crickets made the old-time garden shrill;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the luminous pasture-lands complained<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The first far whippoorwill.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a>{67}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SLEET-STORM_IN_MAY" id="SLEET-STORM_IN_MAY"></a>A SLEET-STORM IN MAY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On southern winds shot through with amber light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breathing soft balm and clothed in cloudy white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lily-fingered Spring came o’er the hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Waking the crocus and the daffodils.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er the cold Earth she breathed a tender sigh—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The maples sang and flung their banners high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their crimson tasselled pennons, and the elm<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bound his dark brows with a green-crested helm.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the musky rot of last year’s leaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under the forest’s myriad naked eaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Life woke and rose in gold and green and blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Robed in the starlight of the twinkling dew.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With timid tread adown the barren wood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spring held her way, when, lo! before her stood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">White-mantled Winter nodding his white head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stormy his brow and stormily he said:<br /></span> -<span class="iq">“The God of Terror, and the King of Storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Must I remind thee how my iron arm<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Raised rebel standards ’mid these conquered bowers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a>{68}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Turning their green to crimson?—Thou, with flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Thou</i> wouldst supplant me! nay! usurp my throne!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Audacious one!”—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i5">And at her breast he tossed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A glittering spear of ice and piercing frost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And struck her down, dead on th’ unfeeling mold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fragile blossoms, gathered in the fold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of her young bosom, fell in desolate rows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">About her beauty; and, like fragrant snows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Covered her lovely hands and beautiful feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or on her lips lay like last kisses sweet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That died there. Lilacs, musky of the May,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bluer violets and snowdrops lay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Entombed in crystal, icy faint and fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like teardrops scattered through her heavenly hair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Alas! sad heart, break not beneath the pain!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Time changeth all; the Beautiful wakes again.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We should not question such; a higher power<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Knows best what bud is ripest, or what flower,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Silently plucks it at the fittest hour.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a>{69}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="HEART_O_SPRING" id="HEART_O_SPRING"></a>THE HEART O’ SPRING</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Whiten, oh, whiten, O clouds of lawn!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lily-like clouds that whiten above,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now like a dove, and now like a swan,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But never, oh, never—pass on! pass on!—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Never as white as the throat of my love.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Blue-black night on the mountain peaks—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Oh, not so black as the locks o’ my love!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stars that shine through the evening’s streaks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the torrent that flashes and breaks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Brighter the eyes of my love, my love!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Moon in a cloud, as white as snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mist in the vale where the rivulet bounds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dropping from ledge to ledge below,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Turning to gold in the sunset’s glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Softer and sweeter her footstep sounds.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sound o’ May winds in the blossoming trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Oh, not so sweet as her laugh that rings;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Song o’ wild birds on the morning breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Birds and brooks and murmur o’ bees,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sweeter her voice when she laughs or sings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a>{70}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The rose o’ my heart is she; my dawn!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My star o’ the east, my moon above!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My soul takes ship for the Avalon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of her heart of hearts, and shall sail on<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Till it anchors safe in its haven of love.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a>{71}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BROKEN_RAINBOW_ON_THE_SKIES_OF_MAY" id="BROKEN_RAINBOW_ON_THE_SKIES_OF_MAY"></a>“A BROKEN RAINBOW ON THE SKIES OF MAY”</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A broken rainbow on the skies of May,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Touching the dripping roses and low clouds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in wet clouds like scattered jewels lost:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So in the sorrow of her soul the ghost<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of one great love, of iridescent ray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spanning the roses gray of memory,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against the tumult of life’s rushing crowds—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A broken rainbow on the skies of May.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A flashing humming-bird among the flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep-colored blooms; its slender tongue and bill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sucking the calyxed and the honeyed myrrhs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till, sick of sweets, to other flow’rs it whirrs:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such was his love that won her heart’s full bowers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To yield to him their all, their sweets in showers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flower from which he drank his body’s fill—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A flashing humming-bird among the flowers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a>{72}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A moon, moth-white, that through far mists, like fleece,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moves amber-girt into a bulk of black,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, lost to sight, rims all the black with froth:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A love that swept its moon, like some great moth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Across the heaven of her soul’s young peace;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, smoothly passing, in the clouds did cease<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of time, through which its burning light comes back—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A moon, moth-white, that moves through mists like fleece.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A bolt of living thunder downward hurled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Momental blazing from the piled-up storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That etches out the mountains and the ocean,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The towering rocks, then blots the sight’s commotion:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love, love that swiftly coming bared the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The deeps of life, round which fate’s clouds are curled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, ceasing, left all night and black alarm—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A bolt of living thunder downward hurled.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a>{73}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ORGIE" id="ORGIE"></a>ORGIE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On nights like this, when bayou and lagoon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Swoon in the moonlight’s mystic radiance,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I seem to walk like one deep in a trance<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With old-world myths born of the mist and moon.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lascivious eyes and mouths of sensual rose<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Smile into mine: and breasts of luring light,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And tresses streaming golden to the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Persuade me onward where the forest glows.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then it seems along the haunted hills<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There falls a flutter as of beautiful feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As if tempestuous troops of Mænads meet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To drain deep bowls and shout and have their wills.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then I feel her limbs will be revealed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like some great snow-white moth among the trees;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her vampire beauty, waiting there to seize<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And drag me downward where my doom is sealed.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a>{74}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="FARMSTEAD" id="FARMSTEAD"></a>THE FARMSTEAD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yes, I love the Farmstead. There<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the spring the lilacs blew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plenteous perfume everywhere;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There in summer gladioles drew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Parallels of scarlet glare.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the moon-hued primrose cool,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Satin-soft and redolent;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Honeysuckles beautiful,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Filling all the air with scent;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Roses red or white as wool.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Roses, glorious and lush,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rich in tender-tinted dyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like the gay tempestuous rush<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of unnumbered butterflies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clustering o’er each bending bush.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here japonica and box,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the wayward violets;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clumps of star-enameled phlox,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the myriad flowery jets<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the twilight four-o’-clocks.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a>{75}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah, the beauty of the place!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When the June made one great rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full of musk and mellow grace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the garden’s humming close,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of her comely mother face!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bubble-like the hollyhocks<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Budded, burst, and flaunted wide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gypsy beauty from their stocks;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Morning-glories, bubble-dyed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swung in honey-hearted flocks.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Tawny tiger-lilies flung<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Doublets slashed with crimson on;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Graceful slave-girls, fair and young,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like Circassians, in the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alabaster lilies swung.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah, the droning of the bee;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In his dusty pantaloons<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tumbling in the fleurs-de-lis;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the drowsy afternoons<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dreaming in the pink sweet-pea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah, the moaning wildwood dove!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With its throat of amethyst<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a>{76}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rippled like a shining cove<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which a wind to pearl hath kissed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moaning, moaning of its love.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the insects’ gossip thin—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From the summer hotness hid—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In lone, leafy deeps of green;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then at eve the katydid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With its hard, unvaried din.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Often from the whispering hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Borne from out the golden dusk,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gold with gold of daffodils,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thrilled into the garden’s musk<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wild wail of whippoorwills.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From the purple-tangled trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like the white, full heart of night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Solemn with majestic peace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Swam the big moon, veined with light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some gorgeous golden-fleece.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She was there with me.—And who,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the magic of the hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had not sworn that they could view,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beading on each blade and flower<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moony blisters of the dew?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a>{77}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And each fairy of our home,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Firefly,—its taper lit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the honey-scented gloam,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dashing down the dusk with it<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like an instant-flaming foam.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And we heard the calling, calling,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the brown owl in the brake;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the trumpet-vine hung, crawling<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Down the ledge, into the lake<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heard the sighing streamlet falling.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then we wandered to the creek<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the water-lilies, growing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thick as stars, lay white and weak;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or against the brooklet’s flowing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stooped and bathed a bashful cheek.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the moonlight, rippling golden,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fell in virgin aureoles<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On their bosoms, half-unfolden,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where, it seemed, the fairies’ souls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dreamed as perfume,—unbeholden;—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lying sleeping, pearly-tented,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Baby-cribbed within each bud,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a>{78}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the night-wind, pinewood-scented,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Swooning over field and flood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rocked them on the waters dented.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then the low, melodious bell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of a sleeping heifer tinkled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In some berry-briered dell,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As her satin dewlap wrinkled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the cud that made it swell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And, returning home, we heard,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In a beech-tree at the gate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some brown, dream-behaunted bird,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Singing of its absent mate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the mate that never heard.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And, you see, now I am gray,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Why within the old, old place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With such memories, I stay:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fancy out her absent face<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long since passed away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She was mine—yes! still is mine:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And my frosty memory<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reels about her, as with wine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Warmed into young eyes that see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the past that was divine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a>{79}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yes, I loved her, and have grown<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Melancholy in that love,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the memory alone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of her loveliness whereof<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She did sanctify each stone.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And where’er her flowers swing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There she walks,—as if a bee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fanned them with its airy wing,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Down her garden, shadowy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the hush the evenings bring.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a>{80}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BOY_COLUMBUS" id="BOY_COLUMBUS"></a>THE BOY COLUMBUS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And he had mused on lands each bird,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That winged from realms of Falerina,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er seas of the Enchanted Sword,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In romance sang him, till he heard<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Far foam on Islands of Alcina.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For rich Levant and old Castile<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let other seamen freight their galleys;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Polo he and Mandeville<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through stranger seas a dreamy keel<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sailed into wonder-peopled valleys.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Far continents of flow’r and fruit,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of everlasting spring; where fountains<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Mid flow’rs, with human faces, shoot;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where races dwell, both man and brute,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In cities under golden mountains.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where cataracts their thunders hurl<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From heights the tempest has at mercy;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vast peaks that touch the moon, and whirl<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wild torrents down of gold and pearl;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And forests strange as those of Circe.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a>{81}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let rapiered Love lute, in the shade<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of royal gardens, to the Palace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Court, that haunt the balustrade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of terraces and still parade<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their vanity and guile and malice.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Him something calls, diviner yet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Than Love, more mighty than a lover;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heroic Truth, that will not let<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deed lag; a purpose, westward set,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In eyes far-seeing to discover.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a>{82}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="NORTH_BEACH_FLORIDA" id="NORTH_BEACH_FLORIDA"></a>NORTH BEACH, FLORIDA</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Surge upon surge, the miles of surf uncurl<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Volutes of murmur; and the far shore foams;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The thundering billows, boiling into pearl,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The sea-wind clouds and combs.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wave upon wave,—as when the Nereids pour,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With streaming tresses, landward, when the arms<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Tritons reach them, racing towards the shore,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Bursts on the beach that storms.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, thou primeval solitude! that rolled<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Out of creation when the world was young!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That shall roll on when man is not, and old<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The ages yet unsung!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Time shall not flaw thy music!—thou hast heard<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God’s spirit on thy waters, and no night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Annuls the memory of that one Word<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Which blossomed into light.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a>{83}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With such impression as upon thy face<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The soaring seagulls make, man comes and came;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And countless myriads, race on warring race,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Have found thee thus—the same.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thy part is—to destroy, and still remain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Immutable ’midst mutability:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The symbol of all change, that clothes again<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Mystery in mystery.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a>{84}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="STORM" id="STORM"></a>THE STORM</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thor, Thor is out on the hills!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The frown of his fierce brow showing;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His breath through his red beard blowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With rain, through his beard that it fills.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The forests are taken;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The mightiest oaks<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are twisted and shaken<br /></span> -<span class="i4">As by chariot-spokes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where mountains awaken<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To th’ hoofs of his yokes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reined sheer with the strength of his arm—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ride forth, O Spirit of Storm!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">What hope for the sparrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Or nest of the bird!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where fords were once narrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">What hope for the herd!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When arrow on arrow<br /></span> -<span class="i4">He empties the third<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of his quiver against their alarm—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Descend, O Spirit of Storm!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a>{85}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You may measure the might that he brings<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the welkin that echoes his felloes;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the fork of the lightning,—that yellows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The darkness,—the hammer he swings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The cattle are scattered<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And low from the shore;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The roses are shattered<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That grew at the door;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The swallows look tattered,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And twitter and soar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Made glad with the force of his form—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rejoice, O Spirit of Storm!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">On levels that sunder<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The roar of the main<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He ploughs with the thunder,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And sows with the rain:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No sunbeam shall blunder<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Through black till the plain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is planted with storm as a farm—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sweep on, O Spirit of Storm!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His path is the abysm, which heaps<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wild wind behind him, and hovers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A whirlwind before, that uncovers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hurricane-lair where he sleeps.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a>{86}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">At night,—through the wrestle<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of winds that contend,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To guard the good vessel<br /></span> -<span class="i4">From rocks that would rend,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a star let it nestle,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The light, to defend<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The seaman and his from all harm—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From thee, O Spirit of Storm!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a>{87}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ON_THE_JELLICO_SPUR_OF_THE_CUMBERLANDS" id="ON_THE_JELLICO_SPUR_OF_THE_CUMBERLANDS"></a>ON THE JELLICO SPUR OF THE CUMBERLANDS</h3> - -<p class="c"><i>To ...</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You remember how the mist,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When we climbed to Devil’s Den,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Pearl-white in the mountain glen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And above us, amethyst,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Throbbed and circled? then away,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through the wildwoods opposite,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Torn and scattered, morning-lit,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vanished into dewy gray?—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Vague as in romance we saw,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From the fog one riven trunk,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Talon-like with branches shrunk,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thrust a monster dragon claw.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And we climbed for hours through<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The dawn-dripping Jellicoes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To a wooded rock, whence those<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Undulating leagues of blue<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a>{88}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Summits,—mountain-chains that lie<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dark with forest, bar on bar,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ranged their wild, irregular,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Purple peaks beneath a sky<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ocean-azure. Range on range<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Billowed their enormous spines,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the rocks and priestly pines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sat eternal, without change.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We were sons of Nature then:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She had taken us to her,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Drawn us, bound with brier and burr,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Closer her than other men:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Intimates of all her moods,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From her bloom-anointed looks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wisdom of no man-made books<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Learned we in those solitudes:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How the seed contained the flower;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How the acorn held the oak;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How within the vine awoke<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wild impulse still to tower:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How in fantasy or mirth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Springing when she summoned there,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a>{89}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sponge-like fungi everywhere<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bulged, exuded from the earth:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Coral-vegetable things,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That the underworld exhaled,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bulbous, fluted, ribbed, and scaled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Many colored and in rings,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like the Indian-Pipe that grew<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Pink and white in loamy cracks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Flowers of a natural wax,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She had turned her fancy to.—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On that laureled precipice,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the chestnuts dropped their burrs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Warm with balsam of the firs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">First we felt her mother-kiss<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Full of heaven and the wind;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While the forests, wood on wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Murmured like a multitude<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Giving praise where none hath sinned.—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Freedom met us there; we saw<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Freedom giving audience;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In her face the eloquence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lightning-like, of love and law:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a>{90}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Round her, on majestic hips,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lounged the giant mountains, where<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Streaming cataracts tossed their hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God and thunder on their lips.—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oft an eagle, or a hawk,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or a scavenger, we knew<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Winged above us through the blue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By its shadow on the rock.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or a cloud of templed white<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Moved, a lazy berg of pearl,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through the sky’s pacific swirl,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shot with cool, cerulean light.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So we dreamed an hour upon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That high rock the lichens mossed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While around us, glimmering, tossed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Golden mintings of the sun:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then arose; and a ravine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which a torrent once had worn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Made our roadway to the corn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the valley, deep and green;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the farm-house with its bees,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where old-fashioned flowers spun<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a>{91}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gay rag-carpets in the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gray among the apple-trees.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here we watched the evening fall:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’er Wolf Mountain sunset made,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Huge, a rhododendron, rayed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Round the sun’s cloud-calyxed ball.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then through scents of herb and soil,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the mining-camp we turned,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the twinkling dusk discerned<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With its white-washed homes of toil.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">. . . . . . . . . .</span><br /> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah, those nights!—We wandered forth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On some haunted mountain path,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When the moon rose late; and rathe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The large stars, sowed south and north,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Splashed with gold the purple skies;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the milky zodiac,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rolled athwart the belted black,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seemed a path to Paradise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And we walked or tarried till,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the valley-land beneath,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like the vapor of a breath<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breathed in frost, arose the still<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a>{92}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Architecture of the mist:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the moon-dawn’s necromance<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Touched the mist and made it glance<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Terraced pearl and amethyst.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then around us, sharp and brusque,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Night’s shrill insects strident strung<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fairy viols that buzzed and sung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pixy music of the dusk.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And we seemed to hear soft sighs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And hushed steps of ghostly things,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fluttered feet and rustled wings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All around us. Fireflies,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Gleaming in the tangled glade,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Seemed the eyes of warriors,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stealing under watching stars<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To some phantom ambuscade;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To the tepees there that gloomed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wigwams of the mist, that slept<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the woodland side, whence crept<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shadowy Shawnees moonbeam-plumed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the moon rose, like a cup<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lay the valley, brimming shine<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a>{93}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of mesmeric mist, like wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the sky’s dim face held up.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As she rose from out the mines<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the nacreous darkness, Night<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Met her, clad in dewy light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Mid Pine Mountain’s sachem pines.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As through fragmentary fleece<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the clouds her circle broke,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Orey-seamed, about us woke<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Myths of Italy and Greece.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As, an orb of sparry quartz,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her serene circumference grew,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Home we turned. And all night through<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slept the sleep of happy hearts.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a>{94}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WHIPPOORWILL" id="WHIPPOORWILL"></a>THE WHIPPOORWILL</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Above lone woodland ways that led<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To dells the stealthy twilights tread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The west was hot geranium red;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And still, and still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Along old lanes the locusts sow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With clustered pearls the Maytimes blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep in the crimson afterglow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We heard the homeward cattle low,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then, far off, like some far woe,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The whippoorwill, the whippoorwill.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Beneath the idle beechen boughs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We heard the slow bells of the cows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come softly, jangling towards the house;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And still, and still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the light that would not die<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out of the scarlet-haunted sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the evening-star’s white eye<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a>{95}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of glittering chalcedony,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drained out of dusk the plaintive cry<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of “whippoorwill,” of “whippoorwill.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And in the city oft, when swims<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pale moon o’er the smoke that dims<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its disc, I dream of wildwood limbs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And still, and still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I seem to hear, where shadows grope<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Midst ferns and flowers that dewdrops rope,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lost in faint deeps of heliotrope<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the clover-sweetened slope,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Retreat, despairing, past all hope,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The whippoorwill, the whippoorwill.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a>{96}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_THE_WILDWOOD" id="IN_THE_WILDWOOD"></a>IN THE WILDWOOD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I lie where silence sleeps,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And twilight dreams and sighs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where all heaven’s azure peeps<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blue from one wildflower’s eyes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, in reflecting deeps,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A world, inverted, lies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of dimmer woods and skies:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Divining God from things<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Humble as weed and bee;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From songs the wild bird sings<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Guessing at poetry;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from each flower that swings,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Each star-familiar tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Learning philosophy.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a>{97}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="HOLLOW_OF_THE_HILLS" id="HOLLOW_OF_THE_HILLS"></a>A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How oft the swallow darted<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above its deeps of blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where leaves close clung or parted<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To let the sunlight through!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where roses, honey-hearted,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hung full of living dew!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How oft, from out the heaven,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon me blew the balm<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of soft winds, summer-driven<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From continents of calm!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With rustlings as of riven,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sea-sounding pine and palm!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oft from its leafy cover<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I watched the red-bird slip;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a>{98}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And marked, like some rude lover,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bee, with robber lip,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bend down the snowy clover,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or make the wild-rose dip.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Still darts the soaring swallow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above it; and the rose<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still blooms within its hollow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where still the runnel flows;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brook,—that I shall follow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No more,—that seaward goes.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There still the white moon shineth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At night through rifted trees;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the stream that twineth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through blooms that no one sees;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on,—as I divineth,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My soul that sighs for these.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a>{99}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BENEATH_THE_BEECHES" id="BENEATH_THE_BEECHES"></a>BENEATH THE BEECHES</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I long, oh, long to lie<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Neath beechen branches, twisted,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Green ’twixt the summer sky;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The woodland shadows nigh<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like dryads sunbeam-wristed:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The livelong day to dream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beside a wildwood stream.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I long, oh, long to hear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The claustral forest breathing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sound soothing to the ear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To see the wild-vine near<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its scarlet blooms unsheathing:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The livelong day to cross<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slow o’er the nut-strewn moss.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a>{100}</span></p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I long, oh, long to see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The nesting red-bird singing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glad on the wood-rose tree:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To watch the breezy bee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Half in the wildflower, swinging:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God’s livelong day to pass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep in cool forest grass.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, soul, so builded in<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With mart and booth and steeple,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brick alley-ways of sin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What hope for you to win<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ways free of pelf and people!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ways of the leaf and root<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And soft Mygdonian flute!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a>{101}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BRIDLE-PATH" id="BRIDLE-PATH"></a>THE BRIDLE-PATH</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through meadows of the ironweeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose purple blooms hang, slipping<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The morning dew in twinkling beads,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The thin path twists and, winding, leads<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through woodland hollows dripping;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down to a creek of rocks and reeds;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On to a lilied dam that feeds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A mill, whose wheel through willow-bredes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Winks, the white water whipping.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It wends through meads of mint and brush<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where silvery seeds drift drowsy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or swoon along the heatful hush;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where the bobwhite, in the bush,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The elder, blooming frowsy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Keeps calling clear: then through a crush<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a>{102}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of crowded saplings, low and lush;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then by a pool of flag and rush<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With brier-rose petaled blowsy.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thence, o’er the ragweed fallow-lot,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose low rail-fence encumbers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dense-packed berries ripening hot;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, in the heaven, one far spot<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of gray, the gray hawk slumbers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then through the greenwood where the rot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of leaves and loam smells cool; and, shot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With dotting dark, the touch-me-not<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Swings curling horns in numbers.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It winds round rocks that bulge and lie<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Deep in damp ferns and mosses,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each like a giant on his thigh<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Watching some forest quarry die;—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And thence it frailly crosses<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A bramble-bridge; whence, whirring high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A partridge startles,—’thwart the sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A jarring light,—where, babbling by,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The brook its diamonds tosses.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a>{103}</span></p> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And here the cohosh swings its snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gaunt from the forest springing;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There gold the sorrel blossoms blow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here vari-colored toadstools sow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or swell the soil; and, swinging,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The trumpet-vine hangs red and low<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Near boughs,—on which the beech-burrs glow,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The woodland wind sways to and fro,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’er waters wildly ringing.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It leads us deep into the cane<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through spice-bush belts, where “tinkle”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One stray bell sounds, and then again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lost in some lone and leafy lane<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where smooth the clay ruts wrinkle ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A cloud looms up,—a grayish stain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against the blue;—and wet with rain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wind blows, denting down the grain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And leaves, the first drops sprinkle.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The dust is drilled with raindrops.—One,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then two quick gleams, then thunder;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a>{104}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, scurrying with the dust, we run<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into a whiff of hay and sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of cribs and barns; and under<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Low martin-builded eaves,—where dun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sparrows shelter,—watch the spun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blue rain sweep down, that seems to stun<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The world with wind and wonder.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VIII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A crashing wedge of stormy light,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Vibrating, blinds, and dashes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A monster elm to splinters white:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then roaring rain: then, blinding bright,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A bolt again that crashes....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The storm is over. Left and right<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The clouds break; and, with green delight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fresh rain scents blow from wood and height<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where each blade drips and flashes.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IX</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A ghostly gold burns slowly through<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The chasm’d clouds; and blended<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With rainy rose and rainy blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The heavens, pearled with many a hue,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Die like a dolphin splendid....<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a>{105}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">High-buoyed in wrack, now one or two<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slight stars peep out—the pirate clue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To night’s rich hoard.—In dusk and dew<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here is our pathway ended.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a>{106}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="OLD_FARM" id="OLD_FARM"></a>THE OLD FARM</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dormered and verandaed, cool,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Locust-girdled on the hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stained with weather-wear; at Yule<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Midsummer every sill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thresholding the beautiful,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Still I see it standing there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Brown above the woodland deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wrapped in lights of lavender,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And slow shadows, rocked asleep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the warm wind everywhere.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I remember how the spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Liberal-lapped, bewildered its<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Acred orchards, murmuring,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the blossoms’ budded bits,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the wood-thrush came to sing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Barefoot Spring, at first who trod,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a beggarmaid, adown<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a>{107}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wet woodland, where the god,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the bright sun for a crown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the firmament for rod,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Met her; clothed her; wedded her;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her Cophetua: when, lo!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the hill, one breathing blur,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Burst in blossom, gleam and glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Peach and pearl and lavender.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Seckel, blackheart, palpitant,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rained their bleaching strays; and white<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Snowed the damson, bent aslant;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rambow-tree and romanite<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seemed beneath deep drifts to pant.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And it stood there, brown and gray,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the bee-boom and the bloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the shadow and the ray,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the passion and perfume,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grave as age among the gay.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sweet with laughter romped the clear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Boyish voices round its walls;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rare wild-roses were the dear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Girlish faces in its halls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Music-haunted all the year.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a>{108}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Far before it meadows full<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of green pennyroyal sank;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clover-dotted as with wool<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here and there; and now a bank<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of wild color: and the cool<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dark blue shadows undefined<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the clouds rolled overhead;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clouds, from which the summer wind<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blew with rain, and freshly shed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dew upon the flowerkind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where, through mint and gypsy-lily,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Runs the rocky brook away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Musical among the hilly<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Solitudes,—its flashing spray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sunbeam-dashed or shadow-stilly,—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Buried in thick sassafras,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Memory follows up the hill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still some cowbell’s mellow brass,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the ruined water-mill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Looms, half-hid in cane and grass.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah, the old farm! is it set<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the hilltop still? ’mid musk<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a>{109}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the meads? where, violet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Deepens all the dreaming dusk,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the locust trees hang wet?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">While the sunset, far and low,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On its westward windows dashes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Primrose or pomegranate glow?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And above, in lilac splashes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Faint, first stars the heavens sow?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sleeps it still among its roses,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yellow roses? while the choir<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the lonesome insects dozes?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the white moon, filled with fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er its mossy roof reposes—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sleeps it still among its roses?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a>{110}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TO_SUMMER" id="TO_SUMMER"></a>TO SUMMER</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thou sit’st among the sunny silences<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of terraced hills and woodland galleries,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou utterance of all calm melodies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou lutanist of Earth’s most fecund lute,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where no false note intrudes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To mar the silent music,—branch and root,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Playing the fields ripe, orchards and deep woods,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To song similitudes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of flower and seed and fruit.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oft have I felt thee, in some sensuous air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bewitch the wide wheat-acres everywhere<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To imitated gold of thy rich hair:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The peach, by thy red lips’ delicious trouble,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blown into gradual dyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of crimson, have I seen: have watched thee double—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a>{111}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With interluded music of thine eyes—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The grapes’ rotundities,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bubble by purple bubble.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Deliberate uttered into life intense,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out of thy song’s melodious eloquence<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beauty evolves its just preëminence:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lily, from some pensive-smitten chord<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Drawing significance<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of purity, a visible hush stands: starred<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With splendor, from thy passionate utterance,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The rose tells its romance<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In blushing word on word.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As star by star day harps in evening,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The inspiration of all things that sing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is in thy hands and from their touch takes wing:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All brooks, all birds,—whom song can never sate,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Even the wind and rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And frogs and insects, singing soon and late,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy sympathies inspire, thy heart’s refrain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose sounds invigorate<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With rest life’s weary brain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a>{112}</span></p> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And as the night, like some mysterious rune,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its beauty makes emphatic with the moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou lutest us no immaterial tune:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But where dim whispers haunt the cane and corn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By thy still strain made strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Earth’s awful avatar,—in whom is born<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy own deep music,—labors all night long<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With growth, assuring morn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Assumes like onward song.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a>{113}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="GRAY_DAY" id="GRAY_DAY"></a>A GRAY DAY</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Long volleys of wind and of rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the rain on the drizzled pane,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the day ends chill and murk;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But on yesterday’s eve, I trow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The new-moon’s thorn-thin bow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stabbed rosy through gold and through glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a rich, barbaric dirk.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The throats of the snapdragons,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cool-colored with gold like the dawns<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That come with spring o’er the hills,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are filled with a sweet rain, fine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of starry, scintillant shine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A faery vat of thin wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That the rain for the elfins fills.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a>{114}</span></p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dabbled the poppies shrink,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the coxcomb and the pink;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the candytuft’s damp crown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Droops, dribbled, low bowed i’ the wet;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And rows of the mignonette<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Little musk-sacks open set,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which the weight o’ the dew drags down.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Stretched taunt ’twixt the blades of grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A gossamer-fibered glass,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That the garden-spider spun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The web, where the round rain clings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the sag o’ its middle, swings—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A hammock for elfin things<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When the stars succeed the sun.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And, mark, where the pale gourd grows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As high as the climbing rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How the tiger-moth is pressed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To that wide leaf’s under side.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I know where the red wasps hide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the brown bees,—that defied<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The first strong gusts,—distressed.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a>{115}</span></p> - -<h4>VI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet I feel that the gray will blow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aside for an afterglow;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the wind, on a sudden, toss<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drenched boughs; a pattering shower<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Athwart the red dusk in a glower,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Big drops heard hard on each flower,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The grass and the flowering moss.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then for a minute, may be,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A pearl, hollow-worn, of the sea,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A glimmer of moon will smile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a star, rinsed clean, through the dusk:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a freshness of moonlit musk<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er the showery lawns blow brusque<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As spice from an Indian Isle.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a>{116}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="MOOD_O_THE_EARTH" id="MOOD_O_THE_EARTH"></a>THE MOOD O’ THE EARTH</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My heart is high as the day is clear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As the wind in the wood that blows;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart is high with a mood that’s cheer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And glows like a sun-blown rose.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My heart is high, and up and away<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a bird in the skies’ deep blue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart goes singing through the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As glad as a bee i’ the dew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My heart, my heart is high; its beat<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is wild as the scent o’ the wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wild sweet wind, with its pulse of heat,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And its musk of blossom and bud.