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OATEN STOP SERIES 
 VII 
 
ONE WAY TO 
 THE WOODS 
 
 BY EVALEEN -STEIN 
 
 BOSTON COPEl/AND AND DAY 
 
 Q3M3MU sauoo 
 
 ^H'i/X^l' 
 

 4410 
 
 iZ 
 
 o'Pf:ii 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1897 BY COPELAND AND DAY 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF MY 
 
 DEAR FATHER 
 
 JOHN A. STEIN 
 
 I LOVINGLY DEDICATE 
 
 THIS MY FIRST BOOK 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 One Way to the Woods 
 
 I 
 
 The March Frosts 
 
 5 
 
 Feast of Palms 
 
 6 
 
 Budding-Time too Brief 
 
 8 
 
 In Mexico 
 
 9 
 
 January- 
 
 II 
 
 Unfamiliar 
 
 14 
 
 Heart Song 
 
 15 
 
 The Marshes 
 
 i6 
 
 The Drought 
 
 1 8 
 
 Hyacinths 
 
 19 
 
 The Bayou 
 
 20 
 
 In Youth 
 
 26 
 
 Midsummer 
 
 26 
 
 Mistral's Poem " Mir^io " 
 
 Z7 
 
 The Hill Pasture 
 
 28 
 
 The Mist 
 
 29 
 
 October Song 
 
 31 
 
 Conscience 
 
 33 
 
 Evening down the "Long Drift" 34 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 Baffled 
 
 38 
 
 Earth Voices 
 
 39 
 
 A Little Cascade 
 
 40 
 
 Persistent 
 
 41 
 
 Flood-Time on the Marshes 
 
 42 
 
 July 
 
 44 
 
 Autumn Cobwebs 
 
 45 
 
 The Old Garden, in September 
 
 47 
 
 Presentiment 
 
 53 
 
 The Exiles 
 
 54 
 
 In Mid-October 
 
 55 
 
 Present Joy 
 
 58 
 
 November Morning 
 
 59 
 
 Christmas Eve in the Cathedral 
 
 60 
 
 Christmas Chant Royal to the King 
 
 
 of Kings 
 
 61 
 
 The Marsh Mist 
 
 65 
 
 Envoy 
 
 70 
 
THE song of Nature stirs 
 Within the budding trees 
 Her true interpreters 
 
 The birds and honey-bees ; 
 And wintry winds that freeze 
 
 And toss the frosty firs, 
 What minstrelsies of these 
 That are not wholly hers ? 
 
 Dear heart, I pray it be 
 
 Some little song of mine 
 May murmur unto thee. 
 
 From out the written line. 
 Some note of that divine 
 
 Eternal melody, 
 And make the gladness thine 
 
 It brings and sings to me ! 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 A LEVEL reach of April sun. 
 Beside the river, faintly blue, 
 That purls and swirls and twinkles throu| 
 The sycamores, but just begun 
 
 To bud anew ; 
 Then up a gently rising hill, 
 Beneath tall walnut trees, until 
 Some tufts of flaky hawthorns strew 
 
 And powder all the way with white j 
 On, past a farmhouse hidden quite 
 In drifts of cherry bloom ; and still 
 Keep to the north, beyond the bend 
 Abreast whose sharply curving turn 
 
 The distant roadway seems to end 
 In banks of brake and lady-fern. 
 
 And willow boughs, in youthful hue 
 Of tenderest green that ever grew. 
 Verge into view. 
 
 There, facing westward, loiter slow. 
 While troops of robins, rollicking 
 Among the bluebells, wing and sing j 
 
 And gladly as the robins, so 
 
 Let Nature's gracious overflow 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 Of light and life steep every sense 
 
 In depths of joyous indolence ! 
 Thus, pacing leisurely, push through 
 The wayside weeds and meadow-rue 
 And wild witch-hazels, where a few 
 
 White-turbaned bloodroots blossoming, 
 
 Like small green-caftaned pilgrims, bring 
 The shrine of Spring 
 
 Their sweet belated offering. 
 
 Then loose a leaning gate, and bold 
 Fare on, across a cornfield where, 
 Half-buried by the busy share, 
 The stalks of stubble shine like gold, 
 And, freshly turned, the furrowed mold 
 Lies rich and bare. 
 
 Tall daisy stems already chain 
 The farther gate, that leads again 
 Into a long, light, grassy lane. 
 
 Where wagon-tracks of tawny brown. 
 Inlaid with mosses, wind adown 
 Through new green sheen of winter grain. 
 The hedges there on either side 
 Are leafless yet, but all the more 
 In airy, universal, wide 
 High-tide, 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 The golden April sunbeams pour 
 Between their ramparts, closely set, 
 And filter through their silver net 
 
 Of thorny interlacing boughs ; 
 The spreading redbud branches lean 
 Like rosy coral in between. 
 And in the distance, faintly seen, 
 
 Some white sheep browse. 
 
 And half a score of lazy cows 
 Crop off the pasture's tender green. 
 
 But by and by, upon the right, 
 There breaks a sudden gleam of white } 
 The fitful hum of honey-bees ; 
 And, tinkling in its interval. 
 You catch the call 
 Of orchard orioles, — then all 
 The blowing, snowing apple-trees 
 Burst into sight ! 
 Ah, what more exquisite delight. 
 
 What sweets in all the world more sweet. 
 With more pure tenderness replete. 
 Than some old orchard holds ? And none 
 Of all beneath the April sun. 
 Can boast aught sweeter than this one ! 
 — I fancy that I see it now. 
 Its sprays of bloom, that sway and toss ; 
 
 3 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 ('Twas there I broke this little bough, 
 Whose waxy clusters, pink and white. 
 
 Leaned so enticingly across 
 
 The ragged fence-rails, gray with moss, 
 The very trees seemed to invite 
 
 Their own bright loss !) 
 
 But then, in truth, one needs must pause 
 Beside this self-same spot, because, 
 
 O'ergrown with dandelions and weeds, 
 The roadway ends 5 but winding thence, 
 A violet-tufted footpath leads 
 
 Through scented depths, and ways 
 apart. 
 Through shadowed aisles and thickets dense, 
 Down through a deep fern-filled ravine, 
 
 And on, into the hidden heart 
 Of all the woodland's growing green. 
 
