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diff --git a/old/7sngo10.txt b/old/7sngo10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3793d65 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/7sngo10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2874 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs Out of Doors, by Henry Van Dyke + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Songs Out of Doors + +Author: Henry Van Dyke + +Release Date: November, 2005 [EBook #9372] +[This file was first posted on September 26, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SONGS OUT OF DOORS *** + + + + +E-text prepared by Patricia Peters, Tonya Allen, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + +SONGS OUT OF DOORS + +BY + +HENRY VAN DYKE + +1923 + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +I + +OF BIRDS AND FLOWERS + +The Veery +The Song-Sparrow +The Maryland Yellow-Throat +The Whip-Poor-Will +Wings of a Dove +The Hermit Thrush +Sea-Gulls of Manhattan +The Ruby-Crowned Kinglet +The Angler's Reveille +A November Daisy +The Lily of Yorrow + + +II + +OF SKIES AND SEASONS + +If All the Skies +The After-Echo +Dulciora +Matins +The Parting and the Coming Guest +When Tulips Bloom +Spring in the North +Spring in the South +How Spring Comes to Shasta Jim +The First Bird o' Spring +A Bunch of Trout-Flies +A Noon-Song +Turn o' the Tide +Sierra Madre +School +Indian Summer +Light between the Trees +The Fall of the Leaves +Three Alpine Sonnets +A Snow-Song +Roslin and Hawthornden +The Heavenly Hills of Holland +Flood-Tide of Flowers +Salute to the Trees + + +III + +OF THE UNFAILING LIGHT + +The Grand Canyon +God of the Open Air + + +IV + +WAYFARING PSALMS IN PALESTINE + +The Distant Road +The Welcome Tent +The Great Cities +The Friendly Trees +The Pathway of Rivers +The Glory of Ruins +The Tribe of the Helpers +The Good Teacher +The Camp-Fires of My Friend + + + + + +I + +OF BIRDS AND FLOWERS + + + + +THE VEERY + +The moonbeams over Arno's vale in silver flood were pouring, +When first I heard the nightingale a long-lost love deploring. +So passionate, so full of pain, it sounded strange and eerie; +I longed to hear a simpler strain,--the woodnotes of the veery. + +The laverock sings a bonny lay above the Scottish heather; +It sprinkles down from far away like light and love together; +He drops the golden notes to greet his brooding mate, his dearie; +I only know one song more sweet,--the vespers of the veery. + +In English gardens, green and bright and full of fruity treasure, +I heard the blackbird with delight repeat his merry measure: +The ballad was a pleasant one, the tune was loud and cheery, +And yet, with every setting sun, I listened for the veery. + +But far away, and far away, the tawny thrush is singing; +New England woods, at close of day, with that clear chant are ringing: +And when my light of life is low, and heart and flesh are weary, +I fain would hear, before I go, the wood-notes of the veery. + +1895. + + + + +THE SONG-SPARROW + +There is a bird I know so well, + It seems as if he must have sung + Beside my crib when I was young; +Before I knew the way to spell + The name of even the smallest bird, + His gentle-joyful song I heard. +Now see if you can tell, my dear, +What bird it is that, every year, +Sings _"Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer."_ + +He comes in March, when winds are strong, + And snow returns to hide the earth; + But still he warms his heart with mirth, +And waits for May. He lingers long + While flowers fade; and every day + Repeats his small, contented lay; +As if to say, we need not fear +The season's change, if love is here +With _"Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer."_ + +He does not wear a Joseph's-coat + Of many colours, smart and gay; + His suit is Quaker brown and gray, +With darker patches at his throat. + And yet of all the well-dressed throng + Not one can sing so brave a song. +It makes the pride of looks appear +A vain and foolish thing, to hear +His _"Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer."_ + +A lofty place he does not love, + But sits by choice, and well at ease, + In hedges, and in little trees +That stretch their slender arms above + The meadow-brook; and there he sings + Till all the field with pleasure rings; +And so he tells in every ear, +That lowly homes to heaven are near +In _"Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer."_ + +I like the tune, I like the words; + They seem so true, so free from art, + So friendly, and so full of heart, +That if but one of all the birds + Could be my comrade everywhere, + My little brother of the air, +I'd choose the song-sparrow, my dear, +Because he'd bless me, every year, +With _"Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer."_ + +1895. + + + + +THE MARYLAND YELLOW-THROAT + +When May bedecks the naked trees +With tassels and embroideries, +And many blue-eyed violets beam +Along the edges of the stream, +I hear a voice that seems to say, +Now near at hand, now far away, + _"Witchery--witchery--witchery."_ + +An incantation so serene, +So innocent, befits the scene: +There's magic in that small bird's note-- +See, there he flits--the Yellow-throat; +A living sunbeam, tipped with wings, +A spark of light that shines and sings + _"Witchery--witchery--witchery."_ + +You prophet with a pleasant name, +If out of Mary-land you came, +You know the way that thither goes +Where Mary's lovely garden grows: +Fly swiftly back to her, I pray, +And try to call her down this way, + _"Witchery--witchery--witchery."_ + +Tell her to leave her cockle-shells, +And all her little silver bells +That blossom into melody, +And all her maids less fair than she. +She does not need these pretty things, +For everywhere she comes, she brings + _"Witchery--witchery--witchery."_ + +The woods are greening overhead, +And flowers adorn each mossy bed; +The waters babble as they run-- +One thing is lacking, only one: +If Mary were but here to-day, +I would believe your charming lay, + _"Witchery--witchery--witchery."_ + +Along the shady road I look-- +Who's coming now across the brook? +A woodland maid, all robed in white-- +The leaves dance round her with delight, +The stream laughs out beneath her feet-- +Sing, merry bird, the charm's complete, + "_Witchery--witchery--witchery!_" + +1895. + + + + +THE WHIP-POOR-WILL + +Do you remember, father,-- +It seems so long ago,-- +The day we fished together +Along the Pocono? +At dusk I waited for you, +Beside the lumber-mill, +And there I heard a hidden bird +That chanted, "whip-poor-will," +"_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_" +Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + +The place was all deserted; +The mill-wheel hung at rest; +The lonely star of evening +Was throbbing in the west; +The veil of night was falling; +The winds were folded still; +And everywhere the trembling air + Re-echoed "whip-poor-will!" + "_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_" +Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + +You seemed so long in coming, + I felt so much alone; +The wide, dark world was round me, + And life was all unknown; +The hand of sorrow touched me, + And made my senses thrill +With all the pain that haunts the strain + Of mournful whip-poor-will. +"_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_" + Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + +What knew I then of trouble? + An idle little lad, +I had not learned the lessons + That make men wise and sad. +I dreamed of grief and parting, + And something seemed to fill +My heart with tears, while in my ears + Resounded "whip-poor-will." + "_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_" + Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + +'Twas but a cloud of sadness, + That lightly passed away; +But I have learned the meaning + Of sorrow, since that day. +For nevermore at twilight, + Beside the silent mill, +I'll wait for you, in the falling dew, + And hear the whip-poor-will. + "_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_" + Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + +But if you still remember + In that fair land of light, +The pains and fears that touch us + Along this edge of night, +I think all earthly grieving, + And all our mortal ill, +To you must seem like a sad boy's dream + Who hears the whip-poor-will. + "_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_" + A passing thrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + +1894. + + + + +WINGS OF A DOVE + + +I + +At sunset, when the rosy light was dying + Far down the pathway of the west, +I saw a lonely dove in silence flying, + To be at rest. + +Pilgrim of air, I cried, could I but borrow + Thy wandering wings, thy freedom blest, +I'd fly away from every careful sorrow, + And find my rest. + + +II + +But when the filmy veil of dusk was falling, + Home flew the dove to seek his nest, +Deep in the forest where his mate was calling + To love and rest. + +Peace, heart of mine! no longer sigh to wander; + Lose not thy life in barren quest. +There are no happy islands over yonder; + Come home and rest. + +1874. + + + + +THE HERMIT THRUSH + +O wonderful! How liquid clear +The molten gold of that ethereal tone, +Floating and falling through the wood alone, +A hermit-hymn poured out for God to hear! + +_O holy, holy! holy! Hyaline, +Long light, low light, glory of eventide! +Love far away, far up,--love divine! +Little love, too, for ever, ever near, +Warm love, earth love, tender love of mine, +In the leafy dark where you hide, +You are mine,--mine,--mine!_ + +Ah, my beloved, do you feel with me +The hidden virtue of that melody, +The rapture and the purity of love, +The heavenly joy that can not find the word? + +Then, while we wait again to hear the bird, +Come very near to me, and do not move,-- +Now, hermit of the woodland, fill anew +The cool, green cup of air with harmony, +And we will drink the wine of love with you. + +May, 1908. + + + + +SEA-GULLS OF MANHATTAN + +Children of the elemental mother, + Born upon some lonely island shore +Where the wrinkled ripples run and whisper, + Where the crested billows plunge and roar; +Long-winged, tireless roamers and adventurers, + Fearless breasters of the wind and sea, +In the far-off solitary places + I have seen you floating wild and free! + +Here the high-built cities rise around you; + Here the cliffs that tower east and west, +Honeycombed with human habitations, + Have no hiding for the sea-bird's nest: +Here the river flows begrimed and troubled; + Here the hurrying, panting vessels fume, +Restless, up and down the watery highway, + While a thousand chimneys vomit gloom. + +Toil and tumult, conflict and confusion, + Clank and clamour of the vast machine +Human hands have built for human bondage-- + Yet amid it all you float serene; +Circling, soaring, sailing, swooping lightly + Down to glean your harvest from the wave; +In your heritage of air and water, + You have kept the freedom Nature gave. + +Even so the wild-woods of Manhattan + Saw your wheeling flocks of white and gray; +Even so you fluttered, followed, floated, + Round the _Half-Moon_ creeping up the bay; +Even so your voices creaked and chattered, + Laughing shrilly o'er the tidal rips, +While your black and beady eyes were glistening + Round the sullen British prison-ships. + +Children of the elemental mother, + Fearless floaters 'mid the double blue, +From the crowded boats that cross the ferries + Many a longing heart goes out to you. +Though the cities climb and close around us, + Something tells us that our souls are free, +While the sea-gulls fly above the harbour, + While the river flows to meet the sea! + +December, 1905. + + + + +THE RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET + + +I + +Where's your kingdom, little king? + Where the land you call your own, + Where your palace and your throne? +Fluttering lightly on the wing + Through the blossom-world of May, + Whither lies your royal way, + Little king? + + _Far to northward lies a land + Where the trees together stand + Closely as the blades of wheat + When the summer is complete. + Rolling like an ocean wide + Over vale and mountainside, + Balsam, hemlock, spruce and pine,-- + All those mighty trees are mine. + There's a river flowing free,-- + All its waves belong to me. + There's a lake so clear and bright + Stars shine out of it all night; + Rowan-berries round it spread + Like a belt of coral red. + Never royal garden planned + Fair as my Canadian land! + There I build my summer nest, + There I reign and there I rest, + While from dawn to dark I sing, + Happy kingdom! Lucky king!_ + + +II + +Back again, my little king! + Is your happy kingdom lost + To the rebel knave, Jack Frost? +Have you felt the snow-flakes sting? + Houseless, homeless in October, + Whither now? Your plight is sober, + Exiled king! + + _Far to southward lie the regions + Where my loyal flower-legions + Hold possession of the year, + Filling every month with cheer. + Christmas wakes the winter rose; + New Year daffodils unclose; + Yellow jasmine through the wood + Flows in February flood, + Dropping from the tallest trees + Golden streams that never freeze. + Thither now I take my flight + Down the pathway of the night, + Till I see the southern moon + Glisten on the broad lagoon, + Where the cypress' dusky green, + And the dark magnolia's sheen, + Weave a shelter round my home. + There the snow-storms never come; + There the bannered mosses gray + Like a curtain gently sway, + Hanging low on every side + Round the covert inhere I bide, + Till the March azalea glows, + Royal red and heavenly rose, + Through the Carolina glade + Where my winter home is made. + There I hold my southern court, + Full of merriment and sport: + There I take my ease and sing, + Happy kingdom! Lucky king!_ + + +III + +Little boaster, vagrant king, + Neither north nor south is yours, + You've no kingdom that endures! +Wandering every fall and spring, +With your ruby crown so slender, +Are you only a Pretender, + Landless king? + + _Never king by right divine + Ruled a richer realm than mine! + What are lands and golden crowns, + Armies, fortresses and towns, + Jewels, sceptres, robes and rings,-- + What are these to song and wings? + Everywhere that I can fly, + There I own the earth and sky; + Everywhere that I can sing, + There I'm happy as a king._ + +1900. + + + + +THE ANGLER'S REVEILLE + +What time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips of night, +And all the little watchman-stars have fallen asleep in light, +'Tis then a merry wind awakes, and runs from tree to tree, +And borrows words from all the birds to sound the reveille. + + This is the carol the Robin throws + Over the edge of the valley; + Listen how boldly it flows, + Sally on sally: + _Tirra-lirra, + Early morn, + New born! + Day is near, + Clear, clear. + Down the river + All a-quiver, + Fish are breaking; + Time for waking, + Tup, tup, tup! + Do you hear? + All clear-- + Wake up!_ + +The phantom flood of dreams has ebbed and vanished with the dark, +And like a dove the heart forsakes the prison of the ark; +Now forth she fares thro' friendly woods and diamond-fields of dew, +While every voice cries out "Rejoice!" as if the world were new. + + This is the ballad the Bluebird sings, + Unto his mate replying, + Shaking the tune from his wings + While he is flying: + _Surely, surely, surely, + Life is dear + Even here. + Blue above, + You to love, + Purely, purely, purely._ + +There's wild azalea on the hill, and iris down the dell, +And just one spray of lilac still abloom beside the well; +The columbine adorns the rocks, the laurel buds grow pink, +Along the stream white arums gleam, and violets bend to drink. + + This is the song of the Yellow-throat, + Fluttering gaily beside you; + Hear how each voluble note + Offers to guide you: + + _Which way, sir? + I say, sir, + Let me teach you, + I beseech you! + Are you wishing + Jolly fishing? + This way, sir! + I'll teach you._ + +Then come, my friend, forget your foes and leave your fears behind, +And wander forth to try your luck, with cheerful, quiet mind; +For be your fortune great or small, you take what God will give, +And all the day your heart will say, "'Tis luck enough to live." + + This is the song the Brown Thrush flings + Out of his thicket of roses; + Hark how it bubbles and rings, + Mark how it closes: + + _Luck, luck, + What luck? + Good enough for me, + I'm alive, you see! + Sun shining, + No repining; + Never borrow + Idle sorrow; + Drop it! + Cover it up! + Hold your cup! + Joy will fill it, + Don't spill it, + Steady, be ready, + Good luck!