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My heart is high; and it leads my feet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the sense of summer is full,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To woods and waters where lovers meet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To hills where the creeks run cool.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a>{117}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My heart is one, is one with the heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the joy o’ the bee that comes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sucks i’ the flowers, that dip apart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For his dusty body that hums.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My heart is glad as the glad redstart,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The flame-flecked bird, the spotted bird,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose lilt my soul has got by heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fitting each note with a word.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God’s love! I tread the wind and air!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Am one with the hoiden wind;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the stars that swim in the blue, I swear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Right soon in my hair I’ll find.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To live high up, a life o’ the mist,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the cloud-things in white skies,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With their limbs of pearl and of amethyst,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That laugh cerulean eyes!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To creep and to suck, like an elfin thing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the aching heart of a rose;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the bluebell’s ear to cling and swing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And whisper what no one knows!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To live on wild-honey, as fresh, as thin<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As the rain that’s left in a flower!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a>{118}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And roll forth, golden from feet to chin,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the pollen’s Danaë-shower!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or free, bird-hearted, bend back the throat,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a vigorous look at the blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And launch from my soul one wild, true note,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is the thing that my heart would do!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God’s life! the blood o’ the earth is mine!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the mood o’ the earth I’ll take,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And brim my soul with her wonderful wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And sing till my heart doth break!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a>{119}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="NOONING" id="NOONING"></a>NOONING</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Weak winds that make the waters wink;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">White clouds that sail from lands of Fable<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To white Utopias, vague, that brink<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sky-gulfs of blue unfathomable:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their rolling shadows, drifting<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’er hills of forest, lifting<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wild peaks of purple range, that loom and sink.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Warm knolls, whereon the Summer dreams;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And droning dells, where all her brightness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lies, lulled with hymns of mountain-streams’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far-foaming falls of windy whiteness:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where, from the glooming hollow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With cawing crows that follow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hunted hawk wings wearily and screams.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a>{120}</span></p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dry-buzzing heat and drought that shrills<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With one harsh locust’s lonesome whirring;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No voice amid the answering hills<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Recedes in echoes far-recurring;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As when, with twilight wimpled,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Morning, rosy dimpled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From dewy tops called o’er responding rills.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wan with sweet summer hangs the deep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hot heaven with the high sun hearted—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A great, wide bluebell bloom asleep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With golden-pistiled petals parted.—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So lone, one would not startle<br /></span> -<span class="i2">If from yon wood should dartle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some wildwood Dream, some Myth the wildwoods keep.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a>{121}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="LOG-BRIDGE" id="LOG-BRIDGE"></a>THE LOG-BRIDGE</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Last month, where the old log-bridge is laid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er the woodland creek, in the belts o’ the shade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the right and the left, pink-packed, was made<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A gloaming glory of scented tangle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the bramble roses there—that wade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High-heaped, from the banks—with many a braid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, wilting, powdered the ruts, and swayed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the waters beneath, loose loops of spangle;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the breeze that blew and the beam that rayed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Were murmurous-soft with the bees awrangle.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This month—’tis August—the lane that leads<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the bramble-bridge runs waste with weeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That bloom bright saffron, or satin seeds<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a>{122}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of thistle-fleece blow at you, hazy:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Starry the lane with the thousand bredes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the yellow daisy, and bud-like beads<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of marigold eyes, around which speeds<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The butterfly, sumptuous with mottle and lazy;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whereunder the pewee picks and pleads,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the sumach’s tassel that dips to the daisy.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All golden the spot in the noon’s gold shine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the yellow-bird sits with eyes like wine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And swings and whistles; where, line on line,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In coils of warmth the sunbeams nestle;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where cool by the pool (where the crawfish, fine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As a shadow’s shadow, darts dim) to mine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wet creek-clay with their peevish whine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come mason-hornets; and roll and wrestle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With balls of clay they carry, and twine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In hollow nests on the joists o’ the trestle.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where the horsemint shoots through the grasses,—high<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the root-thick rivage that roofs,—a dry<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a>{123}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gray knob that bristles with pink, the sigh<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of crickets is heard; and the leaves’ deep bosoms<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are pierced, at dusk, with a bird’s quick cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A passing bird that twitters by:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the frogs’ grave antiphons rise and die;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And here, to drink, come the wild opossums:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here, to-night, will you and I<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Linger and lean while the great moon blossoms.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a>{124}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="AMONG_THE_KNOBS" id="AMONG_THE_KNOBS"></a>AMONG THE KNOBS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is a place embanked with brush<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Three wooded knobs beyond,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lost, in a valley, where the lush<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wild eglantine blows blond.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where light the dogwoods earliest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their torches of white fires,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, bee-bewildered, east and west<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The red haws build their spires.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wild crab-apples’ flowery sprays<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blur through the pensive gloom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A fragrant pink; and by lone ways<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The close blackberries bloom.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I love the spot: a shallow brook<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Slips from the forest, near<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A cane-brake and a violet nook;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its rustling depths so clear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a>{125}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The minnows glimmer where they glide<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above its rocky bed:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A boyhood-haunted brook, not wide,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That has its sparkling head<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Among the rainy hills; and drops<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By five low waterfalls—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wild music of a hundred stops—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Between the forests’ walls:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Down to a water-gate, that hangs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Across the stream; a dull<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Portcullis rude, whose wooden fangs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The moss makes beautiful.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The brass-bright dragonflies about<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its seeding grasses swim;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The streaked wasps, worrying in and out,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dart sleepily and slim.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here in the moon-gold moss, that glows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like pools of moonlight, dies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pale anemone; and blows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bluet, blue as skies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And, where in April tenderly<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wild geranium made<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a>{126}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">A thin, peculiar fragrance, we,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cool in pellucid shade,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Found wild strawberries just a-bud;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wild berries, tart and fresh,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pale scarlet as a wood-bird’s blood,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That May’s low vines would mesh.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Once from that hill a farm-house ’mid<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Deep orchards—cozy brown,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In lilacs and old roses hid,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With picket-fence looked down.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O’er ruins now the roses guard;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The plum and seckel-pear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And apricot rot on the sward<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their wasted ripeness there.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Again when huckleberries blow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their waxen bells I’ll tread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That dear accustomed way; and go<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Adown that orchard; led<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To that avoided spot, which seems<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The haunt of vanished springs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lost as the hills in drowsy dreams<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of visionary things.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a>{127}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="FALLS_OF_THE_OHIO" id="FALLS_OF_THE_OHIO"></a>THE FALLS OF THE OHIO</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here on this jutting headland, where the trees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spread a dusk carpet for the sun to cast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And count his golden guineas on, we’ll rest.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Behold th’ Ohio Falls: see how it seethes!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though hardly heard from this high, wooded point,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet how it still confuses tongue and ear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With its subdued and low monotonous roar!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not as it did, however, when we stood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And marked it from the spanning of the bridge<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rushing beneath, impetuous as a herd,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A tameless herd, with manes of flying spray,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between the pillars towering above.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No more does it confound us and confuse;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its clamor here is softened to a sound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Incessant and subdued, like that which haunts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The groves of spring, when, like some dim surprise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A wind, precursor of the rain, rides down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From a gray cloud and sets the leafy tongues<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cool-gossiping of the approaching shower.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a>{128}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">There runs the dam; and where its dark line cuts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The river’s sheen, already you may see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ripples glancing to the summer sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As if a host had couched a thousand spears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tossed a thousand plumes of fleecy foam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In answer to the challenge of the Falls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blown from his limestone battlements, and cried<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From his wave-builded city’s roaring walls.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there, you see, the waves like champions charge;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crowding, wild form on form, their foam-hoofs beat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ragged rocks that roll them on their way:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Billowing they come; knight-like, to ringing lists,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With shout on shout, tossing a thousand plumes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A thousand spears in sparkling tournament;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lifting, opposing each, a silvery shield<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or shining pennon, now that sinks or soars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many a glittering sword of twinkling foam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many a helmet, shattered in flakes of froth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, to the trumpeting wind, hisses away:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While, o’er it all, swell out the rush and roar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of onset, as of battle borne afar.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On, on they come, a beautiful, mad troop!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On, on, along the sandy banks that fling<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red pebble-freckled arms far out to stay<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a>{129}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their ruinous rush, the knightly strife of waves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Warring, and winding wild their watery horns.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Look, where a thousand oily eddies whirl,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And turn and turn like wheels of liquid steel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Below this headland! ’Tis a place that none<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has bottomed yet with sounding lead and line.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some huge kraken, coiling vast its length,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Eddy sleeps; and, bending from the shores,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spotted sycamores have gazed and gazed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Watching its slumber as gray giants might<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A dragon in the hollow of gaunt hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its serpent bulk wound round some magic hoard.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So long they’ve watched, their ancient backs have grown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Humped, gnarled, and bent, but still they gaze and gaze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leaning above; and from the glassy waves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their images stare back their wonderment.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Haply they see the guardian Genius lie<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At the dark bottom in an oozy cave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of coral; webbed, recumbent on his mace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of mineral; his locks of dripping green<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Circling a crown of ore; his fishy eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dull with the aqueous dullness of his realms.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a>{130}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But when the storm’s abroad and whips the waves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With stinging lashes of the myriad rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or scars with thunder some ancestral oak,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sire of a forest, then he wakes in wrath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on the dark foundation of the stream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rises, a monarch, crowned with iron crown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hurls his challenge upward at the storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And rages through the waters; heaves and breaks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the wild waves, whose round and murky bulks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ribbed white with foam, wallow their monster way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like giant herds, along yon edge of rock<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’erstrewn with petrifactions of far time;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mollusk and trilobite and honeycomb<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of whitest coral; and with mass on mass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of root-like reptiles; writhings turned to rock;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Huge saurian bulks that, haply, sported there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Convolved; and, in a moment, when the change,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which made and unmade continents and seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That teemed and groaned with mammoth and plesiosaur,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Came, with upheaval of the universe,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a>{131}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thro’ all their monster spines were struck to stone.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There where uprises a wild knoll, o’erstrewn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With wrecks of ancient forest, in mid-stream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Once rose an island, green and beautiful<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With willow and beech, poplar and sycamore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A river-island where the woodman built,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stream-guarded from the savage-haunted shore,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His rude log cabin. Here he sowed his maize;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here saw it tassel in the summer heat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And glance like ranks of feathered Indians through<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The glimmering vistas of the broken wood;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here reaped and sheaved its stalks, all ivory-eared,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In shocks like wigwam rows, when like a maid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An Indian maid, ruddy in dogwood beads,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The autumn came, soft o’er the sunset hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That blushed for love, and underneath her feet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cast untold gold in leaves and yellow fruit.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here dwelt the pioneer and here he died,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mingled his rough dust with the raw earth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And loam of what was once an island; now<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A bed of limestone rock and water pools,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, in the quarry, you may see the blast<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a>{132}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spout heavenward the dust and dirt and stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And flap and pound its echoes round the hills<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In giant strokes as of some Titan hammer;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A mound of stump-pierced soil where once an isle,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As rich and fair in forest and in field<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As any isle that rises to a sail<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In tropic seas,—arose to kiss the sun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There lies the other half of what was once<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Corn Island: broad the channel beats between.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lower it lies, and mantled with dwarf brakes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of willow and of cottonwood and beech,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Degenerate offsprings of the mighty boles<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That once o’erbrowed the stream in majesty<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of tall primeval beauty. In the morn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere yet the east assumes its faintest blush,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here you may hear the melancholy snipe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Piping, or see her paddling in the pools<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That splash the low bed of the rocky soil.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here once the Indian stole in natural craft<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From wahoo-bush to bush, from tree to tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His head plumes like a bird, below, above,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fluttering and nodding ’mid the undergrowth;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In his brown hand the pliant, polished bow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And at his back his gaudy quiver filled<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a>{133}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With tufted arrows headed blue with flint.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And while the deep flamingo-colored west<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flamed on his ruddy cheek, and airy fire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Struck rosy ’thwart the stream, he, swift as thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strung his quick bow and through the gray wild goose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That rose with clamor from the rushy pool,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sent a fleet arrow; crested with the quills<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which yesterday, perhaps, its mate’s gray wing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Made beautiful; and plucked to decorate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The painted shaft that should to-day speed home<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And redden all their white with kindred blood:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It falling, gasping at his moccasined feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breathed out its wild life, while the lonely brave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whooped to the sunset, and yon faint blue hills<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Answered his exultation with a whoop.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>1885.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a>{134}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="FALL_FANCIES" id="FALL_FANCIES"></a>FALL FANCIES</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Far off a wind blew, and I heard<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wild echoes of the woods reply—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The herald of some royal word,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With bannered trumpet, blown on high,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Meseemed, then passed me by:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who summoned marvels there to meet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In pomp, upon a cloth of gold;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where berries of the bitter-sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That, splitting, showed the coals they hold,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Sowed garnets through the wold:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where, under tents of maples, seeds<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of smooth carnelian, oval red,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spice-bush spangled: where, like beads,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The dogwood’s rounded rubies—fed<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With fire—blazed and bled.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And there I saw amid the rout<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of months, in richness cavalier,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A minnesinger—lips apout;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A gypsy face; straight as a spear;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A rose stuck in his ear:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a>{135}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Eyes, sparkling like old German wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All mirth and moonlight; naught to spare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of slender beard, that lent a line<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unto his lip; October there,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With chestnut curling hair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His blue baretta swept its plume<br /></span> -<span class="i2">White through the leaves; his purple hose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Puffed at the thighs, made gleam of gloom;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His tawny doublet, slashed with rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And laced with crimson bows,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Outshone the wahoo’s scarlet pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The haw, in rich vermilion dressed:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A dagger dangling at his side,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A slim lute, banded to his breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Whereon his hands did rest,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I saw him come.... And, lo, to hear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The lilt of his approaching lute,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No wonder that the regnant Year<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bent down her beauty, blushing mute,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Her heart beneath his foot.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a>{136}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="LATE_OCTOBER" id="LATE_OCTOBER"></a>LATE OCTOBER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bulged from its cup the dark brown acorn falls,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And by its gnarly saucer, in the stream’s<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clear puddles, swells; the sweet-gum’s spike-crowned balls<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beside them lie; and, opening all their seams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the chestnut-tree the hurry hulls<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Split, and, within, each nut like copper gleams.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Burst silver white, nods,—an exploded husk<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of snowy, woolly smoke,—the milk-weed’s puff<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Along the orchard’s fence; where in the dusk<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ashen weeds,—as some grim Satyr’s rough<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red, breezy cheeks burn through his beard,—the brusque<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Crab-apples glow, wind-tumbled from above.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And under withered leaves the crickets’ clicks<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Seem some dim dirge sighed into memory’s ears;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a>{137}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">One bird sits in the sumach, flits and picks<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its sour seeds. Thro’ all the wood one hears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dropping hickories. Round the hay’s railed ricks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Among the fields, gather the lowing steers.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some slim, bud-bound Leimoniad hath flocked,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like birds, the flowers, herding from their homes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To warmer woods and skies. Where once were rocked<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unnumbered bees within unnumbered blooms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One feeble bee clings to one bloom, or, locked<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Within it, dreams of summer’s oozing combs.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Winds shake the maples, and all suddenly<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A storm of leafy stars around you freaks,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some Dryad’s tattered raiment. To her knee<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wading, the Naiad haunts her stream that streaks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through woodland waifs. Hark! Pan for Helike<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Flutes in the forest, while he seeks and seeks.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a>{138}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="NOVEMBER_WALK" id="NOVEMBER_WALK"></a>A NOVEMBER WALK</h3> - -<h4>I<br /> -<br /> -<i>Morning</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The hoar frost crisps beneath the feet;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And, sparkling in the morning’s strength,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The fence, along its straggling length,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gleams as if wrought of virgin sleet.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On broom-sedge fields and sassafras<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Neglectfully the dim wind lifts<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The dead leaves; and around me drifts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The milkweed, shaken from the grass.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Reluctantly and one by one<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The useless leaves drift slowly down;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And, seen through woodland vistas, brown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The nut-tree patters in the sun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where pools the brook beneath its fall<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With scales of ice its edge is bound;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And on the pebbles scattered round<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ooze is frozen; each a ball,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a>{139}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It seems, of crystal fallen there.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And now the wind sweeps through the wood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With sighings, and the solitude<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seems shaken with a mighty care.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Decay and melancholy drape<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The near-by hills in mysteries<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of mist, through which the rocks and trees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Loom, hazy, each a phantom shape.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To sullenness the surly crow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All his derisive being yields,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And o’er the barren stubble-fields<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flaps, cawless, wrapped in hungry woe.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II<br /> -<br /> -<i>Evening</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As eve comes on the teasel stoops<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its spike-crowned cone before the blast:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The tattered leaves drive whirling past<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In frantic and fantastic troops.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The matted elder-copses sigh;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their broad, blue combs, with berries weighed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like heavy pendulums are swayed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With every gust that wanders by.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a>{140}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through broken walls of tangled brier,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That hedge the lane, the sumachs thrust<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their scarlet torches, red as rust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lit with the sunset’s stolid fire.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The eve is here: Cold, hard, and drear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The cloudless west with livid white<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of flaming silver walls the night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far as one star’s thin rays appear.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wedged ’thwart the west’s white luridness<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wild geese wing; from roseless domes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The far “honk” of the leader comes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lonely and harsh and colorless.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The west dies down; and in its cup,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shadow on shadow, pours the night;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The east glows with a mystic light;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The stars are keen; the moon comes up.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a>{141}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WHITE_EVENING" id="WHITE_EVENING"></a>THE WHITE EVENING</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On hills, beneath the steely skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wind-tossed forests rock and roar:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along the river’s ringing shore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Homeward the skimming skater flies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On windy meads of icy brakes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where, sheathed in sleet, the haw-tree stands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The moon looks down on glistening lands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where with the cold each bramble shakes.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Last night the sleet made white the world:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All day the wind moaned in the pines:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Now like a wolf, that whines and whines,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some wild wolf its hate is hurled<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Against the hut upon the wold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the one willow by the stream:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where, huddled, in the moon’s chill gleam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The houseless hare leaps through the cold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The moon sinks low, the thin new-moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And with it, like a bit of spar,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a>{142}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sinks down the large white evening-star,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath which earth seems crystal-hewn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Slim o’er the tree-tops, weighed with white,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The country church’s spire doth swell,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A scintillating icicle;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While fitfully the village light<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Stabs, stains with sallow stars the dark:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Homeward the creaking wagons strain:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The smithy glares: the tavern’s vane<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Points northward in its ghostly sark.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And from the north, with stinging lash,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Driving his herds of snow and sleet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon his steed of wind, whose feet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hurl through the iron woods and crash<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Along the hills, with blow on blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The tempest sweeps; before his shout<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The moon and stars are blotted out,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fold on fold rolls down the snow.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a>{143}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DREAMS" id="DREAMS"></a>DREAMS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My thoughts have borne me far away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To beauties of an older day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, crowned with roses, stands the Dawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Striking her seven-stringed barbiton<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of flame, whose chords give being to<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The seven colors, hue for hue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The music of the color-dream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She builds the day from, beam by beam.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My thoughts have borne me far away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To myths of a diviner day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, sitting on the mountain, Noon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sings to the pines a sun-soaked tune<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of rest and shade and clouds and skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherein her calm dreams idealize<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Light as a presence, heavenly fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sleeping with all her beauty bare.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My thoughts have borne me far away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To visions of a wiser day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, stealing through the wilderness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a>{144}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Night walks, a sad-eyed votaress,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And prays with mystic words she hears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Behind the thunder of the spheres,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The starry utterance that is hers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With which she fills the universe.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a>{145}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BROOK" id="BROOK"></a>THE BROOK</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To it the forest tells<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mystery that haunts its heart and folds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its form in cogitation deep, that holds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shadow of each myth that dwells<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In nature—be it Nymph or Fay or Faun—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And whispering of them to the dales and dells,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It wanders on and on.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To it the heaven shows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The secret of its soul; true images<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of dreams that form its aspect; and with these<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reflected in its countenance it goes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With pictures of the skies, the dusk and dawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within its breast, as every blossom knows,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For them to gaze upon.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through it the world-soul sends<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its heart’s creating pulse that beats and sings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The music of maternity whence springs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All life; and shaping earthly ends,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the deep sources of the heavens drawn,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Planting its ways with beauty, on it wends,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On and for ever on.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a>{146}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="OLD_SWING" id="OLD_SWING"></a>THE OLD SWING</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Under the boughs of spring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She swung in the old rope-swing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her cheeks, with their happy blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glowed pink as the apple-bud.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her eyes, with their deep delight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shone glad as the stars of night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her curls, with their romp and fun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tossed hoiden to wind and sun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her lips, with their laughter shrill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rippled like some wild rill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Under the boughs of spring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She swung in the old rope-swing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And I,—who leaned on the fence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Watching her innocence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a>{147}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As, under the boughs that bent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now high, now low, she went,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In her soul the ecstasies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the stars, the brooks, the breeze,—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Had given the rest of my years,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With their, blessings, and hopes, and fears,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To have been as she was then;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, just for a moment, again<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A boy in the old rope-swing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under the boughs of spring.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a>{148}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TO_AUTUMN" id="TO_AUTUMN"></a>TO AUTUMN</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I feel thee as one feels a flower’s,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A dead flower’s fragrance in a room,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A dim, gray grief that haunts the hours<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With sad perfume.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thou charm’st me as a ghostly lily<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Might charm a garden’s withered space,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the pale pathos and the chilly<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Hush of thy face.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I hearken in thy fogs; I hearken<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When, like the phantom of dead Night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With immaterial limbs they darken<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The day with white.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With wrecks of rain and mad winds, heaping<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red ruins of riven rose and leaf,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Make sad my heart, O Autumn! sweeping<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The world with grief.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a>{149}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WINTER_DREAMS" id="WINTER_DREAMS"></a>WINTER DREAMS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How does it come that now I go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down ways made blue with bluets’ eyes?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Along the creek-road as the crow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With mocking laughter flies?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A wild bird beats a crippled wing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To lure me from its brush-built nest;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, like a brook, I hear it sing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its wildwood happiest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Beyond the orchard hills are dells<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of knee-deep huckleberries, white<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With little bell-blooms, May-time swells<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With sweetness and delight.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The faun wakes in me, wild and keen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, with the joy the rathe months hold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Kicks happy heels in deeps of green<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And rolls in deeper gold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My Shakespeare falls: I wake: and frost<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ice seam every flower-bed:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a>{150}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where once each stalk, an Edgar, tossed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Poor Tom now shakes instead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where once th’ gladiole, gleaming, shook<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A wand of folly at the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The humped stock hath a withered look—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The poor, pale Fool is done.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A great, gray beard the rose-bush hath,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An old king’s,—where hangs many a tear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Near the dead lily by the path—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cordelia and Lear.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a>{151}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="TANSY_AND_SWEET-ALYSSUM" id="TANSY_AND_SWEET-ALYSSUM"></a>TANSY AND SWEET-ALYSSUM</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a>{152}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a>{153}</span> </p> - -<h3><a name="FLOWER_OF_THE_FIELDS" id="FLOWER_OF_THE_FIELDS"></a>A FLOWER OF THE FIELDS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bee-bitten in the orchard hung<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The peach; or, fallen in the weeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lay rotting, where still sucked and sung<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gray bee, boring to the seed’s<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pink pulp and honey blackly stung.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The orchard-path, which wound around<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The garden,—with its heat one twinge<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of dinning locusts,—picket-bound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ragged, brought me where one hinge<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Held up the gate that scraped the ground.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All seemed the same: the martin-box—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sun-warped, with pygmy balconies—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still stood, with all its twittering flocks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perched on its pole above the peas<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And silvery-seeded onion-stocks.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The clove-pink and the rose; the clump<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of coppery sunflowers, with the heat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sick to the heart: the garden stump,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red with geranium-pots, and sweet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With moss and ferns, this side the pump.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a>{154}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I rested with one hesitant hand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the gate. The lonesome day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Droning with insects, made the land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One dry stagnation. Soaked with hay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And scents of weeds the hot wind fanned.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I breathed the sultry scents, my eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Parched as my lips. And yet I felt<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My limbs were ice.—As one who flies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To some wild woe.—How sleepy smelt<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hay-hot heat that soaked the skies!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Noon nodded; dreamier, lonesomer<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For one long, plaintive, forest-side<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bird-quaver.—And I knew me near<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some heartbreak anguish.... She had died.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I felt it, and no need to hear.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I passed the quince-and pear-tree; where,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All up the porch, a grape-vine trails.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How strange that fruit, whatever air<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or earth it grows in, never fails<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To find its native flavor there!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And she was as a flower, too,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That grows its proper bloom and scent<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a>{155}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">No matter what the soil: she, who,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Born better than her place, still lent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grace to the lowliness she knew....<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They met me at the porch and were<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gaunt-eyed with weeping.—Then the room<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shut out the country’s heat and purr,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And left light stricken into gloom—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So love and I might look on her.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a>{156}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ON_STONY-RUN" id="ON_STONY-RUN"></a>ON STONY-RUN</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O cheerly, cheerly by the road,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And merrily down the hillet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where the bottom-lands are sowed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With bristle-bearded millet;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then o’er a pebbled path it goes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through woodland dale and dingle,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto a farmstead’s windowed rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And roof of moss and shingle.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then darkly, darkly through the brush,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dimly round the boulder,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where cane and water-weeds grow lush,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its current clear flows colder.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then by the cedared way that leads,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through burr and bramble-thickets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto a burial-ground of weeds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fenced in with broken pickets.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a>{157}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then slowly, slowly down the vale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wearily through the rushes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where sunlight of the noon is pale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its shadowy water hushes.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For oft her young face smiled upon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its deeps here, willow-shaded;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And oft with bare feet in the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its shallows there she waded.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No more beneath the twinkling leaves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall stand the farmer’s daughter!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">softly past the cottage eaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O memory-haunted water!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No more shall bend her laughing face<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above it where the rose is!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sigh softly past the burial-place<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where all her youth reposes.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a>{158}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="HOME" id="HOME"></a>HOME</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Among the fields the camomile<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seems blown mist in the lightning’s glare:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cool, rainy odors drench the air;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Night speaks above; the angry smile<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of storm within her stare.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The way that I shall take to-night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is through the wood whose branches fill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The road with double darkness, till,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between the boughs, a window’s light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shines out upon the hill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The fence; and then the path that goes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around a trailer-tangled rock,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through puckered pink and hollyhock,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto a latch-gate’s unkempt rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And door whereat I knock.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bright on the old-time flower-place<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lamp streams through the foggy pane<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The door is opened to the rain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the door—her happy face<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And outstretched hands again.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a>{159}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DUSK_IN_THE_WOODS" id="DUSK_IN_THE_WOODS"></a>DUSK IN THE WOODS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Three miles of trees it is: and I<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Came through the woods that waited, dumb,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the cool summer dusk to come;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lingered there to watch the sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Up which the gradual sunset clomb.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A tree-toad quavered in a tree;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then a sudden whippoorwill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Called overhead, so wildly shrill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sleeping wood, it seemed to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cried out and then again was still.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then through dark boughs its stealthy flight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An owl took; and, at drowsy strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cricket tuned its fairy fife;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And like a ghostflower, silent white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wood-moth glimmered into life.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And in the punk-wood everywhere<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The insects ticked, or bored below<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rotted bark; and, glow on glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lambent fireflies here and there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lit up their jack-o’-lantern show.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a>{160}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I heard a vesper-sparrow sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Withdrawn, it seemed, into the far<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slow sunset’s tranquil cinnabar;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The crimson, softly smouldering<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Behind gaunt trunks, with its one star.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A dog barked: and down ways that gleamed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through dew and clover, faint the noise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of cow-bells moved. And then a voice,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That sang a-milking, so it seemed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Made glad my heart as some glad boy’s.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then the lane: and, full in view,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A farm-house with a rose-grown gate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And honeysuckle paths, await<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For night, the moon, and love and you—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These are the things that made me late.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a>{161}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="COMRADES" id="COMRADES"></a>COMRADES</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Down through the woods, along the way<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That fords the stream; by rock and tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where in the bramble-bell the bee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swings; and through twilights green and gray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The red-bird flashes suddenly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My thoughts went wandering to-day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I found the fields where, row on row,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The blackberries hang black their fruit;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, nesting at the elder’s root,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The partridge whistles soft and low;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fields, that billow to the foot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of those old hills we used to know.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There lay the pond, still willow-bound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On whose bright surface, when the hot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Noon burnt above, we chased the knot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of water-striders; while around<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our heads, like bits of rainbow, shot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dragon-flies without a sound.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a>{162}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The pond, above which evening bent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To gaze upon her gypsy face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherein the twinkling night would trace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A vague, inverted firmament;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In which the green frogs tuned their bass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And firefly sparkles came and went.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The old-time woods we often ranged,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When we were playmates, you and I;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The old-time fields, with boyhood’s sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still blue above them!—Naught was changed!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nothing!—Alas! then tell me why<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should we be? whom the years estranged.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a>{163}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ROCK" id="ROCK"></a>THE ROCK</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here, at its base, in dingled deeps<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of spice-bush, where the ivy creeps,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The cold spring scoops its hollow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there, three mossy stepping-stones<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Make ripple murmurs; undertones<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of foam, whose low falls follow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A voice far in the wood that drones.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The quail pipes here when noons are hot;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here, in coolness sunlight-shot,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath a roof of briers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The red fox skulks at close of day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here, at night, the shadows gray<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stand like Franciscan friars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With moonbeam beads whereon they pray.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here yawns the woodchuck’s dark-dug hole;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there the tunnel of the mole<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Heaves under weed and flower;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sandy pit-fall here and there<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a>{164}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ant-lion digs and lies a-lair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And here, for sun and shower,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spider weaves a silvery snare.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The poison-oak’s rank tendrils twine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rock’s south side; the trumpet-vine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With crimson bugles sprinkled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Makes green its eastern side; the west<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is rough with lichens; and, gray-pressed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Into an angle wrinkled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hornets hang an oblong nest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The north is hid from sun and star,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here,—like an Inquisitor<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Faëry Inquisition,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who roots out Elfland heresy,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep in the rock, cowled shadowy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And grave as his commission,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The owl sits magisterially.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a>{165}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="STANDING-STONE_CREEK" id="STANDING-STONE_CREEK"></a>STANDING-STONE CREEK</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A weed-grown slope, whereon the rain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Has washed the brown rocks bare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leads tangled from a lonely lane<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Down to a creek’s broad stair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of stone, that, through the solitude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Winds onward to a quiet wood.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">An intermittent roof of shade<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The beech above it throws;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Along its steps a balustrade<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of beauty builds the rose;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In which, a stately lamp of green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At intervals, the cedar’s seen.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The water, carpeting each ledge<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of rock that runs across,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glints ’twixt a flow’r-embroidered edge<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of ferns and grass and moss;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in its deeps the wood and sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seem patterns of the softest dye.