 Beneath tall shafts of elm and oak. 
 
 The trailing,brown,wild grape-vine swings. 
 And in long wreaths the woodbine clings 
 Round tangled undergrowth that springs 
 
 Just high enough for one to stroke 
 The little linden leaves, and feel 
 The downy spice-wood buds, and steal 
 A glimpse into a bluebird's nest. 
 
 4 
 
THE MARCH FROSTS 
 
 In crinkled verdure, here and there, 
 
 The buckeye boughs show newly drest ; 
 
 And dogwood branches whiten where 
 A tiny stream slips down below. 
 Whose murmurous, faintly-fluting flow, 
 
 Through long lush grass and starweed, frets j 
 There golden-yellow cowslips grow j 
 
 And there I found these violets. 
 
 THE MARCH FROSTS 
 
 THE little leaves that tip the trees 
 With palest greenery everywhere, 
 O bitter nights, that blight and freeze. 
 And hurtling winds, and icy air. 
 Forbear ! Forbear ! 
 Have you no tenderness for these. 
 Nor any care ? 
 
 No pity for the buds that break 
 
 And fringe the maples, rosy red, 
 The starting apple-sprays, that make 
 A silver fretwork overhead ? 
 
 When these are dead. 
 How shall the April for their sake 
 Be comforted ? 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 Oh, all my heart is full of pain ! 
 
 The hurt they feel is hurt to me ! 
 The helpless little leaves ! I fain 
 Would cherish them so tenderly, 
 It might not be 
 Such cruel grief should fall again 
 On any tree ! 
 
 I would that I could gently fold 
 
 Against my breast, for sheltering, 
 Each tiniest bud the peach-boughs hold. 
 And every gracious burgeoning 
 Of everything 5 
 So fondling them, through frost and cold. 
 Until the spring ! 
 
 o 
 
 FEAST OF PALMS 
 
 NCE where green palms were laid, 
 Rode strangest cavalcade 
 Men e' er beheld ; 
 For in the midst of it 
 Lowly a God did sit, 
 It so in holy writ 
 
 Stands chronicled. 
 
FEAST OF PALMS 
 
 What though in triumph proud 
 The glad exulting crowd 
 
 Flung wide the palm, 
 The joyful throngs between, 
 Over the boughs of green, 
 He rode with humble mien. 
 Divinely calm. 
 
 Aye, what were earthly prize 
 To him whose prescient eyes 
 
 Foresaw the thorn ; 
 Foresaw all things to be. 
 And kingliest victory 
 Of meek humility. 
 
 With patience borne ? 
 
 Then bring ye palms to-day. 
 And holy, lowly pray. 
 
 Nor nourish pride j 
 Whoso in gentleness 
 God's triumph doth confess. 
 His heart the King will bless, 
 And therein ride. 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 BUDDING-TIME TOO BRIEF 
 
 O LITTLE buds, break not so fast ! 
 The spring's but new. 
 The skies will yet be brighter blue, 
 
 And sunny too. 
 I w^ould you might thus sweetly last 
 Till this glad season's overpast, 
 Nor hasten through. 
 
 It is so exquisite to feel 
 
 The light, warm sun 5 
 
 To merely know the winter done. 
 
 And life begun 5 
 And to my heart no blooms appeal 
 For tenderness so deep and real, 
 
 As any one 
 
 Of these first April buds, that hold 
 
 The hint of spring's 
 
 Rare perfectness that May-time brings. 
 
 So take not wings ! 
 Oh, linger, linger, nor unfold 
 Too swiftly through the mellow mold, 
 
 Sweet growing things ! 
 
IN MEXICO 
 
 And errant birds, and honey-bees, 
 
 Seek not to wile. 
 
 And sun, let not your warmest smile 
 
 Quite yet beguile 
 The young peach-boughs and apple-trees 
 To trust their beauty to the breeze j 
 
 Wait yet awhile ! 
 
 IN MEXICO 
 
 THE cactus towers, straight and tall, 
 Through fallow fields of chaparral j 
 And here and there, in paths apart, 
 A dusky peon guides his cart. 
 And yokes of oxen journey slow, 
 In Mexico. 
 
 And oft some distant tinkling tells 
 Of muleteers, with wagon-bells 
 
 That jangle sweet across the maize, 
 And green agave stalks that raise 
 
 Rich spires of blossoms, row on row, 
 In Mexico. 
 
 Upon the whitened city walls 
 The golden sunshine softly falls. 
 On archways set with orange trees, 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 On paven courts and balconies 
 
 Where trailing vines toss to and fro, 
 In Mexico. 
 
 And patient little donkeys fare 
 With laden saddle-bags, and bear 
 
 Through narrow ways quaint water-jars 
 Wreathed round with waxen lily stars 
 And scarlet poppy-buds that blow, 
 In Mexico. 
 
 In liquid syllables, the cries 
 Of far fruit-venders faintly rise ; 
 And under thick palmetto shades, 
 And down cool covered colonnades. 
 The tides of traffic gently flow, 
 In Mexico. 
 
 When twilight falls, more near and clear 
 The tender southern skies appear, 
 
 And down green slopes of blooming Umes 
 Come cascades of cathedral chimes j 
 And prayerful figures worship low, 
 In Mexico. 
 
 A land of lutes and witching tones. 
 Of silver, onyx, opal stones j 
 
 lO 
 
JANUARY 
 
 A lazy land, wherein all seems 
 Enchanted into endless dreams 5 
 And never any need they know, 
 In Mexico, 
 
 Of life's unquiet, swift advance ; 
 But slipped into such gracious trance. 
 The restless world speeds on, unfelt, 
 Unheeded, as by those who dwelt 
 In olden ages, long ago, 
 In Mexico. 
 
 JANUARY 
 
 TO and fro. 
 To and fro. 
 Athwart the tingling icy air. 
 
 The linden branches blow, and so. 
 With warp of wind and woof of snow, 
 The weaver Winter' s shuttles go 5 
 Such garment rare 
 
 The earth shall wear. 
 No softest ermine, neither vair. 
 Nor royal robing anywhere. 
 