_ + +1899. + + + + +A NOVEMBER DAISY + +Afterthought of summer's bloom! +Late arrival at the feast, +Coming when the songs have ceased +And the merry guests departed, +Leaving but an empty room, +Silence, solitude, and gloom,-- +Are you lonely, heavy-hearted; +You, the last of all your kind, +Nodding in the autumn wind; +Now that all your friends are flown, +Blooming late and all alone? + +Nay, I wrong you, little flower, +Reading mournful mood of mine +In your looks, that give no sign +Of a spirit dark and cheerless! +You possess the heavenly power +That rejoices in the hour. +Glad, contented, free, and fearless, +Lift a sunny face to heaven +When a sunny day is given! +Make a summer of your own, +Blooming late and all alone! + +Once the daisies gold and white +Sea-like through the meadow rolled: +Once my heart could hardly hold +All its pleasures. I remember, +In the flood of youth's delight +Separate joys were lost to sight. +That was summer! Now November +Sets the perfect flower apart; +Gives each blossom of the heart +Meaning, beauty, grace unknown,-- +Blooming late and all alone. + +November, 1899. + + + + +THE LILY OF YORROW + +Deep in the heart of the forest the lily of Yorrow is growing; +Blue is its cup as the sky, and with mystical odour o'erflowing; +Faintly it falls through the shadowy glades when the south wind is blowing. + +Sweet are the primroses pale and the violets after a shower; +Sweet are the borders of pinks and the blossoming grapes on the bower; +Sweeter by far is the breath of that far-away woodland flower. + +Searching and strange in its sweetness, it steals like a perfume enchanted +Under the arch of the forest, and all who perceive it are haunted, +Seeking and seeking for ever, till sight of the lily is granted. + +Who can describe how it grows, with its chalice of lazuli leaning +Over a crystalline spring, where the ferns and the mosses are greening? +Who can imagine its beauty, or utter the depth of its meaning? + +Calm of the journeying stars, and repose of the mountains olden, +Joy of the swift-running rivers, and glory of sunsets golden, +Secrets that cannot be told in the heart of the flower are holden. + +Surely to see it is peace and the crown of a lifelong endeavour; +Surely to pluck it is gladness,--but they who have found it can never +Tell of the gladness and peace: they are hid from our vision for ever. + +'Twas but a moment ago that a comrade was walking near me: +Turning aside from the pathway he murmured a greeting to cheer me,-- +Then he was lost in the shade, and I called but he did not hear me. + +Why should I dream he is dead, and bewail him with passionate sorrow? +Surely I know there is gladness in finding the lily of Yorrow: +He has discovered it first, and perhaps I shall find it to-morrow. + +1894. + + + + +II + + +OF SKIES AND SEASONS + + + + +IF ALL THE SKIES + +If all the skies were sunshine, + Our faces would be fain +To feel once more upon them + The cooling plash of rain. + +If all the world were music, + Our hearts would often long +For one sweet strain of silence, + To break the endless song. + +If life were always merry, + Our souls would seek relief, +And rest from weary laughter + In the quiet arms of grief. + + + + +THE AFTER-ECHO + +How long the echoes love to play + Around the shore of silence, as a wave + Retreating circles down the sand! + One after one, with sweet delay, +The mellow sounds that cliff and island gave, + Have lingered in the crescent bay, + Until, by lightest breezes fanned, +They float far off beyond the dying day + And leave it still as death. + But hark,-- + Another singing breath + Comes from the edge of dark; + A note as clear and slow + As falls from some enchanted bell, + Or spirit, passing from the world below, + That whispers back, Farewell. + So in the heart, +When, fading slowly down the past, + Fond memories depart, +And each that leaves it seems the last; +Long after all the rest are flown, +Returns a solitary tone,-- +The after-echo of departed years,-- +And touches all the soul to tears. + +1871. + + + + +DULCIORA + +A tear that trembles for a little while +Upon the trembling eyelid, till the world +Wavers within its circle like a dream, +Holds more of meaning in its narrow orb +Than all the distant landscape that it blurs. + +A smile that hovers round a mouth beloved, +Like the faint pulsing of the Northern Light, +And grows in silence to an amber dawn +Born in the sweetest depths of trustful eyes, +Is dearer to the soul than sun or star. + +A joy that falls into the hollow heart +From some far-lifted height of love unseen, +Unknown, makes a more perfect melody +Than hidden brooks that murmur in the dusk, +Or fall athwart the cliff with wavering gleam. + +Ah, not for their own sake are earth and sky +And the fair ministries of Nature dear, +But as they set themselves unto the tune +That fills our life; as light mysterious +Flows from within and glorifies the world. + +For so a common wayside blossom, touched +With tender thought, assumes a grace more sweet +Than crowns the royal lily of the South; +And so a well-remembered perfume seems +The breath of one who breathes in Paradise. + +1872. + + + + +MATINS + +Flowers rejoice when night is done, +Lift their heads to greet the sun; +Sweetest looks and odours raise, +In a silent hymn of praise. + +So my heart would turn away +From the darkness to the day; +Lying open in God's sight +Like a flower in the light. + + + + +THE PARTING AND THE COMING GUEST + +Who watched the worn-out Winter die? + Who, peering through the window-pane + At nightfall, under sleet and rain +Saw the old graybeard totter by? +Who listened to his parting sigh, + The sobbing of his feeble breath, + His whispered colloquy with Death, + And when his all of life was done +Stood near to bid a last good-bye? + Of all his former friends not one +Saw the forsaken Winter die. + +Who welcomed in the maiden Spring? + Who heard her footfall, swift and light + As fairy-dancing in the night? +Who guessed what happy dawn would bring +The flutter of her bluebird's wing, +The blossom of her mayflower-face + To brighten every shady place? + One morning, down the village street, +"Oh, here am I," we heard her sing,-- + And none had been awake to greet +The coming of the maiden Spring. + +But look, her violet eyes are wet + With bright, unfallen, dewy tears; + And in her song my fancy hears +A note of sorrow trembling yet. +Perhaps, beyond the town, she met + Old Winter as he limped away + To die forlorn, and let him lay + His weary head upon her knee, +And kissed his forehead with regret + For one so gray and lonely,--see, +Her eyes with tender tears are wet. + +And so, by night, while we were all at rest, +I think the coming sped the parting guest. + +1873. + + + + +WHEN TULIPS BLOOM + + +I + +When tulips bloom in Union Square, +And timid breaths of vernal air + Go wandering down the dusty town, +Like children lost in Vanity Fair; + +When every long, unlovely row +Of westward houses stands aglow, + And leads the eyes to sunset skies +Beyond the hills where green trees grow; + +Then weary seems the street parade, +And weary books, and weary trade: + I'm only wishing to go a-fishing; +For this the month of May was made. + + +II + +I guess the pussy-willows now +Are creeping out on every bough + Along the brook; and robins look +For early worms behind the plough. + +The thistle-birds have changed their dun, +For yellow coats, to match the sun; + And in the same array of flame +The Dandelion Show's begun. + +The flocks of young anemones +Are dancing round the budding trees: + Who can help wishing to go a-fishing +In days as full of joy as these? + + +III + +I think the meadow-lark's clear sound +Leaks upward slowly from the ground, + While on the wing the bluebirds ring +Their wedding-bells to woods around. + +The flirting chewink calls his dear +Behind the bush; and very near, + Where water flows, where green grass grows, +Song-sparrows gently sing, "Good cheer." + +And, best of all, through twilight's calm +The hermit-thrush repeats his psalm. + How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing +In days so sweet with music's balm! + + +IV + +'Tis not a proud desire of mine; +I ask for nothing superfine; + No heavy weight, no salmon great, +To break the record, or my line. + +Only an idle little stream, +Whose amber waters softly gleam, + Where I may wade through woodland shade, +And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream: + +Only a trout or two, to dart +From foaming pools, and try my art: + 'Tis all I'm wishing--old-fashioned fishing, +And just a day on Nature's heart. + +1894. + + + + +SPRING IN THE NORTH + + +I + +Ah, who will tell me, in these leaden days, +Why the sweet Spring delays, +And where she hides,--the dear desire + Of every heart that longs +For bloom, and fragrance, and the ruby fire +Of maple-buds along the misty hills, +And that immortal call which fills + The waiting wood with songs? +The snow-drops came so long ago, + It seemed that Spring was near! + But then returned the snow +With biting winds, and earth grew sere, + And sullen clouds drooped low +To veil the sadness of a hope deferred: +Then rain, rain, rain, incessant rain + Beat on the window-pane, + +Through which I watched the solitary bird +That braved the tempest, buffeted and tossed +With rumpled feathers down the wind again. + Oh, were the seeds all lost +When winter laid the wild flowers in their tomb? + I searched the woods in vain +For blue hepaticas, and trilliums white, +And trailing arbutus, the Spring's delight, +Starring the withered leaves with rosy bloom. + But every night the frost +To all my longing spoke a silent nay, +And told me Spring was far away. +Even the robins were too cold to sing, +Except a broken and discouraged note,-- +Only the tuneful sparrow, on whose throat +Music has put her triple finger-print, +Lifted his head and sang my heart a hint,-- +"Wait, wait, wait! oh, wait a while for Spring!" + + +II + +But now, Carina, what divine amends +For all delay! What sweetness treasured up, + What wine of joy that blends +A hundred flavours in a single cup, +Is poured into this perfect day! +For look, sweet heart, here are the early flowers + That lingered on their way, +Thronging in haste to kiss the feet of May, +Entangled with the bloom of later hours,-- +Anemones and cinque-foils, violets blue +And white, and iris richly gleaming through +The grasses of the meadow, and a blaze +Of butter-cups and daisies in the field, + Filling the air with praise, +As if a chime of golden bells had pealed! + The frozen songs within the breast +Of silent birds that hid in leafless woods, + Melt into rippling floods + Of gladness unrepressed. +Now oriole and bluebird, thrush and lark, +Warbler and wren and vireo, +Mingle their melody; the living spark +Of love has touched the fuel of desire, +And every heart leaps up in singing fire. + + It seems as if the land +Were breathing deep beneath the sun's caress, + Trembling with tenderness, + While all the woods expand, +In shimmering clouds of rose and gold and green, +To veil a joy too sacred to be seen. + + +III + + Come, put your hand in mine, +True love, long sought and found at last, +And lead me deep into the Spring divine + That makes amends for all the wintry past. +For all the flowers and songs I feared to miss + Arrive with you; +And in the lingering pressure of your kiss + My dreams come true; +And in the promise of your generous eyes + I read the mystic sign + Of joy more perfect made + Because so long delayed, +And bliss enhanced by rapture of surprise. + +Ah, think not early love alone is strong; +He loveth best whose heart has learned to wait: +Dear messenger of Spring that tarried long, +You're doubly dear because you come so late. + + + + +SPRING IN THE SOUTH + +Now in the oak the sap of life is welling, + Tho' to the bough the rusty leafage clings; +Now on the elm the misty buds are swelling; + Every little pine-wood grows alive with wings; +Blue-jays are fluttering, yodeling and crying, + Meadow-larks sailing low above the faded grass, +Red-birds whistling clear, silent robins flying,-- + Who has waked the birds up? What has come to pass? + +Last year's cotton-plants, desolately bowing, + Tremble in the March-wind, ragged and forlorn, +Red are the hillsides of the early ploughing, + Gray are the lowlands, waiting for the corn. +Earth seems asleep, but she is only feigning; + Deep in her bosom thrills a sweet unrest; +Look where the jasmine lavishly is raining + Jove's golden shower into Danaee's breast! + +Now on the plum-tree a snowy bloom is sifted, + Now on the peach-tree, the glory of the rose, +Far o'er the hills a tender haze is drifted, + Full to the brim the yellow river flows. +Dark cypress boughs with vivid jewels glisten, + Greener than emeralds shining in the sun. +Whence comes the magic? Listen, sweetheart, listen! + The mocking-bird is singing: Spring is begun. + +Hark, in his song no tremor of misgiving! + All of his heart he pours into his lay,-- +"Love, love, love, and pure delight of living: + Winter is forgotten: here's a happy day!" +Fair in your face I read the flowery presage, + Snowy on your brow and rosy on your mouth: +Sweet in your voice I hear the season's message,-- + Love, love, love, and Spring in the South! + +1904. + + + + +HOW SPRING COMES TO SHASTA JIM + +I never seen no "red gods"; I dunno wot's a "lure"; +But if it's sumpin' takin', then Spring has got it sure; +An' it doesn't need no Kiplins, ner yet no London Jacks, +To make up guff about it, w'ile settin' in their shacks. + +It's sumpin' very simple 'at happens in the Spring, +But it changes all the lookin's of every blessed thing; +The buddin' woods look bigger, the mounting twice as high, +But the house looks kindo smaller, tho I couldn't tell ye why. + +It's cur'ous wot a show-down the month of April makes, +Between the reely livin', an' the things 'at's only fakes! +Machines an' barns an' buildin's, they never give no sign; +But the livin' things look lively w'en Spring is on the line. + +She doesn't come too suddin, ner she doesn't come too slow; +Her gaits is some cayprishus, an' the next ye never know,-- +A single-foot o' sunshine, a buck o' snow er hail-- +But don't be disapp'inted, fer Spring ain't goin' ter fail. + +She's loopin' down the hillside,--the driffs is fadin' out. +She's runnin' down the river,--d'ye see them risin' trout? +She's loafin' down the canyon,--the squaw-bed's growin' blue, +An' the teeny Johnny-jump-ups is jest a-peekin' thru. + +A thousan' miles o' pine-trees, with Douglas firs between, +Is waitin' fer her fingers to freshen up their green; +With little tips o' brightness the firs 'ill sparkle thick, +An' every yaller pine-tree, a giant candlestick! + +The underbrush is risin' an' spreadin' all around, +Jest like a mist o' greenness 'at hangs above the ground; +A million manzanitas 'ill soon be full o' pink; +So saddle up, my sonny,--it's time to ride, I think! + +We'll ford er swim the river, becos there ain't no bridge; +We'll foot the gulches careful, an' lope along the ridge; +We'll take the trail to Nowhere, an' travel till we tire, +An' camp beneath a pine-tree, an' sleep beside the fire. + +We'll see the blue-quail chickens, an' hear 'em pipin' clear; +An' p'raps we'll sight a brown-bear, er else a bunch o' deer; +But nary a heathen goddess or god 'ill meet our eyes; +For why? There isn't any! They're jest a pack o' lies! + +Oh, wot's the use o' "red gods," an' "Pan," an' all that stuff? +The natcheral facts o' Springtime is wonderful enuff! +An' if there's Someone made 'em' I guess He understood, +To be alive in Springtime would make a man feel good. + +California, 1913. + + + + +THE FIRST BIRD O' SPRING + +TO OLIVE WHEELER + +Winter on Mount Shasta, +April down below; +Golden hours of glowing sun +Sudden showers of snow! +Under leafless thickets +Early wild-flowers cling; +But, oh, my dear, I'm fain to hear +The first bird o' Spring! + +Alders are in tassel, +Maples are in bud; +Waters of the blue McCloud +Shout in joyful flood; +Through the giant pine-trees +Flutters many a wing; +But, oh, my dear, I long to hear +The first bird o' Spring! + +Candle-light and fire-light +Mingle at "the Bend"; +'Neath the roof of Bo-hai-pan +Light and shadow blend. +Sweeter than a wood-thrush +A maid begins to sing; +And, oh, my dear, I'm glad to hear +The first bird o' Spring! + +The Bend, California, April 29, 1913. + + + + +A BUNCH OF TROUT-FLIES + +FOR ARCHIE RUTLEDGE + +Here's a half-a-dozen flies, +Just about the proper size +For the trout of Dickey's Run,-- +Luck go with them every one! + +Dainty little feathered beauties, +Listen now, and learn your duties: +Not to tangle in the box; +Not to catch on logs or rocks, +Boughs that wave or weeds that float, +Nor in the angler's "pants" or coat! +Not to lure the glutton frog +From his banquet in the bog; +Nor the lazy chub to fool, +Splashing idly round the pool; +Nor the sullen horned pout +From the mud to hustle out! + +None of this vulgarian crew, +Dainty flies, is game for you. +Darting swiftly through the air +Guided by the angler's care, +Light upon the flowing stream +Like a winged fairy dream; +Float upon the water dancing, +Through the lights and shadows glancing, +Till the rippling current brings you, +And with quiet motion swings you, +Where a speckled beauty lies +Watching you with hungry eyes. + +Here's your game and here's your prize! +Hover near him, lure him, tease him, +Do your very best to please him, +Dancing on the water foamy, +Like the frail and fair Salome, +Till the monarch yields at last, +Rises, and you have him fast! +Then remember well your duty,-- +Do not lose, but land, your booty; +For the finest fish of all is +_Salvelinus Fontinalis_. + +So, you plumed illusions, go, +Let my comrade Archie know +Every day he goes a-fishing +I'll be with him in well-wishing. +Most of all when lunch is laid +In the dappled orchard shade, +With Will, Corinne, and Dixie too, +Sitting as we used to do +Round the white cloth on the grass +While the lazy hours pass, +And the brook's contented tune +Lulls the sleepy afternoon,-- +Then's the time my heart will be +With that pleasant company! + +June 17, 1913. + + + + +A NOON-SONG + +There are songs for the morning and songs for the night, + For sunrise and sunset, the stars and the moon; +But who will give praise to the fulness of light, + And sing us a song of the glory of noon? + Oh, the high noon, the clear noon, + The noon with golden crest; + When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns + With his face to the way of the west! + +How swiftly he rose in the dawn of his strength! + How slowly he crept as the morning wore by! +Ah, steep was the climbing that led him at length + To the height of his throne in the wide summer sky. + Oh, the long toil, the slow toil, + The toil that may not rest, + Till the sun looks down from his journey's crown, + To the wonderful way of the west! + +Then a quietness falls over meadow and hill, + The wings of the wind in the forest are furled, +The river runs softly, the birds are all still, + The workers are resting all over the world. + Oh, the good hour, the kind hour, + The hour that calms the breast! + Little inn half-way on the road of the day, + Where it follows the turn to the west! + +There's a plentiful feast in the maple-tree shade, + The lilt of a song to an old-fashioned tune, +The talk of a friend, or the kiss of a maid, + To sweeten the cup that we drink to the noon. +Oh, the deep noon, the full noon, + Of all the day the best! +When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns + To his home by the way of the west! + +1906. + + + + +TURN O' THE TIDE + +The tide flows in to the harbour,-- + The bold tide, the gold tide, the flood o' the sunlit sea,-- +And the little ships riding at anchor, + Are swinging and slanting their prows to the ocean, panting + To lift their wings to the wide wild air, + And venture a voyage they know not where,-- + To fly away and be free! + +The tide runs out of the harbour,-- + The low tide, the slow tide, the ebb o' the moonlit bay,-- +And the little ships rocking at anchor, + Are rounding and turning their bows to the landward, yearning + To breathe the breath of the sun-warmed strand, + To rest in the lee of the high hill land,-- +To hold their haven and stay! + +My heart goes round with the vessels,-- + My wild heart, my child heart, in love with the sea and the land,-- +And the turn o' the tide passes through it, + In rising and falling with mystical currents, calling + At morn, to range where the far waves foam, + At night, to a harbour in love's true home, + With the hearts that understand! + +Seal Harbour, August 12, 1911. + + + + +SIERRA MADRE + +O mother mountains! billowing far to the snowlands, + Robed in aerial amethyst, silver, and blue, +Why do ye look so proudly down on the lowlands? + What have their groves and gardens to do with you? + +Theirs is the languorous charm of the orange and myrtle, + Theirs are the fruitage and fragrance of Eden of old,-- +Broad-boughed oaks in the meadows fair and fertile, + Dark-leaved orchards gleaming with globes of gold. + +You, in your solitude standing, lofty and lonely, + Bear neither garden nor grove on your barren breasts; +Rough is the rock-loving growth of your canyons, and only + Storm-battered pines and fir-trees cling to your crests. + +Why are ye throned so high, and arrayed in splendour + Richer than all the fields at your feet can claim? +What is your right, ye rugged peaks, to the tender + Queenly promise and pride of the mother-name? + +Answered the mountains, dim in the distance dreaming: + "Ours are the forests that treasure the riches of rain; +Ours are the secret springs and the rivulets gleaming + Silverly down through the manifold bloom of the plain. + +"Vain were the toiling of men in the dust of the dry land, + Vain were the ploughing and planting in waterless fields, +Save for the life-giving currents we send from the sky land, + Save for the fruit our embrace with the storm-cloud yields." + +O mother mountains, Madre Sierra, I love you! + Rightly you reign o'er the vale that your bounty fills,-- +Kissed by the sun, or with big, bright stars above you,-- + I murmur your name and lift up mine eyes to the hills. + +Pasadena, March, 1913. + + + + +SCHOOL + +I put my heart to school +In the world where men grow wise: +"Go out," I said, "and learn the rule; +'Come back when you win a prize.'" + +My heart came back again: +"Now where is the prize?" I cried.