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a>{166}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Long corridors of pleasant dusk<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Within the house of leaves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It reaches; where, on looms of musk,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The ceaseless locust weaves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A web of summer; and perfume<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trails a sweet gown from room to room.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Green windows of the boughs, that swing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It passes, where the notes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of birds are glad thoughts entering,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And butterflies are motes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now a vista where the day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Opens a door of wind and ray.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It is a stairway for all sounds<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That haunt the woodland sides;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On which, boy-like, the Southwind bounds,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Girl-like, the sunbeam glides;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, like fond parents, following these,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The old-time dreams of rest and peace.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a>{167}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="CLOUDS_OF_THE_AUTUMN_NIGHT" id="CLOUDS_OF_THE_AUTUMN_NIGHT"></a>“CLOUDS OF THE AUTUMN NIGHT”</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Clouds of the autumn night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Under the hunter’s-moon,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ghostly and windy white,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whither, like leaves wild strewn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Take ye your stormy flight?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Out of the west, where dusk,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From her red window-sill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leaned with a wand of tusk,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Witch-like, and wood and hill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Phantomed with mist and musk<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Into the east, where morn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sleeps in a shadowy close,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shut with a gate of horn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Round which the dreams she knows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flutter with rose and thorn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Blow from the west! oh, blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Clouds that the tempest steers!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a>{168}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with your rain and snow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bear of my heart the tears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And of my soul the woe.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Into the east then pass,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Clouds that the night-winds sweep!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on her grave’s sere grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There where she lies asleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There let them fall, alas!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a>{169}</span></p> - -<p><a name="GHOSTLY_AND_WINDY_WHITE" id="GHOSTLY_AND_WINDY_WHITE"></a></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_168a_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_168a.jpg" width="500" height="383" alt="[Image -unavailable: Ghostly and windy white Page 168]" /></a> -</div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ghostly and windy white <a href="#page_168">Page 168</a><br /></span> -<span class="i8"><i>Clouds of the Autumn Night</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THEN_AND_NOW" id="THEN_AND_NOW"></a>THEN AND NOW</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When my old heart was young, my dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The earth and heaven were so near<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That in my dreams I oft could hear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The steps of airy races;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In woodlands, where bright waters ran,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On hills, God’s rainbows used to span,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I followed voices not of man,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And smiled in spirit faces.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now my old heart is old, my sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No longer earth and heaven meet;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All life is grown to one dull street<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where fact with fancy clashes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The voices now that speak to me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are prose instead of poetry;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the faces now I see<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is less of flame than ashes.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a>{170}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BY_THE_TRYSTING-BEECH" id="BY_THE_TRYSTING-BEECH"></a>BY THE TRYSTING-BEECH</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Deep in the west a berry-colored bar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of sunset gleams; against which one tall fir<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stands outlined dark; above which—courier<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of dew and dreams—burns dusk’s appointed star.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And flash on flash, as when the elves wage war<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Goblinland, the fireflies bombard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The silence; and, like spirits, o’er the sward<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The twilight winds bring fragrance from afar.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now, withdrawn into the hill-wood belts,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A whippoorwill; while, with attendant states<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of pearl and silver, slow the great moon melts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into the night—to show me where <i>she</i> waits,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some slim moonbeam,—by the old beech-tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who keeps her lips, fresh as a flower, for me.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a>{171}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="AFTER_LONG_GRIEF_AND_PAIN" id="AFTER_LONG_GRIEF_AND_PAIN"></a>AFTER LONG GRIEF AND PAIN</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is a place hung o’er of summer boughs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dreamy skies wherein the gray hawk sleeps;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where waters flow, within whose lazy deeps,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like silvery prisms where the sunbeams drowse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The minnows twinkle; where the bells of cows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tinkle the stillness; and the bob-white keeps<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Calling from meadows where the reaper reaps,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And children’s laughter haunts an old-time house:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A place where life wears ever an honest smell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of hay and honey, sun and elder-bloom—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some sweet, modest girl—within her hair;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, with our love for comrade, we may dwell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far from the city’s strife, whose cares consume—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, take my hand and let me lead you there.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a>{172}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="HAUNTED_WOODLAND" id="HAUNTED_WOODLAND"></a>THE HAUNTED WOODLAND</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here in the golden darkness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And green night of the woods,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A flitting form I follow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A shadow that eludes—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or is it but the phantom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of former forest moods?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The phantom of some fancy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I knew when I was young,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in my dreaming boyhood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wildwood flow’rs among,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Young face to face with Faëry<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spoke in no unknown tongue.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Blue were her eyes, and golden<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The nimbus of her hair;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And scarlet as a flower<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her mouth that kissed me there;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That kissed and bade me follow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And smiled away my care.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a>{173}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A magic and a marvel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lived in her word and look,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As down among the blossoms<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She sate me by the brook,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And read me wonder-legends<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Nature’s Story Book.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Loved fairy-tales forgotten,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She never reads again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of beautiful enchantments<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That haunt the sun and rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, in the wind and water,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chant a mysterious strain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And so I search the forest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherein my spirit feels,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In stream, or tree, or flower<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Herself she still conceals—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But now she flies who followed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whom Earth no more reveals.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a>{174}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="COMRADERY" id="COMRADERY"></a>COMRADERY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With eyes hand-arched he looks into<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The morning’s face, then turns away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With school-boy feet, all wet with dew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out for a holiday.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The hill brook sings; incessant stars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Foam-fashioned, on its restless breast;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where he wades its water-bars<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its song is happiest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A comrade of the chinquapin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He looks into its knotty eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sees its heart; and, deep within,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its soul that makes him wise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wood-thrush knows and follows him,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who whistles up the birds and bees;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And round him all the perfumes swim<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of woodland loam and trees.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a>{175}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where’er he pass the supple springs’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Foam-people sing the flowers awake;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sappy lips of bark-clad things<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Laugh ripe each fruited brake.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His touch is a companionship;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His word, an old authority:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He comes, a lyric on his lip,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unstudied Poesy.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a>{176}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="OCCULT" id="OCCULT"></a>OCCULT</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Unto the soul’s companionship<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of things that only seem to be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Earth points with magic finger-tip<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And bids thee see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How Fancy keeps thee company.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For oft at dawn hast not beheld<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A spirit of prismatic hue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blow wide the buds, which night hath swelled?<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And stain them through<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With heav’n’s ethereal gold and blue?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">While at her side another went<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With gleams of enigmatic white?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A spirit who distributes scent,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">To vale and height,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In footsteps of the rosy light?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And oft at dusk hast thou not seen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The star-fays bring their caravans<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a>{177}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of dew, and glitter all the green,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Night’s shadow tans,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With drops the rain-hung cobweb spans?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nor watched with these the elfins go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who tune faint instruments—that sound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like that moon-music insects blow?—<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Then haunted ground<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou hast not trodden, never found!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a>{178}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WOOD-WORDS" id="WOOD-WORDS"></a>WOOD-WORDS</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The spirits of the forest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That to the winds give voice—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I lie the livelong April day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wonder what it is they say<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That makes the leaves rejoice.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The spirits of the forest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That breathe in bud and bloom—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I walk within the haw-tree brake<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wonder how it is they make<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bubbles of perfume.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The spirits of the forest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That dwell in every spring—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I lean above the brook’s bright blue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wonder what it is they do<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That makes the water sing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The spirits of the forest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That haunt the sun’s green glow—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a>{179}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down fungus ways of fern I steal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And would surprise what they conceal,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In dew, that twinkles so.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O spirits of the forest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here are my heart and hand!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, send a gleam or glow-worm ray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To guide my soul the firefly way<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That leads to Fairyland.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The time when dog-tooth violets<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hold up inverted horns of gold,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The elvish cups that Spring upsets<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With dripping feet, when April wets<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sun-and-shadow-marbled wold,—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Is come. And by each leafing way<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sorrel drops pale blots of pink;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, like an angled star a fay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sets on her forehead’s pallid day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The blossoms of the trillium wink.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Within the vale, by rock and stream,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A fragile, fairy porcelain,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blue as a baby’s eyes a-dream,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a>{180}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bluets blow; and gleam in gleam<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sun-shot dogwoods flash with rain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It is the time to cast off care;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To make glad intimates of these:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The frank-faced sunbeam laughing there:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The great-heart wind, that bids us share<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The optimism of the trees.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The white ghosts of the flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gray ghosts of the trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rise when the April showers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And haunt the wildwood bowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And trail along the breeze:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The white ghosts of the flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gray ghosts of the trees.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oft in the woodless places<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I feel their dim control;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wildflowers’ perished faces,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The great trees’ vanished races,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That meet me soul to soul:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oft in the woodless places<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I feel their dim control.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a>{181}</span></p> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Crab-apple buds, whose bells<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mouth of April kissed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That hang,—like rosy shells<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around a Naiad’s wrist,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pink as dawn-tinted mist.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And paw-paw buds, whose dark<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep auburn blossoms shake<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On boughs,—as ’neath the bark<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A dryad’s eyes awake,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brown as a midnight lake.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">These, with symbolic blooms<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of wind-flower and wild-phlox,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I found among the glooms<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of hill-lost woods and rocks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lairs of the hare and fox.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The beetle in the brush,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bird about the creek,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bee within the hush,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I, whose love was meek,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stood still to hear these speak<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a>{182}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The language that records,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In flower-syllables,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hieroglyphic words<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of beauty, who enspells<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The world and aye compels.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a>{183}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WIND_AT_NIGHT" id="WIND_AT_NIGHT"></a>THE WIND AT NIGHT</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not till the wildman wind is shrill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Howling upon the hill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In every wolfish tree, whose boisterous boughs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like desperate arms, gesture and beat the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And down huge clouds, in chasms of stormy white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The frightened moon hurries above the house,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall I lie down; and, deep,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Letting the mad wind keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its shouting revel round me,—fall asleep.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not till its dark halloo is hushed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where wild waters rushed,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some hoof’d terror underneath its whip<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And spur of foam,—remains<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A ghostly glass, hill-framed; whereover stains<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of moony mists and rains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And stealthy starbeams, still as spectres, slip;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall I—with thoughts that take<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto themselves the ache<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of silence as a sound—from sleep awake.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a>{184}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="AIRY_TONGUES" id="AIRY_TONGUES"></a>AIRY TONGUES</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is a song the wet leaves lisp<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Morn comes down the woodland way;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And misty as a thistle-wisp<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her gown gleams, windy gray:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A song that seems to say,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Awake! ’tis day!”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is a sigh when Day sits down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beside the sunlight-lulled lagoon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While on her glistening hair and gown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rose of rest is strew:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sigh, that seems to croon,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Come rest! ’tis noon!”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is a whisper when the stars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above an evening-purpled height,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crown the dead Day with nenuphars<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of fire, gold and white:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A voice, that seems t’ invite,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Come love! ’tis night!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a>{185}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Before the rathe song-sparrow sings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the haw-trees in the lane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And to the wind the locust flings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its early clusters fresh with rain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the morning-star, that swings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its rose of fire above the spire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between the morning’s watchet wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A wild voice rings o’er brooks and boughs—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Arouse! arouse!”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Before the first brown owlet cries<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the grape-vines on the hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the dam with half-shut eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lilies rock above the mill;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the oblong moon, that flies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A pearly flower, above the tower,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between the twilight’s primrose skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A soft voice sighs, from east to west—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“To rest! to rest!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a>{186}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="RAIN_AND_WIND" id="RAIN_AND_WIND"></a>RAIN AND WIND</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I hear the hoofs of horses<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Galloping over the hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Galloping on and galloping on,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When all the night is shrill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With wind and rain that beats the pane—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And my soul with awe is still.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For every dripping window<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their headlong rush makes bound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Galloping up, and galloping by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then back again and around,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the gusty roofs ring with their hoofs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the draughty cellars sound.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then I hear black horsemen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hallooing in the night;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hallooing and hallooing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They ride o’er vale and height,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the branches snap and the shutters clap<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the fury of their flight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a>{187}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then at each door a horseman,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With burly bearded lip<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hallooing through the keyhole,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pauses with cloak a-drip;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the door-knob shakes and the panel quakes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Neath the anger of his whip.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All night I hear their gallop,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And their wild halloo’s alarm;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tree-tops sound and the vanes go round<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In forest and on farm;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But never a hair of a thing is there—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only the wind and storm.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a>{188}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="UNDER_ARCTURUS" id="UNDER_ARCTURUS"></a>UNDER ARCTURUS</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“I belt the morn with ribboned mist;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With baldricked blue I gird the noon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dusk with purple, crimson-kissed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">White-buckled with the hunter’s-moon.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“These follow me,” the Season says:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Mine is the frost-pale hand that packs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their scrips, and speeds them on their ways,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With gipsy gold that weighs their backs.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A daybreak horn the Autumn blows,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As with a sun-tanned hand he parts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wet boughs whereon the berry glows;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And at his feet the red fox starts.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The leafy leash that holds his hounds<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is loosed; and all the noonday hush<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is startled; and the hillside sounds<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Behind the fox’s bounding brush.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a>{189}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When red dusk makes the western sky<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A fire-lit window through the firs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He stoops to see the red fox die<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Among the chestnut’s broken burrs.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then fanfaree and fanfaree,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His bugle sounds; the world below<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grows hushed to hear; and two or three<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Soft stars dream through the afterglow.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like some black host the shadows fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And blackness camps among the trees;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each wildwood road, a Goblin Hall,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Grows populous with mysteries.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Night comes with brows of ragged storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And limbs of writhen cloud and mist;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rain-wind hangs upon his arm<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like some wild girl who cries unkissed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By his gaunt hands the leaves are shed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In headlong troops and nightmare herds;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, like a witch who calls the dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The hill-stream whirls with foaming words.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a>{190}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then all is sudden silence and<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dark fear—like his who can not see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet hears, lost in a haunted land,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Death rattling on a gallow’s-tree.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The days approach again; the days<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose mantles stream, whose sandals drag<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When in the haze by puddled ways<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The gnarled thorn seems a crookéd hag.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When rotting orchards reek with rain;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And woodlands crumble, leaf and log;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the drizzling yard again<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The gourd is tagged with points of fog.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now let me seat my soul among<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The woods’ dim dreams, and come in touch<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With melancholy, sad of tongue<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And sweet, who says so much, so much.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a>{191}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BARE_BOUGHS" id="BARE_BOUGHS"></a>BARE BOUGHS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O heart,—that beat the bird’s blithe blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The blithe bird’s strain, and understood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The song it sang to leaf and bud,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What dost thou in the wood?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O soul,—that kept the brook’s glad flow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The glad brook’s word to sun and moon,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What dost thou here where song lies low,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dead as the dreams of June?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where once was heard a voice of song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hautboys of the mad winds sing;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where once a music flowed along,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rain’s wild bugles ring.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The weedy water frets and ails,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And moans in many a sunless fall;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, o’er the melancholy, trails<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The black crow’s eldritch call.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a>{192}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Unhappy brook! O withered wood!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O days, whom death makes comrades of!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where are the birds that thrilled the blood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Life struck hands with Love?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A song, one soared against the blue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A song, one bubbled in the leaves:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A song, one threw where orchards grew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red-appled to the eaves.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The birds are flown; the flowers are dead;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sky and earth are bleak and gray;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wild winds hang i’ the boughs instead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wild leaves strew the way.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a>{193}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="THRENODY" id="THRENODY"></a>A THRENODY</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The rainy smell of a ferny dell,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose shadow no sun-ray flaws,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Autumn sits in the wayside weeds<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Telling her beads<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of haws.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The phantom mist, that is moonbeam-kissed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On hills where the trees are thinned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Autumn leans at the oak-root’s scarp,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Touching a harp<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of wind.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The cricket’s chirr ’neath brier and burr,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By leaf-strewn pools and streams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Autumn stands ’mid the dropping nuts,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">With the book, she shuts,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of dreams.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a>{194}</span></p> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The gray “Alas” of the days that pass,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the hope that says “Adieu,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A parting sorrow, a shriveled flower,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And one ghost’s hour<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With you.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a>{195}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SNOW" id="SNOW"></a>SNOW</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The moon, like a round device<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On a shadowy shield of war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hangs white in a heaven of ice<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a solitary star.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wind is sunk to a sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the waters are steeled with frost;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gray in the eastern sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The last snow-cloud is lost.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">White fields, that are winter-starved;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Black woods, that are winter-fraught;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Earth like a face death-carved<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the iron of some black thought.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a>{196}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="AN_OLD_SONG" id="AN_OLD_SONG"></a>AN OLD SONG</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It’s, Oh, for the hills, where the wind’s some one<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a vagabond foot that follows!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a cheer-up hand that he claps upon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your arm with the hearty words, “Come on!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’ll soon be out of the hollows,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">My heart!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’ll soon be out of the hollows!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It’s, Oh, for the songs, where the hope’s some one<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a renegade foot that doubles!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a kindly look that he turns upon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your face with the friendly laugh, “Come on!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’ll soon be out of the troubles,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">My heart!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’ll soon be out of the troubles!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a>{197}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="BABY_MARY" id="BABY_MARY"></a>BABY MARY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Deep in baby Mary’s eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Baby Mary’s sweet blue eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dwell the golden memories<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the music once her ears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heard in far-off Paradise:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So she has no time for tears,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Baby Mary,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Listening to the songs she hears.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Soft in baby Mary’s face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Baby Mary’s lovely face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If you watch, you, too, may trace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dreams her spirit-self hath seen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In some far-off Eden-place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whence her soul she can not wean,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Baby Mary,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dreaming in a world between.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a>{198}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SUNSET_FANCY" id="SUNSET_FANCY"></a>A SUNSET FANCY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wide in the west a lake<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of flame that seems to shake<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As if the Midgard snake<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Deep down did breathe:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An isle of purple glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where rosy rivers flow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down peaks of cloudy snow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With fire beneath.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And there the Tower-of-Night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With windows all a-light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Frowns on a burning height,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wherein she sleeps,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Young through the years of doom,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Veiled with her hair’s gold gloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She, the Valkyrie, whom<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Enchantment keeps.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a>{199}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="FEN-FIRE" id="FEN-FIRE"></a>THE FEN-FIRE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The misty rain makes dim my face,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The night’s black cloak is o’er me;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I tread the dripping cypress-place,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A flickering light before me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Out of the death of leaves that rot<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ooze and weedy water,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My form was breathed to haunt this spot,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Death’s immaterial daughter.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The owl that whoops upon the yew,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The snake that lairs within it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have seen my wild face flashing blue<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For one fantastic minute.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But should you follow where my eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like some pale lamp decoy you,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beware! lest suddenly I rise<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With love that shall destroy you.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a>{200}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WOOD" id="WOOD"></a>THE WOOD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Witch-hazel, dogwood, and the maple here;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And there the oak and hickory;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Linn, poplar, and the beech-tree, far and near<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As the eased eye can see.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wild-ginger; wahoo, with its flat balloons;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And brakes of briers of a twilight green;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fox-grapes plumed with summer; and strung moons<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of mandrake flowers between.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Deep gold-green ferns, and mosses green and gray,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mats for what naked myth’s white feet?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, cool and calm, a cascade far away<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With ever-even beat.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Old logs, made sweet with death; rough bits of bark;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And tangled twig and knotted root;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sunshine splashes and great pools of dark;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And many a wild-bird’s flute.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a>{201}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here let me sit until the Indian, Dusk,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With copper-colored face, comes down;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sowing the wildwood with star-fire and musk,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And shadows blue and brown.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then side by side with some magician Dream,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I’ll take the owlet-haunted lane,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Half-roofed with vines,—led by a firefly gleam,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That brings me home again.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a>{202}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WOOD_NOTES" id="WOOD_NOTES"></a>WOOD NOTES</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is a flute that follows me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From tree to tree:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A water flute a spirit sets<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To silver lips in waterfalls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And through the breath of violets<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A sparkling music calls:—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">“Hither! halloo! Oh, follow!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Down leafy hill and hollow,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where, through clear swirls,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With feet like pearls,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Wade down the blue-eyed country girls.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Hither! halloo! Oh, follow!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is a pipe that plays to me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From tree to tree:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A bramble pipe an elfin holds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To golden lips in berry brakes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a>{203}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, swinging o’er the elder wolds,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A flickering music makes:—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">“Come over! Come over<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The new-mown clover!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Come over the fresh-cut hay!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where, there by the berries,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With cheeks like cherries,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And locks with which the warm wind merries,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Brown girls are hilling the hay,<br /></span> -<span class="i8">All day!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Come over the fields and away!—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Come over! Come over!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a>{204}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="HILLS_OF_THE_WEST" id="HILLS_OF_THE_WEST"></a>HILLS OF THE WEST</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hills of the west, that gird<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forest and farm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Home of the nesting bird,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Housing from harm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When, on your tops, is heard<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Storm.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hills of the west, that bar<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Belts of the gloam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under the twilight’s star,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the mists roam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Take ye the wanderer<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Home.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hills of the west, that dream<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Under the moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Making of wind and stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Late heard and soon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Parts of your lives that seem<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Tune.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a>{205}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hills of the west, that take<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Silence to ye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be it for sorrow’s sake<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or memory,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Part of such silence make<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Me.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a>{206}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WIND_OF_SPRING" id="WIND_OF_SPRING"></a>THE WIND OF SPRING</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wind that breathes of columbines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And celandines that crowd the rocks;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That shakes the balsam of the pines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With music from his airy locks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stops at my city door and knocks.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He calls me far a-forest, where<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The twin-leaf and the blood-root bloom;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, circled by the amber air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Life sits with beauty and perfume<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weaving the new web of her loom.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He calls me where the waters run<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through fronding fern where wades the hern;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, sparkling in the equal sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Song leans beside her brimming urn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dreams the dreams that love shall learn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wind has summoned, and I go:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To con God’s meaning in each line<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wildflow’rs write; and, walking slow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God’s purpose, of which song is sign,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wind’s great, gusty hand in mine.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a>{207}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WILLOW_BOTTOM" id="WILLOW_BOTTOM"></a>THE WILLOW BOTTOM</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lush green the grass that grows between<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The willows of the bottom-land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Edged by the careless water, tall and green<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brown-topped cat-tails stand.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The cows come gently here to browse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slow through the great-leafed sycamores:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You hear a dog bark from a low-roofed house<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With cedars round its doors.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then all is quiet as the wings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the one buzzard floating there:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Anon a woman’s high-pitched voice that sings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An old camp-meeting air.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A cock that flaps and crows; and then—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heard drowsy through the rustling corn—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A flutter, and the cackling of a hen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within a hay-sweet barn.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a>{208}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How still again! no water stirs:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No wind is heard: although the weeds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are waved a little: and from silk-filled burrs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drift by a few soft seeds.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So drugged with dreams the place, that you<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Expect to see her gliding by,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hummed round of bees, through blossoms spilling dew,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Spirit of July.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a>{209}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="RED-BIRD" id="RED-BIRD"></a>THE RED-BIRD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Red clouds and reddest flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And now two redder wings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swim through the rosy hours;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red wings among the flowers;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And now the red-bird sings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God makes the red clouds ripples<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of flame that seem to split<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In rubies and in dripples<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of rose where rills and ripples<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The singing flame that lit.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Red clouds of sundered splendor;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God whispered one small word,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rich, sweet, and wild and tender—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Straight, in the vibrant splendor,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The word became a bird.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He flies beneath the garnet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of clouds that flame and float,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When summer hears the hornet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hum round the plum, turned garnet,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Heaven’s music in his throat.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a>{210}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="CLEARING" id="CLEARING"></a>CLEARING</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Before the wind, with rain-drowned stocks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pleated, crimson hollyhocks<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Are bending;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, smouldering in the breaking brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the hills that rim the town,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The day is ending.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The air is heavy with the damp;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, one by one, each cottage lamp<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Is lighted;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Infrequent passers of the street<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stroll on or stop to talk or greet,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Benighted.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I look beyond my city yard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And watch the white moon struggling hard,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Cloud-buried;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wind is driving toward the east,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A wreck of pearl, all cracked and creased<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And serried.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a>{211}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At times the moon, erupting, streaks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some long cloud, raised in mountain peaks<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of shadow,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, seamed with silver, vein on vein,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grows to a far volcano chain<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of Eldorado.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wind, that blows from out the hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is like a woman’s touch that stills<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A sorrow:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The moon sits high with many a star<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the deep calm: and fair and far<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Abides to-morrow.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a>{212}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="AUTUMN_SORROW" id="AUTUMN_SORROW"></a>AUTUMN SORROW</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah me! too soon the Autumn comes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among these purple-plaintive hills!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Too soon among the forest gums<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Premonitory flame she spills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bleak, melancholy flame that kills.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her white fogs veil the morn, that rims<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With wet the moon-flow’r’s elfin moons;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, like exhausted starlight, dims<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The last slim lily-disk; and swoons<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With scents of hazy afternoons.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her gray mists haunt the sunset skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And build the west’s cadaverous fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Sorrow sits with lonely eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hands that wake her ancient lyre,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beside the ghost of dead Desire.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a>{213}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DARK_DAY_OF_SUMMER" id="DARK_DAY_OF_SUMMER"></a>A DARK DAY OF SUMMER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Though Summer walks the world to-day<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With corn-crowned hours for her guard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her thoughts have clad themselves in gray,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And wait in Autumn’s weedy yard.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And where the larkspur and the phlox<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Spread carpets for her feet to pass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She stands with sombre, dripping locks<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bound bleak with fog-washed zinnias.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sad terra-cotta-colored flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose disks the trickling wet has tinged<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With dingy lustre, like the bowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Flame-flecked with leaves, the frost has singed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She, with slow feet,—’mid gaunt gold blooms<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of marigolds her fingers twist,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Passes, dim-swathed in Fall’s perfumes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And dreams of sullen rain and mist.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a>{214}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DAYS_AND_DAYS" id="DAYS_AND_DAYS"></a>DAYS AND DAYS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The days that clothed white limbs with heat,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And rocked the red rose on their breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have passed with amber-sandaled feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Into the ruby-gated west.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">These were the days that filled the heart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With overflowing riches of<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Life; in whose soul no dream shall start<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But hath its origin in love.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now come the days gray-huddled in<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The haze; whose foggy footsteps drip;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who pin beneath a gypsy chin<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The frosty marigold and hip.—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The days, whose forms fall shadowy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Athwart the heart; whose misty breath<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shapes saddest sweets of memory<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Out of the bitterness of death.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a>{215}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DROUTH_IN_AUTUMN" id="DROUTH_IN_AUTUMN"></a>DROUTH IN AUTUMN</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Gnarled acorn-oaks against a west<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of copper, cavernous with fire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A wind of frost that gives no rest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To such lean leaves as haunt the brier,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And hide the cricket’s vibrant wire.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sere, shivering shocks, and stubble blurred<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With bramble-blots of dull maroon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And creekless hills whereon no herd<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Finds pasture, and whereo’er the loon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Flies, haggard as the rainless moon.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a>{216}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_SUMMER" id="IN_SUMMER"></a>IN SUMMER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When in dry hollows, hilled with hay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The vesper-sparrow sings afar;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And golden gray dusk dies away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the amber evening-star:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, where a warm and shadowy arm<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The woodland lays around the farm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll meet you at the tryst, the tryst!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And kiss your lips no man hath kissed!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll meet you at the twilight tryst,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a hey and a ho!—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Sweetheart!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I’ll kiss you at the tryst!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When clover fields smell cool with dew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And crickets cry, and roads are still;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And faint and few the fireflies strew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dark where calls the whippoorwill;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, in the lane, where sweet again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The petals of the wild-rose rain,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a>{217}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll take in mine your hand, your hand!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And say the words you’ll understand!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your soft hand nestling in my hand,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a hey and a ho!—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Sweetheart!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All loving hand in hand!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218"></a>{218}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_WINTER" id="IN_WINTER"></a>IN WINTER</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When black frosts pluck the acorns down,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And in the lane the waters freeze;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ’thwart red skies the wild-fowl flies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And death sits grimly in the trees;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When home-lights glitter through the brown<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of dusk like shaggy eyes,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before the door his feet, sweetheart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And two white arms that greet, sweetheart,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And two white arms that greet.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When ways are drifted with the leaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And winds make music in the thorns;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lone and lost above the frost<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The new-moon shows its silver horns;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When underneath the lamplit eaves<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The opened door is crossed,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A happy heart and light, sweetheart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lips that kiss good night, sweetheart,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And lips that kiss good night.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a>{219}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ON_THE_FARM" id="ON_THE_FARM"></a>ON THE FARM</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He sang a song as he sowed the field,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sowed the field at break of day:<br /></span> -<span class="iq">“When the pursed-up leaves are as lips that yield<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Balm and balsam, and Spring,—concealed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the odorous green,—is so revealed,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Halloo and oh!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hallo for the woods and the far away!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He trilled a song as he mowed the mead,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mowed the mead as noon begun:<br /></span> -<span class="iq">“When the hills are gold with the ripened seed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the sunset stairs of the clouds that lead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the sky where Summer knows naught of need,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Halloo and oh!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hallo for the hills and the harvest sun!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a>{220}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He hummed a song as he swung the flail,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Swung the flail in the afternoon:<br /></span> -<span class="iq">“When the idle fields are a wrecker’s tale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That the Autumn tells to the twilight pale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the Year turns seaward a crimson sail,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Halloo and oh!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hallo for the fields and the hunter’s-moon!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He whistled a song as he shouldered his axe,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shouldered his axe in the evening storm:<br /></span> -<span class="iq">“When the snow of the road shows the rabbit’s tracks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the wind is a whip that the Winter cracks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a herdsman’s cry, o’er the clouds black backs,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Halloo and oh!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hallo for home and a fire to warm!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a>{221}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="PATHS" id="PATHS"></a>PATHS</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What words of mine can tell the spell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of garden ways I know so well?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The path that takes me, in the spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Past quince-trees where the bluebirds sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where peonies are blossoming,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto a porch, wistaria-hung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around whose steps May-lilies blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A fair girl reaches down among,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her arm more white than their sweet snow.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What words of mine can tell the spell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of garden ways I know so well?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Another path that leads me, when<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The summer-time is here again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Past hollyhocks that shame the west<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the red sun has sunk to rest;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To roses bowering a nest,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a>{222}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">A lattice, ’neath which mignonette<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And deep geraniums surge and sough,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, in the twilight, starless yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A fair girl’s eyes are stars enough.