 Nor any cunning looms may show 
 A fabric half so fair. 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 Upon the peach and apple trees 
 A thousand frosty fringes freeze 5 
 
 The moon-vines lace the lattice bars 
 In filmy filagrees. 
 
 The grass is flecked with flaky stars j 
 The clover-tufts are hid from sight j 
 And, now and then, a bird alight 
 
 With burst of gleeful flutter, jars 
 The pearly-laden red rose-hips, 
 And tilting airily, so tips 
 
 A tiny tempest, pelting down 
 
 The slender briars bare and brown ; 
 Or else some sudden flurry stirs 
 The fleecy drifts that freight the firs. 
 And swept from silvery tassels slips 
 
 A swirling cloud of trailing, bright. 
 
 Light scarfs of powdered white. 
 
 Along the wall the mossy stones 
 
 Have caught and fixed the falling flakes 
 Where, in quaint shapes, the grape-vine 
 makes 
 
 A low relief, with shadow-tones 
 
 More soft than carven marble takes 5 
 
 And whiter by each gust that blows 
 
 From off" the roof, the climbing rose. 
 In chiselled wealth of bough and thorn. 
 
JANUARY 
 
 About the doorway swiftly grows 
 
 A skilful sculpture ; but the sprays 
 Of honeysuckle, overborne 
 
 By crystal cargoes, cannot raise 
 Their icy-fettered maze. 
 
 A world of shining hints of hues, 
 Wherein all tints so gently fuse 
 In loveliness of light and shade. 
 No eye may tell whereof is made 
 Such pearly radiance 5 nor invade 
 The violet depth thereof for clues 
 
 To clasp its color-keys, and know 
 The subtile secrets of the snow 5 
 The gleaming heavens, overlaid 
 With loosened spangles, softly fade 
 Into the gleaming earth below 5 
 And all horizons seem to be 
 Lost in white purity. 
 
 Aye, richly. Winter, to and fro 
 Thus let your silver shuttles go. 
 
 Till every sparkling web is spun 5 
 Still, with rare skill, unceasing ply 
 Your artful trickeries, and try 
 
 All chill enchantments, every one 
 Of all devices to beguile 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 This dreary overweary while 
 Wherein we wait the sun ; 
 And since the north must yet prevail, 
 And bitter cheerless winds assail, 
 
 Come, white-wing' d snows, and over all 
 Like shreds of floating feathers fall. 
 And lightly lie ! 
 
 So, by and by, 
 — Ah, by and by ! — 
 Like blue flakes from an azure sky, 
 The April birds will fly. 
 
 UNFAMILIAR 
 
 THE world is all unreal to-day ! 
 I strive to fathom whence 
 There sometimes comes this subtly strange 
 Dim sense of difference. 
 
 I gaze with gravely open eyes, 
 
 No flaw of sight may be ; 
 Still, somewise vaguely out of touch, 
 
 All things seem strange to me. 
 
 The grass, the sky, the apple-trees. 
 
 The honeysuckle vine, 
 I know I know them all, — and yet, 
 
 I cannot make them mine ! 
 14 
 
HEART SONG 
 
 Familiar tasks, with careful hand 
 
 And vision, even now 
 I fashion out ; although, in truth, 
 
 I scarce remember how. 
 
 All purposes, ambitions, aims, 
 
 All vital forces, take 
 A value slight as if I slept j 
 
 But yet I am awake ! 
 
 And vainly still my being seeks 
 
 To break this baffling spell 
 That blurs its clearer consciousness, 
 
 — Wherefore, I cannot tell. 
 
 HEART SONG 
 
 AS one who holds a charm' d witch-hazel 
 rod. 
 And, as it veers, divines the hidden springs. 
 Whose whispered chimes and muffled mur- 
 
 murings 
 Had passed unheeded underneath the sod, 
 And as that spot, where careless footsteps 
 
 trod, 
 Then sparkles into silver speech and sings 
 A liquid song that wakes to burgeonings 
 The seeds imbedded in the barren clod, 
 
 15 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 So, dearest heart, within my breast have you 
 Pierced to the hidden melodies, and freed 
 Its singing springs, and touched the buried 
 
 seed 
 Of strange, bright buds whereof I never 
 
 knew ! 
 Sweet beyond words, and of such subtile 
 
 power, 
 It seems my whole life breaking into flower. 
 
 THE MARSHES 
 
 PALE shimmering skies that lightly 
 bear 
 Fine filmy clouds that idly fare 
 In lazy wavering, wheresoe' er 
 
 The faint, uncertain breezes go 5 
 
 And even so. 
 In airy motion down below, 
 Tall wild rice, wild rice everywhere ! 
 
 From out the marshy wilderness. 
 With plumes and pennons numberless, 
 In endless lines its armies press : 
 
 The very river it besets 
 And foils and frets 
 
 With leaves like little bayonets 
 16 
 
THE MARSHES 
 
 That pierce the light and glint and gleam 
 And glitter in the midmost stream j 
 
 And so besieged and closed about, 
 
 The captive waves lap in and out 
 Among the lacing stems, and creep 
 Through flowered grasses and through deep 
 
 Translucent pools wherein they seem 
 To drowse and dream 
 In draughts of liquid light, and steep 
 
 In sunbeams, till, too spent to stir. 
 They sink into a golden sleep, 
 
 So held perpetual prisoner. 
 
 And over all there softly plays, 
 
 Through summer days, 
 A mangel of pale violet haze 
 That sheathes and wreathes and overlays 
 
 The thousand swaying plumes that rise 
 From all those silvery water-ways 
 
 Wherein the drowsy river lies, 
 
 Content to clasp the gracious skies 
 That twinkle through Its tangled maze, 
 
 And nestle In it lazywise. 
 
 And, now and then, a wild bird flies 
 
 From hidden haunts among the reeds ; 
 Or, faintly heard, a bittern cries 
 
 '7 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 Across the tasselled water-weeds ; 
 Or, floating upward from the green 
 Young willow wands, with sunny sheen 
 On pearly breast, and wings outspread, 
 A white crane journeys overhead. 
 
