Among the Millet and Other Poems | Page 4

137
The Poets 138
The Truth 139
The Martyrs 140
A Night of Storm 141
At the Railway Station 142
A Forecast 143
In November 144
The City 145
Midsummer Night 146
The Loons 147
March 148
Solitude 149
The Maples 150
The Dog 151
I.
POEMS.
POEMS.
AMONG THE MILLET.
The dew is gleaming in the grass,?The morning hours are seven,?And I am fain to watch you pass,?Ye soft white clouds of heaven.
Ye stray and gather, part and fold;?The wind alone can tame you;?I think of what in time of old?The poets loved to name you.
They called you sheep, the sky your sward,?A field without a reaper;?They called the shining sun your lord,?The shepherd wind your keeper.
Your sweetest poets I will deem?The men of old for moulding?In simple beauty such a dream,?And I could lie beholding,
Where daisies in the meadow toss,?The wind from morn till even,?Forever shepherd you across?The shining field of heaven.
APRIL.
Pale season, watcher in unvexed suspense,?Still priestess of the patient middle day,?Betwixt wild March's humored petulence?And the warm wooing of green kirtled May,?Maid month of sunny peace and sober grey,?Weaver of flowers in sunward glades that ring?With murmur of libation to the spring:
As memory of pain, all past, is peace,?And joy, dream-tasted, hath the deepest cheer,?So art thou sweetest of all months that lease?The twelve short spaces of the flying year.?The bloomless days are dead, and frozen fear?No more for many moons shall vex the earth,?Dreaming of summer and fruit laden mirth.
The grey song-sparrows full of spring have sung?Their clear thin silvery tunes in leafless trees;?The