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What words of mine can tell the spell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of garden ways I know so well?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A path that takes me, when the days<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of autumn wrap the hills in haze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the pippin-pelting tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Mid flitting butterfly and bee;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto a door where, fiery,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The creeper climbs; and, garnet-hued,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cock’s-comb and the dahlia flare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the door, where shades intrude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gleams bright a fair girl’s sunbeam hair.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What words of mine can tell the spell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of garden ways I know so well?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A path that brings me through the frost<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of winter, when the moon is tossed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In clouds; beneath great cedars, weak<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With shaggy snow; past shrubs blown bleak<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a>{223}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With shivering leaves; to eaves that leak<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tattered ice, whereunder is<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A fire-flickering window-space;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the light, with lips to kiss,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A fair girl’s welcome-giving face.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a>{224}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SONG_IN_SEASON" id="SONG_IN_SEASON"></a>A SONG IN SEASON</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When in the wind the vane turns round,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And round, and round;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in his kennel whines the hound:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When all the gable eaves are bound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With icicles of ragged gray,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A tattered gray;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is little to do, and much to say,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you hug your fire and pass the day<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a thought of the springtime, dearie.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When late at night the owlet hoots,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And hoots, and hoots;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wild winds make of keyholes flutes:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When to the door the goodman’s boots<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stamp through the snow the light strains red,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The firelight’s red;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is nothing to do, and all is said,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you quaff your cider and go to bed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And dream of the summer, dearie.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a>{225}</span></p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When, nearing dawn, the black cock crows,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And crows, and crows;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from the barn the milch-cow lows:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the milkmaid’s cheeks have each a rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the still skies show a star or two,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Or one or two;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is little to say, and much to do,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the heartier done the happier you,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a song of the winter, dearie.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a>{226}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BEFORE_THE_END" id="BEFORE_THE_END"></a>BEFORE THE END</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How does the Autumn in her mind conclude<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tragic masque her frosty pencil writes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Broad on the pages of the days and nights,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In burning lines of orchard, wold, and wood?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What lonelier forms—that at the year’s door stood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At spectral wait—with wildly wasted lights<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall enter? and with melancholy rites<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Inaugurate their sadder sisterhood?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sorrow, who lifts a signal hand, and slow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The green leaf fevers, falling ere it dies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Regret, whose pale lips summon: and gaunt Woe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wakes the wild wind-harps with sonorous sighs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Sleep, who sits with poppied eyes and sees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The earth and sky grow dream-accessories.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a>{227}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="HOAR-FROST" id="HOAR-FROST"></a>HOAR-FROST</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The frail eidolons of all blossoms Spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Year after year, about the forest tossed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The magic touch of the enchanter, Frost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Back from the Heaven of the Flow’rs doth bring;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each branch and bush in silence visiting<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With phantom beauty of its blooms long lost:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each dead weed bends, white-haunted of its ghost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each dead flower stands ghostly with blossoming.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This is the wonder-legend Nature tells<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the gray moon and mist a winter’s night;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fairy-tale which from her fancy wells<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With all the glamour of her soul’s delight:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before the summoning sorcery of her eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rising, as might a dream materialize.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a>{228}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="COLD" id="COLD"></a>COLD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A mist that froze beneath the moon and shook<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Minutest frosty crystals in the air.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All night the wind was still as lonely Care<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who sighs before her shivering inglenook.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The face of Winter wore a cruder look<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than when he shakes the icicles from his hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, in the boisterous pauses, lets his stare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Freeze through the forest, fettering bough and brook.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He is the despot now who sits and dreams<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of desolation and despair, and smiles<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At poverty, who hath no place to rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who wanders o’er Life’s snow-made-pathless miles,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sees the Home-of-Comfort’s window gleams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hugging her rag-wrapped baby to her breast.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a>{229}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WINTER_MOON" id="WINTER_MOON"></a>THE WINTER MOON</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Deep in the dell I watched her as she rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A face of icy fire, o’er the hills;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With snow-sad eyes that froze the forest rills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And snow-sad feet that bleached the meadow snows:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pale as some young witch who, a-listening, goes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To her first meeting with the Fiend; whose fears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fix demon eyes behind each bush she nears;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stops, yet must on, fearful of following foes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And so I chased her, startled in the wood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like a discovered oread, who flies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The faun who found her sleeping, each nude limb<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glittering betrayal through the solitude;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till in a frosty cloud I saw her swim<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like a drowned face, a blur beneath the ice.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a>{230}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="HILLSIDE_GRAVE" id="HILLSIDE_GRAVE"></a>THE HILLSIDE GRAVE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ten-thousand deep the drifted daisies break<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here at the hill’s foot; on its top, the wheat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hangs meagre-bearded; and, in vague retreat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wisp-like blooms of the moth-mulleins shake.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where the wild-pink drops a crimson flake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And morning-glories, like young lips, make sweet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shadowed hush, low in the honeyed heat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wild-bees hum—as if afraid to wake<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One sleeping here, with no white stone to tell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If it be youth or maiden. Just the stem<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of one wild rose, towering o’er brier and weed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where all the day the wild-birds requiem;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within whose shade the timid violets spell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An epitaph, the stars alone can read.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a>{231}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="COVERED_BRIDGE" id="COVERED_BRIDGE"></a>THE COVERED BRIDGE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There, from its entrance, lost in matted vines,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where in the valley foams a waterfall,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is glimpsed a ruined mill’s remaining wall;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here, by the road, the black-eyed Susan mines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hot brass and bronze; the trumpet-trailer shines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red as the plumage of the cardinal.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Faint from the forest comes the rain-crow’s call<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where dusty Summer dreams among the pines.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This is the spot where Spring writes wildflower verses<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In primrose pink, while, drowsing o’er his reins,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ploughman, all unnoticing, plods along:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where the Autumn opens weedy purses<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of sleepy silver, while the corn-piled wains<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rumble the bridge like some deep throat of song.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a>{232}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="CREEK-ROAD" id="CREEK-ROAD"></a>THE CREEK-ROAD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Calling, the heron flies athwart the blue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That sleeps above it; reach on rocky reach<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of water sings by sycamore and beech,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In whose warm shade bloom lilies not a few.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is a page whereon the sun and dew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scrawl sparkling words in dawn’s delicious speech;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A laboratory where the wood-winds teach,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dissect each scent and analyze each hue.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not otherwise than beautiful, doth it<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Record the happenings of each summer day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where we may read, as in a catalogue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When passed a thresher; when a load of hay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or when a rabbit; or a bird, that lit;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now a barefoot truant and his dog.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a>{233}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ABANDONED" id="ABANDONED"></a>ABANDONED</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The hornets build in plaster dropping rooms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on its mossy porch the lizard lies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around its chimneys slow the swallow flies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on its roof the locusts snow their blooms.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some sad thought that broods here, old perfumes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Haunt its dim stairs; the cautious zephyr tries<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each gusty door, like some dead hand, then sighs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With ghostly lips among the attic glooms.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now a heron, now a kingfisher,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flits in the willows where the riffle seems<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At each faint fall to hesitate to leap,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fluttering the silence with a little stir.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here Summer seems a placid face asleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the near world a figment of her dreams.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a>{234}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="OMENS" id="OMENS"></a>OMENS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sad on the hills the poppied sunset died.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slow as a fungus breaking through the crusts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of forest leaves, the waning half-moon thrusts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through gray-brown clouds one milky silver side;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In her vague light the dogwoods, dim-descried,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seem dying torches flourished by the gusts;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The apple-orchards seem the restless dusts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of wind-thinned mists upon the hills they hide.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is a night of omens whom late May<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Meets, like a wraith, among her train of hours;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An apparition with appealing eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hesitant foot, that walks a willowed way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, speaking through the fading moon and flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bids her prepare her gentle soul to die.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a>{235}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IMPERFECTION" id="IMPERFECTION"></a>IMPERFECTION</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not as the eye hath seen shall we behold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Romance and beauty when we’ve passed away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That robed the dull facts of the intimate day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In life’s wild raiment of unusual gold:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not as the ear hath heard shall we be told,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hereafter, myth and legend once that lay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Warm at the heart of Nature, clothing clay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In attributes of no material mold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These were imperfect of necessity,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That wrought through imperfection for far ends<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of perfectness—as calm philosophy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Teaching a child, from his high heaven descends<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To earth’s familiar things; informingly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vesting his thoughts in that it comprehends.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a>{236}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ARCANA" id="ARCANA"></a>ARCANA</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Earth hath her images of utterance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her hieroglyphic meanings which elude;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A symbol language of similitude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into whose secrets science may not glance;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In which the Mind-in-Nature doth romance<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In miracles that baffle if pursued—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No guess shall search them and no thought intrude<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the limits of her sufferance.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So doth the great Intelligence above<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hide His own thought’s creations; and attire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forms in the dream’s ideal, which He dowers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With immaterial loveliness and love—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As essences of fragrance and of fire—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Preaching th’ evangels of the stars and flowers.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a>{237}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="FULFILLMENT" id="FULFILLMENT"></a>FULFILLMENT</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There are some souls who may look in on these<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Essential peoples of the earth and air—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That have the stars and flowers in their care—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And read their soul-suggestive secrecies:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heart-intimates and comrades of the trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who from them learn, what no known schools declare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God’s knowledge; and from winds, that, singing, fare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God’s gospel, filled with mighty harmonies.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Souls, unto whom the waves impart a word<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of fuller faith; the sunset and the dawn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Preach sermons more inspired even than<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tongues of Pentecost; as, distant heard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In forms of change, through Nature upward drawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God doth address th’ immortal part of Man.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a>{238}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TOO_LATE" id="TOO_LATE"></a>TOO LATE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I looked upon a dead girl’s face and heard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What seemed the voice of Death cry out to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep in her heart, all of the agony<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of her lost dreams, complaining word on word:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How on her soul no soul had touched, or stirred<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her life’s sad depths to rippling melody,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or made the imaged longing, there, to be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The realization of a hope deferred.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So in her life had Love behaved to her.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between the lonely chapters of her years<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her young eyes making no golden blur<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With god-bright face and hair; who led me to<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her side at last, and bade me, through my tears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Death’s dumb lips, too late, to see and know.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a>{239}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WITCH" id="WITCH"></a>THE WITCH</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She gropes and hobbles, where the dropsied rocks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are hairy with the lichens and the twist<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of knotted wolf’s-bane, mumbling in the mist,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hawk-nosed and wrinkle-eyed with scrawny locks.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At her bent back the moon, slow-sinking, mocks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some lewd evil whom the Fiend hath kissed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Once at her feet the slipping serpent hissed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And once the owl called to the forest fox.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What Sabboth brew does she intend? What root<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now seek for, seal for what satanic spell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of incantations and demonic fire?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From her rude hut, hill-huddled in the brier,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What dark Familiar points her sure pursuit,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, with gaunt eyes, red with the glow of Hell?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a>{240}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SOMNAMBULIST" id="SOMNAMBULIST"></a>THE SOMNAMBULIST</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oaks and a water. By the water—eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ice-green and steadfast as still stars; and hair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yellow as eyes deep in a she-wolf’s lair;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And limbs—like mist the lightning’s flicker dyes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The humped oaks huddle under iron skies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dry wind whirls the dead leaves everywhere;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">White on the water falls a vulture-glare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of moon, and black the circling raven flies.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again the power of this thing hath laid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Compulsion on me: and I seem to hear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sweet voice calling me beyond the gates<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To longed-for love: I come: each forest glade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seems reaching out white arms to draw me near—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nearer and nearer to the death that waits.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a>{241}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="OPIUM" id="OPIUM"></a>OPIUM</h3> - -<p class="c"><i>On reading De Quincey’s “Confessions of an Opium Eater.”</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I seemed to stand before a temple walled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From shadows and night’s unrealities;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Filled with dark music of dead memories,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And voices,—lost in darkness,—deep that called.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I entered. And beneath the dome’s high-halled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Immensity one forced me to my knees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before a blackness—throned ’mid semblances<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And spectres—crowned with flames of emerald.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, lo! two shapes that thundered at mine ears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The names of Horror and Oblivion,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Priests of this god,—and bade me die and dream.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, in the heart of Hell, a thousand years<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Meseemed I lay—dead! while the iron stream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Time beat out the seconds, one by one.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a>{242}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="MUSIC_AND_SLEEP" id="MUSIC_AND_SLEEP"></a>MUSIC AND SLEEP</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">These have a life that hath no part in death:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These circumscribe the soul and make it strong:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between the breathing of a dream and song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Building a world of beauty in a breath.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto the heart the voice of this one saith<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ideals, its emotions live among;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto the mind the other speaks a tongue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of visions, where the guess,—men christen Faith,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May face the fact of immortality—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As may a rose its unembodied scent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or star its own reflected radiance.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We do not know these save subconsciously,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To whose mysterious shadows God hath lent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No certain shape, no certain countenance.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a>{243}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="AMBITION" id="AMBITION"></a>AMBITION</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now to my lips lift thou some opiate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of dull forgetfulness! while in thy gaze<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still lures the loveless beauty that betrays,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in thy mouth the music that is hate.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No promise more hast thou to make me wait;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No smile to cozen my sick heart with praise!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far, far behind thee stretch laborious days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And far before thee, labors soon and late.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thine is the fen-fire that we deem a star,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flying before us, ever fugitive,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy mocking policy still holds afar:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thine the voice to which our longings give<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hope’s siren face, that speaks us sweet and fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only at last to whelm us with despair.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a>{244}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DESPONDENCY" id="DESPONDENCY"></a>DESPONDENCY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not all the bravery that day puts on<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of gold and azure, ardent or austere,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall ease my soul of sorrow; grief, more dear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than all the joy that heavenly hope may don.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far up the skies the rumor of the dawn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May run, and eve like some wild torch appear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These shall not change the darkness, gathered here,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of thought that rusts like an old sword undrawn.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, for a place far-sunken from the sun!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A wildwood cave of primitive rocks and moss!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Sleep and Silence—breast to married breast—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lie with their child, night-eyed Oblivion;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, freed from all the burden of my cross,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I might forget, I might forget—and rest!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a>{245}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DESPAIR" id="DESPAIR"></a>DESPAIR</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Shut in with phantoms of life’s hollow hopes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shadows of old sins satiety slew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the young ghosts of the dead dreams love knew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out of the day into the night she gropes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Behind her, high the silvered summit slopes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of hope and faith, she will not turn to view;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But towards the cave of heartbreak, harsh of hue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She goes, where all the dropsied horror ropes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is a voice of waters in her ears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on her brow a wind that never dies:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One is the anguish of desired tears;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One is the sorrow of unuttered sighs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, burdened with the immemorial years,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Downward she goes with never lifted eyes.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a>{246}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="QUATRAINS1" id="QUATRAINS1"></a>QUATRAINS</h3> - -<h4>I<br /><br /> -<i>Penury</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Above his misered embers, gaunt and gray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With toil-gnarled limbs he stoops: around his hut,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Want, like a hobbling hag, goes, night and day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trying the windows and the doors tight-shut.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II<br /><br /> -<i>Strategy</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Craft’s silent sister and the daughter deep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Contemplation, she, who spreads below<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A hostile tent soft comfort for her foe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With eyes of Jael watching till he sleep.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III<br /><br /> -<i>Tempest</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With helms of lightning, glittering in the skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On steeds of thunder, form on cloudy form,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Terrific beauty in their hair and eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweep down the wild Valkyries of the storm.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247"></a>{247}</span></p> - -<h4>IV<br /><br /> -<i>The Locust Blossom</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The spirit Spring, in rainy raiment, met<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spirit Summer for a moonlit hour:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet from their greeting kisses, warm and wet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was born the fragrant beauty of this flower.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V<br /><br /> -<i>Melancholy</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With shadowy immortelles of memory<br /></span> -<span class="i0">About her brow, she sits with eyes that look<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the stream of Lethe wearily,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In hesitant hands Death’s partly-opened book.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI<br /><br /> -<i>Content</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Among the meadows of Life’s sad unease—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In labor still renewing her soul’s youth—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With trust, for patience, and with love, for peace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Singing she goes with the calm face of Ruth.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248"></a>{248}</span></p> - -<h4>VII<br /><br /> -<i>Life and Death</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Of our own selves God makes a glass, wherein<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Two shades are imaged, passing like a breath:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And one is Life, whose other name is Sin;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And one is Love, whose other name is Death.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VIII<br /><br /> -<i>Sorrow</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Death takes her hand and leads her through the waste<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of her own soul, wherein she hears the voice<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of lost Love’s tears, and, famishing, can but taste<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dead-sea fruit of Life’s remembered joys.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249"></a>{249}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="LAST_WORD" id="LAST_WORD"></a>A LAST WORD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">Not for myself, but for the sake of Song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would I succeed as others have who gave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their lives unto her, shaping sure and strong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her lovely limbs that made them god and slave.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">Not for myself, but for the sake of Art,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would I advance beyond the others’ best,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Winning a deeper secret from her heart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hang it moonlike ’mid the starry rest.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251"></a>{251}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250"></a>{250}</span> </p> - -<h2><a name="NATURE_POEMS" id="NATURE_POEMS"></a>NATURE POEMS<br /> -<small>(SECOND SERIES)</small></h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252"></a>{252}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253"></a>{253}</span> </p> - -<h3><a name="FOREWORD" id="FOREWORD"></a>FOREWORD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">In the first rare Spring of song,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In my heart’s young hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In my youth ’twas thus I sang,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Choosing ’mid the flowers:—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="iq">“Fair the Dandelion is,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But for me too lowly;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the winsome Violet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is, forsooth, too holy.<br /></span> -<span class="iq">‘But the Touch-me-not?’—Go to!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What! a face that’s speckled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like a common milking-maid’s,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whom the sun hath freckled.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then the Wild-Rose is a flirt;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the Trillium-Lily,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In her spotless gown, ’s a prude,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sanctified and silly.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By her cap the Columbine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To my mind, ’s too merry—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gossips, I would sooner woo<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some plebeian Berry.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254"></a>{254}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the shy Anemone—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Well, her face shows sorrow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pale, goodsooth! alive to-day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dead and gone to-morrow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then that hold-eyed, buxom wench,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Big and blond and lazy,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She’s been chosen over oft!—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sirs, I mean the Daisy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pleasant persons are they all,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And their virtues many;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Faith! I know but good of each,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And naught ill of any.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I choose a May-Apple;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She shall be my Lady;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blooming, hidden and refined,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sweet in places shady.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">In my youth ’twas thus I sang,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In my heart’s young hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the first rare Spring of song,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Choosing ’mid the flowers.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So I hesitated when<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Time alone was reckoned<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the hours that Fancy smiled,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Love and Beauty beckoned.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hard it was for me to choose<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From the flowers that flattered;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255"></a>{255}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">And the blossom that I chose<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Soon lay dead and scattered.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hard I found it then, ah me!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hard I found the choosing;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Harder, harder since I’ve found,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All too hard, the losing.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Haply had I chosen then<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From the weeds that tangle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wayside, woodland, and the wall<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of my garden’s angle,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I had chosen better, yea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For these later hours—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Longer live the weeds, and oft<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sweeter are than flowers.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257"></a>{257}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256"></a>{256}</span> </p> - -<h2><a name="WEEDS_BY_THE_WALL" id="WEEDS_BY_THE_WALL"></a>WEEDS BY THE WALL</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258"></a>{258}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259"></a>{259}</span> </p> - -<h3><a name="CRICKET" id="CRICKET"></a>THE CRICKET</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">First of the insect choir, in the spring<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We hear his faint voice fluttering in the grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath some blossom’s rosy covering,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or frond of fern, upon a wildwood pass.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When in the marsh, in clamorous orchestras,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shrill hylodes pipe; when, in the haw’s<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bee-swarming blooms, or tasseling sassafras,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet threads of silvery song the sparrow draws,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bow-like, athwart the vibrant atmosphere,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like some dim dream low-breathed in slumber’s ear,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">We hear his <i>Cheer, cheer, cheer</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All summer long the mellowing meadows thrill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To his blithe music. Be it day or night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Close gossip of the grass, on field and hill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He serenades the silence with delight:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260"></a>{260}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Silence, that hears the melon slowly split<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With ripeness; and the plump peach, hornet-bit,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Loosen and fall; and everywhere the white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Warm, silk-like stir of leafy lights that flit<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As breezes blow; above which, loudly clear,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like joy who sings of life and has no fear,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">We hear his <i>Cheer, cheer, cheer</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then in the autumn, by the waterside,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leaf-huddled; or along the weed-grown walks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He dirges low the flowers that have died,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or with their ghosts holds solitary talks.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lover of warmth, all day above the click<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And crunching of the sorghum-press, through thick<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sweet steam of juice; all night when, white as chalk,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hunter’s-moon hangs o’er the rustling rick,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Within the barn ’mid munching cow and steer,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Soft as a memory the heart holds dear,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">We hear his <i>Cheer, cheer, cheer</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261"></a>{261}</span></p> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Kinsman and cousin of the Faëry Race,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All winter long he sets his sober mirth,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That brings good-luck to many a fireplace,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To folk-lore song and saga of the hearth.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between the back-log’s bluster and the slim<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High twittering of the kettle,—sounds that hymn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Home-comforts,—when, outside, the starless earth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is icicled in every laden limb,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Defying frost and all the sad and sere,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like love that dies not and is always near,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">We hear his <i>Cheer, cheer, cheer</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262"></a>{262}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TREE_TOAD" id="TREE_TOAD"></a>THE TREE TOAD</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Secluded, solitary on some underbough<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or cradled in a leaf, ’mid glimmering light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like Puck thou crouchest: Haply watching how<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The slow toadstool comes bulging, moony white,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through loosening loam; or how, against the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The glow-worm gathers silver to endow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The darkness with; or how the dew conspires<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To hang at dusk with lamps of chilly fires<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Each blade that shrivels now.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O vague confederate of the whippoorwill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of owl and cricket and the katydid!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou gatherest up the silence in one shrill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Vibrating note and send’st it where, half hid<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In cedars, twilight sleeps—each azure lid<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263"></a>{263}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drooping a line of golden eyeball still.—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Afar, yet near, I hear thy dewy voice<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Within the Garden of the Hours apoise<br /></span> -<span class="i4">On dusk’s deep daffodil.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Minstrel of moisture! silent when high noon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shows her tanned face among the thirsting clover<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And parching meadows, thy tenebrious tune<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wakes with the dew or when the rain is over.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thou troubadour of wetness and damp lover<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all cool things! admitted comrade boon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of twilight’s hush, and little intimate<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of eve’s first fluttering star and delicate<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Round rim of rainy moon!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Art trumpeter of Dwarfland? does thy horn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Inform the gnomes and goblins of the hour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When they may gambol under haw and thorn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Straddling each winking web and twinkling flower?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or bell-ringer of Elfland? whose tall tower<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The liriodendron is? from whence is borne<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The elfin music of thy bell’s deep bass,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To summon Fairies to their starlit maze,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To summon them or warn.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264"></a>{264}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SCREECH-OWL" id="SCREECH-OWL"></a>THE SCREECH-OWL</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When, one by one, the stars have trembled through<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Eve’s shadowy hues of violet, rose, and fire—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As on a pansy-bloom the limpid dew<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Orbs its bright beads;—and, one by one, the choir<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of insects wakes on nodding bush and brier:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then through the woods—where wandering winds pursue<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A ceaseless whisper—like an eery lyre<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Struck in the Erl-king’s halls, where ghosts and dreams<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hold revelry, your goblin music screams,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shivering and strange as some strange thought come true.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Brown as the agaric that frills dead trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or those fantastic fungi of the woods<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That crowd the dampness—are you kin to these<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265"></a>{265}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">In some mysterious way that still eludes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My fancy? you, who haunt the solitudes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With hag-like wailings? voice, that seems to freeze<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Out of the darkness,—like the scent which broods,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rank and rain-sodden, over autumn nooks,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, to the mind, might well suggest such looks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ghastly and gray, as pale clairvoyance sees.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You people night with weirdness: lone and drear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath the stars, you cry your wizard runes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the haggard silence, filled with fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your shuddering hoot seems some wild grief that croons<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mockery and terror; or,—beneath the moon’s<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cloud-hurrying glimmer,—to the startled ear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Crazed, madman snatches of old, perished tunes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The witless wit of outcast Edgar there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the wild night; or, wan with all despair,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The mirthless laughter of the Fool in Lear.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266"></a>{266}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHIPMUNK" id="CHIPMUNK"></a>THE CHIPMUNK</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He makes a roadway of the crumbling fence,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or on the fallen tree,—brown as a leaf<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fall stripes with russet,—gambols down the dense<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Green twilight of the woods. We see not whence<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He comes, nor whither—’tis a time too brief!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He vanishes;—swift carrier of some Fay,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some pixy steed that haunts our child-belief—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A goblin glimpse from woodland way to way.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What harlequin mood of nature qualified<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Him so with happiness? and limbed him with<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such young activity as winds, that ride<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ripples, have, that dance on every side?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As sunbeams know, that urge the sap and pith<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267"></a>{267}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through hearts of trees? yet made him to delight,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gnome-like, in darkness,—like a moonlight myth,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lairing in labyrinths of the under night.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here, by a rock, beneath the moss, a hole<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leads to his home, the den wherein he sleeps;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lulled by near noises of the cautious mole<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tunnelling its mine—like some ungainly Troll<br /></span> -<span class="i0">—Or by the tireless cricket there that keeps<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Picking its drowsy and monotonous lute;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or slower sounds of grass that creeps and creeps,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And trees unrolling mighty root on root.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Such is the music of his sleeping hours.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Day hath another—’tis a melody<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He trips to, made by the assembled flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And light and fragrance laughing ’mid the bowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ripeness busy with the acorn-tree.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such strains, perhaps, as filled with mute amaze—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The silent music of Earth’s ecstasy—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Satyr’s soul, the Faun of classic days.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268"></a>{268}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WILD_IRIS" id="WILD_IRIS"></a>THE WILD IRIS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That day we wandered ’mid the hills,—so lone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Clouds are not lonelier,—the forest lay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In emerald darkness round us. Many a stone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gnarly root, gray-mossed, made wild our way:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many a bird the glimmering light along<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Showered the golden bubbles of its song.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then in the valley, where the brook went by,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Silvering the ledges that it rippled from,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An isolated slip of fallen sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Epitomizing heaven in its sum,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An iris bloomed—blue, as if, flower-disguised,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gaze of Spring had there materialized.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I have forgotten many things since then—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Much beauty and much happiness and grief;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269"></a>{269}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And toiled and dreamed among my fellow-men,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rejoicing in the knowledge life is brief.<br /></span> -<span class="iq">“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis winter now,” so says each barren bough;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And face and hair proclaim ’tis winter now.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I would forget the gladness of that spring!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I would forget that day when she and I,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between the bird-song and the blossoming,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Went hand in hand beneath the soft spring sky!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Much is forgotten, yea—and yet, and yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The things we would we never can forget.—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nor I how May then minted treasuries<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of crowfoot gold; and molded out of light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sorrel’s cups, whose elfin chalices<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of limpid spar were streaked with rosy white.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor all the stars of twinkling spiderwort,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mandrake moons with which her brows were girt.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But most of all, yea, it were well for me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Me and my heart, that I forget that flower,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270"></a>{270}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The blue wild-iris, azure fleur-de-lis,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That she and I together found that hour.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its recollection can but emphasize<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pain of loss, remindful of her eyes.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271"></a>{271}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="PATH_BY_THE_CREEK" id="PATH_BY_THE_CREEK"></a>THE PATH BY THE CREEK</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is a path that leads<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through purple ironweeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By button-bush and mallow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along a creek;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A path that wildflowers hallow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That wild-birds seek;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Roofed thick with eglantine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And grape and trumpet-vine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This side, the blackberries sweet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glow cobalt in the heat;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That side, a creamy yellow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In summer-time<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pawpaws slowly mellow:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And autumn’s prime<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strews red the Chickasaw,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Persimmon brown and haw.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The glittering dragon-fly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A wingéd gem, goes by;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tawny wasp and hornet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Make drowsy drone;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272"></a>{272}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The beetle, like a garnet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Basks on the stone;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And butterflies float there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spangling with gold the air.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here the brown thrashers hide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And chat and cat-bird chide;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The blue kingfisher houses<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above the stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here the heron drowses,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lost in his dream;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The vireo’s flitting note<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Makes woodlands more remote.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now a cow’s slow bell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tinkles from dale to dell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where breeze-dropped petals winnow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From blossomy limbs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On waters, where the minnow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Faint-twinkling, swims;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, in the root-arched shade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slim prisms of light are laid.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When in the tangled thorn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The new-moon hangs a horn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or, ’mid the sunset’s islands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Guides her canoe,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_273" id="page_273"></a>{273}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brown owl in the silence<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Calls, and the dew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beads glimmering orbs of damp,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each one a glow-worm lamp.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then when the night is still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here sings the whippoorwill;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And stealthy sounds of crickets,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And winds that pass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whispering, through bramble thickets<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along the grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Faint with warm scents of hay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seem feet of dreams astray.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And where the water shines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dark through tree-twisted vines,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some water-spirit, dreaming,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Braids in her hair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A star’s reflection; seeming<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A jewel there;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While all the sweet night long<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ripples her quiet song....<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Would I could imitate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O path, thy happy state!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Making my life all beauty,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All bloom and beam;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_274" id="page_274"></a>{274}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Knowing no other duty<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But just to dream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And far from pain and woe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lead feet that come and go.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Leading to calm content,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er ways the Master went,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through lowly things and humble,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To peace and love;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Teaching the lives that stumble<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To look above,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forget the world of toil<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all its mad turmoil.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_275" id="page_275"></a>{275}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ALONG_THE_STREAM" id="ALONG_THE_STREAM"></a>ALONG THE STREAM</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where the violet shadows brood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Under cottonwoods and beeches,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through whose leaves the restless reaches<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the river glance, I’ve stood,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While the red-bird and the thrush<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Set to song the morning hush.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There,—when wakening woods encroach<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the shadowy winding waters,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the bluets, April’s daughters,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At the darling Spring’s approach,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Star their myriads through the trees,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All the land is one with peace.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Under some imposing cliff,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That, with bush and tree and boulder,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thrusts a gray, gigantic shoulder<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er the stream, I’ve oared a skiff,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While great clouds of iceberg hue<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lounged along the noonday blue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_276" id="page_276"></a>{276}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There,—when harvest heights impend<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Over shores of rippling summer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And to greet the fair new-comer,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">June,—the wildrose thickets bend<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In a million blossoms dressed,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All the land is one with rest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On some rock, where gaunt the oak<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Reddens and the sombre cedar<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Darkens, like a sachem leader,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I have lain and watched the smoke<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the steamboat, far-away,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Trailed along the dying day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There,—when margin waves reflect<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Autumn colors, gay and sober,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the Indian-girl, October,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wampum-like in berries decked,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leans above the leaf-strewn streams,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All the land is one with dreams.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through the bottoms where,—out-tossed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the wind’s wild hands,—ashiver<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bend the willows o’er the river,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I have walked in sleet and frost,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While beneath the cold round moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Frozen, gleamed the long lagoon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_277" id="page_277"></a>{277}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There,—when leafless woods uplift<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Spectral arms the storm-blasts splinter,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the hoary trapper, Winter,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Builds his camp of ice and drift,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With his snow-pelts furred and shod,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All the land is one with God.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_278" id="page_278"></a>{278}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="VOICES" id="VOICES"></a>VOICES</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When blood-root blooms and trillium flowers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unclasp their stars to sun and rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart strikes hands with winds and showers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And wanders in the woods again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O urging impulse, born of spring!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That makes glad April of my soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No bird, however wild of wing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is more impatient of control.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Impetuous of pulse it beats<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Within my blood and bears me hence;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the housetops and the streets<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I hear its happy eloquence.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It tells me all that I would know,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of birds and buds, of blooms and bees;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I seem to hear the blossoms blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And leaves unfolding on the trees.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_279" id="page_279"></a>{279}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I seem to hear the bluebells ring<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Faint purple peals of perfume; and<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The honey-throated poppies fling<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their golden laughter o’er the land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It calls to me; it sings to me;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I hear its far voice night and day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I can not choose but go when tree<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And flower clamor, “Come away!