 For leagues on leagues no sign is there 
 
 Of any snare 
 For human toil, nor grief nor care ; 
 The fields for bread lie otherwhere. 
 — Only the wild rice, straight and tall, 
 The wild rice waving over all. 
 
 THE DROUGHT 
 
 ON laden lands the web of gold. 
 Whose shuttles slanting sunbeams ply. 
 Lies broken-meshed upon the wheat, 
 Where sere stalks die. 
 
 The young corn curls its husky blades, 
 And bees athirst pale blossoms drain. 
 
 While languid buds bend low to earth 
 Between the grain. 
 
 The fisher crosses, ankle-deep, 
 The shrunken river as it moans 
 
HYACINTHS 
 
 Through bleaching banks of barren sand 
 And scorching stones. 
 
 Gaunt trees pathetic to the sky 
 
 Their parched and crisping boughs stretch 
 out ; 
 O winds, go search the nimbus clouds, 
 
 And end the drought ! 
 
 HYACINTHS 
 
 I PLACED the purple hyacinths 
 Above the lips I loved 5 
 Across the narrow mound a fret 
 Of leafy shadows moved. 
 
 Between the branches overhead 
 
 The April sky was blue. 
 And now and then a shining drift 
 
 Of little clouds looked through. 
 
 The blessed breath of bloomy things 
 
 Enfolded all the air. 
 And from the hedge of evergreen 
 
 A robin sang somewhere. 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 I strove to see the happy earth, 
 
 But over bud and leaf 
 A sudden darkness fell, for I 
 
 Was blinded by my grief. 
 
 dearest heart ! they seemed so long , 
 The lonely, lonely years ! 
 
 1 laid my face against the grass, 
 
 And showered it with tears. 
 
 THE BAYOU 
 
 BELOW the bridge, a little way 
 Float downward near the bank, beneath 
 The trailing wild-grape vines that 
 wreathe 
 The water-oaks and elms, and sway 
 
 Far out across the current ; down 
 Beyond the drift where in deep pools. 
 Among the mosses' tawny brown. 
 The lazy river-mussels cling j 
 Where little turtles hide, and schools 
 Of tiny fishes flash in view, 
 And part, and dart, and start anew 
 In eager aimless journeying. 
 
THE BAYOU 
 
 On, past the slender reeds that swing 
 
 Their tufts of tasselled bloom, and show 
 Where sweet-flags grow ; 
 Past willow wands that weave and fling 
 Athwart the way a waving screen, 
 Through which the tinkling ripples flow, 
 
 And sing, and ring, 
 With drowsy murmurs, soft and slow, 
 And ceaseless silver cadencing ; 
 
 — But there, just where the bushes lean 
 And cross in leafy archway, hung 
 With rosy mallow-flowers, and strung 
 With ivory button-balls, and green 
 With tender freshness everywhere. 
 Just there 
 Turn, and steer straightway in be- 
 tween. 
 
 Ah, surely none would ever guess 
 That through that tangled wilderness. 
 
 Through those far forest depths remote, 
 Lay any smallest path, much less 
 
 A way wherein to guide a boat ! 
 But whoso knows the stream, and shares 
 
 The rare deep secrets that it hides. 
 Nor e'er confides 
 Save only unto him who bears 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 True love of nature's lore, 
 
 And dares 
 Her inmost pathways to explore, 
 — Unto such sympathetic eyes 
 The river, ofttimes unawares. 
 
 Leads onward to some sweet surprise. 
 
 And so, push gently through the dense 
 
 Low button-balls, 
 And plumy growths of wild-rice, whence 
 At cautious, watchful intervals, 
 The brooding hermit-bittern calls ; 
 Then steering slowly, in and out. 
 Curve close about 
 The lofty forest trees, and wind 
 Among the willows, intertwined 
 And crept across 
 By scarlet trumpet-vines, that toss 
 In lavish richness unconfined 
 
 Above the blooming water-moss j 
 The trailing, tufted moss, that makes 
 A carpet of its starry flakes 
 
 So thick that one may scarcely see 
 The long lithe lily-stems that grow 
 Far down below 
 With buds of pearl and gold enshrined 
 Amid vague under-greenery. 
 
THE BAYOU 
 
 And lightly, here and there, among 
 The russet rushes, as you go. 
 The curling, purling ripples flow, 
 And to and fro. 
 With fitful motion, faintly stir 
 The fine green film the waves have hung 
 About the underwood, and flung 
 
 In scarfs of shining gossamer 
 Upon the grasses, lush and low ; 
 
 — Then presently. 
 Beyond the lily-pads, maybe, 
 
 There breaks the softly vibrant whir 
 Of wafting wings, and through the reeds, 
 
 Uprising — rising — far and free, 
 A sweetly-fluting throstle speeds 
 With burst of mellow melody. 
 
 But from the forest depths profound 
 There comes no sound ; 
 So dusk, so dense, so wholly still. 
 The outer winds that thither stray 
 Sweep slowly on, from tree to tree. 
 
 And down long shadowed ways, until. 
 Charged with the strange solemnity 
 
 Those hushed and hidden haunts instil. 
 All silently, into the day 
 They steal away. 
 
 ^3 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 — And there, within the bayou' s heart, 
 
 Adrift, apart 
 From all save that untrodden wood. 
 
 So deep 
 Secluded in the solitude 
 
 Of those tall towering trees, that keep 
 The very atmosphere imbued 
 
 With breath of primal peacefulness, 
 — There, clasped in Nature's close 
 caress. 
 Slipped sheer from all inquietude. 
 At peace upon the limpid stream, 
 I know no other ways that seem 
 So sweet wherein to drift and dream. 
 
