Trees and Other Poems | Page 8

the year
Is old and stale now ye are gone.

No friendly songs the children hear
Among the bushes on the lawn.

When babies wander out a-Maying
Will ye, their bards, afar be
straying?
Unhymned by you, what is the dawn?
Nay, since ye loved ye cannot die.
Above the stars is set your nest.

Through Heaven's fields ye sing and fly
And in the trees of Heaven
rest.
And little children in their dreaming
Shall see your soft black
plumage gleaming
And smile, by your clear music blest.
The Fourth Shepherd
(For Thomas Walsh)

I
On nights like this the huddled sheep
Are like white clouds upon the
grass,
And merry herdsmen guard their sleep
And chat and watch
the big stars pass.
It is a pleasant thing to lie
Upon the meadow on the hill
With kindly
fellowship near by
Of sheep and men of gentle will.
I lean upon my broken crook
And dream of sheep and grass and men
--
O shameful eyes that cannot look
On any honest thing again!
On bloody feet I clambered down
And fled the wages of my sin,
I
am the leavings of the town,
And meanly serve its meanest inn.
I tramp the courtyard stones in grief,
While sleep takes man and beast
to her.
And every cloud is calling "Thief!"
And every star calls
"Murderer!"
II
The hand of God is sure and strong,
Nor shall a man forever flee

The bitter punishment of wrong.
The wrath of God is over me!
With ashen bread and wine of tears
Shall I be solaced in my pain.
I
wear through black and endless years
Upon my brow the mark of
Cain.
III
Poor vagabond, so old and mild,
Will they not keep him for a night?

And She, a woman great with child,
So frail and pitiful and white.
Good people, since the tavern door
Is shut to you, come here instead.

See, I have cleansed my stable floor
And piled fresh hay to make a
bed.

Here is some milk and oaten cake.
Lie down and sleep and rest you
fair,
Nor fear, O simple folk, to take
The bounty of a child of care.
IV
On nights like this the huddled sheep --
I never saw a night so fair.

How huge the sky is, and how deep!
And how the planets flash and
glare!
At dawn beside my drowsy flock
What winged music I have heard!

But now the clouds with singing rock
As if the sky were turning bird.
O blinding Light, O blinding Light!
Burn through my heart with
sweetest pain.
O flaming Song, most loudly bright,
Consume away
my deadly stain!
V
The stable glows against the sky,
And who are these that throng the
way?
My three old comrades hasten by
And shining angels kneel
and pray.
The door swings wide -- I cannot go --
I must and yet I dare not see.

Lord, who am I that I should know --
Lord, God, be merciful to
me!
VI
O Whiteness, whiter than the fleece
Of new-washed sheep on April
sod!
O Breath of Life, O Prince of Peace,
O Lamb of God, O Lamb
of God!
Easter
The air is like a butterfly
With frail blue wings.
The happy earth
looks at the sky
And sings.

Mount Houvenkopf
Serene he stands, with mist serenely crowned,
And draws a cloak of
trees about his breast.
The thunder roars but cannot break his rest

And from his rugged face the tempests bound.
He does not heed the
angry lightning's wound,
The raging blizzard is his harmless guest,

And human life is but a passing jest
To him who sees Time spin the
years around.
But fragile souls, in skyey reaches find
High vantage-points and view
him from afar.
How low he seems to the ascended mind,
How brief
he seems where all things endless are;
This little playmate of the
mighty wind
This young companion of an ancient star.
The House with Nobody in It
Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old
farmhouse with its shingles broken and black. I suppose I've passed it a
hundred times, but I always stop for a minute And look at the house,
the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.
I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings. I know
this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn't be so
lonely if it had a ghost or two.
This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass, And
somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass. It
needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.
If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I'd put a gang of
men to work with brush and saw and spade. I'd buy that place and fix it
up the way it used to be
And I'd find some people who wanted a
home and give it