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_280" id="page_280"></a>{280}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="ROAD_HOME" id="ROAD_HOME"></a>THE ROAD HOME</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Over the hills as the pewee flies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under the blue of the southern skies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the hills where the red-bird wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like a scarlet blossom, or sits and sings;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Under the shadow of rock and tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the warm wind drones with the honeybee;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the tall wild-carrots around you sway<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their lace-like flowers of cloudy gray:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By the black-cohosh and its pearl-white plume<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A-nod in the woodland’s odorous gloom;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the old rail-fence, in the elder’s shade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That the myriad hosts of the weeds invade:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where the butterfly-weed, like a coal of fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blurs orange-red through brush and brier;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the pennyroyal and mint smell sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And blackberries tangle the humming heat,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_281" id="page_281"></a>{281}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The old road leads; then crosses the creek,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the minnow dartles, a silvery streak;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the cows wade deep through the blue-eyed grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the flickering dragon-flies gleaming pass.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That road is easy, however long,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which wends with beauty as toil with song;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the road we follow shall lead us straight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Past creek and wood to a farm-house gate.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Past hill and hollow, whence scents are blown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of dew-wet clover that scythes have mown;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To a house that stands with porches wide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gray low roof on the green hill-side.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Colonial, stately; ’mid shade and shine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the locust tree and the southern pine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With its orchard acres and meadowlands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stretched out before it like welcoming hands.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And gardens, where, in the myrrh-sweet June,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Magnolias blossom with many a moon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of fragrance; and, in the feldspar light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of August, roses bloom red and white.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In a woodbine arbor, a perfumed place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A slim girl sits with listening face;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_282" id="page_282"></a>{282}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her bonnet by her, a sunbeam lies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On her lovely hair, in her earnest eyes.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her eyes, as blue as the distant deeps<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the heavens above where the high hawk sleeps;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A book beside her, wherein she read<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till she saw <i>him</i> coming, she heard <i>his</i> tread.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come home at last; come back from the war;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In his eyes a smile, on his brow a scar:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the South come back—who wakes from her dream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the love and the peace of a new regime.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_283" id="page_283"></a>{283}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DROUTH" id="DROUTH"></a>DROUTH</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The hot sunflowers by the glaring pike<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lift shields of sultry brass; the teasel tops,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pink-thorned, advance with bristling spike on spike<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Against the furious sunlight. Field and copse<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are sick with summer: now, with breathless stops,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The locusts cymbal; now grasshoppers beat<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their castanets: and rolled in dust, a team,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like some mean life wrapped in its sorry dream,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An empty wagon rattles through the heat.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where now the blue, blue flags? the flow’rs whose mouths<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are moist and musky? Where the sweet-breathed mint,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_284" id="page_284"></a>{284}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">That made the brook-bank herby? Where the South’s<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wild morning-glories, rich in hues, that hint<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At coming showers that the rainbows tint?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where all the blossoms that the wildwood knows?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The frail oxalis hidden in its leaves;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Indian-pipe, pale as a soul that grieves;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The freckled touch-me-not and forest rose.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dead! dead! all dead beside the drouth-burnt brook,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shrouded in moss or in the shriveled grass.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where waved their bells,—from which the wild-bee shook<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The dew-drop once,—gaunt, in a nightmare mass,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The rank weeds crowd; through which the cattle pass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thirsty and lean, seeking some meagre spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Closed in with thorns, on which stray bits of wool<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The panting sheep have left, that sought the cool,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From morn till evening wearily wandering.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_285" id="page_285"></a>{285}</span></p> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No bird is heard; no throat to whistle awake<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sleepy hush; to let its music leak<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fresh, bubble-like, through bloom-roofs of the brake:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Only the green-blue heron, famine-weak,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Searching the stale pools of the minnowless creek,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Utters its call; and then the rain-crow, too,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">False prophet now, croaks to the stagnant air;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While overhead,—still as if painted there,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A buzzard hangs, black on the burning blue.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_286" id="page_286"></a>{286}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BROKEN_DROUTH" id="BROKEN_DROUTH"></a>THE BROKEN DROUTH</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It seemed the listening forest held its breath<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Before some vague and unapparent form<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of fear, approaching with the wings of death,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">On the impending storm.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Above the hills, big, bellying clouds loomed, black<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ominous; yet silent as the blue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That pools calm heights of heaven, deepening back<br /></span> -<span class="i4">’Twixt clouds of snowdrift hue.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then instantly, as when a multitude<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shout riot and war through some tumultous town,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Innumerable voices swept the wood<br /></span> -<span class="i4">As wild the wind rushed down.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And fierce and few, as when a strong man weeps,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Great rain-drops dashed the dust; and, overhead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ponderous and vast down the prodigious deeps,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Went slow the thunder’s tread.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_287" id="page_287"></a>{287}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And swift and furious, as when giants fence,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The lightning foils of tempest went insane;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then far and near sonorous Earth grew dense<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With long sweet sweep of rain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_288" id="page_288"></a>{288}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="FEUD" id="FEUD"></a>FEUD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A mile of lane,—hedged high with ironweeds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dying daisies,—white with sun, that leads<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Downward into a wood; through which a stream<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Steals like a shadow; over which is laid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A bridge of logs, worn deep with many a team,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sunk in the tangled shade.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Far off a wood-dove lifts its lonely cry;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the sleepy silver of the sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A gray hawk wheels scarce larger than a hand.—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From point to point the road grows worse and worse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until that place is reached where all the land<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Seems burdened with some curse.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A ragged fence of pickets, warped and sprung,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On which the fragments of a gate are hung,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Divides a hill, the fox and ground-hog haunt,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A wilderness of briers; o’er whose tops<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A battered barn is seen, low-roofed and gaunt,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Mid fields that know no crops.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_289" id="page_289"></a>{289}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fields over which a path, o’erwhelmed with burrs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ragweeds, noisy with the grasshoppers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leads,—lost, irresolute as paths the cows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wear through the woods,—unto a woodshed; then,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With wrecks of windows, to a huddled house,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where men have murdered men.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A house, whose tottering chimney, clay and rock,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is seamed and crannied; whose lame door and lock<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are bullet-bored; around which, there and here,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are sinister stains.—One dreads to look around.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The place seems thinking of that time of fear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And dares not breathe a sound.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Within, is emptiness: the sunlight falls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On faded journals papering its walls;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On advertisement chromos, torn with time<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Around a hearth where wasps and spiders build.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The house is dead: meseems that night of crime<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It, too, was shot and killed.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_290" id="page_290"></a>{290}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="UNANOINTED" id="UNANOINTED"></a>UNANOINTED</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Upon the Siren-haunted seas, between Fate’s mythic shores,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within a world of moon and mist, where dusk and daylight wed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see a phantom galley and its hull is banked with oars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With ghostly oars that move to song, a song of dreams long dead:—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Oh, we are sick of rowing here!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With toil our arms are numb;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With smiting year on weary year<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Salt-furrows of the foam:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our journey’s end is never near,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And will no nearer come—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond our reach the shores appear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of far Elysium.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_291" id="page_291"></a>{291}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Within a land of cataracts and mountains old, and sand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath whose heavens ruins rise, o’er which the stars burn red,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see a spectral cavalcade with crucifix in hand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shadowy armor march and sing, a song of dreams long dead:—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Oh, we are weary marching on!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our limbs are travel-worn;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With cross and sword from dawn to dawn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We wend with raiment torn:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The leagues to go, the leagues we’ve gone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are sand and rock and thorn—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The way is long to Avalon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beyond the deeps of morn.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They are the curs’d! the souls who yearn and evermore pursue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The vision of a vain desire, a splendor far ahead;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To whom God gives the poet’s dream without the grasp to do,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The artist’s hope without the scope between the quick and dead:—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_292" id="page_292"></a>{292}</span><br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I, too, am weary toiling where<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The winds and waters beat;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When shall I ease the oar I bear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And rest my tired feet?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When will the white moons cease to glare,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The red suns veil their heat?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from the heights blow sweet the air<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Love’s divine retreat?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_293" id="page_293"></a>{293}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SUNSET_AND_STORM" id="SUNSET_AND_STORM"></a>SUNSET AND STORM</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Deep with divine tautology,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sunset’s mighty mystery<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again has traced the scroll-like west<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With hieroglyphs of burning gold:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forever new, forever old,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its miracle is manifest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Time lays the scroll away. And now<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the hills a giant brow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Night lifts of cloud; and from her arm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Barbaric black, upon the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With thunder, wind and fire, is hurled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her awful argument of storm.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What part, O man, is yours in such?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose awe and wonder are in touch<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Nature,—speaking rapture to<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your soul,—yet leaving in your reach<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No human word of thought or speech<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Expressive of the thing you view.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_294" id="page_294"></a>{294}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BEECH_BLOOMS" id="BEECH_BLOOMS"></a>BEECH BLOOMS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Among the valleys<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wild oxalis<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lifts up its chalice<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of pink and pearl;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, balsam-breathing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From out their sheathing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The myriad wreathing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Green leaves uncurl.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The whole world brightens<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With spring, that lightens<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The foot that frightens<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The building thrush;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where water tosses<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On ferns and mosses<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The squirrel crosses<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The beechen hush.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And vision on vision,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like ships elysian<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On some white mission,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sails cloud on cloud;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_295" id="page_295"></a>{295}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With scents of clover<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The winds brim over,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the cover<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The stream is loud.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Twixt bloom that blanches<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The orchard branches<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Old farms and ranches<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gleam in the gloam:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through fields for sowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Mid blossoms blowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cows come lowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The cows come home.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where ways are narrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A vesper-sparrow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flits like an arrow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of living rhyme;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The red sun poises,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And farm-yard noises<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mix with glad voices<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of milking-time.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When dusk disposes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all its roses,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And darkness closes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And work is done,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_296" id="page_296"></a>{296}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">A moon’s white feather<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In starry weather<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And two together<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose hearts are one.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_297" id="page_297"></a>{297}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WORSHIP" id="WORSHIP"></a>WORSHIP</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">The mornings raise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Voices of gold in the Almighty’s praise;<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The sunsets soar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In choral crimson from far shore to shore:<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Each is a blast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reverberant, of color,—seen as vast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Concussions,—that the vocal firmament<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In worship sounds o’er every continent.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">Not for our ears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cosmic music of the rolling spheres,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">That sweeps the skies!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Music we hear, but only with our eyes.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">For all too weak<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our mortal frames to bear the words these speak,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those detonations that we name the dawn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sunset—hues Earth’s harmony puts on.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_298" id="page_298"></a>{298}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="UNHEARD" id="UNHEARD"></a>UNHEARD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All things are wrought of melody,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unheard, yet full of speaking spells;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within the rock, within the tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A soul of music dwells.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A mute symphonic sense that thrills<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The silent frame of mortal things;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its heart beats in the ancient hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And in each flow’r sings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To harmony all growth is set—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Each seed is but a music mote,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From which each plant, each violet,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Evolves its purple note.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Compact of melody, the rose<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Woos the soft wind with strain on strain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of crimson; and the lily blows<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Its white bars to the rain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The trees are pæans; and the grass<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One long green fugue beneath the sun—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Song is their life; and all shall pass,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Shall end, when song is done.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_299" id="page_299"></a>{299}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="REINCARNATION" id="REINCARNATION"></a>REINCARNATION</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">High in the place of outraged Liberty,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He ruled the world, an emperor and god:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His iron armies swept the land and sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And conquered nations trembled at his nod.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By him the love that fills man’s soul with light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And makes a heaven of earth, was crucified;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lust-crowned he lived, yea, lived in God’s despite,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And old in infamies, a king he died.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Justice begins now.—Many centuries<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In some vile body must his soul atone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As slave, as beggar, loathsome with disease,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Less than the dog at which we fling a stone.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_300" id="page_300"></a>{300}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ON_CHENOWETHS_RUN" id="ON_CHENOWETHS_RUN"></a>ON CHENOWETH’S RUN</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I thought of the road through the glen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With its hawk’s nest high in the pine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With its rock, where the fox had his den,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Mid tangles of sumach and vine,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where she swore to be mine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I thought of the creek and its banks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Now glooming, now gleaming with sun;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rustic bridge builded of planks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bridge over Chenoweth’s Run,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where I wooed her and won.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I thought of the house in the lane,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With its pinks and its sweet mignonette;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its fence, and the gate with its chain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its porch where the roses hung wet,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where I kissed her and met.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then I thought of the family graves,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Walled rudely with stone, in the West,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_301" id="page_301"></a>{301}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the sorrowful cedar-tree waves,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the wind is a spirit distressed,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where they laid her to rest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And my soul, overwhelmed with despair,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cried out on the city and mart!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How I longed, how I longed to be there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Away from the struggle and smart,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">By her and my heart.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By her and my heart in the West,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Laid sadly together as one;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On her grave for a moment to rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Far away from the noise and the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">On Chenoweth’s Run.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_302" id="page_302"></a>{302}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="REQUIESCAT" id="REQUIESCAT"></a>REQUIESCAT</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The roses mourn for her who sleeps<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Within the tomb;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For her each lily-flower weeps<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Dew and perfume.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In each neglected flower-bed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each blossom droops its lovely head,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They miss her touch, they miss her tread,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Her face of bloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of happy bloom.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The very breezes grieve for her,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A lonely grief;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For her each tree is sorrower,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Each blade and leaf.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The foliage rocks itself and sighs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And to its woe the wind replies,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They miss her girlish laugh and cries,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Whose life was brief,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Was all too brief.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_303" id="page_303"></a>{303}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sunlight, too, seems pale with care,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Or sick with woe;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The memory haunts it of her hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Its golden glow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No more within the bramble-brake<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sleepy bloom is kissed awake—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sun is sad for her dear sake,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Whose head lies low,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Lies dim and low.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The bird, that sang so sweet, is still<br /></span> -<span class="i4">At dusk and dawn;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No more it makes the silence thrill<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of wood and lawn.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In vain the buds, when it is near,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Open each pink and perfumed ear,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The song it sings she will not hear<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who now is gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Is dead and gone.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah, well she sleeps who loved them well,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The birds and bowers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fair, the young, the lovable,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who once was ours.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alas! that loveliness must pass!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Must come to lie beneath the grass!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That youth and joy must fade, alas!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And die like flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Earth’s sweetest flowers!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_304" id="page_304"></a>{304}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="QUEST" id="QUEST"></a>THE QUEST</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">First I asked the honey-bee,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Busy in the balmy bowers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saying, “Sweetheart, tell it me:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have you seen her, honey-bee?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She is cousin to the flowers—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the sweetness of the south<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In her wild-rose face and mouth.”—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But the bee passed silently.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then I asked the forest-bird,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Warbling by the woodland waters;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saying, “Dearest, have you heard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have you heard her, forest-bird?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She is one of Music’s daughters—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never song so sweet by half<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the music of her laugh.”—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But the bird said not a word.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_305" id="page_305"></a>{305}</span></p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Next I asked the evening-sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hanging out its lamps of fire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saying, “Loved one, passed she by?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tell me, tell me, evening-sky!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She, the star of my desire—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sister whom the Pleiads lost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And my soul’s high pentecost.”—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But the sky made no reply.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where is she? ah, where is she?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She to whom both love and duty<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bind me, yea, immortally.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where is she? ah, where is she?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Symbol of the Earth-soul’s beauty.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I have lost her. Help my heart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Find her! her, who is a part<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the pagan soul of me!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_306" id="page_306"></a>{306}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BEFORE_THE_RAIN" id="BEFORE_THE_RAIN"></a>BEFORE THE RAIN</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Before the rain, low in the obscure east,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Weak and morose the moon hung, sickly gray;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around its disc the storm mists, cracked and creased,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wove an enormous web, wherein it lay<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like some white spider hungry for its prey.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vindictive looked the scowling firmament,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In which each star, that flashed a dagger ray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seemed filled with malice of some dark intent.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The marsh-frog croaked; and underneath the stone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The peevish cricket raised a creaking cry.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within the world these sounds were heard alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Save when the ruffian wind swept from the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Making each tree like some sad spirit sigh;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or shook the clumsy beetle from its weed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That, in the drowsy darkness, bungling by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sharded the silence with its feverish speed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_307" id="page_307"></a>{307}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Slowly the tempest gathered. Hours passed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Before was heard the thunder’s sullen drum<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rumbling night’s hollow; and the Earth at last,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Restless with waiting,—like a woman, dumb<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With doubting of the love that should have clomb<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her casement hours ago,—avowed again,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Mid protestations, joy that he had come.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all night long I heard the Heavens explain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_308" id="page_308"></a>{308}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="AFTER_RAIN" id="AFTER_RAIN"></a>AFTER RAIN</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Behold the blossom-bosomed Day again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With all the star-white Hours in her train,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Laughs out of pearl-lights through a golden ray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, leaning on the woodland wildness, blends<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sprinkled amber with the showers that lay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their oblong emeralds on the leafy ends.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Behold her bend with maiden-braided brows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the wildflower, sidewise with its strain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of dewy happiness, to kiss again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each drop to death; or, under rainy boughs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With fingers, fragrant as the woodland rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gather the sparkles from the sycamore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To set within the core<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of crimson roses girdling her hips,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where each bud dreams and drips.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Smoothing her blue-black hair,—where many a tusk<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of iris flashes,—like the falchions keen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Faery round blue banners of their Queen,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is it a Naiad singing in the dusk,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_309" id="page_309"></a>{309}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">That haunts the spring, where all the moss is musk<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With footsteps of the flowers on the banks?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or but a wild-bird voluble with thanks?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Balm for each blade of grass: the Hours prepare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A festival each weed’s invited to.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each bee is drunken with the honied air:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the heaven is eloquent with blue.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wet hay glitters, and the harvester<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tinkles his scythe,—as twinkling as the dew,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That shall not spare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blossom or brier in its sweeping path;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And, ere it cut one swath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rings them they die, and tells them to prepare.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What is the spice that haunts each glen and glade?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Dryad’s lips, who slumbers in the shade?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Faun, who lets the heavy ivy-wreath<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slip to his thigh as, reaching up, he pulls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The chestnut blossoms in whole bosomfuls?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sylvan Spirit, whose sweet mouth doth breathe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her viewless presence near us, unafraid?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or troops of ghosts of blooms, that whitely wade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brook? whose wisdom knows no other song<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But that the bird sings where it builds beneath<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wild-rose and sits singing all day long.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_310" id="page_310"></a>{310}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, let me sit with silence for a space,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A little while forgetting that fierce part<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of man that struggles in the toiling mart;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where God can look into my heart’s own heart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From unsoiled heights made amiable with grace;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where the sermons that the old oaks keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can steal into me.—And what better then<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than, turning to the moss a quiet face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To fall asleep? a little while to sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dream of wiser worlds and wiser men.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_311" id="page_311"></a>{311}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SUNSET_CLOUDS" id="SUNSET_CLOUDS"></a>SUNSET CLOUDS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Low clouds, the lightning veins and cleaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Torn from the wilderness of storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweep westward like enormous leaves<br /></span> -<span class="i4">O’er field and farm.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And in the west, on burning skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their wrath is quenched, their hate is hushed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And deep their drifted thunder lies<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With splendor flushed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The black turns gray, the gray turns gold;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And sea’d in deeps of radiant rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Summits of fire, manifold,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">They now repose.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What dreams they bring! what thoughts reveal!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That have their source in loveliness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through which the doubts I often feel<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Grow less and less.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through which I see that other night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That cloud called Death, transformed of Love<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To flame, and pointing with its light<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To life above.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_312" id="page_312"></a>{312}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="RICHES" id="RICHES"></a>RICHES</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What mines the morning heavens unfold!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What far Alaskas of the skies!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, veined with elemental gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sierra on Sierra rise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Heap up the gold of all the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ore that makes men fools and slaves:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What is it to the gold, cloud-curled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That rivers through the sunset’s caves.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Search Earth for riches all who will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gold that soils, that turns to dust—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mine be the wealth no thief can steal,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gold of Beauty naught can rust.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_313" id="page_313"></a>{313}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="AGE_OF_GOLD" id="AGE_OF_GOLD"></a>THE AGE OF GOLD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The clouds that tower in storm, that beat<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Arterial thunder in their veins;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wildflowers lifting, shyly sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their perfect faces from the plains,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All high, all lowly things of Earth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For no vague end have had their birth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Low strips of mist, that mesh the moon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above the foaming waterfall;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mountains that God’s hand hath hewn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And forests where the great winds call,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within the grasp of such as see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are parts of a conspiracy;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To seize the soul with beauty; hold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The heart with love: and thus fulfill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within ourselves the Age of Gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That never died, and never will,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As long as one true nature feels<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wonders that the world reveals.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_314" id="page_314"></a>{314}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SONG_FOR_LABOR" id="SONG_FOR_LABOR"></a>A SONG FOR LABOR</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, the morning meads, the dewy meads,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where he ploughs and harrows and sows the seeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Singing a song of manly deeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the blossoming springtime weather:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The heart in his bosom as high as the word<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Said to the sky by the mating bird,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the beat of an answering heart is heard,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His heart and hers together.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, the noonday heights, the sunlit heights,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where he stoops to the harvest his keen scythe smites,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Singing a song of the work that requites,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the ripening summer weather:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The soul in his body as light as the sigh<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the little cloud-breeze that cools the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While he hears an answering soul reply,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His soul and hers together.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_315" id="page_315"></a>{315}</span></p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, the evening vales, the twilight vales,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where he labors and sweats to the thud of flails,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Singing a song of the toil that he hails,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the fruitful autumn weather:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In heart and in soul as free from fears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the first white star in the sky that appears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the music of life and of love he hears,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her life and his together.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_316" id="page_316"></a>{316}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="LOVE_OF_LOVES" id="LOVE_OF_LOVES"></a>THE LOVE OF LOVES</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I have not seen her face, and yet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She is more sweet than anything<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of earth—than rose or violet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That winds of May and sunbeams bring.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all we know, past or to come,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That beauty holds within its net,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She is the high compendium:<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And yet—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I have not touched her robe, and still<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She is more dear than lyric words<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And music; or than strains that fill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The throbbing throats of forest birds.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all we mean by poetry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That rules the soul and charms the will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She is the deep epitome:<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And still—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She is my world: ah, pity me!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A dream that flies whom I pursue:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_317" id="page_317"></a>{317}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whom all pursue, whoe’er they be,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who toil for Art and dare and do.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shadow-love for whom they sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The far ideal affinity,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For whom they live and gladly die—<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Ah me!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_318" id="page_318"></a>{318}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="THREE_THINGS" id="THREE_THINGS"></a>THREE THINGS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There are three things of Earth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That help us more<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than those of heavenly birth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That all implore—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than Love or Faith or Hope,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For which we strive and grope.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The first one is Desire,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who takes our hand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fills our hearts with fire<br /></span> -<span class="i2">None may withstand;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through whom we’re lifted far<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above both moon and star.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The second one is Dream,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who leads our feet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By an immortal gleam<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To visions sweet;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through whom our forms put on<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dim attributes of dawn.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_319" id="page_319"></a>{319}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The last of these is Toil,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who maketh true,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within the world’s turmoil<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The other two;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through whom we may behold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ourselves with kings enrolled.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_320" id="page_320"></a>{320}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IMMORTELLES" id="IMMORTELLES"></a>IMMORTELLES</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As some warm moment of repose<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In one rich rose<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sums all the summer’s lovely bloom<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And pure perfume—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So did her soul epitomize<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All hopes that make life wise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who lies before us now with lidded eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Faith’s amaranth of truth<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Crowning her youth.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As some melodious note or strain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">May so contain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All of sweet music in one chord,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or lyric word—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So did her loving heart suggest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All dreams that make life blessed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who lies before us now with pulseless breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Love’s asphodel of duty<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Crowning her beauty.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_321" id="page_321"></a>{321}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="LULLABY" id="LULLABY"></a>A LULLABY</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In her wimple of wind and her slippers of sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The twilight comes like a little goose-girl,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Herding her owls with many “Tu-whoos,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her little brown owls in the forest deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where dimly she walks in her whispering shoes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And gown of glimmering pearl.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep:<br /></span> -<span class="i3">This is the road to Rockaby Town.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rockaby, lullaby, where dreams are cheap;<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Here you can buy any dream for a crown.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The cradle you lie in is soft and is deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">The wagon that takes you to Rockaby Town.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Now you go up, sweet, now you go down,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Rockaby, lullaby, now you go down.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_322" id="page_322"></a>{322}</span></p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And after the twilight comes midnight, who wears<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A mantle of purple so old, so old!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who stables the lily-white moon, it is said,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In a wonderful chamber with violet stairs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Up which you can see her come, silent of tread,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On hoofs of pale silver and gold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Dream, dream, little one, dream:<br /></span> -<span class="i3">This is the way to Lullaby Land.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lullaby, rockaby, where, white as cream,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Sugar-plum bowers drop sweets in your hand.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dream, dream, little one, dream;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The cradle you lie in is tight at each seam,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">The boat that goes sailing to Lullaby Land.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Over the sea, sweet, over the sand,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Lullaby, rockaby, over the sand.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The twilight and midnight are lovers, you know,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And each to the other is true, is true!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there on the moon through the heavens they ride,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_323" id="page_323"></a>{323}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the little brown owls all huddled a-row,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through meadows of heaven where, every side,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blossom the stars and the dew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Rest, rest, little one, rest:<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Rockaby Town is in Lullaby Isle.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rockaby, lullaby, set like a nest<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Deep in the heart of a song and a smile.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rest, rest, little one, rest;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The cradle you lie in is warm as my breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">The white bird that bears you to Lullaby Isle.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Out of the East, sweet, into the West,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Rockaby, lullaby, into the West.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_324" id="page_324"></a>{324}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="PESTILENCE" id="PESTILENCE"></a>PESTILENCE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">High on a throne of noisome ooze and heat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Mid rotting trees of bayou and lagoon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ghastly she sits beneath the skeleton moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A tawny horror coiling at her feet—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fever, whose eyes keep watching, serpent-like,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until her eyes shall bid him rise and strike.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_325" id="page_325"></a>{325}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="MUSINGS" id="MUSINGS"></a>MUSINGS</h3> - -<h4>I<br /><br /> -<i>Inspiration</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All who have toiled for Art, who’ve won or lost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sat equal priests at her high Pentecost;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only the chrism and sacrament of flame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Anointing all, inspired not all the same.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II<br /><br /> -<i>Apportionment</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How often in our search for joy below<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hoping for happiness we chance on woe.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III<br /><br /> -<i>Victory</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They who take courage from their own defeat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are victors too, no matter how much beat.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_326" id="page_326"></a>{326}</span></p> - -<h4>IV<br /><br /> -<i>Preparation</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How often hope’s fair flower blooms richest where<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The soul was fertilized with black despair.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V<br /><br /> -<i>Disillusion</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Those unrequited in their love who die<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have never drained life’s chief illusion dry.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI<br /><br /> -<i>Success</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Success allures us in the earth and skies:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We seek to win her, but, too amorous,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mocking, she flees us.—Haply, were we wise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We should not strive and she would come to us.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VII<br /><br /> -<i>Science</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Miranda-like, above the world she waves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wand of Prospero; and, beautiful,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_327" id="page_327"></a>{327}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ariel the airy, Caliban the dull,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lightning and Steam,—are her unwilling slaves.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VIII<br /><br /> -<i>The Universal Wind</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wild son of Heav’n, with laughter and alarm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now east, now west, now north, now south he goes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bearing in one harsh hand dark death and storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the other, sunshine and a rose.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IX<br /><br /> -<i>Compensation</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yea, whom He loves the Lord God chasteneth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With disappointments, so that this side death,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through suffering and failure, they know Hell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To make them worthy in that Heaven to dwell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Love’s attainment, where they come to be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Parts of its beauty and divinity.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>X<br /><br /> -<i>Poppies</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Summer met Sleep at sunset,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dreaming within the south,—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_328" id="page_328"></a>{328}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drugged with his soul’s deep slumber,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red with her heart’s hot drouth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These are the drowsy kisses<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She pressed upon his mouth.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XI<br /><br /> -<i>Her Eyes and Mouth</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is no Paradise like that which lies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep in the heavens of her azure eyes:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is no Eden here on Earth that glows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like that which smiles rich in her mouth’s red rose.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XII<br /><br /> -<i>Her Soul</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To me not only does her soul suggest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Palms and the peace of tropic shore and wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, oceaned far beyond the golden West,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Fortunate Islands of true Womanhood.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIII<br /><br /> -<i>Her Face</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The gladness of our Southern spring; the grace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of summer; and the dreaminess of fall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are parts of her sweet nature.—Such a face<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was Ruth’s, methinks, divinely spiritual.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_329" id="page_329"></a>{329}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="MESSAGE_OF_THE_LILIES" id="MESSAGE_OF_THE_LILIES"></a>THE MESSAGE OF THE LILIES</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My soul and I went walking<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath the moon of spring;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lilies pale were talking,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We heard them murmuring.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From dimly moonlit places<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They thrust long throats of white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lifted fairy faces<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of fragrant snow and light.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Their language was an essence,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yet clear as any bird’s;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from it grew a presence,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As music grows from words.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A spirit born of silence<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And chastity and dew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among Elysian islands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Were not more white to view.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_330" id="page_330"></a>{330}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A spirit born of fire<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And holiness and snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within the Heaven’s desire,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Were not more pure to know.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He smiled among them, lifting<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Pale hands of prayer and peace—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And through the moonlight, drifting,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Came words to me like these:—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“We are His lilies, lilies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose praises here we sing!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We are the lilies, lilies<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Christ our Lord and King!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_331" id="page_331"></a>{331}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="ANTHEM_OF_DAWN" id="ANTHEM_OF_DAWN"></a>ANTHEM OF DAWN</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then up the orient heights to the zenith that balanced the crescent,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Up and far up and over,—the heaven grew erubescent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vibrant with rose and with ruby from hands of the harpist Dawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Smiting symphonic fire on the firmament’s barbiton;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the East was a priest who adored with offerings of gold and of gems,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a wonderful carpet unrolled for the inaccessible hems<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the glittering robes of her limbs; that, lily and amethyst,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swept glorying on and on through temples of cloud and mist.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_332" id="page_332"></a>{332}</span></p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then out of the splendor and richness, that burned like a magic stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The torrent suffusion that deepened and dazzled and broadened and shone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pomp and the pageant of color, triumphal procession of glare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sun, like a king in armor, breathing splendor from feet to hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stood forth with majesty girdled, as a hero who towers afar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the bannered gates are bristling hells and the walls are roaring war:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And broad on the back of the world, like a Cherubin’s fiery blade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The effulgent gaze of his aspect fell in glittering accolade.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then billowing blue, like an ocean, rolled from the shores of dawn to even:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the stars like rafts went down; and the moon, like a ghost-ship driven,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A feather of foam, from port to port of the cloud-built isles that dotted,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_333" id="page_333"></a>{333}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With pearl and cameo, bays of the day,—her canvas webbed and rotted,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lay lost in the gulf of heaven; while over her mixed and melted<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The beautiful children of Morn, whose bodies are opal-belted;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The beautiful daughters of Dawn, who, over and under and after<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rivered radiance wrestled; and rainbowed heaven with laughter<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of halcyon sapphire.—O Dawn! thou visible mirth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou hallelujah of heaven! hosanna of Earth!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_334" id="page_334"></a>{334}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="AT_THE_LANES_END" id="AT_THE_LANES_END"></a>AT THE LANE’S END</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No more to strip the roses from<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The rose-sprays of her porch’s place!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I dreamed last night that I was home<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Kissing a rose—her face.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I must have smiled in sleep—who knows?—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The rose-aroma filled the lane;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I saw her white hand’s lifted rose<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That welcomed home again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And yet when I awoke—so wan,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My old face wet with icy tears—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Somehow, it seems, she was not gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though dead now thirty years.