-- +"The rule was false, and the prize was pain, +And the teacher's name was Pride." + +I put my heart to school +In the woods where veeries sing +And brooks run clear and cool, +In the fields where wild flowers spring. + +"And why do you stay so long +My heart, and where do you roam?" +The answer came with a laugh and a song,-- +"I find this school is home." + +April, 1901. + + + + +INDIAN SUMMER + +A silken curtain veils the skies, +And half conceals from pensive eyes + The bronzing tokens of the fall; +A calmness broods upon the hills, +And summer's parting dream distils + A charm of silence over all. + +The stacks of corn, in brown array, +Stand waiting through the tranquil day, + Like tattered wigwams on the plain; +The tribes that find a shelter there +Are phantom peoples, forms of air, + And ghosts of vanished joy and pain. + +At evening when the crimson crest +Of sunset passes down the West, + I hear the whispering host returning; +On far-off fields, by elm and oak, +I see the lights, I smell the smoke,-- + The Camp-fires of the Past are burning. + +_Tertius and Henry van Dyke_. + +November, 1903. + + + + +LIGHT BETWEEN THE TREES + +Long, long, long the trail + Through the brooding forest-gloom, +Down the shadowy, lonely vale + Into silence, like a room + Where the light of life has fled, + And the jealous curtains close + Round the passionless repose +Of the silent dead. + +Plod, plod, plod away, + Step by step in mouldering moss; +Thick branches bar the day + Over languid streams that cross + Softly, slowly, with a sound + Like a smothered weeping, + In their aimless creeping + Through enchanted ground. + +"Yield, yield, yield thy quest," + Whispers through the woodland deep: +"Come to me and be at rest; +I am slumber, I am sleep." + Then the weary feet would fail, + But the never-daunted will + Urges "Forward, forward still! + Press along the trail!" + +Breast, breast, breast the slope + See, the path is growing steep. +Hark! a little song of hope + Where the stream begins to leap. + Though the forest, far and wide, + Still shuts out the bending blue, + We shall finally win through, + Cross the long divide. + +On, on, on we tramp! + Will the journey never end? +Over yonder lies the camp; + Welcome waits us there, my friend, + Can we reach it ere the night? + Upward, upward, never fear! + Look, the summit must be near; + See the line of light! + +Red, red, red the shine + Of the splendour in the west, +Glowing through the ranks of pine, + Clear along the mountain-crest! + Long, long, long the trail + Out of sorrow's lonely vale; + But at last the traveller sees + Light between the trees! + +March, 1904. + + + + +THE FALL OF THE LEAVES + + +I + +In warlike pomp, with banners flowing, + The regiments of autumn stood: +I saw their gold and scarlet glowing + From every hillside, every wood. + +Above the sea the clouds were keeping + Their secret leaguer, gray and still; +They sent their misty vanguard creeping + With muffled step from hill to hill. + +All day the sullen armies drifted + Athwart the sky with slanting rain; +At sunset for a space they lifted, + With dusk they settled down again. + + +II + +At dark the winds began to blow +With mutterings distant, low; + From sea and sky they called their strength, + Till with an angry, broken roar, + Like billows on an unseen shore, + Their fury burst at length. + +I heard through the night + The rush and the clamour; +The pulse of the fight + Like blows of Thor's hammer; +The pattering flight +Of the leaves, and the anguished +Moan of the forest vanquished. + +At daybreak came a gusty song: +"Shout! the winds are strong. +The little people of the leaves are fled. +Shout! The Autumn is dead!" + + +III + +The storm is ended! The impartial sun + Laughs down upon the battle lost and won, +And crowns the triumph of the cloudy host + In rolling lines retreating to the coast. + +But we, fond lovers of the woodland shade, + And grateful friends of every fallen leaf, +Forget the glories of the cloud-parade, + And walk the ruined woods in quiet grief. + +For ever so our thoughtful hearts repeat + On fields of triumph dirges of defeat; +And still we turn on gala-days to tread + Among the rustling memories of the dead. + +1874. + + + + +THREE ALPINE SONNETS + + +I + +THE GLACIER + +At dawn in silence moves the mighty stream, + The silver-crested waves no murmur make; + But far away the avalanches wake +The rumbling echoes, dull as in a dream; +Their momentary thunders, dying, seem + To fall into the stillness, flake by flake, + And leave the hollow air with naught to break +The frozen spell of solitude supreme. + +At noon unnumbered rills begin to spring + Beneath the burning sun, and all the walls +Of all the ocean-blue crevasses ring + With liquid lyrics of their waterfalls; +As if a poet's heart had felt the glow +Of sovereign love, and song began to flow. + +Zermatt, 1872. + + +II + +THE SNOW-FIELD + +White Death had laid his pall upon the plain, + And crowned the mountain-peaks like monarchs + dead; + The vault of heaven was glaring overhead +With pitiless light that filled my eyes with pain; +And while I vainly longed, and looked in vain + For sign or trace of life, my spirit said, + "Shall any living thing that dares to tread +This royal lair of Death escape again?" + +But even then I saw before my feet + A line of pointed footprints in the snow: + Some roving chamois, but an hour ago, +Had passed this way along his journey fleet, +And left a message from a friend unknown +To cheer my pilgrim-heart, no more alone. + +Zermatt, 1872. + + +III + +MOVING BELLS + +I love the hour that comes, with dusky hair + And dewy feet, along the Alpine dells, + To lead the cattle forth. A thousand bells +Go chiming after her across the fair +And flowery uplands, while the rosy flare + Of sunset on the snowy mountain dwells, + And valleys darken, and the drowsy spells +Of peace are woven through the purple air. + +Dear is the magic of this hour: she seems + To walk before the dark by falling rills, +And lend a sweeter song to hidden streams; + She opens all the doors of night, and fills +With moving bells the music of my dreams, + That wander far among the sleeping hills. + +Gstaad, August, 1909. + + + + +A SNOW-SONG + +Does the snow fall at sea? + Yes, when the north winds blow, + When the wild clouds fly low, + Out of each gloomy wing, + Silently glimmering, + Over the stormy sea + Falleth the snow. + +Does the snow hide the sea? + Nay, on the tossing plains + Never a flake remains; + Drift never resteth there; + Vanishing everywhere, + Into the hungry sea + Falleth the snow. + +What means the snow at sea? + Whirled in the veering blast, +Thickly the flakes drive past; +Each like a childish ghost +Wavers, and then is lost; +In the forgetful sea + Fadeth the snow. + +1875. + + + + +ROSLIN AND HAWTHORNDEN + +Fair Roslin Chapel, how divine +The art that reared thy costly shrine! +Thy carven columns must have grown +By magic, like a dream in stone. + +Yet not within thy storied wall +Would I in adoration fall, +So gladly as within the glen +That leads to lovely Hawthornden. + +A long-drawn aisle, with roof of green +And vine-clad pillars, while between, +The Esk runs murmuring on its way, +In living music night and day. + +Within the temple of this wood +The martyrs of the covenant stood, +And rolled the psalm, and poured the prayer, +From Nature's solemn altar-stair. + +Edinburgh, 1877. + + + + +THE HEAVENLY HILLS OF HOLLAND + +The heavenly hills of Holland,-- + How wondrously they rise +Above the smooth green pastures + Into the azure skies! +With blue and purple hollows, + With peaks of dazzling snow, +Along the far horizon + The clouds are marching slow. + +No mortal foot has trodden + The summits of that range, +Nor walked those mystic valleys + Whose colours ever change; +Yet we possess their beauty, + And visit them in dreams, +While ruddy gold of sunset + From cliff and canyon gleams. + +In days of cloudless weather + They melt into the light; +When fog and mist surround us + They're hidden from our sight; +But when returns a season + Clear shining after rain, +While the northwest wind is blowing, + We see the hills again. + +The old Dutch painters loved them, + Their pictures show them fair,-- +Old Hobbema and Ruysdael, + Van Goyen and Vermeer. +Above the level landscape, + Rich polders, long-armed mills, +Canals and ancient cities,-- + Float Holland's heavenly hills. + +The Hague, November, 1916. + + + + +FLOOD-TIDE OF FLOWERS + +IN HOLLAND + +The laggard winter ebbed so slow +With freezing rain and melting snow, +It seemed as if the earth would stay +Forever where the tide was low, +In sodden green and watery gray. + +But now from depths beyond our sight, +The tide is turning in the night, +And floods of colour long concealed +Come silent rising toward the light, +Through garden bare and empty field. + +And first, along the sheltered nooks, +The crocus runs in little brooks +Of joyance, till by light made bold +They show the gladness of their looks +In shining pools of white and gold. + +The tiny scilla, sapphire blue, +Is gently seeping in, to strew +The earth with heaven; and sudden rills +Of sunlit yellow, sweeping through, +Spread into lakes of daffodils. + +The hyacinths, with fragrant heads, +Have overflowed their sandy beds, +And fill the earth with faint perfume, +The breath that Spring around her she +And now the tulips break in bloom! + +A sea, a rainbow-tinted sea, +A splendour and a mystery, +Floods o'er the fields of faded gray: +The roads are full of folks in glee, +For lo,--to-day is Easter Day! + +April, 1916. + + + + +SALUTE TO THE TREES + +Many a tree is found in the wood +And every tree for its use is good: +Some for the strength of the gnarled root, +Some for the sweetness of flower or fruit; +Some for shelter against the storm, +And some to keep the hearth-stone warm; +Some for the roof, and some for the beam, +And some for a boat to breast the stream;-- +In the wealth of the wood since the world began +The trees have offered their gifts to man. + +But the glory of trees is more than their gifts: +'Tis a beautiful wonder of life that lifts, +From a wrinkled seed in an earth-bound clod, +A column, an arch in the temple of God, +A pillar of power, a dome of delight, +A shrine of song, and a joy of sight! +Their roots are the nurses of rivers in birth; +Their leaves are alive with the breath of the earth; +They shelter the dwellings of man; and they bend +O'er his grave with the look of a loving friend. + +I have camped in the whispering forest of pines, +I have slept in the shadow of olives and vines; +In the knees of an oak, at the foot of a palm +I have found good rest and slumber's balm. +And now, when the morning gilds the boughs +Of the vaulted elm at the door of my house, +I open the window and make salute: +"God bless thy branches and feed thy root! +Thou hast lived before, live after me, +Thou ancient, friendly, faithful tree." + +February, 1920. + + + + +III + +OF THE UNFAILING LIGHT + + + + +THE GRAND CANYON + +DAYBREAK + +What makes the lingering Night so cling to + thee? +Thou vast, profound, primeval hiding-place +Of ancient secrets,--gray and ghostly gulf +Cleft in the green of this high forest land, +And crowded in the dark with giant forms! +Art thou a grave, a prison, or a shrine? + +A stillness deeper than the dearth of sound +Broods over thee: a living silence breathes +Perpetual incense from thy dim abyss. +The morning-stars that sang above the bower +Of Eden, passing over thee, are dumb +With trembling bright amazement; and the + Dawn +Steals through the glimmering pines with naked + feet, +Her hand upon her lips, to look on thee! + +She peers into thy depths with silent prayer +For light, more light, to part thy purple veil. +O Earth, swift-rolling Earth, reveal, reveal,-- +Turn to the East, and show upon thy breast +The mightiest marvel in the realm of Time! +'Tis done,--the morning miracle of light,-- +The resurrection of the world of hues +That die with dark, and daily rise again +With every rising of the splendid Sun! + +Be still, my heart! Now Nature holds her breath +To see the solar flood of radiance leap +Across the chasm, and crown the western rim +Of alabaster with a far-away +Rampart of pearl, and flowing down by walls +Of changeful opal, deepen into gold +Of topaz, rosy gold of tourmaline, +Crimson of garnet, green and gray of jade, +Purple of amethyst, and ruby red, +Beryl, and sard, and royal porphyry; +Until the cataract of colour breaks +Upon the blackness of the granite floor. + +How far below! And all between is cleft +And carved into a hundred curving miles +Of unimagined architecture! Tombs, +Temples, and colonnades are neighboured there +By fortresses that Titans might defend, +And amphitheatres where Gods might strive. +Cathedrals, buttressed with unnumbered tiers +Of ruddy rock, lift to the sapphire sky +A single spire of marble pure as snow; +And huge aerial palaces arise +Like mountains built of unconsuming flame. +Along the weathered walls, or standing deep +In riven valleys where no foot may tread, +Are lonely pillars, and tall monuments +Of perished aeons and forgotten things. +My sight is baffled by the wide array +Of countless forms: my vision reels and swims +Above them, like a bird in whirling winds. +Yet no confusion fills the awful chasm; +But spacious order and a sense of peace +Brood over all. For every shape that looms +Majestic in the throng, is set apart +From all the others by its far-flung shade, +Blue, blue, as if a mountain-lake were there. + +How still it is! Dear God, I hardly dare +To breathe, for fear the fathomless abyss +Will draw me down into eternal sleep. + +What force has formed this masterpiece of awe? +What hands have wrought these wonders in the waste? +O river, gleaming in the narrow rift +Of gloom that cleaves the valley's nether deep,-- +Fierce Colorado, prisoned by thy toil, +And blindly toiling still to reach the sea,-- +Thy waters, gathered from the snows and springs +Amid the Utah hills, have carved this road +Of glory to the California Gulf. +But now, O sunken stream, thy splendour lost, +'Twixt iron walls thou rollest turbid waves, +Too far away to make their fury heard! + +At sight of thee, thou sullen labouring slave +Of gravitation,--yellow torrent poured +From distant mountains by no will of thine, +Through thrice a hundred centuries of slow +Fallings and liftings of the crust of Earth,-- +At sight of thee my spirit sinks and fails. +Art thou alone the Maker? Is the blind +Unconscious power that drew thee dumbly down +To cut this gash across the layered globe, +The sole creative cause of all I see? +Are force and matter all? The rest a dream? + +Then is thy gorge a canyon of despair, +A prison for the soul of man, a grave +Of all his dearest daring hopes! The world +Wherein we live and move is meaningless, +No spirit here to answer to our own! +The stars without a guide: The chance-born + Earth +Adrift in space, no Captain on the ship: +Nothing in all the universe to prove +Eternal wisdom and eternal love! +And man, the latest accident of Time,-- +Who thinks he loves, and longs to understand, +Who vainly suffers, and in vain is brave, +Who dupes his heart with immortality,-- +Man is a living lie,--a bitter jest +Upon himself,--a conscious grain of sand +Lost in a desert of unconsciousness, +Thirsting for God and mocked by his own thirst. + +Spirit of Beauty, mother of delight, +Thou fairest offspring of Omnipotence +Inhabiting this lofty lone abode, +Speak to my heart again and set me free +From all these doubts that darken earth and + heaven! +Who sent thee forth into the wilderness +To bless and comfort all who see thy face? +Who