 There, floating on in tranquil mood. 
 The tire, the tumult, and the stress, 
 The dreary brood 
 Of toil and fret 
 And fevered, never-ending care, 
 — All, all this wide world's weariness 
 Seems otherwhere 5 
 So far, far otherwhere ! — And yet, 
 
 Through reason of the peaceful air 
 
 My own griefs wear. 
 That very sense of farness steals 
 Into my heart with strange appeals j 
 'Z4 
 
THE BAYOU 
 
 All distant strife of living pleads 
 Its needs, 
 Remote, half-comprehended, — still 
 With such insistent pathos, till 
 My dream-borne spirit wakes and heeds j 
 That sentient stillness stirs in me 
 A keener, subtler sympathy j 
 My inmost being throbs, expands. 
 And understands 
 More what the restless world may be. 
 
 And like the free reed-birds that fly 
 From those green tangles to the sky. 
 Yet seek the bayou, by and by. 
 So, on a nobler, higher quest. 
 New-fledging from its body nest. 
 My eager soul soars up and sees 
 J More of God's gracious mysteries j 
 Wherefrom a larger love it learns. 
 And then, with humble mien, returns. 
 Divines, more near, the perfect rest 
 Of Nature's breast. 
 And so, touched tenderly through these. 
 Feels more of true humanities. 
 
 25 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 IN YOUTH 
 
 NOT lips of mine have ever said : 
 " Would God that I were dead ! " 
 Nay, cruel griefs ! ye cannot break 
 My love of life ; nor can ye make 
 Oblivion blest in anywise, 
 
 Nor death seem sweet for sorrow's sake. 
 Life ! Life ! my every pulse outcries 
 
 For life, and love, and quickened breath, 
 O God, — not, not for death ! 
 
 u 
 
 MIDSUMMER 
 
 PON the fields a golden blur, 
 
 Pink bindweeds trailing through the 
 corn ; 
 From orchard boughs the muffled whir 
 
 Of bright wings, faintly borne ; 
 Along the roads, pale amethyst 
 
 Of plumy banks of bergamot ; 
 And in my eyes a rising mist 
 
 Of grief, or joy, — I know not what ! 
 
 Again I feel the old sweet ache 
 That fills the heart for beauty's sake ; 
 
 The yearning tenderness that grieves 
 a6 
 
MISTRAL'S POEM " MIRfelO " 
 
 O'er fields, and flowers, and wind-blown 
 leaves. 
 
 And golden sheaves, 
 And loveliness of earth and sky, 
 In strange sharp pangs, — we know not 
 why. 
 The pain that bafiies him who tries 
 
 In anywise 
 Its subtile grief to analyze ; 
 
 And yet that is a joy that thrills 
 And overfills 
 The quivering soul, and clarifies 
 Its eager vision unto fine 
 Undreamed-of raptures, all-divine ! 
 And so I let the surging tears, 
 Unquestioned, brim my happy eyes, 
 
 While all my barkening spirit hears 
 The great Earth-song uprise. 
 
 MISTRAL'S POEM " MIR^IO " 
 
 AROSE of song that tops the tree 
 In sunny gardens over-sea. 
 Where grows the golden fleur-de-lis. 
 The myrtle, and 
 In scented clusters, dewy wet. 
 
 27 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 The blue Proven9al violet. 
 The land of lilting chansonette, 
 The poets' land. 
 
 Like music swept from silver strings 
 The pure sweet love the poet sings, 
 And what though touched with sorrowings 
 And grievous woes, 
 Yet still the tender tale thereof 
 Is dear all other themes above, 
 A perfect song of perfect love } 
 For like the rose 
 
 That leans against the garden wall, 
 
 Though on its petals raindrops fall 
 
 And chill winds buffet, yet withal, 
 
 When matched with this. 
 
 Not all the shining lily spires 
 
 Nor any scarlet poppy fires 
 
 So satisfy the heart's desires j 
 
 And so love is. 
 
 THE HILL PASTURE 
 
 IN silky balls beside the stream 
 The pussy-willows stand, 
 Where thick the yellow cowslips gleam 
 
 Upon the reedy land. 
 28 
 
THE MIST 
 
 And up the hillside, green and steep, 
 
 The lacing dogwood boughs 
 In fleeting glimpses show the sheep 
 
 Like blossoms as they browse. 
 
 The redbud trees are wrapped in rose, 
 The hawthorn throbs and pales. 
 
 And launched by every breeze that blows 
 The elm seeds spread their sails. 
 
 They float like shining spangles bright 
 
 Adown the sunny air. 
 And cargoes sweet of sheer delight 
 
 Unto my heart they bear. 
 
 In happy dreams I watch the flocks. 
 
 While, like a lavish king. 
 With golden key the day unlocks 
 
 The treasures of the spring. 
 
 THE MIST 
 
 ABOVE the bayou, softly bright 
 With coronal of silver rays. 
 Through rifting drifts of pearly haze 
 And rings of rosy halo-light, 
 Across the sweet October night 
 The rising full-moon rode 5 
 
 29* 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 And lifting airily its load 
 Of leaf and fruit and tangled fret 
 Of little twigs, while newly glowed 
 Her perfect disk, a linden showed 
 In graceful silhouette. 
 
 Sometimes the waxing moonbeams fell 
 Athwart the river's brink and crossed 
 Its still tide with their magic spell, 
 Till all the trailing water-grass 
 Glittered like traceries of frost 
 Upon a pane of glass. 
 
 In veils of vapor, far away 
 
 To east and west, the marshes lay ; 
 
 A pallid wilderness, whereon 
 
 Vague ferns and ghostly grasses grew, 
 
 Tall moon-tipped rushes, and a few 
 
 Weird water-willows, faint of hue, 
 
 And sedges slim and w^an. 
 
 Then presently, slow gathering through 
 
 The gleaming air, like webs that blow 
 
 At autumn time across the blue 
 
 In fleecy garlands white as snow 
 
 And light as any feather, so 
 
 The mist hung quivering, wreath on wreath j 
 
 30 
 
OCTOBER SONG 
 
 And gently, somewhere underneath, 
 The river murmured low. 
 
 So spectral, yet so strangely fair, 
 All nature softly swept from sight. 
 Till soon there only lingered there 
 The earth's eidolon, still and white ; 
 Whence ever, through that shrouding air. 
 Dissolving in the breathless night. 
 Fine forces mounted, spirit-wise ; 
 In shining wraiths I saw them pass. 
 And essences of trees and grass 
 Rise soul-like to the skies. 
 
