Rose and Roof-Tree | Page 2

soul;
And to my eyes, as fruit of their sweet bringing,
The full tear stole!

MELANCHOLY.
Daughter of my nobler hope
That dying gave thee birth,
Sweet Melancholy!
For memory of the dead,
In her dear stead,

'Bide thou with me,
Sweet Melancholy!
As purple shadows to the
tree,
When the last sun-rays sadly slope
Athwart the bare and
darkening earth,
Art thou to me,
Sweet Melancholy!
CONTENTMENT.
Glad hours have been when I have seen
Life's scope and each dry day's intent
United; so that I could stand

In silence, covering with my hand
The circle of the universe,

Balance the blessing and the curse,
And trust in deeds without
chagrin,
Free from to-morrow and yesterday--content.
PART FIRST.
AN APRIL ARIA.
When the mornings dankly fall
With a dim forethought of rain,
And
the robins richly call
To their mates mercurial,
And the tree-boughs
creak and strain
In the wind;
When the river's rough with foam,

And the new-made clearings smoke,
And the clouds that go and come

Shine and darken frolicsome,
And the frogs at evening croak

Undefined
Mysteries of monotone,
And by melting beds of snow

Wind-flowers blossom all alone;
Then I know
That the bitter winter's dead.
Over his head
The damp sod breaks so mellow,--
Its mosses tipped
with points of yellow,--
I cannot but be glad;
Yet this sweet mood

will borrow
Something of a sweeter sorrow,
To touch and turn me
sad.
THE BOBOLINK.
How sweetly sang the bobolink,
When thou, my Love, wast nigh!

His liquid music from the brink
Of some cloud-fountain seemed to
sink,
Built in the blue-domed sky.
How sadly sings the bobolink!
No more my Love is nigh:
Yet rise,
my spirit, rise, and drink
Once more from that cloud-fountain's
brink,--
Once more before I die!
THE SUN-SHOWER.
A penciled shade the sky doth sweep,
And transient glooms creep in
to sleep
Amid the orchard;
Fantastic breezes pull the trees
Hither and yon,
to vagaries
Of aspect tortured.
Then, like the downcast dreamy fringe
Of eyelids, when dim gates
unhinge
That locked their tears,
Falls on the hills a mist of rain,--
So faint, it
seems to fade again;
Yet swiftly nears.
Now sparkles the air, all steely-bright,
With drops swept down in
arrow-flight,
Keen, quivering lines.
Ceased in a breath the showery sound;
And
teasingly, now, as I look around,

Sweet sunlight shines!
JUNE LONGINGS.
Lo, all about the lofty blue are blown
Light vapors white, like
thistle-down,
That from their softened silver heaps opaque
Scatter
delicate flake by flake,
Upon the wide loom of the heavens weaving

Forms of fancies past believing,
And, with fantastic show of mute
despair,
As for some sweet hope hurt beyond repair,
Melt in the
silent voids of sunny air.
All day the cooing brooklet runs in tune:
Half sunk i' th' blue, the
powdery moon
Shows whitely. Hark, the bobolink's note! I hear it,

Far and faint as a fairy spirit!
Yet all these pass, and as some blithe
bird, winging,
Leaves a heart-ache for his singing,
A frustrate
passion haunts me evermore
For that which closest dwells to beauty's
core.
O Love, canst thou this heart of hope restore?
A RUNE OF THE RAIN.
I.
O many-toned rain!
O myriad sweet voices of the rain!
How
welcome is its delicate overture
At evening, when the
glowing-moistur'd west
Seals all things with cool promise of night's
rest!
At first it would allure
The earth to kinder mood,
With dainty
flattering
Of soft, sweet pattering:
Faintly now you hear the tramp

Of the fine drops falling damp
On the dry, sun-seasoned ground

And the thirsty leaves around.
But anon, imbued
With a sudden,
bounding access
Of passion, it relaxes
All timider persuasion,

And, with nor pretext nor occasion,
Its wooing redoubles;
And
pounds the ground, and bubbles
In sputtering spray,
Flinging itself
in a fury
Of flashing white away;
Till the dusty road

Flings a

perfume dank abroad,
And the grass, and the wide-hung trees,
The
vines, the flowers in their beds,
The vivid corn that to the breeze

Rustles along the garden-rows,
Visibly lift their heads,--
And, as
the shower wilder grows,
Upleap with answering kisses to the rain.
Then, the slow and pleasant murmur
Of its subsiding,
As the pulse
of the storm beats firmer,
And the steady rain
Drops into a
cadenced chiding.
Deep-breathing rain,
The sad and ghostly noise

Wherewith thou dost complain,--
Thy plaintive, spiritual voice,

Heard thus at close of day
Through vaults of twilight-gray,--
Doth
vex me with sweet pain!
And still my soul is fain
To know the
secret of that yearning
Which in thine utterance I hear returning.
Hush, oh hush!
Break not the dreamy rush
Of the rain:
Touch not
the marring doubt
Words bring, to the certainty
Of its soft refrain,

But let the flying fringes flout
Their gouts against the pane,
And
the gurgling throat of the water-spout
Groan in the eaves amain.
The earth is wedded to the shower.
Darkness and awe, gird round the
bridal-hour!
II.
O many-tonèd rain!
It hath caught the strain
Of a wilder tune,
Ere
the same night's noon,
When dreams and sleep forsake me,
And
sudden dread doth wake me,
To hear the booming drums of heaven
beat
The long roll to battle; when the knotted cloud,
With an
echoing loud,
Bursts asunder
At the sudden resurrection of the
thunder;
And the fountains of the air,
Unsealed again sweep,
ruining, everywhere,
To wrap the world in a watery winding-sheet.
III.
O myriad sweet voices of the rain!
When the airy war doth wane,

And the storm to the east hath flown,
Cloaked close in the whirling

wind,
There's