clad thee in this more than royal robe +Of rainbows? Who designed these jewelled + thrones +For thee, and wrought these glittering palaces? +Who gave thee power upon the soul of man +To lift him up through wonder into joy? +God! let the radiant cliffs bear witness, God! +Let all the shining pillars signal, God! +He only, on the mystic loom of light, +Hath woven webs of loveliness to clothe +His most majestic works: and He alone +Hath delicately wrought the cactus-flower +To star the desert floor with rosy bloom. + +O Beauty, handiwork of the Most High, +Where'er thou art He tells his Love to man, +And lo, the day breaks, and the shadows flee! + +Now, far beyond all language and all art +In thy wild splendour, Canyon marvellous, +The secret of thy stillness lies unveiled +In worldless worship! This is holy ground; +Thou art no grave, no prison, but a shrine. +Garden of Temples filled with Silent Praise, +If God were blind thy Beauty could not be! + +February 24-26, 1913. + + + + +GOD OF THE OPEN AIR + + +I + +Thou who hast made thy dwelling fair + With flowers below, above with starry lights +And set thine altars everywhere,-- + On mountain heights, +In woodlands dim with many a dream, + In valleys bright with springs, +And on the curving capes of every stream: +Thou who hast taken to thyself the wings + Of morning, to abide +Upon the secret places of the sea, + And on far islands, where the tide +Visits the beauty of untrodden shores, +Waiting for worshippers to come to thee + In thy great out-of-doors! +To thee I turn, to thee I make my prayer, + God of the open air. + + +II + +Seeking for thee, the heart of man + Lonely and longing ran, +In that first, solitary hour, + When the mysterious power +To know and love the wonder of the morn +Was breathed within him, and his soul was born; + And thou didst meet thy child, + Not in some hidden shrine, +But in the freedom of the garden wild, + And take his hand in thine,-- +There all day long in Paradise he walked, +And in the cool of evening with thee talked. + + +III + + Lost, long ago, that garden bright and pure, + Lost, that calm day too perfect to endure, + And lost the child-like love that worshipped + and was sure! + For men have dulled their eyes with sin, + And dimmed the light of heaven with doubt, +And built their temple walls to shut thee in, +And framed their iron creeds to shut thee out. + But not for thee the closing of the door, + O Spirit unconfined! + Thy ways are free +As is the wandering wind, +And thou hast wooed thy children, to restore + Their fellowship with thee, +In peace of soul and simpleness of mind. + + +IV + +Joyful the heart that, when the flood rolled by, +Leaped up to see the rainbow in the sky; +And glad the pilgrim, in the lonely night, +For whom the hills of Haran, tier on tier, +Built up a secret stairway to the height +Where stars like angel eyes were shining clear. +From mountain-peaks, in many a land and + age, + Disciples of the Persian seer +Have hailed the rising sun and worshipped + thee; +And wayworn followers of the Indian sage +Have found the peace of God beneath a spreading + tree. + + +V + + But One, but One,--ah, Son most dear, +And perfect image of the Love Unseen,-- + Walked every day in pastures green, +And all his life the quiet waters by, +Reading their beauty with a tranquil eye. +To him the desert was a place prepared + For weary hearts to rest; + The hillside was a temple blest; + The grassy vale a banquet-room +Where he could feed and comfort many a + guest. + With him the lily shared +The vital joy that breathes itself in bloom; +And every bird that sang beside the nest +Told of the love that broods o'er every living + thing. + +He watched the shepherd bring +His flock at sundown to the welcome fold, +The fisherman at daybreak fling +His net across the waters gray and cold, +And all day long the patient reaper swing +His curving sickle through the harvest gold. +So through the world the foot-path way he trod, +Breathing the air of heaven in every breath; +And in the evening sacrifice of death +Beneath the open sky he gave his soul to God. +Him will I trust, and for my Master take; +Him will I follow; and for his dear sake, +God of the open air, +To thee I make my prayer. + + +VI + +From the prison of anxious thought that greed has builded, +From the fetters that envy has wrought and pride has gilded, +From the noise of the crowded ways and the fierce confusion, +From the folly that wastes its days in a world of illusion, +(Ah, but the life is lost that frets and languishes there!) +I would escape and be free in the joy of the open air. +By the breadth of the blue that shines in silence o'er me, +By the length of the mountain-lines that stretch before me, +By the height of the cloud that sails, with rest in motion, +Over the plains and the vales to the measureless ocean, +(Oh, how the sight of the greater things enlarges the eyes!) +Draw me away from myself to the peace of the hills and skies. + +While the tremulous leafy haze on the woodland is spreading, +And the bloom on the meadow betrays where May has been treading; +While the birds on the branches above, and the brooks flowing under, +Are singing together of love in a world full of wonder, +(Lo, in the magic of Springtime, dreams are changed into truth!) +Quicken my heart, and restore the beautiful hopes of youth. + +By the faith that the wild-flowers show when they bloom unbidden, +By the calm of the river's flow to a goal that is hidden, +By the strength of the tree that clings to its deep foundation, +By the courage of birds' light wings on the long migration, +(Wonderful spirit of trust that abides in Nature's breast!) +Teach me how to confide, and live my life, and rest. + +For the comforting warmth of the sun that my body embraces, +For the cool of the waters that run through the shadowy places, +For the balm of the breezes that brush my face with their fingers, +For the vesper-hymn of the thrush when the twilight lingers, +For the long breath, the deep breath, the breath of a heart without care,-- +I will give thanks and adore thee, God of the open air! + + +VII + + These are the gifts I ask + Of thee, Spirit serene: + Strength for the daily task, + Courage to face the road, +Good cheer to help me bear the traveller's load, +And, for the hours of rest that come between, +An inward joy in all things heard and seen. + These are the sins I fain + Would have thee take away: + Malice, and cold disdain, + Hot anger, sullen hate, +Scorn of the lowly, envy of the great, +And discontent that casts a shadow gray +On all the brightness of the common day. + These are the things I prize + And hold of dearest worth: + Light of the sapphire skies, + Peace of the silent hills, +Shelter of forests, comfort of the grass, +Music of birds, murmur of little rills, +Shadows of cloud that swiftly pass, + And, after showers, + The smell of flowers + And of the good brown earth,-- +And best of all, along the way, friendship and mirth. + So let me keep + These treasures of the humble heart +In true possession, owning them by love; +And when at last I can no longer move + Among them freely, but must part +From the green fields and from the waters clear, + Let me not creep +Into some darkened room and hide +From all that makes the world so bright and dear; + But throw the windows wide + To welcome in the light; + And while I clasp a well-beloved hand, + Let me once more have sight + Of the deep sky and the far-smiling land,-- + Then gently fall on sleep, +And breathe my body back to Nature's care, +My spirit out to thee, God of the open air. + +1904. + + + + +IV + +WAYFARING PSALMS IN PALESTINE + + + + +THE DISTANT ROAD + +Blessed is the man that beholdeth the face of a friend in a far country, +The darkness of his heart is melted by the dawning of day within him, + +It is like the sound of a sweet music heard long ago and half forgotten: +It is like the coming back of birds to a wood when the winter is ended. + +I knew not the sweetness of the fountain till I found it flowing in the + desert, +Nor the value of a friend till we met in a land that was crowded and + lonely. + +The multitude of mankind had bewildered me and oppressed me, +And I complained to God, Why hast thou made the world so wide? + +But when my friend came the wideness of the world had no more terror, +Because we were glad together among men to whom we were strangers. + +It seemed as if I had been reading a book in a foreign language, +And suddenly I came upon a page written in the tongue of my childhood. + +This was the gentle heart of my friend who quietly understood me, +The open and loving heart whose meaning was clear without a word. + +O thou great Companion who carest for all thy pilgrims and strangers, +I thank thee heartily for the comfort of a comrade on the distant road. + + + + +THE WELCOME TENT + +This is the thanksgiving of the weary, +The song of him that is ready to rest. + +It is good to be glad when the day is declining, +And the setting of the sun is like a word of peace. + +The stars look kindly on the close of a journey, +The tent says welcome when the day's march is done. + +For now is the time of the laying down of burdens, +And the cool hour cometh to them that have borne the heat. + +I have rejoiced greatly in labour and adventure; +My heart hath been enlarged in the spending of my strength. + +Now it is all gone, yet I am not impoverished, +For thus only I inherit the treasure of repose. + +Blessed be the Lord that teacheth my fingers to loosen, +And cooleth my feet with water after the dust of the way. + +Blessed be the Lord that giveth me hunger at nightfall, +And filleth my evening cup with the wine of good cheer. + +Blessed be the Lord that maketh me happy to be quiet, +Even as a child that cometh softly to his mother's lap. + +O God, thy strength is never worn away with labour: +But it is good for us to be weary and receive thy gift of rest. + + + + +THE GREAT CITIES + +How wonderful are the cities that man hath builded: +Their walls are compacted of heavy stones, +And their lofty towers rise above the tree-tops. + +Rome, Jerusalem, Cairo, Damascus,-- +Venice, Constantinople, Moscow, Pekin,-- +London, New York, Berlin, Paris, Vienna,-- + +These are the names of mighty enchantments, +They have called to the ends of the earth, +They have secretly summoned a host of servants. + +They shine from far sitting beside great waters, +They are proudly enthroned upon high hills, +They spread out their splendour along the rivers. + +Yet are they all the work of small patient fingers, +Their strength is in the hand of man, +He hath woven his flesh and blood into their glory. + +The cities are scattered over the world like anthills, +Every one of them is full of trouble and toil, +And their makers run to and fro within them. + +Abundance of riches is laid up in their treasuries, +But they are tormented with the fear of want, +The cry of the poor in their streets is exceeding bitter. + +Their inhabitants are driven by blind perturbations, +They whirl sadly in the fever of haste, +Seeking they know not what, they pursue it fiercely. + +The air is heavy-laden with their breathing, +The sound of their coming and going is never still, +Even in the night I hear them whispering and crying. + +Beside every ant-hill I behold a monster crouching: +This is the ant-lion Death, +He thrusteth forth his tongue and the people perish. + +O God of wisdom thou hast made the country: +Why hast thou suffered man to make the town? + +Then God answered, Surely I am the maker of man: +And in the heart of man I have set the city. + + + + +THE FRIENDLY TREES + +I will sing of the bounty of the big trees, +They are the green tents of the Almighty, +He hath set them up for comfort and for shelter. + +Their cords hath he knotted in the earth, +He hath driven their stakes securely, +Their roots take hold of the rocks like iron. + +He sendeth into their bodies the sap of life, +They lift themselves lightly toward the heavens. +They rejoice in the broadening of their branches. + +Their leaves drink in the sunlight and the air, +They talk softly together when the breeze bloweth, +Their shadow in the noon-day is full of coolness. + +The tall palm-trees of the plain are rich in fruit, +While the fruit ripeneth the flower unfoldeth, +The beauty of their crown is renewed on high forever. + +The cedars of Lebanon are fed by the snow, +Afar on the mountain they grow like giants, +In their layers of shade a thousand years are dreaming. + +How fair are the trees that befriend the home of man, +The oak, and the terebinth, and the sycamore, +The broad-leaved fig-tree and the delicate silvery olive. + +In them the Lord is loving to his little birds, +The linnets and the finches and the nightingales, +They people his pavilions with nests and with music. + +The cattle also are very glad of a great tree, +They chew the cud beneath it while the sun is burning, +And there the panting sheep lie down around their shepherd. + +He that planteth a tree is a servant of God, +He provideth a kindness for many generations, +And faces that he hath not seen shall bless him. + +Lord, when my spirit shall return to thee, +At the foot of a friendly tree let my body be buried, +That this dust may rise and rejoice among the branches. + + + + +THE PATHWAY OF RIVERS + +The rivers of God are full of water, +They are wonderful in the renewal of their strength, +He poureth them out from a hidden fountain. + +They are born among the hills in the high places, +Their cradle is in the bosom of the rocks, +The mountain is their mother and the forest is their father. + +They are nourished among the long grasses, +They receive the tribute of a thousand springs, +The rain and the snow provide their inheritance. + +They are glad to be gone from their birthplace, +With a joyful noise they hasten away, +They are going forever and never departed. + +The courses of the rivers are all appointed; +They roar loudly but they follow the road, +For the finger of God hath marked their pathway. + +The rivers of Damascus rejoice among their gardens; +The great river of Egypt is proud of his ships; +The Jordan is lost in the Lake of Bitterness. + +Surely the Lord guideth them every one in his wisdom, +In the end he gathereth all their drops on high, +And sendeth them forth again in the clouds of mercy. + +O my God, my life floweth away like a river: +Guide me, I beseech thee, in a pathway of good: +Let me run in blessing to my rest in thee. + + + + +THE GLORY OF RUINS + +The lizard rested on the rock while I sat among the ruins, +And the pride of man was like a vision of the night. + +Lo, the lords of the city have disappeared into darkness, +The ancient wilderness hath swallowed up all their work. + +There is nothing left of the city but a heap of fragments; +The bones of a vessel broken by the storm. + +Behold the waves of the desert wait hungrily for man's dwellings, +And the tides of desolation return upon his toil. + +All that he hath painfully built up is shaken down in a moment, +The memory of his glory is buried beneath the billows of sand. + +Then a voice said, Look again upon the ruins, +These broken arches have taught generations to build. + +Moreover the name of this city shall be remembered, +For here a poor man spoke a word that shall not die. + +This is the glory that is stronger than the desert; +God hath given eternity to the thought of man. + + + + +THE TRIBE OF THE HELPERS + +The ways of the world are full of haste and turmoil; +I will sing of the tribe of the helpers who travel in peace. + +He that turneth from the road to rescue another, +Turneth toward his goal: +He shall arrive in time by the foot-path of mercy, +God will be his guide. + +He that taketh up the burden of the fainting, +Lighteneth his own load: +The Almighty will put his arms underneath him, +He shall lean upon the Lord. + +He that speaketh comfortable words to mourners, +Healeth his own hurt; +In the time of grief they will come to his remembrance. +God will use them for balm. + +He that careth for a wounded brother, +Watcheth not alone: +There are three in the darkness together, +And the third is the Lord. + +Blessed is the way of the helpers, +The companions of the Christ. + + + + +GOOD TEACHER + +The Lord is my teacher, +I shall not lose the way. + +He leadeth me in the lowly path of learning, +He prepareth a lesson for me every day; +He bringeth me to the clear fountains of instruction, +Little by little he showeth me the beauty of truth. + +The world is a great book that he hath written, +He turneth the leaves for me slowly; +They are inscribed with images and letters, +He poureth light on the pictures and the words. + +He taketh me by the hand to the hill-top of vision, +And my soul is glad when I perceive his meaning; +In the valley also he walketh beside me, +In the dark places he whispereth to my heart. + +Even though my lesson be hard it is not hopeless, +For the Lord is patient with his slow scholar; +He will wait awhile for my weakness, +And help me to read the truth through tears. + + + + +THE CAMP-FIRES OF MY FRIEND + +Thou hast taken me into thy tent of the world, O God, +Beneath thy blue canopy I have found shelter, +Therefore thou wilt not deny me the right of a guest. + +Naked and poor I arrived at thy door before sunset: +Thou hast refreshed me with beautiful bowls of milk, +As a great chief thou hast set forth food in abundance. + +I have loved the daily delights of thy dwelling, +Thy moon and thy stars have lighted me to my bed, +In the morning I have made merry with thy servants. + +Surely thou wilt not send me away in the darkness? +There the enemy Death is lying in wait for my soul: +Thou art the host of my life and I claim thy protection. + +Then the Lord of the tent of the world made answer: +_The right of a guest endureth for a certain time, +After three days and nights cometh the day of departure. + +Yet hearken to me since thou fearest to go in the dark: +I will make with thee a new covenant of hospitality, +Behold I will come unto thee as a stranger and be thy guest. + +Poor and needy will I come that thou mayest entertain me, +Meek and lowly will I come that thou mayest find a friend, +With mercy and with truth will I come to give thee comfort. + +Therefore open thy heart to me and bid me welcome, +In