 OCTOBER SONG 
 
 THE locust trees are hung with pods 
 Of glossy russet-brown. 
 And tawny leaves of sycamores 
 Are swiftly drifting down. 
 
 Their purple clusters, over-ripe. 
 The trailing wild-grapes show ; 
 
 And frost -tipped woodbine clambers up 
 From scarlet depths below. 
 
 Still clinging to the clover stalks 
 Are blossoms, white and sweet : 
 
 31 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 And pricked in tufted rows, the fields 
 Are green with winter wheat. 
 
 On furrowed mold, where grew the corn. 
 
 Pale, golden stubble stands ; 
 And lingering blackbirds pipe and trill 
 
 Through swampy meadow-lands. 
 
 Far, far above, within the blue. 
 
 Half hid in lofty flight, 
 A hawk sails slow, and sunward turns 
 
 A breast of shining white. 
 
 The air is full of milkweed films. 
 
 And floating thistle floss ; 
 And busily the spiders spin 
 
 Their silver nets across 
 
 The red-oak's tangled undergrowth 
 
 Of lacing boughs, and string 
 The yellow lindens, that the winds 
 
 Are rudely pillaging. 
 
 And where the ruddy maples blaze 
 
 Athwart the gusty air. 
 It lifts their leaves like little flames. 
 
 And puffs them everywhere. 
 32 
 
CONSCIENCE 
 
 But what if, loosed with fitful touch, 
 
 The woodland doffs its gown j 
 What if the fallow hillside grass 
 
 Grows slowly crisp and brown ! 
 
 What matter that the truant sun 
 
 Slips southward, day by day, 
 And that, hard by, the winter waits 
 
 To hood the skies in gray ! 
 
 I'll find but deeper joy in this, 
 
 The autumn' s pageantry ; 
 And sumac boughs are brighter far 
 
 Than dark forebodings be. 
 
 CONSCIENCE 
 
 AH, God ! Ah, God ! if we but knew 
 What hosts of haunting griefs we stir. 
 What sorrowing spectres will pursue 
 The least ungentle acts we do, 
 I think we would be patienter ! 
 
 O throbbing heart and conscience, cease ! 
 Be still, be still, and give me peace ! 
 
 How could I guess, how could I know 
 That from such blighting words would grow 
 
 33 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 Thought-harvests that could trouble so ? 
 That in my heart sharp-bladed wrath 
 Would reap such bitter aftermath ? 
 
 Had I not borne, and borne, and borne ? 
 
 Was not my spirit overworn 
 
 With ceaseless striving to repress ? 
 
 Should blame fall if for one brief space 
 
 Swift scorn gained place ? 
 
 Must burdened wrong seek no redress ? 
 
 — Yet, oh, all arguments how vain ! 
 
 The grief remains not any less. 
 
 I only know the tears like rain 
 
 Storm from my eyes ! and I would fain 
 
 Endure again 
 The hurt, the heartache, and the pain ! 
 Oh, rather all that old distress 
 Than this most keen remorsefulness ! 
 
 EVENING DOWN THE ''LONG 
 DRIFT '' 
 
 BLUE as the forest far and dim 
 Upon the vague horizon's rim. 
 As softly shadowed as the green 
 Rush-tasselled marshlands in between, 
 Rose-tinctured as the light that lies 
 34 
 
DOWN THE "LONG DRIFT'* 
 
 Within the tender evening skies, 
 
 As golden as the afterglow 
 
 That quivers up the west, and so 
 
 As many colored as the tones 
 
 That chase through changeful opal stones. 
 
 The river ripples by, 
 And I 
 
 Am floating into fairyland. 
 
 On either hand 
 
 The pale, green-wanded willows stand 
 In feathery tufts whose shadows hide 
 Haunts where the shy wild-birds abide ; 
 And through the reeds 
 
 The lush rose-mallow bushes lean. 
 
 Where screened by burgeoned button-balls, 
 And tall wild-rice, the bittern feeds. 
 And, clasped in clinging water-weeds. 
 
 White folded lily buds are seen, 
 And spikes of blazing cardinals. 
 
 That like inverted torches show 
 And burn and glow 
 Down deep transparent pools and swirls, 
 Where soft as silk the river-moss 
 Spins slender threads of filmy floss 
 Strung thick with little lucent seeds, 
 
 35 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 While in and out and close across 
 The fragile plantain-flower unfurls, 
 And, thrusting through the dripping reeds. 
 
 Star-worts, like tiny divers, toss 
 Their hoards of blossom pearls. 
 
 Through dimpling deeps and eddy whirls. 
 Far, far below, 
 With fitful motion, swift and slow. 
 The shining fishes come and go ; 
 And all the limpid pools unfold 
 Rare treasures shrined in sands of gold ; 
 
 For so 
 While down the sheer clear stream I gaze, 
 The tempered evening light betrays 
 Sweet secrets, that the dazzling days 
 With their bewildering fire and glow. 
 And over-wealth of sun, withhold. 
 
 — Ah, gently, gently, gently blow. 
 Sweet winds of heaven now ! for slow 
 Upfloating from the dewy mold. 
 The mist is rolled ! 
 O lightly, most divinely breathe. 
 While yonder airy vapors sheathe 
 The grassy marshes till they grow 
 Too faint for any eye to know ; 
 36 
 
DOWN THE '<LONG DRIFT" 
 
 And see ! like tissue veils that hold 
 Fantastic river-genii bold, 
 They rise, and rise, and twine and wreathe, 
 And all the crystal stream enfold. 
 
 On, on through wonderland I go. 
 And hear the silvery ebb and flow, 
 And chiming cadence, soft and low, 
 
 Of tiny tinkling waves that creep 
 Like thousand little liquid flutes 
 Among the twisted maple-roots ; 
 
 While from the forest, still and deep. 
 The night-owl calls. 
 And distant wandering west-winds sweep 
 
 With murmurous melody that falls 
 As faintly as a song of sleep. 
 
 With drowsy, dreamful intervals. . 
 