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The clouds roll up and the clouds roll down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the roofs of the little town;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_335" id="page_335"></a>{335}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out in the hills, where the pike winds by<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fields of clover and bottoms of rye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You will hear no sound but the barking cough<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the striped chipmunk where the lane leads off;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You will hear no bird but the sapsuckér<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far off in the forest,—that seems to purr,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the warm wind fondles its top, grown hot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like the docile back of an ocelot:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You will see no thing but the shine and shade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of briers that climb and of weeds that wade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The glittering creeks of the heat, that fills<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dusty road and the red-keel hills.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all day long in the pennyroyal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The grasshoppers at their anvils toil;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thick click of their tireless hammers thrum,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the wheezy belts of their bellows hum;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tinkers who solder the silence and heat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To make the loneliness more complete.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around old rails where the blackberries<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are reddening ripe, and the bumblebees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are a drowsy rustle of Summer’s skirts,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the bob-white’s wing is the fan she flirts;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under the hill, through the ironweeds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ox-eyed daisies and milkweeds, leads<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The path forgotten of all but one.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where elder-bushes are sick with sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wild raspberries branch big, blue veins<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_336" id="page_336"></a>{336}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er the face of the rock where the old spring rains<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its sparkling splinters of molten spar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the gravel bed where the tadpoles are,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You will find the pales of a fallen fence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the tangled orchard and vineyard, dense<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the weedy neglect of thirty years.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The garden there,—where the soft sky clears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like an old sweet face that has dried its tears;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The garden-plot where the cabbage grew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the pompous pumpkin; and beans that blew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Balloons of white by the melon patch;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Maize; and tomatoes that seemed to catch<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oblong amber and agate balls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Globed of the sun in the frosty falls:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long rows of currants and gooseberries,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the balsam-gourd with its honey-bees.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here was a nook for the princess-plumes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The snapdragons and the poppy-blooms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quaint sweet-williams and pansy-flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the morning-glories’ bewildered bowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tipping their cornucopias up<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the humming-birds that came to sup.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And over it all was the Sabbath peace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the land whose lap was the love of these;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the old log-house where my innocence died,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With my boyhood buried side by side.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_337" id="page_337"></a>{337}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall a man with a face as withered and gray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the wasp-nest stowed in a loft away,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the hornets haunt and the mortar drops<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the loosened logs of the clapboard tops;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whom vice has aged as the rotting rooms<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rain where memories haunt the glooms;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A hitch in his joints like the rheum that gnars<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the rasping hinge of the door that jars;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A harsh, cracked throat like the old stone flue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the swallows build the summer through;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall a man, I say, with the spider sins<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That the long years spin in the outs and ins<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of his soul, returning to see once more<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His boyhood’s home, where his life was poor<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With toil and tears and their fretfulness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But rich with health and the hopes that bless<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The unsoiled wealth of a vigorous youth;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall he not take comfort and know the truth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In its threadbare raiment of falsehood?—Yea!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In his crumbled past he shall kneel and pray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like a pilgrim come to the shrine again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the homely saints that shall soothe his pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And arise and depart made clean again!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_338" id="page_338"></a>{338}</span></p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Years of care can not efface<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Visions of the hills and trees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Closing in its dam and race;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor the mile-long memories<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the mill-stream’s lovely place.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How the sunsets used to stain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mirrors of the waters lying<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under eaves made dark with rain!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the red-bird, westward flying,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lit to try its song again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dingles, hills and woods, and springs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where we came in calm and storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swinging in the grapevine swings,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wading where the rocks were warm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With our fishing-nets and strings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here the road plunged down the hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Under ash and chinquapin,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the grasshoppers would drill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ears of silence with their din,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the willow-girdled mill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There the path beyond the ford<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Takes the woodside; just below<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_339" id="page_339"></a>{339}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shallows that the lilies sword,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the scarlet blossoms blow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the trumpet-vine and gourd.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Summer winds, that sink with heat,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the pelted waters winnow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moony petals that repeat<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Crescents, where the startled minnow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beats a glittering retreat.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Summer winds that bear the scent<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the ironweed and mint,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weary with sweet freight and spent,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the deeper pools imprint<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stumbling steps, whose ripples dent.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Summer winds, that split the husk<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the peach and nectarine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trail along the amber dusk<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hazy skirts of gold and green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spilling balms of dew and musk.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where with balls of bursting juice<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Summer sees the red wild-plum<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strew the gravel; ripened loose,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Autumn hears the pawpaw drum<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plumpness on the rocks that bruise:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_340" id="page_340"></a>{340}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There we found the water-beech,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One forgotten August noon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a hornet-nest in reach,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a fairyland balloon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full of bustling fairy speech.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some invasion, sure, it was;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For we heard the captains scold;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Waspish cavalry a-buzz,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Troopers uniformed in gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sable-slashed,—to charge on us.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Could I find the sedgy angle,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the dragon-flies would turn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slender flittings into spangle<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the sunlight? or would burn—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the berries made a tangle—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sparkling green and brassy blue;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rendezvousing, by the stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bands of elf-banditti, who,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Brigands of the bloom and beam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drunken were with honey-dew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Could I find the pond that lay<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where vermilion blossoms showered<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fragrance down the daisied way?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_341" id="page_341"></a>{341}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">That the sassafras embowered<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the spice of early May?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Could I find it—should I seek—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The old mill? Its weather-beaten<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wheel and gable by the creek?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With its warping roof; worm-eaten,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dusty rafters worn and weak.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where old shadows haunt old places,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Loft and hopper, stair and bin;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ghostly with the dust that laces<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Webs that usher phantoms in,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wistful with remembered faces.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">While the frogs’ grave litanies<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Drowse in far-off antiphone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Supplicating, till the eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of dead friendships, long alone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the dusky corners,—rise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Moonbeams? or the twinkling tip<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of a star? or, in the darkling<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Twilight, fireflies? there that dip—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As if Night a myriad sparkling<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Jewels from her hands let slip.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_342" id="page_342"></a>{342}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where, I dream, my youth still crosses,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a corn-sack for the meal,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the sprinkled ferns and mosses,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the gray mill’s lichened wheel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the water drips and tosses.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_343" id="page_343"></a>{343}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ENCHANTMENT" id="ENCHANTMENT"></a>ENCHANTMENT</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The deep seclusion of this forest path,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’er which the green boughs weave a canopy;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along which bluet and anemone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spread a dim carpet; where the Twilight hath<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her dark abode; and, sweet as aftermath,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wood-fragrance roams,—has so enchanted me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That yonder blossoming bramble seems to be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some Sylvan resting, rosy from her bath:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has so enspelled me with tradition’s dreams,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That every foam-white stream that, twinkling, flows,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And every bird that flutters wings of tan,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or warbles hidden, to my fancy seems<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A Naiad dancing to a Faun who blows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wild woodland music on the pipes of Pan.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_344" id="page_344"></a>{344}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_THE_FOREST" id="IN_THE_FOREST"></a>IN THE FOREST</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">One well might deem, among these miles of woods,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Such were the Forests of the Holy Grail,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Brocéliand and Dean: where, clothed in mail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Knights of Arthur rode, and all the broods<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of legend laired.—And, where no sound intrudes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon the ear, except the glimmering wail<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of some far bird; or, in some flowery swale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A brook that murmurs to the solitudes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Might think he hears the laugh of Vivien<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blent with the moan of Merlin, muttering bound<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By his own magic to one stony spot:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, in the cloud that looms above the glen,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In which the sun burns like the Table Round,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Might dream he sees the towers of Camelot.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_345" id="page_345"></a>{345}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="CAN_SUCH_THINGS_BE" id="CAN_SUCH_THINGS_BE"></a>CAN SUCH THINGS BE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Meseemed that while she played, while lightly yet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her fingers fell, as roses bloom by bloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I listened—dead within a mighty room<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of some old palace where great casements let<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gaunt moonlight in, that glimpsed a parapet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of statued marble: in the arrased gloom<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Majestic pictures towered, dim as doom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dreams of Titian and of Tintoret.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then, it seemed, along a corridor,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A mile of oak, a stricken footstep came,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hurrying, yet slow.... I thought long centuries<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Passed ere she entered—she, I loved of yore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For whom I died, who wildly wailed my name<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And bent and kissed me on the mouth and eyes.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_346" id="page_346"></a>{346}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="KNIGHT-ERRANT" id="KNIGHT-ERRANT"></a>KNIGHT-ERRANT</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Onward he gallops through enchanted gloom.—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The phantoms of the forest, dark and dim,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And shadows of vast death environ him—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Onward he spurs victorious over doom.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before his eyes that love’s far fires illume—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where courage sits, impregnable and grim—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The form and features of <i>her</i> beauty swim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beckoning him on with looks that fears consume.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The thought of her distress, her lips to kiss,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mails him in triple might; and so at last<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To Lust’s huge keep he comes; its giant wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wild-towering, frowning from the precipice:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And through its gate, borne like a bugle-blast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’er night and hell he thunders to his all.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_347" id="page_347"></a>{347}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ARTIST" id="ARTIST"></a>THE ARTIST</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In story books, when I was very young,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I knew her first, one of the Fairy Race;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And then it was her picture took its place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Framed round with love’s deep gold, and draped and hung<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High in my heart’s red room: no song was sung,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No tale of passion told, I did not grace<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With her associated form and face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And intimated charm of touch and tongue.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As years went on she grew to more and more,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Until each thing, symbolic to my heart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of beauty,—such as honor, truth, and fame,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within the studio of my soul’s thought wore<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her lineaments, whom I, with all my art,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Strove to embody and to give a name.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_348" id="page_348"></a>{348}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="POETRY_AND_PHILOSOPHY" id="POETRY_AND_PHILOSOPHY"></a>POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Out of the past the dim leaves spake to me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The thoughts of Pindar with a voice so sweet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hyblæan bees seemed swarming my retreat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around the reedy well of Poesy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I closed the book. Then, knee to neighbor knee,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sat with the soul of Plato, to repeat<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Doctrines, till mine seemed some Socratic seat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High on the summit of Philosophy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around the wave of one Religion taught<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her first rude children. From the stars that burned<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above the mountained ether, Science learned<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The first vague lessons of the work she wrought.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Daughters of God, in whom we still behold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Age of Iron and the Age of Gold.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_349" id="page_349"></a>{349}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="QUO_VADIS" id="QUO_VADIS"></a>“QUO VADIS”</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It is as if imperial trumpets broke<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Again the silence on War’s iron height;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Cæsar’s armored legions marched to fight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Rome, blood-red upon her mountain-yoke,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blazed like an awful sunset. At a stroke,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Again I see the living torches light<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The horrible revels, and the bloated, white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bayed brow of Nero smiling through the smoke:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here and there a little band of slaves<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Among dark ruins; and the form of Paul,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bearded and gaunt, expounding still the Word:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And towards the North the tottering architraves<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of empire; and, wild-waving over all,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The flaming figure of a Gothic sword.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_350" id="page_350"></a>{350}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TO_A_CRITIC" id="TO_A_CRITIC"></a>TO A CRITIC</h3> - -<p class="c">R. H. S.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Song hath a catalogue of lovely things<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thy kind hath oft defiled,—whose spite misleads<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The world too often!—where the poet reads,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As in a fable, of old envyings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crows, such as thou, which hush the bird that sings,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or kill it with their cawings: thorns and weeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Such as thyself, ’midst which the wind sows seeds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of flow’rs, these crush before one blossom swings.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But here and there the wisdom of a School<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unknown to these hath often written down<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Fame” in white ink the future hath turned brown;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When every beauty, heaped with ridicule,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In their ignoble prose, proved their renown,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Making each famous—as an ass or fool.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_351" id="page_351"></a>{351}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="QUATRAINS2" id="QUATRAINS2"></a>QUATRAINS</h3> - -<h4>I<br /><br /> -<i>Poetry</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who hath beheld the goddess face to face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blind with her beauty, all his days shall go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Climbing lone mountains towards her temple’s place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weighed with Song’s sweet, inexorable woe.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II<br /><br /> -<i>The Unimaginative</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Each form of beauty’s but the new disguise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of thoughts more beautiful than forms can be;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sceptics, who search with unanointed eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never the Earth’s wild Fairy-dance shall see.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III<br /><br /> -<i>Music</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God-born before the Sons of God, she hurled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With awful symphonies of flood and fire,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_352" id="page_352"></a>{352}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">God’s name on rocking chaos—world by world<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flamed as the universe rolled from her lyre.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV<br /><br /> -<i>The Three Elements</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They come as couriers of Heaven: their feet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sonorous-sandaled with majestic awe;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In raiment of swift foam and wind and heat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blowing the trumpets of God’s wrath and law.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V<br /><br /> -<i>Rome</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Above the Circus of the World she sat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beautiful and base, a harlot crowned with pride:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fierce Nations, upon whom she sneered and spat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shrieked at her feet and for her pastime died.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI<br /><br /> -<i>On Reading the Life of Haroun er Reshid</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Down all the lanterned Bagdad of our youth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He steals, with golden justice for the poor:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within his palace—you shall know the truth!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A blood-smeared headsman hides behind each door.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_353" id="page_353"></a>{353}</span></p> - -<h4>VII<br /><br /> -<i>Mnemosyne</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In classic beauty, cold, immaculate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A voiceful sculpture, stern and still she stands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon her brow deep-chiselled love and hate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That sorrow o’er dead roses in her hands.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VIII<br /><br /> -<i>Beauty</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">High as a star, yet lowly as a flower,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unknown she takes her unassuming place<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At Earth’s proud masquerade—the appointed hour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strikes, and, behold! the marvel of her face.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IX<br /><br /> -<i>The Stars</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">These—the bright symbols of man’s hope and fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In which he reads his blessing or his curse—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are syllables with which God speaks His name<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the vast utterance of the universe.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_354" id="page_354"></a>{354}</span></p> - -<h4>X<br /><br /> -<i>Echo</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dweller in hollow places, hills and rocks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Daughter of Silence and old Solitude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tip-toe she stands within her cave or wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her only life the noises that she mocks.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_355" id="page_355"></a>{355}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DREAMER" id="DREAMER"></a>THE DREAMER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Even as a child he loved to thrid the bowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And mark the loafing sunlight’s lazy laugh;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or, on each season, spell the epitaph<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of its dead months repeated in their flowers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or list the music of the strolling showers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose vagabond notes strummed through a twinkling staff,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or read the day’s delivered monograph<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through all the chapters of its dædal hours.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still with the same child-faith and child regard<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He looks on Nature, hearing, at her heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Beautiful beat out the time and place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through which no lesson of this life is hard,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No struggle vain of science or of art,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That dies with failure written on its face.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_356" id="page_356"></a>{356}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WINTER" id="WINTER"></a>WINTER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The flute, whence Summer’s dreamy finger-tips<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Drew music,—ripening the cramped kernels in<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The burly chestnut and the chinquapin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red-rounding-out the oval haws and hips,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now Winter crushes to his stormy lips,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And surly songs whistle around his chin;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Now the wild days and wilder nights begin<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When, at the eaves, the lengthening icicle drips.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy songs, O Summer, are not lost so soon!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Still dwells a memory in thy hollow flute,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which unto Winter’s masculine airs doth give<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy own creative qualities of tune,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through which we see each bough bend white with fruit,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Each branch with bloom, in snow commemorative.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_357" id="page_357"></a>{357}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="MID-WINTER" id="MID-WINTER"></a>MID-WINTER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All day the clouds hung ashen with the cold;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And through the snow the muffled waters fell;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The day seemed drowned in grief too deep to tell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some old hermit whose last bead is told.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At eve the wind woke, and the snow clouds rolled<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Aside to leave the fierce sky visible;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Harsh as an iron landscape of wan Hell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dark hills hung framed in with gloomy gold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then, towards night, the wind seemed some one at<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My window, wailing: now a little child<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Crying outside my door; and now the long<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Howl of some starved beast down the flue.—I sat<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And knew ’twas Winter with his madman song<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of miseries on which he stared and smiled.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_358" id="page_358"></a>{358}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SPRING" id="SPRING"></a>SPRING</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">First came the rain, loud, with sonorous lips;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A pursuivant who heralded a prince:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And dawn put on her livery of tints,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dusk bound gold about her hair and hips:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, all in silver mail, the sunlight came,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A knight, who bade the winter let him pass;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And freed imprisoned beauty, naked as<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Court of Love, in all her wildflower shame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And so she came, in breeze-borne loveliness,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Across the hills; and heav’n bent down to bless:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above her head the birds were as a choir;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And at her feet, like some strong worshiper,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The shouting water pæan’d praise of her,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who, with blue eyes, set the wild world on fire.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_359" id="page_359"></a>{359}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TRANSFORMATION" id="TRANSFORMATION"></a>TRANSFORMATION</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It is the time when, by the forest falls,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The touch-me-nots hang faery folly-caps;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When ferns and flowers fill the lichened laps<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of rocks with color, rich as orient shawls:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in my heart I hear a voice that calls<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Me woodward, where the hamadryad wraps<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her limbs in bark, and, bubbling in the saps,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sings the sweet Greek of Pan’s old madrigals:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is a gleam that lures me up the stream—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A Naiad swimming with wet limbs of light?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Perfume that leads me on from dream to dream—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An oread’s footprints flowering into flight?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And, lo! meseems I am a Faun again,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One with the myths that I pursue in vain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_360" id="page_360"></a>{360}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="RESPONSE" id="RESPONSE"></a>RESPONSE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is a music of immaculate love,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That beats within the virginal veins of Spring,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And trillium blossoms, (like the stars that cling<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To fairies’ wands;) and, strung on sprays above,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">White-hearts and mandrake blooms, (that look enough<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like the elves’ washing—white with laundering<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of May-moon dews;) and all pale-opening<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wildflowers of the woods are born thereof.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is no sod Spring’s white foot brushes but<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Must feel the music that vibrates within,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And thrill to the communicated touch<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Responsive harmonies, that must unshut<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The heart of Beauty for Song’s concrete kin,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Emotions—that are flowers—born of such.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_361" id="page_361"></a>{361}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SWASHBUCKLER" id="SWASHBUCKLER"></a>THE SWASHBUCKLER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Squat-nosed and broad, of big and pompous port;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A tavern visage, apoplexy haunts,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All pimple-puffed: the Falstaff-like resort<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of fat debauchery, whose veined cheek flaunts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A flabby purple: rusty-spurred he stands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In rakehell boots and belt, and hanger that<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Claps when, with greasy gauntlets on his hands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He swaggers past in cloak and slouch-plumed hat.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aggression marches armies in his words;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And in his oaths great deeds ride cap-à-pie;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His looks, his gestures breathe the breath of swords;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in his carriage camp all wars to be:—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With him, of battles there shall be no lack<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While buxom wenches are and stoops of sack.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_362" id="page_362"></a>{362}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SIMULACRA" id="SIMULACRA"></a>SIMULACRA</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dark in the west the sunset’s sombre wrack<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unrolled vast walls the rams of war had split,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along whose battlements the battle lit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tempestuous beacons; and, with gates hurled back,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A mighty city, red with ruin and sack,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through burning breaches, crumbling bit by bit,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Showed where the God of Slaughter seemed to sit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Conflagration glaring at each crack.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who knows? perhaps as sleep unto us makes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our dreams as real as our waking seems<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With recollections time can not destroy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So in the mind of Nature now awakes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Haply, some wilder memory, and she dreams<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The stormy story of the fall of Troy.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_363" id="page_363"></a>{363}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BLUEBIRD" id="BLUEBIRD"></a>THE BLUEBIRD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From morn till noon upon the window-pane<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The tempest tapped with rainy finger-nails,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all the afternoon the blustering gales<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beat at the door with furious feet of rain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rose, near which the lily’s bloom lay slain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like some red wound dripped by the garden rails,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On which the sullen slug left silvery trails—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It seemed the sun would never shine again.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then in the drench, long, loud, and clarion-clear,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A skyey herald tabarded in blue,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A bluebird warbled ... and at once a bow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was bent in heaven, and I seemed to hear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God’s sapphire spaces crystallizing through<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The strata’d clouds in azure tremolo.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_364" id="page_364"></a>{364}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="CAVERNS" id="CAVERNS"></a>CAVERNS</h3> - -<p class="c"><i>Written of Colossal Cave, Kentucky.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Aisles and abysses; leagues, no man explores,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of rock that labyrinths and night that drips;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where everlasting silence broods, with lips<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of adamant, o’er earthquake-builded floors.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where forms, such as the Dæmon-World adores,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Laborious water carves; whence echo slips<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wild-tongued o’er pools where petrifaction strips<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her breasts of crystal from which crystal pours.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here where primordial fear, the Gorgon, sits,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Staring all life to stone in ghastly mirth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I seem to tread, with awe no tongue can tell,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath vast domes, by torrent-tortured pits,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Mid wrecks terrific of the ruined Earth,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An ancient causeway of forgotten Hell.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_365" id="page_365"></a>{365}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOICE_ON_THE_WIND1" id="VOICE_ON_THE_WIND1"></a>A VOICE ON THE WIND</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_366" id="page_366"></a>{366}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_367" id="page_367"></a>{367}</span> </p> - -<h3><a name="PROEM" id="PROEM"></a>PROEM</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">Oh, for a soul that fulfills<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Music like that of a bird!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thrilling with rapture the hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Heedless if any one heard.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">Or, like the flower that blooms<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lone in the midst of the trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Filling the woods with perfumes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Careless if any one sees.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">Or, like the wandering wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Over the meadows that swings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bringing wild sweets to mankind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Knowing not that which it brings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">Oh, for a way to impart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beauty, no matter how hard!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like unto Nature, whose art<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Never once dreams of reward.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_369" id="page_369"></a>{369}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_368" id="page_368"></a>{368}</span> </p> - -<h3><a name="VOICE_ON_THE_WIND2" id="VOICE_ON_THE_WIND2"></a>A VOICE ON THE WIND</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She walks with the wind on the windy height<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the rocks are loud and the waves are white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all night long she calls through the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“O my children, come home!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her bleak gown, torn as a tattered cloud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tosses around her like a shroud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While over the deep her voice rings loud,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“O my children, come home, come home!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O my children, come home!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who is she who wanders alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the wind drives sheer and the rain is blown?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who walks all night and makes her moan,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“O my children, come home!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose face is raised to the blinding gale;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_370" id="page_370"></a>{370}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose hair blows black and whose eyes are pale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While over the world goes by her wail,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“O my children, come home, come home!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O my children, come home!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She walks with the wind in the windy wood;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dark rain drips from her hair and hood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her cry sobs by, like a ghost pursued,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“O my children, come home!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the trees loom gaunt and the rocks stretch drear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The owl and the fox crouch back in fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As wild through the wood her voice they hear,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“O my children, come home, come home!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O my children, come home!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who is she who shudders by<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the boughs blow bare and the dead leaves fly?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who walks all night with her wailing cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“O my children, come home!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, strange of look, and wild of tongue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With wan feet wounded and hands wild-wrung,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_371" id="page_371"></a>{371}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweeps on and on with her cry, far-flung,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“O my children, come home, come home!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O my children, come home!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Tis the Spirit of Autumn, no man sees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mother of Death and of Mysteries,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who cries on the wind all night to these,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“O my children, come home!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Spirit of Autumn, pierced with pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Calling her children home again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Death and Dreams, through ruin and rain,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“O my children, come home, come home!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O my children, come home!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_372" id="page_372"></a>{372}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="LAND_OF_HEARTS_MADE_WHOLE" id="LAND_OF_HEARTS_MADE_WHOLE"></a>THE LAND OF HEARTS MADE WHOLE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do you know the way that goes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over fields of rue and rose,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Warm of scent and hot of hue,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Roofed with heaven’s bluest blue,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the Vale of Dreams Come True?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do you know the path that twines,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Banked with elder bosks and vines,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Under boughs that shade a stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hurrying, crystal as a gleam,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the Hills of Love a-Dream?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Tell me, tell me, have you gone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the fields and woods of dawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Meadowlands and trees that roll,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Great of grass and huge of bole,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the Land of Hearts Made Whole?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the way, among the fields,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Poppies lift vermilion shields,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In whose hearts the golden Noon,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Murmuring her drowsy tune,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rocks the sleepy bees that croon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_373" id="page_373"></a>{373}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the way, amid the woods,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mandrakes muster multitudes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Mid whose blossoms, white as tusk,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Glides the glimmering Forest-Dusk,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With her moths of fluttering musk.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here you hear the stealthy stir<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of shy lives of hoof and fur;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Harmless things that hide and peer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hearts that sucked the milk of fear—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fox and rabbit, squirrel and deer.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here you see the mossy flight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of faint forms that love the night—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whippoorwill and owlet-things,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose weird call before you brings<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wonder-worlds of happenings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now in sunlight, now in shade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Water, like a brandished blade,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Foaming forward, wild of flight,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Startles, then arrests the sight,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whirling steely loops of light.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through the tree-tops, down the vale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breezes roam, and leave a trail<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of cool music that the birds,—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_374" id="page_374"></a>{374}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Following in happy herds,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gather up in twittering words.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Blossoms, frail and manifold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shower the way with pearl and gold;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blurs, that seem the darling print<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the Springtime’s feet, or glint<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of her twinkling gown’s torn tint.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There the Myths of old endure:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dreams that are the world-soul’s cure;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Things that have no place or play<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the facts of Everyday<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Round your presence smile and sway.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Suddenly your eyes may see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stepping softly from a tree,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Slim of form and wet with dew,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The brown Dryad; lips the hue<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of a berry bit into.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You may mark the Naiad rise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From her pool’s reflected skies;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In her gaze the heaven that dreams,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Starred, in twilight-haunted streams,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mixed with water’s grayer gleams.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_375" id="page_375"></a>{375}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You may see the laurel’s girth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Big with bloom, give fragrant birth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the Oread whose hair,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Musk and darkness, light and air,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fills the hush with wonder there.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You may mark the rocks divide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the Faun before you glide,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Piping on a magic reed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sowing many a music-seed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From which bloom and mushroom bead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Of the rain and sunlight born,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Young of beard and young of horn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You may see the Satyr lie,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a very knowing eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Teaching fledgeling birds to fly.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">These shall cheer and follow you<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the Vale of Dreams Come True:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wind-like voices, leaf-like feet;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forms of mist and hazy heat,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In whose pulses sunbeams beat.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lo! you tread enchanted ground!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the hollows all around<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Elf and spirit, gnome and fay,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_376" id="page_376"></a>{376}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Guide your feet along the way<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Till the dewy close of day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then beside you, jet on jet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Emerald-hued and violet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Flickering, floats a firefly light,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Aye to guide your steps aright<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From the valley to the height.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Steep the way is; when at last,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vale and wood and stream are passed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From the heights you shall behold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Panther heavens of spotted gold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tiger-tawny deeps unfold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You shall see on stocks and stones<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sunset’s bell-deep color tones<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fallen; and the valleys filled<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With dusk’s purple music, spilled<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the silence, rapture-thrilled.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then, as answering bell greets bell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Night ring in her miracle<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the doméd dark, o’er-rolled,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Note on note, with starlight cold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Twixt the moon’s broad peal of gold.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_377" id="page_377"></a>{377}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the hill-top Love-a-Dream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shows you then her window-gleam;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Brings you home and folds your soul<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the peace of vale and knoll,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the Land of Hearts Made Whole.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_378" id="page_378"></a>{378}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WIND_OF_SUMMER" id="WIND_OF_SUMMER"></a>THE WIND OF SUMMER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From the hills and far away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the long, warm summer day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes the Wind and seems to say:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Come, oh, come! and let us go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the meadows bend and blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Waving with the white-tops’ snow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Neath the hyssop-colored sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Mid the meadows we will lie<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Watching the white clouds roll by;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“While your hair my hands shall press<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a cooling tenderness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till your grief grows less and less:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Come, oh, come! and let us roam<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the rock-cut waters comb<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flowing crystal into foam.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_379" id="page_379"></a>{379}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Under trees whose trunks are brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the banks that violets crown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We will watch the fish flash down;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“While my voice your ear shall soothe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a whisper soft and smooth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till your care shall wax uncouth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Come! where forests, line on line,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Armies of the oak and pine,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scale the hills and shout and shine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“We will wander, hand in hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ways where tall the toadstools stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mile-stones white of Fairyland.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“While your eyes my lips shall kiss,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dewy as a wild-rose is,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till they gaze on naught but bliss.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“On the meadows you will hear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leaning low your spirit ear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cautious footsteps drawing near.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“You will deem it but a bee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Murmuring soft and sleepily,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till your inner sight shall see<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_380" id="page_380"></a>{380}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis a presence passing slow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All its shining hair ablow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the white-tops’ tossing snow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“By the waters, if you will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And your inmost soul is still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Melody your ears shall fill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“You will deem it but the stream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rippling onward in a dream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till upon your gaze shall gleam<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Arm of spray and throat of foam—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis a spirit there a-roam<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the radiant waters comb.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“In the forest, if you heed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You shall hear a magic reed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sow sweet notes like silver seed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“You will deem your ears have heard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stir of tree or song of bird,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till your startled eyes are blurred<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“By a vision, instant seen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Naked gold and naked green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glimmering the boughs between.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_381" id="page_381"></a>{381}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Follow me! and you shall see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wonder-worlds of mystery<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That are only known to me!”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thus outside my city door<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Speaks the Wind its wildwood lore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Speaks, and lo! I go once more.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_382" id="page_382"></a>{382}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WIND_OF_WINTER" id="WIND_OF_WINTER"></a>THE WIND OF WINTER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Winter Wind, the wind of death,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who knocked upon my door,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now through the key-hole entereth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Invisible and hoar:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He breathes around his icy breath<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And treads the flickering floor.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I heard him, wandering in the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tap at my window pane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With ghostly fingers, snowy white,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I heard him tug in vain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until the shuddering candle-light<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Did cringe with fear and strain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The fire, awakened by his voice,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leapt up with frantic arms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some wild babe that greets, with noise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its father home who storms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With rosy gestures that rejoice<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And crimson kiss that warms.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_383" id="page_383"></a>{383}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now in the hearth he sits and, drowned<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Among the ashes, blows;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or through the room goes stealing round<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On cautious-stepping toes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep-mantled in the drowsy sound<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of night that sleets and snows.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And oft, like some thin fairy-thing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The stormy hush amid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I hear his captive trebles ring<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath the kettle’s lid;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or now a harp of elfland string<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In some dark cranny hid.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Again I hear him, imp-like, whine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cramped in the gusty flue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or knotted in the resinous pine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Raise goblin cry and hue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While through the smoke his eyeballs shine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A sooty red and blue.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At last I hear him, nearing dawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Take up his roaring broom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sweep wild leaves from wood and lawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And from the heavens the gloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To show the gaunt world lying wan,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And morn’s cold rose a-bloom.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_384" id="page_384"></a>{384}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="LEAF-CRICKET" id="LEAF-CRICKET"></a>THE LEAF-CRICKET</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">Small twilight singer<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of dew and mist: thou ghost-gray, gossamer winger<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Of dusk’s dim glimmer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How cool thy note sounds; how thy wings of shimmer<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Vibrate, soft-sighing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Meseems, for Summer that is dead or dying.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">I stand and listen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And at thy song the garden-beds, that glisten<br /></span> -<span class="i6">With rose and lily,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seem touched with sadness; and the tuberose chilly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breathing around its cold and colorless breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fills the pale evening with wan hints of death.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">I see thee quaintly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the leaf; thy shell-shaped winglets faintly—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_385" id="page_385"></a>{385}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i6">As thin as spangle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of cobwebbed rain—held up at airy angle;<br /></span> -<span class="i6">I hear thy tinkle,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy fairy notes, the silvery stillness sprinkle;<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Investing wholly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The moonlight with divinest melancholy:<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Until, in seeming,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see the Spirit of the Summer dreaming<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Amid her ripened orchards, apple-strewn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her great, grave eyes fixed on the harvest-moon.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">As dewdrops beady,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As mist minute, thy notes ring low and reedy:<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The vaguest vapor<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of melody, now near; now, like some taper<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Of sound, far fading—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou will-o’-wisp of music aye evading.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Among the bowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fog-washed stalks of Autumn’s weeds and flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">By hill and hollow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I hear thy murmur and in vain I follow—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou jack-o’-lantern voice, thou elfin cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou dirge, that tellest Beauty she must die.