Rose and Roof-Tree | Page 4

form to me shall speak?From the wide valley's bound,?Recall the waving of the last bird's wing,
And help me hope for spring.
BEFORE THE SNOW.
Autumn is gone: through the blue woodlands bare?Shatters the windy rain. A thousand leaves,?Like birds that fly the mournful Northern air,?Flutter away from the old forest's eaves.
Autumn is gone: as yonder silent rill,?Slow eddying o'er thick leaf-heaps lately shed,?My spirit, as I walk, moves awed and still,?By thronging fancies wild and wistful led.
Autumn is gone: alas, how long ago?The grapes were plucked, and garnered was the grain!?How soon death settles on us, and the snow?Wraps with its white alike our graves, our gain!
Yea, autumn's gone! Yet it robs not my mood?Of that which makes moods dear,--some shoot of spring?Still sweet within me; or thoughts of yonder wood?We walked in,--memory's rare environing.
And, though they die, the seasons only take?A ruined substance. All that's best remains?In the essential vision that can make?One light for life, love, death, their joys, their pains.
THE GHOSTS OF GROWTH.
Last night it snowed; and Nature fell asleep.?Forest and field lie tranced in gracious dreams?Of growth, for ghosts of leaves long dead, me-seems,?Hover about the boughs; and wild winds sweep?O'er whitened fields full many a hoary heap?From the storm-harvest mown by ice-bound streams!?With beauty of crushed clouds the cold earth teems,?And winter a tranquil-seeming truce would keep.
But such ethereal slumber may not bide?The ascending sun's bright scorn--not long, I fear;?And all its visions on the golden tide?Of mid-noon gliding off, must disappear.?Fair dreams, farewell! So in life's stir and pride?You fade, and leave the treasure of a tear!
THE LILY-POND.
Some fairy spirit with his wand,?I think, has hovered o'er the dell,?And spread this film upon the pond,?And touched it with this drowsy spell.
For here the musing soul is merged?In moods no other scene can bring,?And sweeter seems the air when scourged?With wandering wild-bees' murmuring.
One ripple streaks the little lake,?Sharp purple-blue; the birches, thin?And silvery, crowd the edge, yet break?To let a straying sunbeam in.
How came we through the yielding wood,?That day, to this sweet-rustling shore??Oh, there together while we stood,?A butterfly was wafted o'er,
In sleepy light; and even now?His glimmering beauty doth return?Upon me, when the soft winds blow,?And lilies toward the sunlight yearn.
The yielding wood? And yet 't was both?To yield unto our happy march;?Doubtful it seemed, at times, if both?Could pass its green, elastic arch.
Yet there, at last, upon the marge?We found ourselves, and there, behold,?In hosts the lilies, white and large,?Lay close, with hearts of downy gold!
Deep in the weedy waters spread?The rootlets of the placid bloom:?So sprung my love's flower, that was bred?In deep, still waters of heart's-gloom.
So sprung; and so that morn was nursed?To live in light, and on the pool?Wherein its roots were deep immersed?Burst into beauty broad and cool.
Few words were said; a moment passed;?I know not how it came--that awe?And ardor of a glance that cast?Our love in universal law!
But all at once a bird sang loud,?From dead twigs of the gleamy beech;?His notes dropped dewy, as out of a cloud,?A blessing on our married speech.
Ah, Love! how fresh and rare, even now,?That moment and that mood return?Upon me, when the soft winds blow,?And lilies toward the sunlight yearn!
PART SECOND.
FIRST GLANCE.
A budding mouth and warm blue eyes;?A laughing face;--and laughing hair,
So ruddy does it rise?From off that forehead fair;
Frank fervor in whate'er she said,?And a shy grace when she was still;
A bright, elastic tread;?Enthusiastic will;
These wrought the magic of a maid?As sweet and sad as the sun in spring,
Joyous, yet half-afraid?Her joyousness to sing.
What weighs the unworthiness of earth?When beauty such as this finds birth?
Rare maid, to look on thee?Gives all things harmony!
"THE SUNSHINE OF THINE EYES."
The sunshine of thine eyes,?(Oh still, celestial beam!)?Whatever it touches it fills?With the life of its lambent gleam.
The sunshine of thine eyes,?Oh let it fall on me!?Though I be but a mote of the air,?I could turn to gold for thee!
"WHEN, LOOKING DEEPLY IN THY FACE."
When, looking deeply in thy face,?I catch the undergleam of grace?That grows beneath the outward glance,?Long looking, lost as in a trance?Of long desires that fleet and meet?Around me like the fresh and sweet?White showers of rain which, vanishing,?'Neath heaven's blue arches whirl, in spring;?Suddenly then I seem to know?Of some new fountain's overflow?In grassy basins, with a sound?That leads my fancy, past all bound,?Into a region of retreat?From this my life's bewildered heat.?Oh if my soul might always draw?From those deep fountains full of awe,?The current of my days should rise?Unto the level of thine eyes!
WITHIN A YEAR
I.
Lips that are met in love's?Devotion sweet,?While parting lovers passionately greet,?And earth through heaven's arc more swiftly moves--
Oh, will they be less dear?Within a year?
II.
Eyes in whose shadow-spell?Far off I read?That which to lovers taking loving heed?Dear women's eyes full soon and plainly tell--
Oh, will you give such cheer?This time a