this tent of the world I will be thy brother of the bread, +And when thou farest forth I will be thy companion forever._ + +Then my soul rested in the word of the Lord; 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Songs Out of Doors + +Author: Henry Van Dyke + +Release Date: November, 2005 [EBook #9372] +[This file was first posted on September 26, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SONGS OUT OF DOORS *** + + + + +E-text prepared by Patricia Peters, Tonya Allen, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + +SONGS OUT OF DOORS + +BY + +HENRY VAN DYKE + +1923 + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +I + +OF BIRDS AND FLOWERS + +The Veery +The Song-Sparrow +The Maryland Yellow-Throat +The Whip-Poor-Will +Wings of a Dove +The Hermit Thrush +Sea-Gulls of Manhattan +The Ruby-Crowned Kinglet +The Angler's Reveille +A November Daisy +The Lily of Yorrow + + +II + +OF SKIES AND SEASONS + +If All the Skies +The After-Echo +Dulciora +Matins +The Parting and the Coming Guest +When Tulips Bloom +Spring in the North +Spring in the South +How Spring Comes to Shasta Jim +The First Bird o' Spring +A Bunch of Trout-Flies +A Noon-Song +Turn o' the Tide +Sierra Madre +School +Indian Summer +Light between the Trees +The Fall of the Leaves +Three Alpine Sonnets +A Snow-Song +Roslin and Hawthornden +The Heavenly Hills of Holland +Flood-Tide of Flowers +Salute to the Trees + + +III + +OF THE UNFAILING LIGHT + +The Grand Canyon +God of the Open Air + + +IV + +WAYFARING PSALMS IN PALESTINE + +The Distant Road +The Welcome Tent +The Great Cities +The Friendly Trees +The Pathway of Rivers +The Glory of Ruins +The Tribe of the Helpers +The Good Teacher +The Camp-Fires of My Friend + + + + + +I + +OF BIRDS AND FLOWERS + + + + +THE VEERY + +The moonbeams over Arno's vale in silver flood were pouring, +When first I heard the nightingale a long-lost love deploring. +So passionate, so full of pain, it sounded strange and eerie; +I longed to hear a simpler strain,--the woodnotes of the veery. + +The laverock sings a bonny lay above the Scottish heather; +It sprinkles down from far away like light and love together; +He drops the golden notes to greet his brooding mate, his dearie; +I only know one song more sweet,--the vespers of the veery. + +In English gardens, green and bright and full of fruity treasure, +I heard the blackbird with delight repeat his merry measure: +The ballad was a pleasant one, the tune was loud and cheery, +And yet, with every setting sun, I listened for the veery. + +But far away, and far away, the tawny thrush is singing; +New England woods, at close of day, with that clear chant are ringing: +And when my light of life is low, and heart and flesh are weary, +I fain would hear, before I go, the wood-notes of the veery. + +1895. + + + + +THE SONG-SPARROW + +There is a bird I know so well, + It seems as if he must have sung + Beside my crib when I was young; +Before I knew the way to spell + The name of even the smallest bird, + His gentle-joyful song I heard. +Now see if you can tell, my dear, +What bird it is that, every year, +Sings _"Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer."_ + +He comes in March, when winds are strong, + And snow returns to hide the earth; + But still he warms his heart with mirth, +And waits for May. He lingers long + While flowers fade; and every day + Repeats his small, contented lay; +As if to say, we need not fear +The season's change, if love is here +With _"Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer."_ + +He does not wear a Joseph's-coat + Of many colours, smart and gay; + His suit is Quaker brown and gray, +With darker patches at his throat. + And yet of all the well-dressed throng + Not one can sing so brave a song. +It makes the pride of looks appear +A vain and foolish thing, to hear +His _"Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer."_ + +A lofty place he does not love, + But sits by choice, and well at ease, + In hedges, and in little trees +That stretch their slender arms above + The meadow-brook; and there he sings + Till all the field with pleasure rings; +And so he tells in every ear, +That lowly homes to heaven are near +In _"Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer."_ + +I like the tune, I like the words; + They seem so true, so free from art, + So friendly, and so full of heart, +That if but one of all the birds + Could be my comrade everywhere, + My little brother of the air, +I'd choose the song-sparrow, my dear, +Because he'd bless me, every year, +With _"Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer."_ + +1895. + + + + +THE MARYLAND YELLOW-THROAT + +When May bedecks the naked trees +With tassels and embroideries, +And many blue-eyed violets beam +Along the edges of the stream, +I hear a voice that seems to say, +Now near at hand, now far away, + _"Witchery--witchery--witchery."_ + +An incantation so serene, +So innocent, befits the scene: +There's magic in that small bird's note-- +See, there he flits--the Yellow-throat; +A living sunbeam, tipped with wings, +A spark of light that shines and sings + _"Witchery--witchery--witchery."_ + +You prophet with a pleasant name, +If out of Mary-land you came, +You know the way that thither goes +Where Mary's lovely garden grows: +Fly swiftly back to her, I pray, +And try to call her down this way, + _"Witchery--witchery--witchery."_ + +Tell her to leave her cockle-shells, +And all her little silver bells +That blossom into melody, +And all her maids less fair than she. +She does not need these pretty things, +For everywhere she comes, she brings + _"Witchery--witchery--witchery."_ + +The woods are greening overhead, +And flowers adorn each mossy bed; +The waters babble as they run-- +One thing is lacking, only one: +If Mary were but here to-day, +I would believe your charming lay, + _"Witchery--witchery--witchery."_ + +Along the shady road I look-- +Who's coming now across the brook? +A woodland maid, all robed in white-- +The leaves dance round her with delight, +The stream laughs out beneath her feet-- +Sing, merry bird, the charm's complete, + "_Witchery--witchery--witchery!_" + +1895. + + + + +THE WHIP-POOR-WILL + +Do you remember, father,-- +It seems so long ago,-- +The day we fished together +Along the Pocono? +At dusk I waited for you, +Beside the lumber-mill, +And there I heard a hidden bird +That chanted, "whip-poor-will," +"_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_" +Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + +The place was all deserted; +The mill-wheel hung at rest; +The lonely star of evening +Was throbbing in the west; +The veil of night was falling; +The winds were folded still; +And everywhere the trembling air + Re-echoed "whip-poor-will!" + "_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_" +Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + +You seemed so long in coming, + I felt so much alone; +The wide, dark world was round me, + And life was all unknown; +The hand of sorrow touched me, + And made my senses thrill +With all the pain that haunts the strain + Of mournful whip-poor-will. +"_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_" + Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + +What knew I then of trouble? + An idle little lad, +I had not learned the lessons + That make men wise and sad. +I dreamed of grief and parting, + And something seemed to fill +My heart with tears, while in my ears + Resounded "whip-poor-will." + "_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_" + Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + +'Twas but a cloud of sadness, + That lightly passed away; +But I have learned the meaning + Of sorrow, since that day. +For nevermore at twilight, + Beside the silent mill, +I'll wait for you, in the falling dew, + And hear the whip-poor-will. + "_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_" + Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + +But if you still remember + In that fair land of light, +The pains and fears that touch us + Along this edge of night, +I think all earthly grieving, + And all our mortal ill, +To you must seem like a sad boy's dream + Who hears the whip-poor-will. + "_Whippoorwill! whippoorwill!_" + A passing thrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + +1894. + + + + +WINGS OF A DOVE + + +I + +At sunset, when the rosy light was dying + Far down the pathway of the west, +I saw a lonely dove in silence flying, + To be at rest. + +Pilgrim of air, I cried, could I but borrow + Thy wandering wings, thy freedom blest, +I'd fly away from every careful sorrow, + And find my rest. + + +II + +But when the filmy veil of dusk was falling, + Home flew the dove to seek his nest, +Deep in the forest where his mate was calling + To love and rest. + +Peace, heart of mine! no longer sigh to wander; + Lose not thy life in barren quest. +There are no happy islands over yonder; + Come home and rest. + +1874. + + + + +THE HERMIT THRUSH + +O wonderful! How liquid clear +The molten gold of that ethereal tone, +Floating and falling through the wood alone, +A hermit-hymn poured out for God to hear! + +_O holy, holy! holy! Hyaline, +Long light, low light, glory of eventide! +Love far away, far up,--love divine! +Little love, too, for ever, ever near, +Warm love, earth love, tender love of mine, +In the leafy dark where you hide, +You are mine,--mine,--mine!_ + +Ah, my belovèd, do you feel with me +The hidden virtue of that melody, +The rapture and the purity of love, +The heavenly joy that can not find the word? + +Then, while we wait again to hear the bird, +Come very near to me, and do not move,-- +Now, hermit of the woodland, fill anew +The cool, green cup of air with harmony, +And we will drink the wine of love with you. + +May, 1908. + + + + +SEA-GULLS OF MANHATTAN + +Children of the elemental mother, + Born upon some lonely island shore +Where the wrinkled ripples run and whisper, + Where the crested billows plunge and roar; +Long-winged, tireless roamers and adventurers, + Fearless breasters of the wind and sea, +In the far-off solitary places + I have seen you floating wild and free! + +Here the high-built cities rise around you; + Here the cliffs that tower east and west, +Honeycombed with human habitations, + Have no hiding for the sea-bird's nest: +Here the river flows begrimed and troubled; + Here the hurrying, panting vessels fume, +Restless, up and down the watery highway, + While a thousand chimneys vomit gloom. + +Toil and tumult, conflict and confusion, + Clank and clamour of the vast machine +Human hands have built for human bondage-- + Yet amid it all you float serene; +Circling, soaring, sailing, swooping lightly + Down to glean your harvest from the wave; +In your heritage of air and water, + You have kept the freedom Nature gave. + +Even so the wild-woods of Manhattan + Saw your wheeling flocks of white and gray; +Even so you fluttered, followed, floated, + Round the _Half-Moon_ creeping up the bay; +Even so your voices creaked and chattered, + Laughing shrilly o'er the tidal rips, +While your black and beady eyes were glistening + Round the sullen British prison-ships. + +Children of the elemental mother, + Fearless floaters 'mid the double blue, +From the crowded boats that cross the ferries + Many a longing heart goes out to you. +Though the cities climb and close around us, + Something tells us that our souls are free, +While the sea-gulls fly above the harbour, + While the river flows to meet the sea! + +December, 1905. + + + + +THE RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET + + +I + +Where's your kingdom, little king? + Where the land you call your own, + Where your palace and your throne? +Fluttering lightly on the wing + Through the blossom-world of May, + Whither lies your royal way, + Little king? + + _Far to northward lies a land + Where the trees together stand + Closely as the blades of wheat + When the summer is complete. + Rolling like an ocean wide + Over vale and mountainside, + Balsam, hemlock, spruce and pine,-- + All those mighty trees are mine. + There's a river flowing free,-- + All its waves belong to me. + There's a lake so clear and bright + Stars shine out of it all night; + Rowan-berries round it spread + Like a belt of coral red. + Never royal garden planned + Fair as my Canadian land! + There I build my summer nest, + There I reign and there I rest, + While from dawn to dark I sing, + Happy kingdom! Lucky king!_ + + +II + +Back again, my little king! + Is your happy kingdom lost + To the rebel knave, Jack Frost? +Have you felt the snow-flakes sting? + Houseless, homeless in October, + Whither now? Your plight is sober, + Exiled king! + + _Far to southward lie the regions + Where my loyal flower-legions + Hold possession of the year, + Filling every month with cheer. + Christmas wakes the winter rose; + New Year daffodils unclose; + Yellow jasmine through the wood + Flows in February flood, + Dropping from the tallest trees + Golden streams that never freeze. + Thither now I take my flight + Down the pathway of the night, + Till I see the southern moon + Glisten on the broad lagoon, + Where the cypress' dusky green, + And the dark magnolia's sheen, + Weave a shelter round my home. + There the snow-storms never come; + There the bannered mosses gray + Like a curtain gently sway, + Hanging low on every side + Round the covert inhere I bide, + Till the March azalea glows, + Royal red and heavenly rose, + Through the Carolina glade + Where my winter home is made. + There I hold my southern court, + Full of merriment and sport: + There I take my ease and sing, + Happy kingdom! Lucky king!_ + + +III + +Little boaster, vagrant king, + Neither north nor south is yours, + You've no kingdom that endures! +Wandering every fall and spring, +With your ruby crown so slender, +Are you only a Pretender, + Landless king? + + _Never king by right divine + Ruled a richer realm than mine! + What are lands and golden crowns, + Armies, fortresses and towns, + Jewels, sceptres, robes and rings,-- + What are these to song and wings? + Everywhere that I can fly, + There I own the earth and sky; + Everywhere that I can sing, + There I'm happy as a king._ + +1900. + + + + +THE ANGLER'S REVEILLE + +What time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips of night, +And all the little watchman-stars have fallen asleep in light, +'Tis then a merry wind awakes, and runs from tree to tree, +And borrows words from all the birds to sound the reveille. + + This is the carol the Robin throws + Over the edge of the valley; + Listen how boldly it flows, + Sally on sally: + _Tirra-lirra, + Early morn, + New born! + Day is near, + Clear, clear. + Down the river + All a-quiver, + Fish are breaking; + Time for waking, + Tup, tup, tup! + Do you hear? + All clear-- + Wake up!_ + +The phantom flood of dreams has ebbed and vanished with the dark, +And like a dove the heart forsakes the prison of the ark; +Now forth she fares thro' friendly woods and diamond-fields of dew, +While every voice cries out "Rejoice!" as if the world were new. + + This is the ballad the Bluebird sings, + Unto his mate replying, + Shaking the tune from his wings + While he is flying: + _Surely, surely, surely, + Life is dear + Even here. + Blue above, + You to love, + Purely, purely, purely._ + +There's wild azalea on the hill, and iris down the dell, +And just one spray of lilac still abloom beside the well; +The columbine adorns the rocks, the laurel buds grow pink, +Along the stream white arums gleam, and violets bend to drink. + + This is the song of the Yellow-throat, + Fluttering gaily beside you; + Hear how each voluble note + Offers to guide you: + + _Which way, sir? + I say, sir, + Let me teach you, + I beseech you! + Are you wishing + Jolly fishing? + This way, sir! + I'll teach you._ + +Then come, my friend, forget your foes and leave your fears behind, +And wander forth to try your luck, with cheerful, quiet mind; +For be your fortune great or small, you take what God will give, +And all the day your heart will say, "'Tis luck enough to live." + + This is the song the Brown Thrush flings + Out of his thicket of roses; + Hark how it bubbles and rings, + Mark how it closes: + + _Luck, luck, + What luck? + Good enough for me, + I'm alive, you see! + Sun shining, + No repining; + Never borrow + Idle sorrow; + Drop it! + Cover it up! + Hold your cup! + Joy will fill it, + Don't spill it, + Steady, be ready, + Good luck!