 To some enchanted tune 
 They croon 
 
 Sweet lullabies 5 
 While deeper, ever deeper grows 
 Th3 violet tinge upon the rose 
 
 Within the water-skies 5 
 "Where rays of pearl and purple gleam 
 
 From spangling scallop-shells, till soon 
 Confusedly through all the stream 
 
 37 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 The stars are strewn j 
 And meshed in mocking greenery 
 Of oak, and ash, and willow-tree, 
 And trailing tangled grass, I see 
 
 The little crescent moon. 
 
 — Oh, keen-felt joy and strange distress 
 Of nature's perfect graciousness ! 
 I feel your sweetly poignant smart 
 Within my heart. 
 Till, wrought by beauty's sheer excess, 
 Quick teardrops start beyond restraint. 
 And all my very soul grows faint 
 With loveliness. 
 
 BAFFLED 
 
 AH ! would that I that baffling touch 
 might know. 
 That oftentimes, as on a sounding-board. 
 Strikes in my soul a strange elusive chord ; 
 That, grieving me with unremembered woe. 
 Yet hints as surely of some long ago 
 
 Glad life and joy, in lavish wealth out- 
 poured. 
 Till all my waking memory beats accord. 
 And throbs and strives to grasp and prove it 
 
 so. 
 38 
 
EARTH VOICES 
 
 But ere Its eager message I may learn, 
 
 It sinks back fettered, with a nameless 
 pain 5 
 Yet evermore I know it must return 
 
 With sense of truth that battles to be 
 plain 5 
 And in this subtile consciousness I yearn 
 For that full knowledge which I seek in 
 vain. 
 
 EARTH VOICES 
 
 ONOT alone in human hearts that throb, 
 Do grief and joy find voice ; 
 For, even so, the fields and forests sob. 
 And, even so, rejoice. 
 
 There is no certain, separating line 
 
 That wisest men may trace ; 
 Where sentience ceases no one may divine. 
 
 Nor fix its bound or place. 
 
 For he who humbly, reverently bends 
 
 To them the barkening ear, 
 From trees and grasses straightway compre- 
 hends 
 Heart-tidings sweet and clear. 
 
 39 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 The earth confides, as from a million lips, 
 
 Its gladness and distress 5 
 With everything he finds true fellowships, 
 
 And kindred consciousness. 
 
 And knows that through the green leaves 
 overhead. 
 And through the silent clod. 
 Through man and nature runs one golden 
 thread 
 That binds them both to God. 
 
 A LITTLE CASCADE 
 
 THE shining water slipped and slipped 
 Adown the mossy rocks, and dripped 
 From off fine fringing ferns in drops 
 Of endless threaded pearls, that tipped 
 The tasselled sedge and alder tops 
 With flickering light 5 and then it sipped 
 A drowsy draught of sun, and dipped 
 Beneath small, clustering buds, and hid 
 Among lush marigolds, and slid 
 Between tall, serried ranks of reeds. 
 And stroked their little leaves, and lipped 
 The flower-spangled jewel-weeds 5 
 Then, speeding suddenly amid 
 40 
 
PERSISTENT 
 
 Faint shimmering spray, it lightly tripped 
 Across white pebbly sand, and stripped 
 The marsh-flower's gold, and fled, half-seen, 
 A splash of silver through the green. 
 
 PERSISTENT 
 
 A LITTLE picture haunts me j 
 It comes and comes again : 
 It is a tiny bird's nest. 
 All ragged from the rain. 
 
 It clings within a birch-tree 
 Upon the moorland's edge. 
 
 Between the barren branches, 
 Above the swaying sedge. 
 
 The sky is gray behind it. 
 
 And when the north winds blow, 
 
 The birch-tree bends and shivers. 
 And tosses to and fro. 
 
 I wonder, does it haunt them, 
 The birds that flew away ? 
 
 And will they come to seek it. 
 Some sunny summer day ? 
 
 41 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 I wonder, does some redbreast 
 
 Upon an orange bough, 
 Still picture it as plainly 
 
 As I can view it now ? 
 
 Ah, me ! I would forget it. 
 Yet still, with sense of pain, 
 
 I see this little bird's nest 
 Within the driving rain, 
 
 FLOOD-TIME ON THE MARSHES 
 
 DEAR marshes, by no hand of man 
 Laboriously sown. 
 My river clasps you in its arms 
 And claims you for its own ! 
 It laughs, and laughs, and twinkles on 
 
 Across the reedy soil. 
 That heed of harvest vexes not, 
 Nor need of any toil. 
 
 And in my heart I joy to know 
 
 That safe within this spot 
 Sweet nature reigns 5 let other fields 
 
 Bear bread, it matters not. 
 — What matters aught of anything 
 
 When one may drift away 
 42 
 
FLOOD-TIME ON THE MARSHES 
 
 Into the realms of all-delight, 
 As I drift on to-day ? 
 
 Beneath the budded swamp-rose sprays 
 
 The blue-eyed grasses stand, 
 Submerged within a crystal world, 
 
 A limpid wonderland 5 
 And where the clustered sedges show 
 
 Their silky-tasselled sheaves, 
 The slender arrow-lily lifts 
 
 Its quiver of green leaves. 
 
 The tiny waves lap softly past. 
 
 So musical and round, 
 I think they must be molded out 
 
 Of sunshine and sweet sound. 
 And here and there some little knoll. 
 
 More lofty than the rest, 
 Stands out above the happy tide. 
 
 Where fringed with lacy fronds of fern 
 The grass grows rich and high. 
 
 And flowering spider-worts have caught 
 The color of the sky ; 
 
 Where water-oaks are thickly strung 
 With green and golden balls, 
 
 43 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 And from tall tilting iris tips 
 The wild canary calls. 
 
 — O gracious world ! I seem to feel 
 
 A kinship with the trees 5 
 I am first-cousin to the marsh, 
 
 A sister to the breeze ! 
 My heartstrings tremble to its touch, 
 
 In throbs supremely sweet, 
 And through my pulses light and life 
 
 And love divinely meet. 
 
 Far off, the sunbeams smite the woods. 
 
