Lyrics of Earth | Page 4

frore woods, and from its frost-bound bed Woke the arbutus with her silver horn;
And now May, too, is fled,?The flower-crowned month, the merry laughing May,
With rosy feet and fingers dewy wet,?Leaving the woods and all cool gardens gay
With tulips and the scented violet.
Gone are the wind-flower and the adder-tongue
And the sad drooping bellwort, and no more?The snowy trilliums crowd the forest's floor;?The purpling grasses are no longer young,
And summer's wide-set door?O'er the thronged hills and the broad panting earth
Lets in the torrent of the later bloom,?Haytime, and harvest, and the after mirth,
The slow soft rain, the rushing thunder plume.
All day in garden alleys moist and dim,
The humid air is burdened with the rose;?In moss-deep woods the creamy orchid blows;?And now the vesper-sparrows' pealing hymn
From every orchard close?At eve comes flooding rich and silvery;
The daisies in great meadows swing and shine;?And with the wind a sound as of the sea
Roars in the maples and the topmost pine.
High in the hills the solitary thrush
Tunes magically his music of fine dreams,?In briary dells, by boulder-broken streams;?And wide and far on nebulous fields aflush
The mellow morning gleams.?The orange cone-flowers purple-bossed are there,
The meadow's bold-eyed gypsies deep of hue,?And slender hawkweed tall and softly fair,
And rosy tops of fleabane veiled with dew.
So with thronged voices and unhasting flight
The fervid hours with long return go by;?The far-heard hylas piping shrill and high?Tell the slow moments of the solemn night
With unremitting cry;?Lustrous and large out of the gathering drouth
The planets gleam; the baleful Scorpion?Trails his dim fires along the droused south;
The silent world-incrusted round moves on.
And all the dim night long the moon's white beams
Nestle deep down in every brooding tree,?And sleeping birds, touched with a silly glee,?Waken at midnight from their blissful dreams,
And carol brokenly.?Dim surging motions and uneasy dreads
Scare the light slumber from men's busy eyes,?And parted lovers on their restless beds
Toss and yearn out, and cannot sleep for sighs.
Oft have I striven, sweet month, to figure thee,
As dreamers of old time were wont to feign,?In living form of flesh, and striven in vain;?Yet when some sudden old-world mystery
Of passion fired my brain,?Thy shape hath flashed upon me like no dream,
Wandering with scented curls that heaped the breeze, Or by the hollow of some reeded stream
Sitting waist-deep in white anemones;
And even as I glimpsed thee thou wert gone,
A dream for mortal eyes too proudly coy,?Yet in thy place for subtle thought's employ?The golden magic clung, a light that shone
And filled me with thy joy.?Before me like a mist that streamed and fell
All names and shapes of antique beauty passed?In garlanded procession with the swell
Of flutes between the beechen stems; and last,
I saw the Arcadian valley, the loved wood,
Alpheus stream divine, the sighing shore,?And through the cool green glades, awake once more, Psyche, the white-limbed goddess, still pursued,
Fleet-footed as of yore,?The noonday ringing with her frighted peals,
Down the bright sward and through the reeds she ran, Urged by the mountain echoes, at her heels
The hot-blown cheeks and trampling feet of Pan.
DISTANCE
To the distance! Ah, the distance!
Blue and broad and dim!?Peace is not in burgh or meadow,
But beyond the rim.
Aye, beyond it, far beyond it;
Follow still my soul,?Till this earth is lost in heaven,
And thou feel'st the whole.
THE BIRD AND THE HOUR
The sun looks over a little hill?And floods the valley with gold--
A torrent of gold;?And the hither field is green and still;?Beyond it a cloud outrolled,?Is glowing molten and bright;?And soon the hill, and the valley and all,
With a quiet fall,?Shall be gathered into the night.?And yet a moment more,
Out of the silent wood,?As if from the closing door?Of another world and another lovelier mood,?Hear'st thou the hermit pour--
So sweet! so magical!--?His golden music, ghostly beautiful.
AFTER RAIN
For three whole days across the sky,?In sullen packs that loomed and broke,?With flying fringes dim as smoke,?The columns of the rain went by;?At every hour the wind awoke;
The darkness passed upon the plain;?The great drops rattled at the pane.
Now piped the wind, or far aloof?Fell to a sough remote and dull;?And all night long with rush and lull?The rain kept drumming on the roof:?I heard till ear and sense were full
The clash or silence of the leaves,?The gurgle in the creaking eaves.
But when the fourth day came--at noon,?The darkness and the rain were by;?The sunward roofs were steaming dry;?And all the world was flecked and strewn?With shadows from a fleecy sky.
The haymakers were forth and gone,?And every rillet laughed and shone.
Then, too, on me that loved so well?The world, despairing in her blight,?Uplifted with her least delight,?On me, as on the earth, there fell?New happiness of mirth and might;
I strode the valleys pied and still;?I climbed upon the breezy hill.
I watched the gray hawk wheel and drop,?Sole shadow on the shining world;?I saw the mountains clothed and curled,?With forest ruffling to the top;?I saw the river's length unfurled,
Pale silver