_ + +1899. + + + + +A NOVEMBER DAISY + +Afterthought of summer's bloom! +Late arrival at the feast, +Coming when the songs have ceased +And the merry guests departed, +Leaving but an empty room, +Silence, solitude, and gloom,-- +Are you lonely, heavy-hearted; +You, the last of all your kind, +Nodding in the autumn wind; +Now that all your friends are flown, +Blooming late and all alone? + +Nay, I wrong you, little flower, +Reading mournful mood of mine +In your looks, that give no sign +Of a spirit dark and cheerless! +You possess the heavenly power +That rejoices in the hour. +Glad, contented, free, and fearless, +Lift a sunny face to heaven +When a sunny day is given! +Make a summer of your own, +Blooming late and all alone! + +Once the daisies gold and white +Sea-like through the meadow rolled: +Once my heart could hardly hold +All its pleasures. I remember, +In the flood of youth's delight +Separate joys were lost to sight. +That was summer! Now November +Sets the perfect flower apart; +Gives each blossom of the heart +Meaning, beauty, grace unknown,-- +Blooming late and all alone. + +November, 1899. + + + + +THE LILY OF YORROW + +Deep in the heart of the forest the lily of Yorrow is growing; +Blue is its cup as the sky, and with mystical odour o'erflowing; +Faintly it falls through the shadowy glades when the south wind is blowing. + +Sweet are the primroses pale and the violets after a shower; +Sweet are the borders of pinks and the blossoming grapes on the bower; +Sweeter by far is the breath of that far-away woodland flower. + +Searching and strange in its sweetness, it steals like a perfume enchanted +Under the arch of the forest, and all who perceive it are haunted, +Seeking and seeking for ever, till sight of the lily is granted. + +Who can describe how it grows, with its chalice of lazuli leaning +Over a crystalline spring, where the ferns and the mosses are greening? +Who can imagine its beauty, or utter the depth of its meaning? + +Calm of the journeying stars, and repose of the mountains olden, +Joy of the swift-running rivers, and glory of sunsets golden, +Secrets that cannot be told in the heart of the flower are holden. + +Surely to see it is peace and the crown of a lifelong endeavour; +Surely to pluck it is gladness,--but they who have found it can never +Tell of the gladness and peace: they are hid from our vision for ever. + +'Twas but a moment ago that a comrade was walking near me: +Turning aside from the pathway he murmured a greeting to cheer me,-- +Then he was lost in the shade, and I called but he did not hear me. + +Why should I dream he is dead, and bewail him with passionate sorrow? +Surely I know there is gladness in finding the lily of Yorrow: +He has discovered it first, and perhaps I shall find it to-morrow. + +1894. + + + + +II + + +OF SKIES AND SEASONS + + + + +IF ALL THE SKIES + +If all the skies were sunshine, + Our faces would be fain +To feel once more upon them + The cooling plash of rain. + +If all the world were music, + Our hearts would often long +For one sweet strain of silence, + To break the endless song. + +If life were always merry, + Our souls would seek relief, +And rest from weary laughter + In the quiet arms of grief. + + + + +THE AFTER-ECHO + +How long the echoes love to play + Around the shore of silence, as a wave + Retreating circles down the sand! + One after one, with sweet delay, +The mellow sounds that cliff and island gave, + Have lingered in the crescent bay, + Until, by lightest breezes fanned, +They float far off beyond the dying day + And leave it still as death. + But hark,-- + Another singing breath + Comes from the edge of dark; + A note as clear and slow + As falls from some enchanted bell, + Or spirit, passing from the world below, + That whispers back, Farewell. + So in the heart, +When, fading slowly down the past, + Fond memories depart, +And each that leaves it seems the last; +Long after all the rest are flown, +Returns a solitary tone,-- +The after-echo of departed years,-- +And touches all the soul to tears. + +1871. + + + + +DULCIORA + +A tear that trembles for a little while +Upon the trembling eyelid, till the world +Wavers within its circle like a dream, +Holds more of meaning in its narrow orb +Than all the distant landscape that it blurs. + +A smile that hovers round a mouth beloved, +Like the faint pulsing of the Northern Light, +And grows in silence to an amber dawn +Born in the sweetest depths of trustful eyes, +Is dearer to the soul than sun or star. + +A joy that falls into the hollow heart +From some far-lifted height of love unseen, +Unknown, makes a more perfect melody +Than hidden brooks that murmur in the dusk, +Or fall athwart the cliff with wavering gleam. + +Ah, not for their own sake are earth and sky +And the fair ministries of Nature dear, +But as they set themselves unto the tune +That fills our life; as light mysterious +Flows from within and glorifies the world. + +For so a common wayside blossom, touched +With tender thought, assumes a grace more sweet +Than crowns the royal lily of the South; +And so a well-remembered perfume seems +The breath of one who breathes in Paradise. + +1872. + + + + +MATINS + +Flowers rejoice when night is done, +Lift their heads to greet the sun; +Sweetest looks and odours raise, +In a silent hymn of praise. + +So my heart would turn away +From the darkness to the day; +Lying open in God's sight +Like a flower in the light. + + + + +THE PARTING AND THE COMING GUEST + +Who watched the worn-out Winter die? + Who, peering through the window-pane + At nightfall, under sleet and rain +Saw the old graybeard totter by? +Who listened to his parting sigh, + The sobbing of his feeble breath, + His whispered colloquy with Death, + And when his all of life was done +Stood near to bid a last good-bye? + Of all his former friends not one +Saw the forsaken Winter die. + +Who welcomed in the maiden Spring? + Who heard her footfall, swift and light + As fairy-dancing in the night? +Who guessed what happy dawn would bring +The flutter of her bluebird's wing, +The blossom of her mayflower-face + To brighten every shady place? + One morning, down the village street, +"Oh, here am I," we heard her sing,-- + And none had been awake to greet +The coming of the maiden Spring. + +But look, her violet eyes are wet + With bright, unfallen, dewy tears; + And in her song my fancy hears +A note of sorrow trembling yet. +Perhaps, beyond the town, she met + Old Winter as he limped away + To die forlorn, and let him lay + His weary head upon her knee, +And kissed his forehead with regret + For one so gray and lonely,--see, +Her eyes with tender tears are wet. + +And so, by night, while we were all at rest, +I think the coming sped the parting guest. + +1873. + + + + +WHEN TULIPS BLOOM + + +I + +When tulips bloom in Union Square, +And timid breaths of vernal air + Go wandering down the dusty town, +Like children lost in Vanity Fair; + +When every long, unlovely row +Of westward houses stands aglow, + And leads the eyes to sunset skies +Beyond the hills where green trees grow; + +Then weary seems the street parade, +And weary books, and weary trade: + I'm only wishing to go a-fishing; +For this the month of May was made. + + +II + +I guess the pussy-willows now +Are creeping out on every bough + Along the brook; and robins look +For early worms behind the plough. + +The thistle-birds have changed their dun, +For yellow coats, to match the sun; + And in the same array of flame +The Dandelion Show's begun. + +The flocks of young anemones +Are dancing round the budding trees: + Who can help wishing to go a-fishing +In days as full of joy as these? + + +III + +I think the meadow-lark's clear sound +Leaks upward slowly from the ground, + While on the wing the bluebirds ring +Their wedding-bells to woods around. + +The flirting chewink calls his dear +Behind the bush; and very near, + Where water flows, where green grass grows, +Song-sparrows gently sing, "Good cheer." + +And, best of all, through twilight's calm +The hermit-thrush repeats his psalm. + How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing +In days so sweet with music's balm! + + +IV + +'Tis not a proud desire of mine; +I ask for nothing superfine; + No heavy weight, no salmon great, +To break the record, or my line. + +Only an idle little stream, +Whose amber waters softly gleam, + Where I may wade through woodland shade, +And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream: + +Only a trout or two, to dart +From foaming pools, and try my art: + 'Tis all I'm wishing--old-fashioned fishing, +And just a day on Nature's heart. + +1894. + + + + +SPRING IN THE NORTH + + +I + +Ah, who will tell me, in these leaden days, +Why the sweet Spring delays, +And where she hides,--the dear desire + Of every heart that longs +For bloom, and fragrance, and the ruby fire +Of maple-buds along the misty hills, +And that immortal call which fills + The waiting wood with songs? +The snow-drops came so long ago, + It seemed that Spring was near! + But then returned the snow +With biting winds, and earth grew sere, + And sullen clouds drooped low +To veil the sadness of a hope deferred: +Then rain, rain, rain, incessant rain + Beat on the window-pane, + +Through which I watched the solitary bird +That braved the tempest, buffeted and tossed +With rumpled feathers down the wind again. + Oh, were the seeds all lost +When winter laid the wild flowers in their tomb? + I searched the woods in vain +For blue hepaticas, and trilliums white, +And trailing arbutus, the Spring's delight, +Starring the withered leaves with rosy bloom. + But every night the frost +To all my longing spoke a silent nay, +And told me Spring was far away. +Even the robins were too cold to sing, +Except a broken and discouraged note,-- +Only the tuneful sparrow, on whose throat +Music has put her triple finger-print, +Lifted his head and sang my heart a hint,-- +"Wait, wait, wait! oh, wait a while for Spring!" + + +II + +But now, Carina, what divine amends +For all delay! What sweetness treasured up, + What wine of joy that blends +A hundred flavours in a single cup, +Is poured into this perfect day! +For look, sweet heart, here are the early flowers + That lingered on their way, +Thronging in haste to kiss the feet of May, +Entangled with the bloom of later hours,-- +Anemones and cinque-foils, violets blue +And white, and iris richly gleaming through +The grasses of the meadow, and a blaze +Of butter-cups and daisies in the field, + Filling the air with praise, +As if a chime of golden bells had pealed! + The frozen songs within the breast +Of silent birds that hid in leafless woods, + Melt into rippling floods + Of gladness unrepressed. +Now oriole and bluebird, thrush and lark, +Warbler and wren and vireo, +Mingle their melody; the living spark +Of love has touched the fuel of desire, +And every heart leaps up in singing fire. + + It seems as if the land +Were breathing deep beneath the sun's caress, + Trembling with tenderness, + While all the woods expand, +In shimmering clouds of rose and gold and green, +To veil a joy too sacred to be seen. + + +III + + Come, put your hand in mine, +True love, long sought and found at last, +And lead me deep into the Spring divine + That makes amends for all the wintry past. +For all the flowers and songs I feared to miss + Arrive with you; +And in the lingering pressure of your kiss + My dreams come true; +And in the promise of your generous eyes + I read the mystic sign + Of joy more perfect made + Because so long delayed, +And bliss enhanced by rapture of surprise. + +Ah, think not early love alone is strong; +He loveth best whose heart has learned to wait: +Dear messenger of Spring that tarried long, +You're doubly dear because you come so late. + + + + +SPRING IN THE SOUTH + +Now in the oak the sap of life is welling, + Tho' to the bough the rusty leafage clings; +Now on the elm the misty buds are swelling; + Every little pine-wood grows alive with wings; +Blue-jays are fluttering, yodeling and crying, + Meadow-larks sailing low above the faded grass, +Red-birds whistling clear, silent robins flying,-- + Who has waked the birds up? What has come to pass? + +Last year's cotton-plants, desolately bowing, + Tremble in the March-wind, ragged and forlorn, +Red are the hillsides of the early ploughing, + Gray are the lowlands, waiting for the corn. +Earth seems asleep, but she is only feigning; + Deep in her bosom thrills a sweet unrest; +Look where the jasmine lavishly is raining + Jove's golden shower into Danäe's breast! + +Now on the plum-tree a snowy bloom is sifted, + Now on the peach-tree, the glory of the rose, +Far o'er the hills a tender haze is drifted, + Full to the brim the yellow river flows. +Dark cypress boughs with vivid jewels glisten, + Greener than emeralds shining in the sun. +Whence comes the magic? Listen, sweetheart, listen! + The mocking-bird is singing: Spring is begun. + +Hark, in his song no tremor of misgiving! + All of his heart he pours into his lay,-- +"Love, love, love, and pure delight of living: + Winter is forgotten: here's a happy day!" +Fair in your face I read the flowery presage, + Snowy on your brow and rosy on your mouth: +Sweet in your voice I hear the season's message,-- + Love, love, love, and Spring in the South! + +1904. + + + + +HOW SPRING COMES TO SHASTA JIM + +I never seen no "red gods"; I dunno wot's a "lure"; +But if it's sumpin' takin', then Spring has got it sure; +An' it doesn't need no Kiplins, ner yet no London Jacks, +To make up guff about it, w'ile settin' in their shacks. + +It's sumpin' very simple 'at happens in the Spring, +But it changes all the lookin's of every blessed thing; +The buddin' woods look bigger, the mounting twice as high, +But the house looks kindo smaller, tho I couldn't tell ye why. + +It's cur'ous wot a show-down the month of April makes, +Between the reely livin', an' the things 'at's only fakes! +Machines an' barns an' buildin's, they never give no sign; +But the livin' things look lively w'en Spring is on the line. + +She doesn't come too suddin, ner she doesn't come too slow; +Her gaits is some cayprishus, an' the next ye never know,-- +A single-foot o' sunshine, a buck o' snow er hail-- +But don't be disapp'inted, fer Spring ain't goin' ter fail. + +She's loopin' down the hillside,--the driffs is fadin' out. +She's runnin' down the river,--d'ye see them risin' trout? +She's loafin' down the canyon,--the squaw-bed's growin' blue, +An' the teeny Johnny-jump-ups is jest a-peekin' thru. + +A thousan' miles o' pine-trees, with Douglas firs between, +Is waitin' fer her fingers to freshen up their green; +With little tips o' brightness the firs 'ill sparkle thick, +An' every yaller pine-tree, a giant candlestick! + +The underbrush is risin' an' spreadin' all around, +Jest like a mist o' greenness 'at hangs above the ground; +A million manzanitas 'ill soon be full o' pink; +So saddle up, my sonny,--it's time to ride, I think! + +We'll ford er swim the river, becos there ain't no bridge; +We'll foot the gulches careful, an' lope along the ridge; +We'll take the trail to Nowhere, an' travel till we tire, +An' camp beneath a pine-tree, an' sleep beside the fire. + +We'll see the blue-quail chickens, an' hear 'em pipin' clear; +An' p'raps we'll sight a brown-bear, er else a bunch o' deer; +But nary a heathen goddess or god 'ill meet our eyes; +For why? There isn't any! They're jest a pack o' lies! + +Oh, wot's the use o' "red gods," an' "Pan," an' all that stuff? +The natcheral facts o' Springtime is wonderful enuff! +An' if there's Someone made 'em' I guess He understood, +To be alive in Springtime would make a man feel good. + +California, 1913. + + + + +THE FIRST BIRD O' SPRING + +TO OLIVE WHEELER + +Winter on Mount Shasta, +April down below; +Golden hours of glowing sun +Sudden showers of snow! +Under leafless thickets +Early wild-flowers cling; +But, oh, my dear, I'm fain to hear +The first bird o' Spring! + +Alders are in tassel, +Maples are in bud; +Waters of the blue McCloud +Shout in joyful flood; +Through the giant pine-trees +Flutters many a wing; +But, oh, my dear, I long to hear +The first bird o' Spring! + +Candle-light and fire-light +Mingle at "the Bend"; +'Neath the roof of Bo-hai-pan +Light and shadow blend. +Sweeter than a wood-thrush +A maid begins to sing; +And, oh, my dear, I'm glad to hear +The first bird o' Spring! + +The Bend, California, April 29, 1913. + + + + +A BUNCH OF TROUT-FLIES + +FOR ARCHIE RUTLEDGE + +Here's a half-a-dozen flies, +Just about the proper size +For the trout of Dickey's Run,-- +Luck go with them every one! + +Dainty little feathered beauties, +Listen now, and learn your duties: +Not to tangle in the box; +Not to catch on logs or rocks, +Boughs that wave or weeds that float, +Nor in the angler's "pants" or coat! +Not to lure the glutton frog +From his banquet in the bog; +Nor the lazy chub to fool, +Splashing idly round the pool; +Nor the sullen horned pout +From the mud to hustle out! + +None of this vulgarian crew, +Dainty flies, is game for you. +Darting swiftly through the air +Guided by the angler's care, +Light upon the flowing stream +Like a winged fairy dream; +Float upon the water dancing, +Through the lights and shadows glancing, +Till the rippling current brings you, +And with quiet motion swings you, +Where a speckled beauty lies +Watching you with hungry eyes. + +Here's your game and here's your prize! +Hover near him, lure him, tease him, +Do your very best to please him, +Dancing on the water foamy, +Like the frail and fair Salome, +Till the monarch yields at last, +Rises, and you have him fast! +Then remember well your duty,-- +Do not lose, but land, your booty; +For the finest fish of all is +_Salvelinus Fontinalis_. + +So, you plumed illusions, go, +Let my comrade Archie know +Every day he goes a-fishing +I'll be with him in well-wishing. +Most of all when lunch is laid +In the dappled orchard shade, +With Will, Corinne, and Dixie too, +Sitting as we used to do +Round the white cloth on the grass +While the lazy hours pass, +And the brook's contented tune +Lulls the sleepy afternoon,-- +Then's the time my heart will be +With that pleasant company! + +June 17, 1913. + + + + +A NOON-SONG + +There are songs for the morning and songs for the night, + For sunrise and sunset, the stars and the moon; +But who will give praise to the fulness of light, + And sing us a song of the glory of noon? + Oh, the high noon, the clear noon, + The noon with golden crest; + When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns + With his face to the way of the west! + +How swiftly he rose in the dawn of his strength! + How slowly he crept as the morning wore by! +Ah, steep was the climbing that led him at length + To the height of his throne in the wide summer sky. + Oh, the long toil, the slow toil, + The toil that may not rest, + Till the sun looks down from his journey's crown, + To the wonderful way of the west! + +Then a quietness falls over meadow and hill, + The wings of the wind in the forest are furled, +The river runs softly, the birds are all still, + The workers are resting all over the world. + Oh, the good hour, the kind hour, + The hour that calms the breast! + Little inn half-way on the road of the day, + Where it follows the turn to the west! + +There's a plentiful feast in the maple-tree shade, + The lilt of a song to an old-fashioned tune, +The talk of a friend, or the kiss of a maid, + To sweeten the cup that we drink to the noon. +Oh, the deep noon, the full noon, + Of all the day the best! +When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns + To his home by the way of the west! + +1906. + + + + +TURN O' THE TIDE + +The tide flows in to the harbour,-- + The bold tide, the gold tide, the flood o' the sunlit sea,-- +And the little ships riding at anchor, + Are swinging and slanting their prows to the ocean, panting + To lift their wings to the wide wild air, + And venture a voyage they know not where,-- + To fly away and be free! + +The tide runs out of the harbour,-- + The low tide, the slow tide, the ebb o' the moonlit bay,-- +And the little ships rocking at anchor, + Are rounding and turning their bows to the landward, yearning + To breathe the breath of the sun-warmed strand, + To rest in the lee of the high hill land,-- +To hold their haven and stay! + +My heart goes round with the vessels,-- + My wild heart, my child heart, in love with the sea and the land,-- +And the turn o' the tide passes through it, + In rising and falling with mystical currents, calling + At morn, to range where the far waves foam, + At night, to a harbour in love's true home, + With the hearts that understand! + +Seal Harbour, August 12, 1911. + + + + +SIERRA MADRE + +O mother mountains! billowing far to the snowlands, + Robed in aërial amethyst, silver, and blue, +Why do ye look so proudly down on the lowlands? + What have their groves and gardens to do with you? + +Theirs is the languorous charm of the orange and myrtle, + Theirs are the fruitage and fragrance of Eden of old,-- +Broad-boughed oaks in the meadows fair and fertile, + Dark-leaved orchards gleaming with globes of gold. + +You, in your solitude standing, lofty and lonely, + Bear neither garden nor grove on your barren breasts; +Rough is the rock-loving growth of your canyons, and only + Storm-battered pines and fir-trees cling to your crests. + +Why are ye throned so high, and arrayed in splendour + Richer than all the fields at your feet can claim? +What is your right, ye rugged peaks, to the tender + Queenly promise and pride of the mother-name? + +Answered the mountains, dim in the distance dreaming: + "Ours are the forests that treasure the riches of rain; +Ours are the secret springs and the rivulets gleaming + Silverly down through the manifold bloom of the plain. + +"Vain were the toiling of men in the dust of the dry land, + Vain were the ploughing and planting in waterless fields, +Save for the life-giving currents we send from the sky land, + Save for the fruit our embrace with the storm-cloud yields." + +O mother mountains, Madre Sierra, I love you! + Rightly you reign o'er the vale that your bounty fills,-- +Kissed by the sun, or with big, bright stars above you,-- + I murmur your name and lift up mine eyes to the hills. + +Pasadena, March, 1913. + + + + +SCHOOL + +I put my heart to school +In the world where men grow wise: +"Go out," I said, "and learn the rule; +'Come back when you win a prize.'" + +My heart came back again: +"Now where is the prize?" I cried.