Ride to the Lady | Page 8

perch and flit,?And spy some crumb and dash to win it,?And with a witty chirping twit?Our sheltering Time--there's nothing in it!?In Life's large frame, a glorious Lyre's,?We nest, content, our season flighty,?Nor guess we brush the powerful wires?Might witch the stars with music mighty.
THISBE
The garden within was shaded,?And guarded about from sight;?The fragrance flowed to the south wind,?The fountain leaped to the light.
And the street without was narrow,?And dusty, and hot, and mean;?But the bush that bore white roses,?She leaned to the fence between:
And softly she sought a crevice?In that barrier blank and tall,?And shyly she thrust out through it?Her loveliest bud of all.
And tender to touch, and gracious,?And pure as the moon's pure shine,?The full rose paled and was perfect,--?For whose eyes, for whose lips, but mine!
THE SPRING BEAUTIES
The Puritan Spring Beauties stood freshly clad for church;?A Thrush, white-breasted, o'er them sat singing on his perch. "Happy be! for fair are ye!" the gentle singer told them,?But presently a buff-coat Bee came booming up to scold them. "Vanity, oh, vanity!?Young maids, beware of vanity!"?Grumbled out the buff-coat Bee,?Half parson-like, half soldierly.
The sweet-faced maidens trembled, with pretty, pinky blushes, Convinced that it was wicked to listen to the Thrushes;?And when, that shady afternoon, I chanced that way to pass, They hung their little bonnets down and looked into the grass, All because the buff-coat Bee?Lectured them so solemnly:--?"Vanity, oh, vanity!?Young maids, beware of vanity!"
KINSHIP
A lily grew in the tangle,?In a flame red garment dressed,?And many a ruby spangle?Besprinkled her tawny breast.
And the silken moth sailed by her?With a swift and a snow-white sail;?Not a gilt-girt bee came nigh her,?Nor a fly in his gay green mail.
And the bronze-brown wings and the golden,?O'er the billowing meadows blown,?Were still as by magic holden?From the lily that flamed alone;
Till over the fragrant tangle?A wanderer winging went,?And with many a ruby spangle?Were his tawny vans besprent.?And he hovered one moment stilly?O'er the thicket, her mazy bower,?Then he sank to the heart of the lily,?And they seemed but a single flower.
COMPENSATION
The brook ran laughing from the shade,?And in the sunshine danced all day:?The starlight and the moonlight made?Its glimmering path a Milky Way.
The blue sky burned, with summer fired;?For parching fields, for pining flowers,?The spirits of the air desired?The brook's bright life to shed in showers.
It gave its all that thirst to slake;?Its dusty channel lifeless lay;?Now softest flowers, white-foaming, make?Its winding bed a Milky Way.
WHEN WILLOWS GREEN
When goldenly the willows green,?And, mirrored in the sunset pool,?Hang wavering, wild-rose clouds between:?When robins call in twilights cool:
What is it we await??Who lingers and is late??What strange unrest, what yearning stirs us all?When willows green, when robins call?
When fields of flowering grass respire?A sweet that seems the breath of Peace,?And liquid-voiced the thrushes choir,?Oh, whence the sense of glad release?
What is it life uplifts??Who entered, bearing gifts??What floods from heaven the being overpower?When thrushes choir, when grasses flower?
AT THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
(AD COMITEM JUNIOREM)
Comrade Youth! Sit down with me?Underneath the summer tree,?Cool green dome whose shade is sweet,?Where the sunny roadways meet,?See, the ancient finger-post,?Silver-bleached with rain and shine,?Warns us like a noon-day ghost:?That way's yours, and this way's mine!?I would hold you with delays?Here at parting of the ways.
Hold you! I as well might look?To detain the racing brook?With regrets and grievance tender,?As my comrade swift and slender,?Shy, capricious, all of spring!?Catch the wind with blossoms laden,?Catch the wild bird on the wing,?Catch the heart of boy or maiden!
Yet I'll hold your image fast,?As this hour I saw you last,--?As with staff in hand you sat,?Soft curls putting forth defiant?From the tilted Mercury's hat,?Wreathen with the wilding grace?Of the fresh-leaved vine and pliant,?Stealing down to see your face.?Eyes of pleasance, lips of laughter,?I shall hoard you long hereafter;?Very dear shall be the days?Ere the parting of the ways!
Shall you deem them dear, in truth,?Days when we, o'er hill and hollow,?Trudged together, Comrade Youth??Ah, you dream of days to follow!?Hand in hand we jogged along;?I would fetch from out my scrip,?Crust or jest or antique song,--?Live and lovely, on your lip,?Such poor needments as I had?Were as yours; you made me glad.?--Lo, the dial! No prayer stays?Time, at parting of the ways!
This gold memory--rings it true??Half for me and half for you.?Cleave and share it. Now, good sooth,?God be with you, Comrade Youth!
THE FAIR GRAY LADY
When the charm at last is fled?From the woodland stark and pale,?And like shades of glad hours dead?Whirl the leaves before the gale:
When against the western fire?Darkens many an empty nest,?Like a thwarted heart's desire?That in prime was hardly guessed:
Then the fair gray Lady leans,?Lingering, o'er the faded grass,?Still the soul of all the scenes?Once she graced, a golden lass.
O'er the Year's discrown��d sleep,?Dear as in her earlier day,?She her bending watch doth keep,?She the Goldenrod grown gray.
THE ENCOUNTER
There's a wood-way