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_386" id="page_386"></a>{386}</span></p> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">And when the frantic<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wild winds of Autumn with the dead leaves antic;<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And walnuts scatter<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mire of lanes; and dropping acorns patter<br /></span> -<span class="i6">In grove and forest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some frail grief, with the rude blast thou warrest,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Sending thy slender<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far cry against the gale, that, rough, untender,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Untouched of sorrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweeps thee aside, where, haply, I to-morrow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall find thee lying, tiny, cold and crushed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy weak wings folded and thy music hushed.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_387" id="page_387"></a>{387}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="OWLET" id="OWLET"></a>THE OWLET</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When dusk is drowned in drowsy dreams,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And slow the hues of sunset die;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When firefly and moth go by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in still streams the new-moon gleams,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A sickle in the sky:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then from the hills there comes a cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The owlet’s cry:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A shivering voice that sobs and screams,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That, frightened, screams:—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq4">“Who is it, who is it, who?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who rides through the dusk and dew,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">With a pair of horns,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">As thin as thorns,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And face a bubble-blue?<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Who, who, who!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who is it, who is it, who?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_388" id="page_388"></a>{388}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When night has dulled the lily’s white,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And opened wide the moonflower’s eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When pale mists rise and veil the skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And round the height in whispering flight<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The night wind sounds and sighs:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then in the woods again it cries,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The owlet cries:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A shivering voice that calls in fright,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In maundering fright:—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq4">“Who is it, who is it, who?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who walks with a shuffling shoe,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">’Mid the gusty trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">With a face none sees,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And a form as ghostly too?<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Who, who, who!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who is it, who is it, who?”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When midnight leans a listening ear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And tinkles on her insect lutes;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When ’mid the roots the cricket flutes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And marsh and mere, now far, now near,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">A jack-o’-lantern foots:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_389" id="page_389"></a>{389}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then o’er the pool again it hoots,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The owlet hoots:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A voice that shivers as with fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">That cries in fear:—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq4">“Who is it, who is it, who?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who creeps with his glow-worm crew<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Above the mire<br /></span> -<span class="i6">With a corpse-light fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">As only dead men do?<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Who, who, who!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who is it, who is it, who?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_390" id="page_390"></a>{390}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="POET" id="POET"></a>THE POET</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He stands above all worldly schism,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, gazing over life’s abysm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beholds, within the starry range<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of heaven, laws of death and change,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, through his soul’s prophetic prism,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are turned to rainbows wild and strange.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through nature is his hope made surer<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of that ideal, his allurer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By whom his life is upward drawn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To mount pale pinnacles of dawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Mid which all that is fairer, purer<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of love and lore it comes upon.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">An alkahest, that makes gold metal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of dross, his mind is—where one petal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of one wild-rose will well outweigh<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The piled-up facts of every-day—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where commonplaces, there that settle,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are changed to things of heavenly ray.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_391" id="page_391"></a>{391}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He climbs by steps of stars and flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Companioned of the spirit Hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sets his feet in pastures where<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No merely mortal feet may fare;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And higher than the stars he towers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though lowly as the flowers there.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His comrades are his own high fancies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thoughts in which his soul romances;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every part of heaven or earth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He visits, lo, assumes new worth;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And touched with loftier traits and trances<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reshines as with a lovelier birth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He is the play, also the player;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The word that’s said, likewise the sayer;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the books of heart and head<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is no thing he has not read;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of time and tears he is the weigher,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mouthpiece ’twixt the quick and dead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He dies: but, mounting ever higher,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wings Phœnix-like from out his pyre<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above our mortal day and night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clothed on with sempiternal light;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And raimented in thought’s fine fire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flames on in everlasting flight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_392" id="page_392"></a>{392}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Unseen, yet seen, on heights of visions,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above all praise and world derisions,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His spirit and his deathless brood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of dreams fare on, a multitude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While on the pillar of great missions<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His name and place are granite-hewed.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_393" id="page_393"></a>{393}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SUMMER_NOONTIDE" id="SUMMER_NOONTIDE"></a>SUMMER NOONTIDE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The slender snail clings to the leaf<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gray on its silvered underside;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And slowly, slowlier than the snail, with brief<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bright steps, whose ripening touch foretells the sheaf,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her warm hands berry-dyed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Comes down the tanned Noontide.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The pungent fragrance of the mint<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And pennyroyal drench her gown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That leaves long shreds of trumpet-blossom tint<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the thorns, and everywhere the glint<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of gold and white and brown<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her flowery steps waft down.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The leaves, like hands with emerald veined,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along her way try their wild best<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To reach the jewel—whose hot hue was drained<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From some rich rose that all the June contained—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The butterfly, soft pressed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon her sunny breast.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_394" id="page_394"></a>{394}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Her shawl, the lace-like elder bloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She hangs upon the hillside brake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Smelling of warmth and of her breast’s perfume,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, lying in the citron-colored gloom<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beside the lilied lake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She stares the buds awake.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Or, with a smile, through watery deeps<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She leads the oaring turtle’s legs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or guides the crimson fin, that swims and sleeps,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From pad to pad, from which the young frog leaps;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And to its nest’s green eggs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The reed-bird there that begs.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Then ’mid the fields of unmown hay<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She shows the bees where sweets are found;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And points the butterflies, at airy play,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dragon-flies, along the water-way,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where honeyed flowers abound<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For them to flicker round.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Or where ripe apples pelt with gold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some barn—around which, coned with snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wild-potato blooms—she mounts its old<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mossed roof, and through warped sides, the knots have holed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_395" id="page_395"></a>{395}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lets her long glances glow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Into the loft below.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">To show the mud-wasp at its cell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Slenderly busy: swallows, too,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Packing against a beam their nest’s clay shell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And crouching in the dark the owl as well<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With all her downy crew<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of owlets gray of hue.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">These are her joys; and until dusk<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lounging she walks where reapers reap,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From sultry raiment shaking scents of musk,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rustling the corn within its silken husk,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And driving down heav’n’s deep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">White herds of clouds like sheep.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_396" id="page_396"></a>{396}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TO_THE_LOCUST" id="TO_THE_LOCUST"></a>TO THE LOCUST</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thou pulse of hotness, who, with reed-like breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Makest meridian music, long and loud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Accentuating summer!—dost thy best<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To make the sunbeams fiercer, and to crowd<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With lonesomeness the long, close afternoon—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When Labor leans, swart-faced and beady-browed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon his sultry scythe—thou tangible tune<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of heat, whose waves incessantly arise<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Quivering and clear beneath the cloudless skies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thou singest, and upon his haggard hills<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Drouth yawns and rubs his heavy eyes and wakes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brushes the hot hair from his face; and fills<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The land with death as sullenly he takes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Downward his dusty way: ’midst woods and fields<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At every pool his burning thirst he slakes;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_397" id="page_397"></a>{397}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">No grove so deep, no bank so high it shields<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A spring from him; no creek evades his eye;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He needs but look and they are withered dry.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thou singest, and thy song is as a spell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of somnolence to charm the land with sleep;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A thorn of sound that pierces dale and dell,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Diffusing slumber over vale and steep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sleepy the forest, nodding sleepy boughs;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sleepy the pastures with their sleepy sheep;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sleepy the creek where sleepily the cows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stand knee-deep, and the very heaven seems<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sleepy and lost in undetermined dreams.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Art thou a rattle that Monotony,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Summer’s dull nurse, old sister of slow Time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shakes for Day’s peevish pleasure, who in glee<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Takes its discordant music for sweet rhyme?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or oboe that the Summer Noontide plays,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sitting with Ripeness ’neath the orchard-tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trying repeatedly the same shrill phrase,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Until the musky peach with weariness<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Drops, and the hum of murmuring bees grows less?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_398" id="page_398"></a>{398}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="JULY" id="JULY"></a>JULY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Now ’tis the time when, tall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The long blue torches of the bellflower gleam<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the trees; and, by the wooded stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In many a fragrant ball,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Blooms of the button-bush fall.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Let us go forth and seek<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Woods where the wild plums redden and the beech<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plumps its stout burrs; and, swelling, just in reach,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The pawpaw, emerald-sleek,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Ripens along the creek.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Now ’tis the time when ways<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of glimmering green flaunt white the giant plumes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the black-cohosh; and through bramble glooms,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A blur of orange rays,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The butterfly-blossoms blaze.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_399" id="page_399"></a>{399}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Let us go forth and hear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spiral music that the locusts beat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that small spray of sound, so grassy sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Dear to a country ear,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The cricket’s summer cheer.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Now golden celandine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is hairy hung with silvery sacs of seeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bugled o’er with freckled gold, like beads,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Beneath the fox-grape vine,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The jewel-weed’s blossoms shine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Let us go forth and see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dragon-and the butterfly, like gems,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spangling the sunbeams; and the clover stems,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Weighed down with many a bee,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Nodding mellifluously.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Now morns are full of song;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cat-bird and the red-bird and the jay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the hilltops rouse the ruddy day,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who, dewy, blithe, and strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Lures their wild wings along.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Now noons are full of dreams;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The clouds of heaven and the wandering breeze<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Follow a vision; and the flowers and trees,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_400" id="page_400"></a>{400}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i4">The hills and fields and streams,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Are lapped in mystic gleams.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">The nights are full of love;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The stars and moon take up the golden tale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the sunk sun, and passionate and pale,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Mixing their fires above,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Grow eloquent thereof.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Such days are like a sigh<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That beauty heaves from a full heart of bliss:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such nights are like the sweetness of a kiss<br /></span> -<span class="i4">On lips that half deny—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The warm lips of July.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_401" id="page_401"></a>{401}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="EVENING_ON_THE_FARM" id="EVENING_ON_THE_FARM"></a>EVENING ON THE FARM</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From out the hills where twilight stands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the shadowy pasture-lands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With strained and strident cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath pale skies that sunset bands,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The bull-bats fly.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A cloud hangs over, strange of shape,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, colored like the half-ripe grape,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seems some uneven stain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On heaven’s azure, thin as crape,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And blue as rain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By ways, that sunset’s sardonyx<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’erflares, and gates the farm-boy clicks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through which the cattle came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mullein stalks seem giant wicks<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of downy flame.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From woods no glimmer enters in,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the streams that, wandering, win<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From out the violet hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those haunters of the dusk begin,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The whippoorwills.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_402" id="page_402"></a>{402}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Adown the dark the firefly marks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its flight in golden-emerald sparks;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, loosened from his chain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shaggy watch-dog bounds and barks,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And barks again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Each breeze brings scents of hill-heaped hay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now an owlet, far away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cries twice or thrice, “T-o-o-w-h-o-o”;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cool dim moths of mottled gray<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Flit through the dew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The silence sounds its frog-bassoon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, on the woodland creek’s lagoon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pale as a ghostly girl<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lost ’mid the trees, looks down the moon<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With face of pearl.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Within the shed where logs, late hewed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Smell forest-sweet, and chips of wood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Make blurs of white and brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brood-hen cuddles her warm brood<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of teetering down.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The clattering guineas in the tree<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Din for a time; and quietly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hen-house, near the fence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sleeps, save for some brief rivalry<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of cocks and hens.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_403" id="page_403"></a>{403}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A cow-bell tinkles by the rails,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, streaming white in foaming pails,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Milk makes an uddery sound;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While overhead the black bat trails<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Around and round.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The night is still. The slow cows chew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A drowsy cud. The bird that flew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sang is in its nest.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is the time of falling dew,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of dreams and rest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The brown bees sleep; and round the walk,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The garden path, from stalk to stalk<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bungling beetle booms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where two soft shadows stand and talk<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Among the blooms.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The stars are thick: the light is dead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That dyed the west: and Drowsyhead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tuning his cricket-pipe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nods, and some apple, round and red,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Drops over-ripe.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now down the road, that shambles by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A window, shining like an eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through climbing rose and gourd,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shows where Toil sups and these things lie—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">His heart and hoard.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_404" id="page_404"></a>{404}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="UNDER_THE_HUNTERS_MOON" id="UNDER_THE_HUNTERS_MOON"></a>UNDER THE HUNTER’S MOON</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">White from her chrysalis of cloud,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The moth-like moon swings upward through the night;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the bee-like stars that crowd<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Heav’n’s hollow hive wane in her silvery light.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Along the distance folds of mist<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hang frost-pale, ridging all the dark with gray;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tinting the trees with amethyst,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Touching with pearl and purple every spray.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All night the stealthy frost and fog<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Conspire to slay the rich-robed weeds and flowers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To strip the woods of wealth, and clog<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With piled-up gold of leaves the creek that cowers.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I seem to see their Spirits stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Molded of moonlight, faint of form and face,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_405" id="page_405"></a>{405}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now reaching high a chilly hand<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To pluck some walnut from its spicy place:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now with fine fingers, phantom-cold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Splitting the wahoo’s pods of rose, and thin<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bittersweet’s globes of gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To show the coal-red berries packed within:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now on frail threads of gossamer<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stringing slim pearls of moisture; necklacing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flow’rs; and spreading cobweb fur,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Crystalled with stardew, over everything;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">While ’neath the moon, with moon-white feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They wander and a moon-chill music draw<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From thin leaf-cricket flutes—the sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dim dirge of Autumn dying in the shaw.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_406" id="page_406"></a>{406}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_THE_LANE" id="IN_THE_LANE"></a>IN THE LANE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the hornet hangs in the hollyhock,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the brown bee drones i’ the rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the west is a red-streaked four-o’-clock,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And summer is near its close—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s—Oh, for the gate and the locust lane<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dusk and dew and home again!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the katydid sings and the cricket cries,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ghosts of the mists ascend,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the evening-star is a lamp i’ the skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And summer is near its end—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s—Oh, for the fence and the leafy lane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the twilight peace and the tryst again!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the owlet hoots in the dogwood-tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That leans to the rippling Run,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the wind is a wildwood melody,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And summer is almost done—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s—Oh, for the bridge and the bramble lane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the fragrant hush and her hands again!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_407" id="page_407"></a>{407}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When fields smell moist with the dewy hay,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And woods are cool and wan,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a path for dreams is the Milky-way,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And summer is nearly gone—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s—Oh, for the rock and the woodland lane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the silence and stars and her lips again!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the weight of the apples breaks down the limbs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And musk-melons split with sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the moon’s broad boat in the heaven swims,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And summer has spent its heat—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s—Oh, for the lane, the trysting lane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the deep-mooned night and her love again!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_408" id="page_408"></a>{408}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="EPIPHANY" id="EPIPHANY"></a>EPIPHANY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is nothing that eases my heart so much<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As the wind that blows from the great green hills;<br /></span> -<span class="iq">’Tis a hand of balsam whose healing touch<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unburdens my bosom of ills.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is nothing that maketh my soul to rejoice<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like the sunset flaming without a flaw:<br /></span> -<span class="iq">’Tis a burning bush whence God’s own voice<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Addresses my spirit with awe.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is nothing that hallows my mind, meseems,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like the night with its moon and its starry slope:<br /></span> -<span class="iq">’Tis a mystical lily whose golden gleams<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fulfill my being with hope.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is nothing, no, nothing, we see and feel,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That speaks to our souls some beautiful thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That was not created to help us and heal<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our lives that are overwrought.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_409" id="page_409"></a>{409}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="LIFE" id="LIFE"></a>LIFE</h3> - -<h4>I<br /><br /> -<i>Pessimist</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is never a thing we dream or do<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But was dreamed and done in the ages gone;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Everything’s old; there is nothing that’s new,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And so it will be while the world goes on.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The thoughts we think have been thought before;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The deeds we do have long been done;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We pride ourselves on our love and lore<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And both are as old as the moon and sun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We strive and struggle and swink and sweat,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the end for each is one and the same;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Time and the sun and the frost and wet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Will wear from its pillar the greatest name.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No answer comes for our prayer or curse,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No word replies though we shriek in air;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_410" id="page_410"></a>{410}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ever the taciturn universe<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stretches unchanged for our curse or prayer.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With our mind’s small light in the dark we crawl,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Glow-worm glimmers that creep about,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the Power that made us, over us all<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Poises His foot and treads us out.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Unasked He fashions us out of clay,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A little water, a little dust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then in our holes He thrusts us away,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With never a word, to rot and rust.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Tis a sorry play with a sorry plot,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This life of hate and of lust and pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where we play our parts and are soon forgot,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all that we do is done in vain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II<br /><br /> -<i>Optimist</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is never a dream but it shall come true,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And never a deed but was wrought by plan;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And life is filled with the strange and new,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ever has been since the world began.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_411" id="page_411"></a>{411}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As mind develops and soul matures<br /></span> -<span class="i2">These two shall parent Earth’s mightier acts;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love is a fact, and ’tis love endures<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Though the world make wreck of all other facts.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through thought alone shall our age obtain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above all ages gone before;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tribes of sloth, of brawn, not brain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are the tribes that perish, are known no more.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Within ourselves is a voice of Awe,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a hand that points to balanced Scales;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The one is Love, and the other, Law,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And their presence alone it is avails.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For every shadow about our way<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There is a glory of moon and sun;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the hope within us hath more of ray<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Than the light of the sun and the moon made one.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Behind all being a purpose lies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Undeviating as God hath willed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he alone it is who dies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who leaves that purpose unfulfilled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_412" id="page_412"></a>{412}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Life is an epic the Master sings,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose theme is Man, and whose music, Soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where each is a word in the Song of Things,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That shall roll on while the ages roll.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_413" id="page_413"></a>{413}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="MEETING_IN_THE_WOODS" id="MEETING_IN_THE_WOODS"></a>MEETING IN THE WOODS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through ferns and moss the path wound to<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A hollow where the touch-me-nots<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swung horns of honey filled with dew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where—like footprints—violets blue<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And bluets made sweet sapphire blots,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Twas there that she had passed I knew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The grass, the very wilderness<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On either side, breathed rapture of<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her passage: ’twas her hand or dress<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That touched some tree—a slight caress—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That made the wood-birds sing above;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her step that woke the flowers, I guess.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I hurried, till across my way,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Foam-footed, bounding through the wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A brook, like some wild child at play,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went laughing loud its roundelay;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And there upon its bank she stood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sunbeam clad in forest gray.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_414" id="page_414"></a>{414}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when she saw me, all her face<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bloomed like a wild-rose by the stream;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And to my breast a moment’s space<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I gathered her; and all the place<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Seemed conscious of some happy dream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come true to add to Earth its grace:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some union, that was Heav’n’s intent—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For which God made the world—the bliss,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The love, that raised her innocent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Young face to mine that, smiling, bent<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And sealed her first words with a kiss—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As Love might close his testament.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_415" id="page_415"></a>{415}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ROSE_AND_RUE" id="ROSE_AND_RUE"></a>ROSE AND RUE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Do you remember where<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The willows used to screen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The water flowing fair?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mill-stream’s banks of green<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where first our love begun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When you were seventeen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I was twenty-one?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Do you remember how<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From th’ old bridge we would lean—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bridge that’s broken now—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To watch the minnows sheen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through ripples of the Run,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When you were seventeen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I was twenty-one?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Do you remember, too,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The old beech-tree, between<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose roots the windflowers grew?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_416" id="page_416"></a>{416}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where oft we sat at E’en,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When stars were few or none,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When you were seventeen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I was twenty-one?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bark is grown around<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The names I cut therein,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the true-love knot that bound;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The love-knot, clear and clean,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I carved when our love begun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When you were seventeen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I was twenty-one.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The roof of the farm-house gray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is fallen and mossy green;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its rafters rot away:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The old path scarce is seen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where oft our feet would run,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When you were seventeen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I was twenty-one.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through each old tree and bough<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lone winds cry and keen—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The place is haunted now<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_417" id="page_417"></a>{417}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With ghosts of what-has-been,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And dreams of love-long-done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When you were seventeen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I was twenty-one.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There, in your world of wealth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, where you move a queen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Broken in heart and health,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Does there ever rise a scene<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of days, your thought would shun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When you were seventeen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I was twenty-one?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mamie Dean, ah, Mamie Dean,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here, ’mid the rose and rue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would God that your grave were green,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I were lying, too!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here on the hill, I mean,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where oft we laughed in the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When you were seventeen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I was twenty-one.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_418" id="page_418"></a>{418}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="MAID_WHO_DIED_OLD" id="MAID_WHO_DIED_OLD"></a>A MAID WHO DIED OLD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Frail, shrunken face, so pinched and worn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That life has carved with care and doubt!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So weary waiting, night and morn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For that which never came about!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pale lamp, so utterly forlorn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In which God’s light at last is out.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Gray hair, that lies so thin and prim<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On either side the sunken brows!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And soldered eyes, so deep and dim,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No word of man could now arouse!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hollow hands, so virgin slim,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forever clasped in silent vows!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Poor breasts! that God designed for love,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For baby lips to kiss and press!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That never felt, yet dreamed thereof,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The human touch, the child caress—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That lie like shriveled blooms above<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The heart’s long-perished happiness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_419" id="page_419"></a>{419}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O withered body, Nature gave<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For purposes of death and birth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That never knew, and could but crave<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Those things perhaps that make life worth—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rest now, alas! within the grave,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sad shell that served no end of Earth.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_420" id="page_420"></a>{420}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="COMMUNICANTS" id="COMMUNICANTS"></a>COMMUNICANTS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who knows the things they dream, alas!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or feel, who lie beneath the ground?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perhaps the flowers, the leaves and grass<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That close them round.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In spring the violets may spell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The moods of them we know not of;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or lilies sweetly syllable<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their thoughts of love.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Haply, in summer, dew and scent<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of all they feel may be a part;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each red rose be the testament<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of some rich heart.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The winds of fall be utterance,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Perhaps, of saddest things they say;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wild leaves may word some dead romance<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In some dim way.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In winter all their sleep profound<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through frost may speak to grass and stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stilling them with the silent sound<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of all they dream.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_421" id="page_421"></a>{421}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DEAD_DAY" id="DEAD_DAY"></a>THE DEAD DAY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The west builds high a sepulchre<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of cloudy granite and of gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where twilight’s priestly hours inter<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The day like some great king of old.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A censer, rimmed with silver fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The new moon swings above his tomb;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While, organ-stops of God’s own choir,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Star after star throbs in the gloom.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And night draws near, the sadly sweet—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A nun whose face is calm and fair—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And kneeling at the dead day’s feet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her soul goes up in silent prayer.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In prayer, we feel through dewy gleam<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And flowery fragrance, and—above<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All Earth—the ecstasy and dream<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That haunt the mystic heart of love.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_422" id="page_422"></a>{422}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ALLUREMENT" id="ALLUREMENT"></a>ALLUREMENT</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Across the world she sends me word,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From gardens fair as Falerina’s,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now by a blossom, now a bird,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To come to her, who long has lured<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With magic sweeter than Alcina’s.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I know not what her word may mean,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I know not what may mean the voices<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She sends as messengers unseen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That through the hush around me lean,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And whisper till my heart rejoices.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Soon must I go. I must away.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Must take the path that is appointed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God grant I reach her realm some day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where by her love, as by a ray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My soul shall be anointed.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_423" id="page_423"></a>{423}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="AUGUST" id="AUGUST"></a>AUGUST</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Clad on with glowing beauty and the peace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Benign, of calm maturity, she stands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Among her meadows and her orchard-lands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on her mellowing gardens and her trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Out of the ripe abundance of her hands<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Bestows increase<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fruitfulness, as, wrapped in sunny ease,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blue-eyed and blonde she goes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon her bosom Summer’s richest rose.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And he who follows where her footsteps lead,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By hill and rock, by forest-side and stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">May glimpse the glory of her visible dream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In flower and fruit, in rounded nut and seed:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She, in whose path the very shadows gleam;<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Whose humblest weed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_424" id="page_424"></a>{424}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seems lovelier than June’s loveliest flower, indeed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And sweeter to the smell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than April’s self within a rainy dell.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hers is a sumptuous simplicity<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Within the fair Republic of her flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where you may see her standing hours on hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breast-deep in gold, soft-holding up a bee<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To her hushed ear; or sitting under bowers<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Of greenery,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A butterfly a-tilt upon her knee;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or lounging on her hip,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dancing a cricket on her finger-tip.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ay, let me breathe hot scents that tell of you:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The hoary catnip and the meadow-mint,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On which the honor of your touch doth print<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Itself as odor. Let me drink the hue<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of ironweed and mist-flower here that hint<br /></span> -<span class="i5">With purple and blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rapture that your presence doth imbue<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their inmost essence with,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Immortal, though as transient as a myth.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_425" id="page_425"></a>{425}</span></p> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yea, let me feed on sounds that still assure<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Me where you hide: the brooks’, whose happy din<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tells where, the deep, retired woods within,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Disrobed, you bathe; the birds’, whose drowsy lure<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tells where you slumber, your warm, nestling chin<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Soft on the pure,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pink cushion of your palm.... What better cure<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For care and memory’s ache<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than to behold you thus, and watch you wake.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_426" id="page_426"></a>{426}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BUSH-SPARROW" id="BUSH-SPARROW"></a>THE BUSH-SPARROW</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ere wild-haws, looming in the glooms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Build bolted drifts of breezy blooms;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the whistling hollow there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The red-bud bends, as brown and bare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As buxom Roxy’s up-stripped arm;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From some gray hickory or larch,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sighed o’er the sodden meads of March,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sad heart thrills and reddens warm<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hear you braving the rough storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Frail courier of green-gathering powers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rebelling sap in trees and flowers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love’s minister come heralding—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O sweet saint-voice among bleak bowers!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O brown-red pursuivant of Spring!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Moan,” sob the woodland waters still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down bloomless ledges of the hill;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gray, gaunt clouds like harpies hang<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_427" id="page_427"></a>{427}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In harpy heavens, and swoop and clang<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sharp beaks and talons of the wind:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Black scowl the forests, and unkind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The far fields as the near: while song<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seems murdered and all beauty wrong.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One weak frog only in the thaw<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of spawny pools wakes cold and raw,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Expires a melancholy bass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And stops as if bewildered: then<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Along the frowning wood again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flung in the thin wind’s vulture face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From woolly tassels of the proud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red-bannered maples, long and loud,<br /></span> -<span class="iq">“The Spring is come! is here! her Grace! her Grace!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Her Grace, the Spring! her Grace! her Grace!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Climbs, beautiful and sunny browed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Up, up the kindling hills and wakes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blue berries in the berry brakes:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With fragrant flakes, that blow and bleach,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep-powders smothered quince and peach:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eyes dogwoods with a thousand eyes:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Teaches each sod how to be wise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With twenty wildflowers to one weed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And kisses germs that they may seed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_428" id="page_428"></a>{428}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In purest purple and sweet white<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Treads up the happier hills of light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bloom-, cloudy-borne, song in her hair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And balm and beam of odorous air.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Winds, her retainers; and the rains<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her yeomen strong who sweep the plains:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her scarlet knights of dawn, and gold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of eve, her panoply unfold:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her herald tabarded behold!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Awake to greet! prepare to sing!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She comes, the darling Duchess, Spring!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_429" id="page_429"></a>{429}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="QUIET" id="QUIET"></a>QUIET</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A log-hut in the solitude,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A clapboard roof to rest beneath!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This side, the shadow-haunted wood;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That side, the sunlight-haunted heath.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At daybreak Morn will come to me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In raiment of the white winds spun;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slim in her rosy hand the key<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That opes the gateway of the sun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her smile will help my heart enough<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With love to labor all the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cheer the road, whose rocks are rough,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With her smooth footprints, each a ray.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At dusk a voice will call afar,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A lone voice like the whippoorwill’s;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, on her shimmering brow one star,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Night will descend the western hills.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She at my door till dawn will stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With gothic eyes, that, dark and deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are mirrors of a mystic land,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fantastic with the towns of sleep.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_430" id="page_430"></a>{430}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="MUSIC" id="MUSIC"></a>MUSIC</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thou, oh, thou!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou of the chorded shell and golden plectrum, thou<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the dark eyes and pale pacific brow!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Music, who by the plangent waves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or in the echoing night of labyrinthine caves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or on God’s mountains, lonely as the stars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Touchest reverberant bars<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of immemorial sorrow and amaze;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Keeping regret and memory awake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the immortal ache<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of love that leans upon the past’s sweet days<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In retrospection!—now, oh, now,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Interpreter and heart-physician, thou<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who gazest on the heaven and the hell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of life, and singest each as well,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Touch with thy all-mellifluous finger-tips<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or thy melodious lips,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This sickness named my soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Making it whole<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As is an echo of a chord,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_431" id="page_431"></a>{431}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or some symphonic word,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or sweet vibrating sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That deep, resurgent, still doth rise and die<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On thy voluminous roll;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Part of the beauty and the mystery<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That axles Earth with music; as a slave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swinging it round and round on each sonorous pole,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Mid spheric harmony,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And choral majesty,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And diapasoning of wind and wave;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Speeding it on its far elliptic way<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Mid vasty anthemings of night and day.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O cosmic cry<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of two eternities, wherein we see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The phantasms, Death and Life,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At endless strife<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the silence of a monster grave.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_432" id="page_432"></a>{432}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DREAM_SHAPE" id="DREAM_SHAPE"></a>A DREAM SHAPE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With moon-white hearts that held a gleam<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I gathered wildflowers in a dream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shaped a woman, whose sweet blood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was odor of the wildwood bud.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From dew, the starlight arrowed through,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I wrought a woman’s eyes of blue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lids that on her eyeballs lay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were rose-pale petals of the May.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Out of a rosebud’s veins I drew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fragrant crimson beating through<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The languid lips of her, whose kiss<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was as a poppy’s drowsiness.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Out of the moonlight and the air<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I wrought the glory of her hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That o’er her eyes’ blue heaven lay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some gold cloud o’er dawn of day.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_433" id="page_433"></a>{433}</span></p> - -<p><a name="MY_SPIRIT_SAW_HER_PASS" id="MY_SPIRIT_SAW_HER_PASS"></a></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_432a_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_432a.jpg" width="332" height="500" alt="[Image -unavailable: My spirit saw her pass Page 432]" /></a> -</div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My spirit saw her pass <a href="#page_432">Page 432</a><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>A Dream Shape</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I took the music of the breeze<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And water, whispering in the trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shaped the soul that breathed below<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A woman’s blossom breasts of snow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A shadow’s shadow in the glass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of sleep, my spirit saw her pass:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thinking of it now, meseems<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We only live within our dreams.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For in that time she was to me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More real than our reality;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More real than Earth, more real than I—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The unreal things that pass and die.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_434" id="page_434"></a>{434}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="OLD_BARN" id="OLD_BARN"></a>THE OLD BARN</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Low, swallow-swept and gray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between the orchard and the spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All its wide windows overflowing hay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And crannied doors a-swing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The old barn stands to-day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Deep in its hay the Leghorn hides<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A round white nest; and, humming soft<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On roof and rafter, or its log-rude sides,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Black in the sun-shot loft,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The building hornet glides.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Along its corn-crib, cautiously<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As thieving fingers, skulks the rat;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or in warped stalls of fragrant timothy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gnaws at some loosened slat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or passes shadowy.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A dream of drouth made audible<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before its door, hot, harsh, and shrill<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_435" id="page_435"></a>{435}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">All day the locust sings.... What other spell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall hold it, lazier still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than the long day’s, now tell:—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dusk and the cricket and the strain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of tree-toad and of frog; and stars<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That burn above the rich west’s ribbéd stain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dropping pasture bars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cowbells up the lane.