-- +"The rule was false, and the prize was pain, +And the teacher's name was Pride." + +I put my heart to school +In the woods where veeries sing +And brooks run clear and cool, +In the fields where wild flowers spring. + +"And why do you stay so long +My heart, and where do you roam?" +The answer came with a laugh and a song,-- +"I find this school is home." + +April, 1901. + + + + +INDIAN SUMMER + +A silken curtain veils the skies, +And half conceals from pensive eyes + The bronzing tokens of the fall; +A calmness broods upon the hills, +And summer's parting dream distils + A charm of silence over all. + +The stacks of corn, in brown array, +Stand waiting through the tranquil day, + Like tattered wigwams on the plain; +The tribes that find a shelter there +Are phantom peoples, forms of air, + And ghosts of vanished joy and pain. + +At evening when the crimson crest +Of sunset passes down the West, + I hear the whispering host returning; +On far-off fields, by elm and oak, +I see the lights, I smell the smoke,-- + The Camp-fires of the Past are burning. + +_Tertius and Henry van Dyke_. + +November, 1903. + + + + +LIGHT BETWEEN THE TREES + +Long, long, long the trail + Through the brooding forest-gloom, +Down the shadowy, lonely vale + Into silence, like a room + Where the light of life has fled, + And the jealous curtains close + Round the passionless repose +Of the silent dead. + +Plod, plod, plod away, + Step by step in mouldering moss; +Thick branches bar the day + Over languid streams that cross + Softly, slowly, with a sound + Like a smothered weeping, + In their aimless creeping + Through enchanted ground. + +"Yield, yield, yield thy quest," + Whispers through the woodland deep: +"Come to me and be at rest; +I am slumber, I am sleep." + Then the weary feet would fail, + But the never-daunted will + Urges "Forward, forward still! + Press along the trail!" + +Breast, breast, breast the slope + See, the path is growing steep. +Hark! a little song of hope + Where the stream begins to leap. + Though the forest, far and wide, + Still shuts out the bending blue, + We shall finally win through, + Cross the long divide. + +On, on, on we tramp! + Will the journey never end? +Over yonder lies the camp; + Welcome waits us there, my friend, + Can we reach it ere the night? + Upward, upward, never fear! + Look, the summit must be near; + See the line of light! + +Red, red, red the shine + Of the splendour in the west, +Glowing through the ranks of pine, + Clear along the mountain-crest! + Long, long, long the trail + Out of sorrow's lonely vale; + But at last the traveller sees + Light between the trees! + +March, 1904. + + + + +THE FALL OF THE LEAVES + + +I + +In warlike pomp, with banners flowing, + The regiments of autumn stood: +I saw their gold and scarlet glowing + From every hillside, every wood. + +Above the sea the clouds were keeping + Their secret leaguer, gray and still; +They sent their misty vanguard creeping + With muffled step from hill to hill. + +All day the sullen armies drifted + Athwart the sky with slanting rain; +At sunset for a space they lifted, + With dusk they settled down again. + + +II + +At dark the winds began to blow +With mutterings distant, low; + From sea and sky they called their strength, + Till with an angry, broken roar, + Like billows on an unseen shore, + Their fury burst at length. + +I heard through the night + The rush and the clamour; +The pulse of the fight + Like blows of Thor's hammer; +The pattering flight +Of the leaves, and the anguished +Moan of the forest vanquished. + +At daybreak came a gusty song: +"Shout! the winds are strong. +The little people of the leaves are fled. +Shout! The Autumn is dead!" + + +III + +The storm is ended! The impartial sun + Laughs down upon the battle lost and won, +And crowns the triumph of the cloudy host + In rolling lines retreating to the coast. + +But we, fond lovers of the woodland shade, + And grateful friends of every fallen leaf, +Forget the glories of the cloud-parade, + And walk the ruined woods in quiet grief. + +For ever so our thoughtful hearts repeat + On fields of triumph dirges of defeat; +And still we turn on gala-days to tread + Among the rustling memories of the dead. + +1874. + + + + +THREE ALPINE SONNETS + + +I + +THE GLACIER + +At dawn in silence moves the mighty stream, + The silver-crested waves no murmur make; + But far away the avalanches wake +The rumbling echoes, dull as in a dream; +Their momentary thunders, dying, seem + To fall into the stillness, flake by flake, + And leave the hollow air with naught to break +The frozen spell of solitude supreme. + +At noon unnumbered rills begin to spring + Beneath the burning sun, and all the walls +Of all the ocean-blue crevasses ring + With liquid lyrics of their waterfalls; +As if a poet's heart had felt the glow +Of sovereign love, and song began to flow. + +Zermatt, 1872. + + +II + +THE SNOW-FIELD + +White Death had laid his pall upon the plain, + And crowned the mountain-peaks like monarchs + dead; + The vault of heaven was glaring overhead +With pitiless light that filled my eyes with pain; +And while I vainly longed, and looked in vain + For sign or trace of life, my spirit said, + "Shall any living thing that dares to tread +This royal lair of Death escape again?" + +But even then I saw before my feet + A line of pointed footprints in the snow: + Some roving chamois, but an hour ago, +Had passed this way along his journey fleet, +And left a message from a friend unknown +To cheer my pilgrim-heart, no more alone. + +Zermatt, 1872. + + +III + +MOVING BELLS + +I love the hour that comes, with dusky hair + And dewy feet, along the Alpine dells, + To lead the cattle forth. A thousand bells +Go chiming after her across the fair +And flowery uplands, while the rosy flare + Of sunset on the snowy mountain dwells, + And valleys darken, and the drowsy spells +Of peace are woven through the purple air. + +Dear is the magic of this hour: she seems + To walk before the dark by falling rills, +And lend a sweeter song to hidden streams; + She opens all the doors of night, and fills +With moving bells the music of my dreams, + That wander far among the sleeping hills. + +Gstaad, August, 1909. + + + + +A SNOW-SONG + +Does the snow fall at sea? + Yes, when the north winds blow, + When the wild clouds fly low, + Out of each gloomy wing, + Silently glimmering, + Over the stormy sea + Falleth the snow. + +Does the snow hide the sea? + Nay, on the tossing plains + Never a flake remains; + Drift never resteth there; + Vanishing everywhere, + Into the hungry sea + Falleth the snow. + +What means the snow at sea? + Whirled in the veering blast, +Thickly the flakes drive past; +Each like a childish ghost +Wavers, and then is lost; +In the forgetful sea + Fadeth the snow. + +1875. + + + + +ROSLIN AND HAWTHORNDEN + +Fair Roslin Chapel, how divine +The art that reared thy costly shrine! +Thy carven columns must have grown +By magic, like a dream in stone. + +Yet not within thy storied wall +Would I in adoration fall, +So gladly as within the glen +That leads to lovely Hawthornden. + +A long-drawn aisle, with roof of green +And vine-clad pillars, while between, +The Esk runs murmuring on its way, +In living music night and day. + +Within the temple of this wood +The martyrs of the covenant stood, +And rolled the psalm, and poured the prayer, +From Nature's solemn altar-stair. + +Edinburgh, 1877. + + + + +THE HEAVENLY HILLS OF HOLLAND + +The heavenly hills of Holland,-- + How wondrously they rise +Above the smooth green pastures + Into the azure skies! +With blue and purple hollows, + With peaks of dazzling snow, +Along the far horizon + The clouds are marching slow. + +No mortal foot has trodden + The summits of that range, +Nor walked those mystic valleys + Whose colours ever change; +Yet we possess their beauty, + And visit them in dreams, +While ruddy gold of sunset + From cliff and canyon gleams. + +In days of cloudless weather + They melt into the light; +When fog and mist surround us + They're hidden from our sight; +But when returns a season + Clear shining after rain, +While the northwest wind is blowing, + We see the hills again. + +The old Dutch painters loved them, + Their pictures show them fair,-- +Old Hobbema and Ruysdael, + Van Goyen and Vermeer. +Above the level landscape, + Rich polders, long-armed mills, +Canals and ancient cities,-- + Float Holland's heavenly hills. + +The Hague, November, 1916. + + + + +FLOOD-TIDE OF FLOWERS + +IN HOLLAND + +The laggard winter ebbed so slow +With freezing rain and melting snow, +It seemed as if the earth would stay +Forever where the tide was low, +In sodden green and watery gray. + +But now from depths beyond our sight, +The tide is turning in the night, +And floods of colour long concealed +Come silent rising toward the light, +Through garden bare and empty field. + +And first, along the sheltered nooks, +The crocus runs in little brooks +Of joyance, till by light made bold +They show the gladness of their looks +In shining pools of white and gold. + +The tiny scilla, sapphire blue, +Is gently seeping in, to strew +The earth with heaven; and sudden rills +Of sunlit yellow, sweeping through, +Spread into lakes of daffodils. + +The hyacinths, with fragrant heads, +Have overflowed their sandy beds, +And fill the earth with faint perfume, +The breath that Spring around her she +And now the tulips break in bloom! + +A sea, a rainbow-tinted sea, +A splendour and a mystery, +Floods o'er the fields of faded gray: +The roads are full of folks in glee, +For lo,--to-day is Easter Day! + +April, 1916. + + + + +SALUTE TO THE TREES + +Many a tree is found in the wood +And every tree for its use is good: +Some for the strength of the gnarled root, +Some for the sweetness of flower or fruit; +Some for shelter against the storm, +And some to keep the hearth-stone warm; +Some for the roof, and some for the beam, +And some for a boat to breast the stream;-- +In the wealth of the wood since the world began +The trees have offered their gifts to man. + +But the glory of trees is more than their gifts: +'Tis a beautiful wonder of life that lifts, +From a wrinkled seed in an earth-bound clod, +A column, an arch in the temple of God, +A pillar of power, a dome of delight, +A shrine of song, and a joy of sight! +Their roots are the nurses of rivers in birth; +Their leaves are alive with the breath of the earth; +They shelter the dwellings of man; and they bend +O'er his grave with the look of a loving friend. + +I have camped in the whispering forest of pines, +I have slept in the shadow of olives and vines; +In the knees of an oak, at the foot of a palm +I have found good rest and slumber's balm. +And now, when the morning gilds the boughs +Of the vaulted elm at the door of my house, +I open the window and make salute: +"God bless thy branches and feed thy root! +Thou hast lived before, live after me, +Thou ancient, friendly, faithful tree." + +February, 1920. + + + + +III + +OF THE UNFAILING LIGHT + + + + +THE GRAND CANYON + +DAYBREAK + +What makes the lingering Night so cling to + thee? +Thou vast, profound, primeval hiding-place +Of ancient secrets,--gray and ghostly gulf +Cleft in the green of this high forest land, +And crowded in the dark with giant forms! +Art thou a grave, a prison, or a shrine? + +A stillness deeper than the dearth of sound +Broods over thee: a living silence breathes +Perpetual incense from thy dim abyss. +The morning-stars that sang above the bower +Of Eden, passing over thee, are dumb +With trembling bright amazement; and the + Dawn +Steals through the glimmering pines with naked + feet, +Her hand upon her lips, to look on thee! + +She peers into thy depths with silent prayer +For light, more light, to part thy purple veil. +O Earth, swift-rolling Earth, reveal, reveal,-- +Turn to the East, and show upon thy breast +The mightiest marvel in the realm of Time! +'Tis done,--the morning miracle of light,-- +The resurrection of the world of hues +That die with dark, and daily rise again +With every rising of the splendid Sun! + +Be still, my heart! Now Nature holds her breath +To see the solar flood of radiance leap +Across the chasm, and crown the western rim +Of alabaster with a far-away +Rampart of pearl, and flowing down by walls +Of changeful opal, deepen into gold +Of topaz, rosy gold of tourmaline, +Crimson of garnet, green and gray of jade, +Purple of amethyst, and ruby red, +Beryl, and sard, and royal porphyry; +Until the cataract of colour breaks +Upon the blackness of the granite floor. + +How far below! And all between is cleft +And carved into a hundred curving miles +Of unimagined architecture! Tombs, +Temples, and colonnades are neighboured there +By fortresses that Titans might defend, +And amphitheatres where Gods might strive. +Cathedrals, buttressed with unnumbered tiers +Of ruddy rock, lift to the sapphire sky +A single spire of marble pure as snow; +And huge aerial palaces arise +Like mountains built of unconsuming flame. +Along the weathered walls, or standing deep +In riven valleys where no foot may tread, +Are lonely pillars, and tall monuments +Of perished aeons and forgotten things. +My sight is baffled by the wide array +Of countless forms: my vision reels and swims +Above them, like a bird in whirling winds. +Yet no confusion fills the awful chasm; +But spacious order and a sense of peace +Brood over all. For every shape that looms +Majestic in the throng, is set apart +From all the others by its far-flung shade, +Blue, blue, as if a mountain-lake were there. + +How still it is! Dear God, I hardly dare +To breathe, for fear the fathomless abyss +Will draw me down into eternal sleep. + +What force has formed this masterpiece of awe? +What hands have wrought these wonders in the waste? +O river, gleaming in the narrow rift +Of gloom that cleaves the valley's nether deep,-- +Fierce Colorado, prisoned by thy toil, +And blindly toiling still to reach the sea,-- +Thy waters, gathered from the snows and springs +Amid the Utah hills, have carved this road +Of glory to the California Gulf. +But now, O sunken stream, thy splendour lost, +'Twixt iron walls thou rollest turbid waves, +Too far away to make their fury heard! + +At sight of thee, thou sullen labouring slave +Of gravitation,--yellow torrent poured +From distant mountains by no will of thine, +Through thrice a hundred centuries of slow +Fallings and liftings of the crust of Earth,-- +At sight of thee my spirit sinks and fails. +Art thou alone the Maker? Is the blind +Unconscious power that drew thee dumbly down +To cut this gash across the layered globe, +The sole creative cause of all I see? +Are force and matter all? The rest a dream? + +Then is thy gorge a canyon of despair, +A prison for the soul of man, a grave +Of all his dearest daring hopes! The world +Wherein we live and move is meaningless, +No spirit here to answer to our own! +The stars without a guide: The chance-born + Earth +Adrift in space, no Captain on the ship: +Nothing in all the universe to prove +Eternal wisdom and eternal love! +And man, the latest accident of Time,-- +Who thinks he loves, and longs to understand, +Who vainly suffers, and in vain is brave, +Who dupes his heart with immortality,-- +Man is a living lie,--a bitter jest +Upon himself,--a conscious grain of sand +Lost in a desert of unconsciousness, +Thirsting for God and mocked by his own thirst. + +Spirit of Beauty, mother of delight, +Thou fairest offspring of Omnipotence +Inhabiting this lofty lone abode, +Speak to my heart again and set me free +From all these doubts that darken earth and + heaven! +Who sent thee forth into the wilderness +To bless and comfort all who see thy face? +Who clad thee in this more than royal robe +Of rainbows? Who designed these jewelled + thrones +For thee, and wrought these glittering palaces? +Who gave thee power upon the soul of man +To lift him up through wonder into