Pipes OPan at Zekesbury | Page 7

thicket's jes' a bilin' full of June, Thum the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's tune; And the catbird in the bottom, and the sap-suck on the snag, Seems ef they cain't--od-rot'em!--jes' do nothin' else but brag!
They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay,?And that sassy little critter jes' a-peckin' all the day; They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the thrush, And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brush!
They's music all around me!--And I go back, in a dream-- Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep--and in the stream That used to split the medder whur the dandylions growed, I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road.
Then's when I' b'en a-fishin'!--and they's other fellers, too, With their hickry poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a few Little "shiners" on our stringers, with their tails tiptoein' bloom, As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy journey home.
I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started out With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout!"?I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam,?And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern of the dam.
I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill;?And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growlin' still; And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe,?And jes' git in and row it like the miller used to do.
W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortal plain?I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane; And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "money musk" Far the lightnin'-bugs a-blinkin'and a-dancin'in the dusk.
And so I keep on musin', as the feller says, till I'm?Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no better time, When you come to cipher on it, than the old times,--and, I swear, I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jes' as soft as any prayer!
HAS SHE FORGOTTEN.
I.
Has she forgotten? On this very May?We were to meet here, with the birds and bees,?As on that Sabbath, underneath the trees?We strayed among the tombs, and stripped away?The vines from these old granites, cold and gray--?And yet, indeed, not grim enough were they?To stay our kisses, smiles and ecstacies,?Or closer voice-lost vows and rhapsodies.?Has she forgotten--that the May has won?Its promise?--that the bird-songs from the tree?Are sprayed above the grasses as the sun?Might jar the dazzling dew down showeringly??Has she forgotten life--love--everyone--?Has she forgotten me--forgotten me?
II.
Low, low down in the violets I press?My lips and whisper to her. Does she hear,?And yet hold silence, though I call her dear,?Just as of old, save for the tearfulness?Of the clenched eyes, and the soul's vast distress??Has she forgotten thus the old caress?That made our breath a quickened atmosphere?That failed nigh unto swooning with the sheer?Delight? Mine arms clutch now this earthen heap?Sodden with tears that flow on ceaselessly?As autumn rains the long, long, long nights weep?In memory of days that used to be,--?Has she forgotten these? And, in her sleep,?Has she forgotten me--forgotten me?
III.
To-night, against my pillow, with shut eyes,?I mean to weld our faces--through the dense?Incalculable darkness make pretense?That she has risen from her reveries?To mate her dreams with mine in marriages?Of mellow palms, smooth faces, and tense ease?Of every longing nerve of indolence,--?Lift from the grave her quiet lips, and stun?My senses with her kisses--drawl the glee?Of her glad mouth, full blithe and tenderly,?Across mine own, forgetful if is done?The old love's awful dawn-time when said we,?"To-day is ours!".... Ah, Heaven! can it be?She has forgotten me--forgotten me!
A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG.
It's the curiousest thing in creation,?Whenever I hear that old song,?"Do They Miss Me at Home?" I'm so bothered,?My life seems as short as it's long!--?Far ever'thing 'pears like adzackly?It 'peared, in the years past and gone,--?When I started out sparkin', at twenty,?And had my first neckercher on!
Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayer?Right now than my parents was then,?You strike up that song, "Do They Miss Me?"?And I'm jest a youngster again!--?I'm a-standin' back there in the furries?A-wishin' far evening to come,?And a-whisperin' over and over?Them words, "Do They Miss Me at Home?"
You see, Marthy Ellen she sung it?The first time I heerd it; and so,?As she was my very first sweetheart,?It reminds of her, don't you know,--?How her face ust to look, in the twilight,?As I tuck her to spellin'; and she?Kep' a-hummin' that song 'tel I ast her,?Pine-blank, ef she ever missed me!
I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it,?And hear her low answerin' words,?And then the glad chirp of the crickets?As clear as the twitter of birds;?And the dust in the road is like velvet,?And the ragweed, and fennel, and grass?Is as sweet as the scent of the lilies?Of Eden of