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Night and the moon and katydid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And leaf-lisp of the wind-touched boughs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mazy shadows that the fireflies thrid;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sweet breath of the cows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the lone owl here hid.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_436" id="page_436"></a>{436}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WOOD_WITCH" id="WOOD_WITCH"></a>THE WOOD WITCH</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is a woodland witch who lies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With bloom-bright limbs and beam-bright eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the water-flags that rank<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The slow brook’s heron-haunted bank.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dragonflies, in brass and blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are signs she works her sorcery through;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weird, wizard characters she weaves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her spells with under forest leaves,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These wait her word, like imps, upon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gray flag-pods; their wings, of lawn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gauze; their bodies, gleaming green.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While o’er the wet sand,—left between<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The running water and the still,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In pansy hues and daffodil,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fancies that she doth devise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Assume the forms of butterflies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rich-colored.—And ’tis she you hear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose sleepy rune, hummed in the ear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of silence, bees and beetles purr,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the dry-droning locusts whirr;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till, where the wood is very lone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_437" id="page_437"></a>{437}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vague monotone meets monotone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Slumber is begot and born,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A faery child beneath the thorn.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is no mortal who may scorn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The witchery she spreads around<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her dim demesne, wherein is bound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The beauty of abandoned time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As some sweet thought ’twixt rhyme and rhyme.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And through her spells you shall behold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The blue turn gray, the gray turn gold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of hollow heaven; and the brown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of twilight vistas twinkled down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With fireflies; and in the gloom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Feel the cool vowels of perfume<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slow-syllabled of weed and bloom.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, in the night, at languid rest,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When like a spirit’s naked breast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The moon slips from a silver mist,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With star-bound brow, and star-wreathed wrist,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If you should see her rise and wave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You welcome—ah! what thing could save<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You then? forevermore her slave!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_438" id="page_438"></a>{438}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="MAY" id="MAY"></a>MAY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The golden discs of the rattlesnake-weed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That spangle the woods and dance—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No gleam of gold that the twilights hold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is strong as their necromance:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For, under the oaks where the woodpaths lead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The golden discs of the rattlesnake-weed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are the May’s own utterance.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The azure stars of the bluet bloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That sprinkle the woodland’s trance—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No blink of blue that a cloud lets through<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is sweet as their countenance:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For, over the knolls that the woods perfume,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The azure stars of the bluet bloom<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are the light of the May’s own glance.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With her wondering words and her looks she comes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In a sunbeam of a gown;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She needs but think and the blossoms wink,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But look, and they shower down.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By orchard ways, where the wild bee hums,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With her wondering words and her looks she comes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a little maid to town.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_439" id="page_439"></a>{439}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="RAIN" id="RAIN"></a>RAIN</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Around, the stillness deepened; then the grain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went wild with wind; and every briery lane<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was swept with dust; and then, tempestuous black,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hillward the tempest heaved a monster back,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That on the thunder leaned as on a cane;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on huge shoulders bore a cloudy pack,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That gullied gold from many a lightning crack:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One great drop splashed and wrinkled down the pane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then field, hill, and wood were lost in rain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At last, through clouds,—as from a cavern hewn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into night’s heart,—the sun burst, angry roon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every cedar, with its weight of wet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against the sunset’s fiery splendor set,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Startled to beauty, seemed with rubies strewn:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then in drenched gardens, like sweet phantoms met,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dim odors rose of pink and mignonette;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the east a confidence, that soon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grew to the calm assurance of the moon.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_440" id="page_440"></a>{440}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="FALL" id="FALL"></a>FALL</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sad-hearted Spirit of the solitudes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who comest through the ruin-wedded woods!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gray-gowned in fog, gold-girdled with the gloom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of tawny sunsets; burdened with perfume<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of rain-wet uplands, chilly with the mist;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the beauty of the fire-kissed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cold forests crimsoning thy indolent way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Odorous of death and drowsy with decay.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I think of thee as seated ’mid the showers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of languid leaves that cover up the flowers,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The little flower-sisterhoods, whom June<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Once gave wild sweetness to, as to a tune<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A singer gives her soul’s wild melody,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Watching the squirrel store his granary.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or, ’mid old orchards, I have pictured thee:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy hair’s profusion blown about thy back;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One lovely shoulder bathed with gypsy black;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon thy palm one nestling cheek, and sweet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rosy russets tumbled at thy feet.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Was it a voice lamenting for the flowers?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or heart-sick bird that sang of happier hours?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A cricket dirging days that soon must die?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or did the ghost of Summer wander by?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_441" id="page_441"></a>{441}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SUNSET_IN_AUTUMN" id="SUNSET_IN_AUTUMN"></a>SUNSET IN AUTUMN</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Blood-colored oaks, that stand against a sky of gold and brass;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gaunt slopes, on which the bleak leaves glow of brier and sassafras,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And broom-sedge strips of smoky pink and pearl-gray clumps of grass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In which, beneath the ragged sky, the rain pools gleam like glass.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From west to east, from wood to wood, along the forest-side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The winds,—the sowers of the Lord,—with thunderous footsteps stride;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their stormy hands rain acorns down; and mad leaves, wildly dyed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like tatters of their rushing cloaks, stream round them far and wide.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The frail leaf-cricket in the weeds sounds its far fairy-bell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And like a torch of phantom ray the milkweed’s windy shell<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_442" id="page_442"></a>{442}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glimmers; while, wrapped in withered dreams, the wet, autumnal smell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of loam and leaf, like Fall’s own ghost, steals over field and dell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The oaks, against a copper sky—o’er which, like some black lake<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Dis, bronze clouds, (like surges fringed with sullen fire) break—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Loom sombre as Doom’s citadel above the vales that make<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A pathway to a land of mist the moon’s pale feet shall take.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now, dyed with burning carbuncle, a limbo-litten pane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red in wild walls of storm, the west opens to hill and plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On which the wild-geese ink themselves, a far triangled train;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then the shuttering clouds close down—and night it comes again.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_443" id="page_443"></a>{443}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="CONTENT" id="CONTENT"></a>CONTENT</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When I behold how some pursue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fame that is Care’s embodiment,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or fortune, whose false face looks true,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An humble home with sweet content<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is all I ask for me and you.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">An humble home, where pigeons coo,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose path leads under breezy lines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of frosty-berried cedars to<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A gate, one mass of trumpet-vines,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is all I ask for me and you.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A garden, which, all summer through,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The roses old make redolent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And morning-glories, gay of hue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tansy with its homely scent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is all I ask for me and you.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">An orchard, that the pippins strew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From whose bruised gold the juices spring;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A vineyard, where the grapes hang blue,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_444" id="page_444"></a>{444}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wine-big and ripe for vintaging,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is all I ask for me and you.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A lane, that leads to some far view<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of forest or of fallow-land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bloomed o’er of rose and meadow-rue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each with a bee in its hot hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is all I ask for me and you.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At morn, a pathway deep with dew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And birds that vary time and tune;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At eve, a sunset avenue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And whippoorwills that haunt the moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is all I ask for me and you.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dear heart, with wants so small and few,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And faith, that’s better far than gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A lowly friend; a child or two,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To care for us when we are old,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is all I ask for me and you.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_445" id="page_445"></a>{445}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="OCTOBER" id="OCTOBER"></a>OCTOBER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Long hosts of sunlight, and the bright wind blows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A tourney-trumpet on the listed hill;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Past is the splendor of the royal rose<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And duchess daffodil.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Crowned queen of beauty, in the garden’s space,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Strong daughter of a bitter race and bold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A ragged beggar with a lovely face,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Reigns the sad marigold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And I, who sought June’s butterfly for days,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Now find it—like a coreopsis bloom—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Amber and seal, rain-murdered ’neath the blaze<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of this sunflower’s plume.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here drones the bee; and there, sky-voyaging wings<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dare the blue gulfs of heaven: the last song<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The red-bird flings me as adieu, still rings<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Upon that pear-tree’s prong.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_446" id="page_446"></a>{446}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No angry sunset brims with rubier red<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bowl of heaven than the days, indeed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pour in the blossoms of this salvia-bed<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where each leaf seems to bleed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And where the wood-gnats dance, a little mist,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above the efforts of the weedy stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The girl, October, tired of the tryst,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Dreams a diviner dream.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">One foot just dipping the caressing wave,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One knee at languid angle; locks that drown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hands nut-stained; hazel-eyed, she lies, and grave,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Watching the leaves drift down.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_447" id="page_447"></a>{447}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DISCOVERY" id="DISCOVERY"></a>DISCOVERY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What is it now that I shall seek<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where woods dip downward, in the hills?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A mossy nook, a ferny creek,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And May among the daffodils.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or in the valley’s vistaed glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Past rocks of terraced trumpet-vines,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall I behold her coming slow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet May, among the columbines?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With red-bud cheeks and bluet eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Big eyes, the homes of happiness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To meet me with the old surprise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her hoiden hair all bonnetless.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who waits for me, where, note for note,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The birds make glad the forest trees?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A dogwood blossom at her throat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My May among th’ anemones.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As sweetheart breezes kiss the blooms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dewdrops drink the moon’s bright beams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My soul shall kiss her lips’ perfumes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And drain the magic of her dreams.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_448" id="page_448"></a>{448}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="OLD_SPRING" id="OLD_SPRING"></a>THE OLD SPRING</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Under rocks whereon the rose<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like a strip of morning glows;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the azure-throated newt<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drowses on the twisted root;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the brown bees, humming homeward,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stop to suck the honeydew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fern and leaf-hid gleaming gloamward,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drips the wildwood spring I knew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drips the spring my boyhood knew.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Myrrh and music everywhere<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Haunt its cascades—like the hair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That a Naiad tosses cool,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swimming strangely beautiful,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With white fragrance for her bosom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her mouth a breath of song:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under leaf and branch and blossom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flows the woodland spring along,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sparkling, singing flows along.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_449" id="page_449"></a>{449}</span></p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Still the wet wan mornings touch<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its gray rocks, perhaps; and such<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slender stars as dusk may have<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pierce the rose that roofs its wave;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still the thrush may call at noontide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the whippoorwill at night;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nevermore, by sun or moontide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall I see it gliding white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Falling, flowing, wild and white.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_450" id="page_450"></a>{450}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="FOREST_SPRING" id="FOREST_SPRING"></a>THE FOREST SPRING</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Push back the brambles, berry-blue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hollowed spring is full in view:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep-tangled with luxuriant fern<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ripples its rock-embedded urn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not for the loneliness that keeps<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The coigne wherein its crystal sleeps;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not for wild butterflies that sway<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their pansy pinions all the day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above its mirror; nor the bee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor dragon-fly, that, passing, see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Themselves reflected in its spar;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not for the one white liquid star<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That twinkles in its firmament;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor moon-shot clouds, so slowly sent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Athwart it when the kindly night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beads its long grasses with the light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Small jewels of the dimpled dew:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not for the day’s inverted blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor the quaint, dimly colored stones<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That dance within it where it moans;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_451" id="page_451"></a>{451}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not for all these I love to sit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In silence and to gaze in it.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, lo! a nymph with merry eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Greets mine within its laughing skies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A glimmering, shimmering nymph who plays<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the long fragrant summer days<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With instant sights of bees and birds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And talks with them in water-words;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And for whose nakedness the air<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weaves moony mists; and on whose hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unfilleted, the night will set<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That lone star as a coronet.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_452" id="page_452"></a>{452}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="HILLS" id="HILLS"></a>THE HILLS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is no joy of earth that thrills<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My bosom like the far-off hills!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Th’ unchanging hills, that, shadowy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beckon our mutability<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To follow and to gaze upon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Foundations of the dusk and dawn.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Meseems the very heavens are massed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon their shoulders, vague and vast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With all the skyey burden of<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The winds and clouds and stars above.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lo, how they sit before us, seeing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The laws that give all Beauty being!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Behold! to them, when dawn draws near,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The nomads of the air appear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unfolding crimson camps of day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In brilliant bands; then march away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And under burning battlements<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of evening plant their tinted tents.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The truth of olden myths, that brood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By haunted stream and haunted wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They see; and feel the happiness<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_453" id="page_453"></a>{453}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of old at which we only guess:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dreams, the ancients loved and knew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still as their rocks and trees are true:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not otherwise than presences<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tempest and the calm to these:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One, shouting on them all the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Black-limbed and veined with lambent light:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The other, with the ministry<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all soft things that company<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With music—whose embodied form<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fills all the solitude with charm<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of leaves and waters and the peace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of bird-begotten melodies—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And who at night doth still confer<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the mild moon, that telleth her<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pale tale of lonely love, until<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wan shadows of her passion fill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The heights with shapes that glimmer by<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clad on with sleep and memory.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_454" id="page_454"></a>{454}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SONG_OF_THE_THRUSH" id="SONG_OF_THE_THRUSH"></a>THE SONG OF THE THRUSH</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Overhead, overhead a wood thrush flutes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And it seems to me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the sweet words in the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Married to melody, could not express<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What its few, wild notes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Inspired, and simple, and free, express,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Say to me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of expectation and woodland mystery,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dreams, and wonder-visions never appearing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Remote and unattainably beautiful—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O indescribable song!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Song of the wild brown thrush!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O June! O love! O youth!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of you, of you it speaks to me!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the lost, the irremediable,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The indescribably fair and far and yet to be found;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mysteriously hidden, too:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lure of the undiscoverable calling, calling,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bidding me on and on,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the voice of all my longings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down the dim, the deep, the cadenced aisles of the forest.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_455" id="page_455"></a>{455}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TRANSMUTATION" id="TRANSMUTATION"></a>TRANSMUTATION</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To me all beauty that I see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is melody made visible:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An earth-translated state, may be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of music heard in Heaven or Hell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Out of some love-impassioned strain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of saints, the rose evolved its bloom;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, dreaming of it here again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perhaps relives it as perfume.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Out of some chant, that demons sing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of hate and pain, the sunset grew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, haply, still remembering,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Relives it here as some wild hue.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_456" id="page_456"></a>{456}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="FROST" id="FROST"></a>FROST</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Magician he, who, autumn nights,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Down from the starry darkness whirls;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heav’n’s harlequin, whose spangled tights<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And wand are powdered thick with pearls.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through him each pane presents a scene,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A Lilliputian landscape, where<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The world is white instead of green,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And trees and houses hang in air.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where Elfins gambol and delight,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And bow the jewelled bells of flowers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where upside-down we see the night<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With many moons and meteor showers.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And surely in his wand and hand<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lies Midas magic, for, behold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some morn we wake and find the land,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Both field and forest, turned to gold.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_457" id="page_457"></a>{457}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ADVENTURERS" id="ADVENTURERS"></a>ADVENTURERS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Seemingly over the hilltops,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Possibly under the hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A tireless wing that never drops,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a song that never stills.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Epics heard on the stars’ lips?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lyrics read in the dew?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To sing the song at our finger-tips,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And live the world anew!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Cavaliers of the Cortés kind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bold and free and strong,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, oh, for a fine and muscular mind<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To sing a New-World’s song!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sailing seas of the silver morn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blown of its balm and spice,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To put the Old-World art to scorn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At the price of any price!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Danger, death, but the hope high!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God’s, though the purpose fail!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into the deeds of a vaster sky<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sailing a dauntless sail.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_458" id="page_458"></a>{458}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="INVOCATION" id="INVOCATION"></a>INVOCATION</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O Life! O Death; O God!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have we not striven?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have we not known Thee, God,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As Thy stars know Heaven?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have we not held Thee true,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">True as Thy deepest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet and immaculate blue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heaven whence rains Thy dew!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have we not <i>known</i> Thee true,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O God who keepest!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O God, our Father, God!—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who gav’st us fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To rise above the sod,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To soar, aspire—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What though we strive and strive,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all our soul says “live”?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will not the scorn of men,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_459" id="page_459"></a>{459}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some wild bird, again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Falcon it down with sneers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As often in past years?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, O sun-centered high,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thou, too, who ’rt Poet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath Thy seeing sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each day new Keatses die,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crying, “Why should we try!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That which we seek ’s a lie!”—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why is this so?—O why?—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thou who dost know it!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We know Thee beautiful,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We know Thee bitter!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Help Thou!—Men’s eyes are dull,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O God most beautiful!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Make Thou their souls less full<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of things mere glitter.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dost Thou not see our tears?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dost Thou not hear the years<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Treading our hearts to shards,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O Lord of all the Lords?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give heed, O God of Hosts,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There ’mid Thy glorious ghosts,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Most high and holy!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_460" id="page_460"></a>{460}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have mercy on our tears!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have mercy on our years!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our strivings and our fears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O Lord of lordly peers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On us, so lowly!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On us, so fondly fain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To tell what mother-pain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Nature haunts the rain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On us, so glad to show<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What sorrow wings the snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her wild winds that blow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Us, who interpret right<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her mystic rose of light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her moony rune of night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Us, who have utterance for<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each warm, flame-hearted star<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That stammers from afar.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who hear the tears and sighs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of every bud that dies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While heav’n’s dew on it lies.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_461" id="page_461"></a>{461}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who see the power that dowers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wildwood bosks and bowers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With musk and sap of flowers.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who see what no man sees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In water, earth and breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the hearts of trees.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Turn not away Thy light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O God!—Our strength is slight!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Help us who breast the height!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have mercy, Infinite!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have mercy!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_462" id="page_462"></a>{462}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DEATH_OF_LOVE" id="DEATH_OF_LOVE"></a>THE DEATH OF LOVE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So Love is dead, the Love we knew of old!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And in the sorrow of our heart’s hushed halls<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A lute lies broken and a rose-flower falls;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love’s house stands empty and his hearth lies cold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lone in dim places, where sweet vows were told,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In walks grown desolate, by ruined walls<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beauty decays; and on their pedestals<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dreams crumble, and th’ immortal gods are mold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Music is slain or sleeps; one voice alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One voice awakes, and like a wandering ghost<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Haunts all the echoing chambers of the Past—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The voice of Memory, that stills to stone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The soul that hears; the mind, that, utterly lost,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Before its beautiful presence stands aghast.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_463" id="page_463"></a>{463}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="UNANSWERED" id="UNANSWERED"></a>UNANSWERED</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How long ago it is since we went Maying!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Since she and I went Maying long ago!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The years have left my forehead lined, I know,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have thinned my hair around the temples graying.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah, time will change us: yea, I hear it saying—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“She, too, grows old: the face of rose and snow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Has lost its freshness: in the hair’s brown glow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some strands of silver sadly, too, are straying.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The form you knew, whose beauty so enspelled,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Has lost the litheness of its loveliness:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all the gladness that her blue eyes held<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tears and the world have hardened with distress.”—<br /></span> -<span class="iq2">“True! true!” I answer, “O ye years that part!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">These things are changed—but is her heart, her heart?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_464" id="page_464"></a>{464}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="LOVE_THE_INTERPRETER" id="LOVE_THE_INTERPRETER"></a>LOVE, THE INTERPRETER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thou art the music that I hear in sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The poetry that lures me on in dreams;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The magic, thou, that holds my thought with themes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of young romance in revery’s mystic keep.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lily’s aura, and the damask deep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That clothes the rose; the whispering soul that seems<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To haunt the wind; the rainbow light that streams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some wild spirit, ’thwart the cataract’s leap—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are glimmerings of thee and thy loveliness,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Pervading all my world; interpreting<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The marvel and the wonder these disclose:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For, lacking thee, to me were meaningless<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Life, love, and hope, the joy of everything,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all the beauty that the wide world knows.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_465" id="page_465"></a>{465}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="LOVE_DESPISED" id="LOVE_DESPISED"></a>LOVE DESPISED</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Why not resolve and hunt it from one’s heart?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This love, this god and fiend, that makes a hell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of all one’s life, in ways no tongue can tell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No mind divine, nor any word impart.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would not one think the slights that make hearts smart,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The ice of love’s disdain, the wintry well<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of love’s disfavor, otherwise would quell?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or school one’s nature, too, to its own art?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why will men cringe and cry forever here<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For that which, once obtained, may prove a curse?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Why not remember that, however fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Decay is wed to Beauty? that each year<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Robs somewhat from the riches of her purse,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Until at last her house of pride stands bare?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_466" id="page_466"></a>{466}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="PEARLS" id="PEARLS"></a>PEARLS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Baroque, but beautiful, between the lunes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The valves of nacre of a mussel-shell,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Behold, a pearl! shaped like the burnished bell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of some strange blossom that long afternoons<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of summer coax to open: all the moon’s<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Chaste lustre in it; hues that only dwell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With purity.... It takes me, like a spell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Back to a day when, whistling truant tunes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A barefoot boy I waded ’mid the rocks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Searching for shells strewn in the creek’s slow swirl,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unconscious of the pearls that round me lay:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While, ’mid wild-roses,—all her tomboy locks<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blond-blowing,—stood, unnoticed then, a girl,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My sweetheart once, the pearl I flung away.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_467" id="page_467"></a>{467}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WOMAN_SPEAKS" id="WOMAN_SPEAKS"></a>THE WOMAN SPEAKS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Why have you come?—To see me in my shame?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A thing to spit upon, despise and scorn?—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You, you who ask me! You, by whom was torn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then cast aside, like some vile rag, my name!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What shelter could you give me, now, that blame<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And loathing would not share? that wolves of vice<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Would not besiege with eyes of glaring ice?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherein Sin sat not with her face of flame?<br /></span> -<span class="iq">“You love me”?—God!—If yours be love, for lust<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hell must invent another synonym!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">If yours be love, then whoredom is the way<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To Heaven and God! and not with soul but dust<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Must burn the faces of the Cherubim,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O beast of beasts, if yours be love, I say!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_468" id="page_468"></a>{468}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="OF_THE_SLUMS" id="OF_THE_SLUMS"></a>OF THE SLUMS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Red-faced as old carousal, and with eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A hard, hot blue; her hair a frowsy flame,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bold, dowdy bosomed, from her window-frame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She leans, her mouth all insult and all lies.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or slattern-slippered and in sluttish gown,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With ribald mirth and words too vile to name,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A new Doll Tearsheet, glorying in her shame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Armed with her Falstaff now she takes the town.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flaring lights of alley-way saloons,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The reek of hideous gutters and black oaths<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of drunkenness from vice-infested dens,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are to her senses what the silvery moon’s<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Chaste splendor is, and what the blossoming growths<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Earth and bird-song are to Innocence.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_469" id="page_469"></a>{469}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="LIGHT_AND_WIND" id="LIGHT_AND_WIND"></a>LIGHT AND WIND</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where, through the myriad leaves of many trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The daylight falls, beryl and chrysoprase,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The glamour and the glimmer of its rays<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seem visible music, tangible melodies:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Light that is music; music that one sees—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wagnerian music—where forever sways<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The spirit of romance, and gods and fays<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Take form, clad on with dreams and mysteries.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now the wind’s transmuting necromance<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Touches the light and makes it fall and rise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Vocal, a harp of multitudinous waves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That speaks as ocean speaks—an utterance<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of far-off whispers, mermaid-murmuring sighs—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Pelagian, vast, deep down in coral caves.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_470" id="page_470"></a>{470}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WINDS" id="WINDS"></a>THE WINDS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Those hewers of the clouds, the Winds,—that lair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At the four compass-points,—are out to-night;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I hear their sandals trample on the height,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I hear their voices trumpet through the air:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Builders of Storm, God’s workmen, now they bear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Up the steep stair of sky, on backs of might,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Huge tempest bulks, while,—sweat that blinds their sight,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rain is shaken from tumultuous hair:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now, sweepers of the firmament, they broom,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like gathered dust, the rolling mists along<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Heaven’s floors of sapphire; all the beautiful blue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of skyey corridor and aëry room<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Preparing, with large laughter and loud song,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For the white moon and stars to wander through.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_471" id="page_471"></a>{471}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TOUCHES" id="TOUCHES"></a>TOUCHES</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In heavens of rivered blue, that sunset dyes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With glaucous flame, deep in the west the day<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stands Midas-like; or, wading on his way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Touches with splendor all the twilight skies.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each cloud that, like a stepping-stone, he tries<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With rosy foot, transforms its sober gray<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To blazing gold; while, ray on crystal ray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within his wake the stars like bubbles rise.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So should the artist in his work accord<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All things with beauty, and communicate<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His soul’s high magic and divinity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To all he does; and, hoping no reward,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Toil onward, making darkness aureate<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With light of worlds that be and are to be.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_472" id="page_472"></a>{472}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="EARTH_AND_MOON" id="EARTH_AND_MOON"></a>EARTH AND MOON</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I saw the day like some great monarch die,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gold-couched, behind the clouds’ rich tapestries.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then, purple-sandaled, clothed in silences<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of sleep, through halls of skyey lazuli,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The twilight, like a mourning queen, trailed by,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dim-paged of dreams and shadowy mysteries;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And now the night, the star-robed child of these,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In meditative loveliness draws nigh.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Earth,—like to Romeo,—deep in dew and scent,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath Heaven’s window, watching till a light,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like some white blossom, in its square be set,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lifts a faint face unto the firmament,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That, with the moon, grows gradually bright,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bidding him climb and clasp his Juliet.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_473" id="page_473"></a>{473}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="DUSK" id="DUSK"></a>DUSK</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Corn-colored clouds upon a sky of gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ’mid their sheaves,—where, like a daisy-bloom<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Left by the reapers to the gathering gloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The star of twilight flames,—as Ruth, ’tis told,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dreamed homesick ’mid the harvest fields of old,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Dusk goes gleaning color and perfume<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From Bible slopes of heaven, that illume<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her pensive beauty deep in shadows stoled.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hushed is the forest; and blue vale and hill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are still, save for the brooklet, sleepily<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stumbling the stone with one foam-fluttering foot:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save for the note of one far whippoorwill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And in my heart <i>her</i> name,—like some sweet bee<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Within a rose,—blowing a fairy flute.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_474" id="page_474"></a>{474}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SEPTEMBER" id="SEPTEMBER"></a>SEPTEMBER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The bubbled blue of morning-glory spires,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Balloon-blown foam of moonflowers, and sweet snows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of clematis, through which September goes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Song-hearted, rich in realized desires,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are flanked with hotter hues: with tawny fires<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of acrid marigolds,—that light long rows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of lamps,—and salvias, red as day’s red close,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That torches seem,—by which the Month attires<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Barbaric beauty; like some Asian queen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Towering imperial in her two-fold crown<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of harvest and of vintage; all her form<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gold and majestic purple: in her mien<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The might of motherhood; her baby brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Abundance, high on one exultant arm.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_475" id="page_475"></a>{475}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="END_OF_SUMMER" id="END_OF_SUMMER"></a>THE END OF SUMMER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Pods are the poppies, and slim spires of pods<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The hollyhocks; the balsam’s pearly bredes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of rose-stained snow are little sacs of seeds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Collapsing at a touch; the lote, that sods<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pond with green, has changed its flowers to rods<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And discs of vesicles; and all the weeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Around the sleepy water and its reeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are one white smoke of seeded silk that nods.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Summer is dead, ay me! sweet Summer’s dead!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sunset clouds have built her funeral pyre,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through which, e’en now, runs subterranean fire:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While from the East, as from a garden-bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mist-vined, the Dusk lifts her broad moon—like some<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Great golden melon—saying, “Fall has come.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_476" id="page_476"></a>{476}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="PASSING_GLORY" id="PASSING_GLORY"></a>THE PASSING GLORY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Slow sinks the sun,—a great carbuncle ball<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Red in the cavern of a sombre cloud,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And in her garden, where the dense weeds crowd,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among her dying asters stands the Fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some lone woman in a ruined hall,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dreaming of desolation and the shroud;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or through decaying woodlands goes, down-bowed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hugging the tatters of her gipsy shawl.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gaunt wind rises, like an angry hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And sweeps the sprawling spider from its web,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Smites frantic music in the twilight’s ear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all around, like melancholy sand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rains dead leaves down—wild leaves, that mark the ebb,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In Earth’s dark hour-glass, of another year.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_477" id="page_477"></a>{477}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="PROTOTYPES" id="PROTOTYPES"></a>PROTOTYPES</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Whether it be that we in letters trace<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The pure exactness of a woodbird’s strain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And name it song; or with the brush attain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The high perfection of a wildflower’s face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or mold in difficult marble all the grace<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We know as man; or from the wind and rain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Catch elemental rapture of refrain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mark in music to due time and place:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The aim of art is Nature; to unfold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her truth and beauty to the souls of men<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In close suggestions; in whose forms is cast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nothing so new but ’tis long eons old;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nothing so old but ’tis as young as when<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The mind conceived it in the ages past.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_478" id="page_478"></a>{478}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="SUPERSTITION" id="SUPERSTITION"></a>SUPERSTITION</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the waste places, in the sinister night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When the wood whispers like a wandering mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And silence sits and listens to the wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or, ’mid the rocks, to some wild torrent’s flight;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bat-browed thou wadest with thy wisp of light<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Among black pools the moon can never find;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or, owlet-eyed, thou hootest to the blind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep darkness from some cave or haunted height.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He who beholds but once thy fearsome face,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Never again shall walk alone! but wan<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And terrible attendants shall be his—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unutterable things that have no place<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In God or Beauty—that compel him on,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Against all hope, where endless horror is.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_479" id="page_479"></a>{479}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="D_NINETEEN_HUNDRED" id="D_NINETEEN_HUNDRED"></a>A. D. NINETEEN HUNDRED</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">War and Disaster, Famine and Pestilence,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Vaunt-couriers of the Century that comes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Behold them shaking their tremendous plumes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the world! Lo, all the air grows dense<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With rumors of destruction and a sense,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cadaverous, of corpses and of tombs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Predestined; while,—like monsters in the glooms,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bristling with battle, shadowy and immense,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Nations rise in dread apocalypse.—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where now the boast Earth makes of civilization?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its brag of Christianity?—In vain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We seek to see them in the wild eclipse<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of hell and horror and the devastation<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Death triumphant on his hills of slain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_480" id="page_480"></a>{480}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="UNCALLED" id="UNCALLED"></a>UNCALLED</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As one, who, journeying westward with the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beholds at length from the up-towering hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Far-off, a land unspeakable beauty fills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Circeän peaks and vales of Avalon:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, sinking weary, watches, one by one,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The big seas beat between; and knows it skills<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No more to try; that now, as Heaven wills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This is the helpless end, that all is done:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So ’tis with him, whom long a vision led<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In quest of Beauty—and who finds at last,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She lies beyond his effort; all the waves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all the world between them: while the dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The myriad dead, who populate the Past<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With failure, hail him from forgotten graves.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_481" id="page_481"></a>{481}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="QUATRAINS" id="QUATRAINS"></a>QUATRAINS</h3> - -<h4>I<br /><br /> -<i>Moths and Fireflies</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Since Fancy taught me in her school of spells<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I know her tricks: These are not moths at all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor fireflies; but masking Elfland belles<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose link-boys torch them to Titania’s ball.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II<br /><br /> -<i>Autumn Wildflowers</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like colored lanterns swung in Elfin towers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wild morning-glories light the tangled ways,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, like the rosy rockets of the Fays,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Burns the sloped crimson of the cardinal-flowers.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III<br /><br /> -<i>The Wind in the Pines</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When winds go organing through the pines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On hill and headland, darkly gleaming,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_482" id="page_482"></a>{482}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Meseems I hear sonorous lines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Iliads that the woods are dreaming.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV<br /><br /> -<i>Opportunity</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Behold a hag whom Life denies a kiss<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As he rides questward in knighterrant-wise;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only when he hath passed her is it his<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To know, too late, the Fairy in disguise.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V<br /><br /> -<i>Dreams</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They mock the present and they haunt the past,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the future there is naught agleam<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With hope, the soul desires, that at last<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The heart, pursuing, does not find a dream.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_483" id="page_483"></a>{483}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="AFTERWORD" id="AFTERWORD"></a>AFTERWORD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">What vague traditions do the golden eves,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What legends do the dawns<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Inscribe in fire on Heaven’s azure leaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The red sun colophons?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">What ancient stories do the waters verse?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What tales of war and love<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do winds within the Earth’s vast house rehearse,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God’s stars stand guard above?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">Would I could know them as they are expressed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In hue and melody!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And say, in words, the beauties they suggest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Language their mystery!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanzaitalic"> -<span class="i0">And in one song magnificently rise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The music of the spheres,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That more than marble should immortalize<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My name in after years.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/back.jpg" width="333" style="border:none;" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poems of Madison Cawein, vol. 3, by -Madison Cawein - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF MADISON CAWEIN, VOL. 3 *** - -***** This file should be named 55011-h.htm or 55011-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/0/1/55011/ - -Produced by Larry B. 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