joy? +God! let the radiant cliffs bear witness, God! +Let all the shining pillars signal, God! +He only, on the mystic loom of light, +Hath woven webs of loveliness to clothe +His most majestic works: and He alone +Hath delicately wrought the cactus-flower +To star the desert floor with rosy bloom. + +O Beauty, handiwork of the Most High, +Where'er thou art He tells his Love to man, +And lo, the day breaks, and the shadows flee! + +Now, far beyond all language and all art +In thy wild splendour, Canyon marvellous, +The secret of thy stillness lies unveiled +In worldless worship! This is holy ground; +Thou art no grave, no prison, but a shrine. +Garden of Temples filled with Silent Praise, +If God were blind thy Beauty could not be! + +February 24-26, 1913. + + + + +GOD OF THE OPEN AIR + + +I + +Thou who hast made thy dwelling fair + With flowers below, above with starry lights +And set thine altars everywhere,-- + On mountain heights, +In woodlands dim with many a dream, + In valleys bright with springs, +And on the curving capes of every stream: +Thou who hast taken to thyself the wings + Of morning, to abide +Upon the secret places of the sea, + And on far islands, where the tide +Visits the beauty of untrodden shores, +Waiting for worshippers to come to thee + In thy great out-of-doors! +To thee I turn, to thee I make my prayer, + God of the open air. + + +II + +Seeking for thee, the heart of man + Lonely and longing ran, +In that first, solitary hour, + When the mysterious power +To know and love the wonder of the morn +Was breathed within him, and his soul was born; + And thou didst meet thy child, + Not in some hidden shrine, +But in the freedom of the garden wild, + And take his hand in thine,-- +There all day long in Paradise he walked, +And in the cool of evening with thee talked. + + +III + + Lost, long ago, that garden bright and pure, + Lost, that calm day too perfect to endure, + And lost the child-like love that worshipped + and was sure! + For men have dulled their eyes with sin, + And dimmed the light of heaven with doubt, +And built their temple walls to shut thee in, +And framed their iron creeds to shut thee out. + But not for thee the closing of the door, + O Spirit unconfined! + Thy ways are free +As is the wandering wind, +And thou hast wooed thy children, to restore + Their fellowship with thee, +In peace of soul and simpleness of mind. + + +IV + +Joyful the heart that, when the flood rolled by, +Leaped up to see the rainbow in the sky; +And glad the pilgrim, in the lonely night, +For whom the hills of Haran, tier on tier, +Built up a secret stairway to the height +Where stars like angel eyes were shining clear. +From mountain-peaks, in many a land and + age, + Disciples of the Persian seer +Have hailed the rising sun and worshipped + thee; +And wayworn followers of the Indian sage +Have found the peace of God beneath a spreading + tree. + + +V + + But One, but One,--ah, Son most dear, +And perfect image of the Love Unseen,-- + Walked every day in pastures green, +And all his life the quiet waters by, +Reading their beauty with a tranquil eye. +To him the desert was a place prepared + For weary hearts to rest; + The hillside was a temple blest; + The grassy vale a banquet-room +Where he could feed and comfort many a + guest. + With him the lily shared +The vital joy that breathes itself in bloom; +And every bird that sang beside the nest +Told of the love that broods o'er every living + thing. + +He watched the shepherd bring +His flock at sundown to the welcome fold, +The fisherman at daybreak fling +His net across the waters gray and cold, +And all day long the patient reaper swing +His curving sickle through the harvest gold. +So through the world the foot-path way he trod, +Breathing the air of heaven in every breath; +And in the evening sacrifice of death +Beneath the open sky he gave his soul to God. +Him will I trust, and for my Master take; +Him will I follow; and for his dear sake, +God of the open air, +To thee I make my prayer. + + +VI + +From the prison of anxious thought that greed has builded, +From the fetters that envy has wrought and pride has gilded, +From the noise of the crowded ways and the fierce confusion, +From the folly that wastes its days in a world of illusion, +(Ah, but the life is lost that frets and languishes there!) +I would escape and be free in the joy of the open air. +By the breadth of the blue that shines in silence o'er me, +By the length of the mountain-lines that stretch before me, +By the height of the cloud that sails, with rest in motion, +Over the plains and the vales to the measureless ocean, +(Oh, how the sight of the greater things enlarges the eyes!) +Draw me away from myself to the peace of the hills and skies. + +While the tremulous leafy haze on the woodland is spreading, +And the bloom on the meadow betrays where May has been treading; +While the birds on the branches above, and the brooks flowing under, +Are singing together of love in a world full of wonder, +(Lo, in the magic of Springtime, dreams are changed into truth!) +Quicken my heart, and restore the beautiful hopes of youth. + +By the faith that the wild-flowers show when they bloom unbidden, +By the calm of the river's flow to a goal that is hidden, +By the strength of the tree that clings to its deep foundation, +By the courage of birds' light wings on the long migration, +(Wonderful spirit of trust that abides in Nature's breast!) +Teach me how to confide, and live my life, and rest. + +For the comforting warmth of the sun that my body embraces, +For the cool of the waters that run through the shadowy places, +For the balm of the breezes that brush my face with their fingers, +For the vesper-hymn of the thrush when the twilight lingers, +For the long breath, the deep breath, the breath of a heart without care,-- +I will give thanks and adore thee, God of the open air! + + +VII + + These are the gifts I ask + Of thee, Spirit serene: + Strength for the daily task, + Courage to face the road, +Good cheer to help me bear the traveller's load, +And, for the hours of rest that come between, +An inward joy in all things heard and seen. + These are the sins I fain + Would have thee take away: + Malice, and cold disdain, + Hot anger, sullen hate, +Scorn of the lowly, envy of the great, +And discontent that casts a shadow gray +On all the brightness of the common day. + These are the things I prize + And hold of dearest worth: + Light of the sapphire skies, + Peace of the silent hills, +Shelter of forests, comfort of the grass, +Music of birds, murmur of little rills, +Shadows of cloud that swiftly pass, + And, after showers, + The smell of flowers + And of the good brown earth,-- +And best of all, along the way, friendship and mirth. + So let me keep + These treasures of the humble heart +In true possession, owning them by love; +And when at last I can no longer move + Among them freely, but must part +From the green fields and from the waters clear, + Let me not creep +Into some darkened room and hide +From all that makes the world so bright and dear; + But throw the windows wide + To welcome in the light; + And while I clasp a well-belovèd hand, + Let me once more have sight + Of the deep sky and the far-smiling land,-- + Then gently fall on sleep, +And breathe my body back to Nature's care, +My spirit out to thee, God of the open air. + +1904. + + + + +IV + +WAYFARING PSALMS IN PALESTINE + + + + +THE DISTANT ROAD + +Blessed is the man that beholdeth the face of a friend in a far country, +The darkness of his heart is melted by the dawning of day within him, + +It is like the sound of a sweet music heard long ago and half forgotten: +It is like the coming back of birds to a wood when the winter is ended. + +I knew not the sweetness of the fountain till I found it flowing in the + desert, +Nor the value of a friend till we met in a land that was crowded and + lonely. + +The multitude of mankind had bewildered me and oppressed me, +And I complained to God, Why hast thou made the world so wide? + +But when my friend came the wideness of the world had no more terror, +Because we were glad together among men to whom we were strangers. + +It seemed as if I had been reading a book in a foreign language, +And suddenly I came upon a page written in the tongue of my childhood. + +This was the gentle heart of my friend who quietly understood me, +The open and loving heart whose meaning was clear without a word. + +O thou great Companion who carest for all thy pilgrims and strangers, +I thank thee heartily for the comfort of a comrade on the distant road. + + + + +THE WELCOME TENT + +This is the thanksgiving of the weary, +The song of him that is ready to rest. + +It is good to be glad when the day is declining, +And the setting of the sun is like a word of peace. + +The stars look kindly on the close of a journey, +The tent says welcome when the day's march is done. + +For now is the time of the laying down of burdens, +And the cool hour cometh to them that have borne the heat. + +I have rejoiced greatly in labour and adventure; +My heart hath been enlarged in the spending of my strength. + +Now it is all gone, yet I am not impoverished, +For thus only I inherit the treasure of repose. + +Blessed be the Lord that teacheth my fingers to loosen, +And cooleth my feet with water after the dust of the way. + +Blessed be the Lord that giveth me hunger at nightfall, +And filleth my evening cup with the wine of good cheer. + +Blessed be the Lord that maketh me happy to be quiet, +Even as a child that cometh softly to his mother's lap. + +O God, thy strength is never worn away with labour: +But it is good for us to be weary and receive thy gift of rest. + + + + +THE GREAT CITIES + +How wonderful are the cities that man hath builded: +Their walls are compacted of heavy stones, +And their lofty towers rise above the tree-tops. + +Rome, Jerusalem, Cairo, Damascus,-- +Venice, Constantinople, Moscow, Pekin,-- +London, New York, Berlin, Paris, Vienna,-- + +These are the names of mighty enchantments, +They have called to the ends of the earth, +They have secretly summoned a host of servants. + +They shine from far sitting beside great waters, +They are proudly enthroned upon high hills, +They spread out their splendour along the rivers. + +Yet are they all the work of small patient fingers, +Their strength is in the hand of man, +He hath woven his flesh and blood into their glory. + +The cities are scattered over the world like anthills, +Every one of them is full of trouble and toil, +And their makers run to and fro within them. + +Abundance of riches is laid up in their treasuries, +But they are tormented with the fear of want, +The cry of the poor in their streets is exceeding bitter. + +Their inhabitants are driven by blind perturbations, +They whirl sadly in the fever of haste, +Seeking they know not what, they pursue it fiercely. + +The air is heavy-laden with their breathing, +The sound of their coming and going is never still, +Even in the night I hear them whispering and crying. + +Beside every ant-hill I behold a monster crouching: +This is the ant-lion Death, +He thrusteth forth his tongue and the people perish. + +O God of wisdom thou hast made the country: +Why hast thou suffered man to make the town? + +Then God answered, Surely I am the maker of man: +And in the heart of man I have set the city. + + + + +THE FRIENDLY TREES + +I will sing of the bounty of the big trees, +They are the green tents of the Almighty, +He hath set them up for comfort and for shelter. + +Their cords hath he knotted in the earth, +He hath driven their stakes securely, +Their roots take hold of the rocks like iron. + +He sendeth into their bodies the sap of life, +They lift themselves lightly toward the heavens. +They rejoice in the broadening of their branches. + +Their leaves drink in the sunlight and the air, +They talk softly together when the breeze bloweth, +Their shadow in the noon-day is full of coolness. + +The tall palm-trees of the plain are rich in fruit, +While the fruit ripeneth the flower unfoldeth, +The beauty of their crown is renewed on high forever. + +The cedars of Lebanon are fed by the snow, +Afar on the mountain they grow like giants, +In their layers of shade a thousand years are dreaming. + +How fair are the trees that befriend the home of man, +The oak, and the terebinth, and the sycamore, +The broad-leaved fig-tree and the delicate silvery olive. + +In them the Lord is loving to his little birds, +The linnets and the finches and the nightingales, +They people his pavilions with nests and with music. + +The cattle also are very glad of a great tree, +They chew the cud beneath it while the sun is burning, +And there the panting sheep lie down around their shepherd. + +He that planteth a tree is a servant of God, +He provideth a kindness for many generations, +And faces that he hath not seen shall bless him. + +Lord, when my spirit shall return to thee, +At the foot of a friendly tree let my body be buried, +That this dust may rise and rejoice among the branches. + + + + +THE PATHWAY OF RIVERS + +The rivers of God are full of water, +They are wonderful in the renewal of their strength, +He poureth them out from a hidden fountain. + +They are born among the hills in the high places, +Their cradle is in the bosom of the rocks, +The mountain is their mother and the forest is their father. + +They are nourished among the long grasses, +They receive the tribute of a thousand springs, +The rain and the snow provide their inheritance. + +They are glad to be gone from their birthplace, +With a joyful noise they hasten away, +They are going forever and never departed. + +The courses of the rivers are all appointed; +They roar loudly but they follow the road, +For the finger of God hath marked their pathway. + +The rivers of Damascus rejoice among their gardens; +The great river of Egypt is proud of his ships; +The Jordan is lost in the Lake of Bitterness. + +Surely the Lord guideth them every one in his wisdom, +In the end he gathereth all their drops on high, +And sendeth them forth again in the clouds of mercy. + +O my God, my life floweth away like a river: +Guide me, I beseech thee, in a pathway of good: +Let me run in blessing to my rest in thee. + + + + +THE GLORY OF RUINS + +The lizard rested on the rock while I sat among the ruins, +And the pride of man was like a vision of the night. + +Lo, the lords of the city have disappeared into darkness, +The ancient wilderness hath swallowed up all their work. + +There is nothing left of the city but a heap of fragments; +The bones of a vessel broken by the storm. + +Behold the waves of the desert wait hungrily for man's dwellings, +And the tides of desolation return upon his toil. + +All that he hath painfully built up is shaken down in a moment, +The memory of his glory is buried beneath the billows of sand. + +Then a voice said, Look again upon the ruins, +These broken arches have taught generations to build. + +Moreover the name of this city shall be remembered, +For here a poor man spoke a word that shall not die. + +This is the glory that is stronger than the desert; +God hath given eternity to the thought of man. + + + + +THE TRIBE OF THE HELPERS + +The ways of the world are full of haste and turmoil; +I will sing of the tribe of the helpers who travel in peace. + +He that turneth from the road to rescue another, +Turneth toward his goal: +He shall arrive in time by the foot-path of mercy, +God will be his guide. + +He that taketh up the burden of the fainting, +Lighteneth his own load: +The Almighty will put his arms underneath him, +He shall lean upon the Lord. + +He that speaketh comfortable words to mourners, +Healeth his own hurt; +In the time of grief they will come to his remembrance. +God will use them for balm. + +He that careth for a wounded brother, +Watcheth not alone: +There are three in the darkness together, +And the third is the Lord. + +Blessed is the way of the helpers, +The companions of the Christ. + + + + +GOOD TEACHER + +The Lord is my teacher, +I shall not lose the way. + +He leadeth me in the lowly path of learning, +He prepareth a lesson for me every day; +He bringeth me to the clear fountains of instruction, +Little by little he showeth me the beauty of truth. + +The world is a great book that he hath written, +He turneth the leaves for me slowly; +They are inscribed with images and letters, +He poureth light on the pictures and the words. + +He taketh me by the hand to the hill-top of vision, +And my soul is glad when I perceive his meaning; +In the valley also he walketh beside me, +In the dark places he whispereth to my heart. + +Even though my lesson be hard it is not hopeless, +For the Lord is patient with his slow scholar; +He will wait awhile for my weakness, +And help me to read the truth through tears. + + + + +THE CAMP-FIRES OF MY FRIEND + +Thou hast taken me into thy tent of the world, O God, +Beneath thy blue canopy I have found shelter, +Therefore thou wilt not deny me the right of a guest. + +Naked and poor I arrived at thy door before sunset: +Thou hast refreshed me with beautiful bowls of milk, +As a great chief thou hast set forth food in abundance. + +I have loved the daily delights of thy dwelling, +Thy moon and thy stars have lighted me to my bed, +In the morning I have made merry with thy servants. + +Surely thou wilt not send me away in the darkness? +There the enemy Death is lying in wait for my soul: +Thou art the host of my life and I claim thy protection. + +Then the Lord of the tent of the world made answer: +_The right of a guest endureth for a certain time, +After three days and nights cometh the day of departure. + +Yet hearken to me since thou fearest to go in the dark: +I will make with thee a new covenant of hospitality, +Behold I will come unto thee as a stranger and be thy guest. + +Poor and needy will I come that thou mayest entertain me, +Meek and lowly will I come that thou mayest find a friend, +With mercy and with truth will I come to give thee comfort. + +Therefore open thy heart to me and bid me welcome, +In this tent of the world I will be thy brother of the bread, +And when thou farest forth I will be thy companion forever._ + +Then my soul rested in the word of the Lord; 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