 And pearly fleeces sail 
 Athwart the light, and leave below 
 
 A purple-shadowed trail j 
 The essence of the perfect June 
 
 So subtly is distilled. 
 Until my very soul of souls 
 
 Is filled, and overfilled 1 
 
 JULY 
 
 STILL lingering along the lanes 
 A few late elder-blossoms blow, 
 And here and there a wild-rose, though 
 
 Within their veins 
 44 
 
AUTUMN COBWEBS 
 
 The crimson currents fainter grow, 
 The pilgrim south-wind slowly drains 
 
 Their fragile chalices, and slow 
 The butterflies forsake the fanes 
 
 Found fair a little while ago. 
 Through all the fields, in orange stains 
 
 The flaming milkweeds burn and glow 
 Like blazing beacon-fires to show 
 
 July beleaguers June 5 and low 
 Overborne, her bloomy banner wanes, 
 The while he gains 
 
 Her last sweet citadel, — and so. 
 Supreme in conquering splendor reigns ! 
 
 AUTUMN COBWEBS 
 
 THE grass is veiled with cobwebs. 
 Their slender silken strands 
 Are looped about the lilacs ; 
 
 And on the fallow lands 
 The seeded weeds and brambles 
 
 With shining skeins are bound, 
 And scarlet dogwood branches 
 Are wound and interwound. 
 
 They wrap the thorny hedges, 
 And shimmer in between 
 
 45 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 The fruited elder thickets 
 
 With faint elusive sheen j 
 They hang across the wheat blades. 
 
 And in the mellow light 
 So fill the fields with splendor 
 
 As gold or silver might. 
 
 The orchard boughs are distaffs 
 
 Wherefrom the wind and sun 
 Seem reeling filmy flosses 
 
 Of which white threads are spun j 
 They trail from yellow cornstalks 
 
 And wayside thistles, too, 
 And fleecy tufts are drifting 
 
 Far up into the blue. 
 
 And even as I watch them 
 
 They brush across my lips, 
 And float about my forehead 
 
 And touch my finger-tips ; 
 It is as if the Autumn, 
 
 In sheer excess of grace. 
 Would fondle me and hold me 
 
 In her divine embrace. 
 
 46 
 
THE OLD GARDEN, IN SEPTEMBER 
 
 THE OLD GARDEN, IN SEPTEMBER 
 
 A MORNING-GLORY vine has bound 
 The leaning gate half-open, so 
 A ragged row 
 Of vagrant poppy plants have found 
 The grassy path beyond its bar. 
 And, capped in crumpled scarlet, go 
 A bold 
 Bright throng of truants, trooping far 
 Adown the wayside's mossy mold, 
 
 And fallow ground. 
 That bits of bloom have bossed and scrolled 
 In lavish limning wide around. 
 
 And tufts of hardy fennel-star 
 Have pricked and spangled white and gold. 
 
 And high above the paling fence. 
 
 And thrusting softly in between. 
 The sweet-syringa bushes lean, 
 A mass of checkered shadows, whence. 
 With fluttering glints of silver sheen. 
 
 Half-hid, half-seen, 
 From curving canopies of green 
 Close-lapping leaves and thickets dense, 
 
 White butterflies drift down and bring 
 The hint of spring, 
 
 47 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 And mock the May-time's opulence 
 
 And pride of pearly blossoming. 
 
 Red coral beads already string 
 
 The unpruned sprays 
 A score of briar-roses fling 
 
 And trail across the tangled maze 
 
 Of sunshine, shadow, winding ways. 
 And pebbly paths where, fine as down. 
 
 Soft new grass shows, 
 That grows 
 
 From seeds the sower South-wind blows 
 Off unmown tassels, high and brown. 
 
 And since afar the summer goes. 
 And lihes wane 
 And fade and follow in her train, 
 
 And, lapsed through lessened line, the 
 last 
 Long glory of the roses' reign 
 Is overpast, 
 Within the garden's kingdom close 
 The year bestows 
 A color coronet, that lies 
 Upon the marigolds, and vies 
 In richness with the regal guise 
 Of starry crest and purple stain 
 48 
 
THE OLD GARDEN IN SEPTEMBER 
 
 The first unfolding aster shows j 
 That proud and princely suzerain 
 
 Of quaint beds edged with crimson 
 phlox, 
 
 And four o' clocks, 
 And files of fluted pinks, and rows 
 Of great tall tilting hollyhocks. 
 
 The pear-tree leaves are bronze and red ; 
 And overhead. 
 Beyond the thick-set barberry hedge, 
 Beneath the vane-tipped gable peak, 
 A yellow streak 
 Of burnished sunshine gilds the edge 
 
 And drips its amber lacquer through 
 The lichens of a little ledge 
 
 Where, verging sharply into view 
 Against the small 
 Deep-shadowed squares that pierce the 
 wall, 
 A pair of pigeons preen and coo : 
 They turn, and toss, and softly call. 
 Then poised with fanning wings outspread. 
 With many a sidewise dip and glance. 
 
 And look askance. 
 At last, launched boldly into flight. 
 Speed straight ahead — 
 
 49 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 Athwart the blue, a pulsing, bright, 
 Swift throb of white. 
 
 And loosed and sprinkled as they pass, 
 Upon the grass 
 In gusty storms the red leaves fall ; 
 And here and there the way is tinged 
 With late-sprung dandelions, and fringed 
 With hoary dusty-miller leaves, 
 And spicy gilly-flowers, and sheaves 
 Of ribbon-grasses, stiff and tall ; 
 While surging softly over all. 
 The sweet September weather creeps 
 
 Along the paths in sparkling streams. 
 And where its happy high-tide sweeps 
 In mellow deeps 
 Of warmth, and light, and limpid 
 beams, 
 A lazy kitten basks and sleeps. 
 
 And close beside, bright dahlias rear 
 
 Along the walks 
 A horde of nodding tops, and peer 
 
 Between the leaning sunflower stalks : 
 Those veterans of the early year. 
 That smitten now with age, and sear 
 
 In tattered garb of tawny hue, 
 50 
 
THE OLD GARDEN IN SEPTEMBER 
 
 Stand feebly swaying through the weeds, 
 Whereon, in scattered showers, they 
 strew 
 Thin sifted seeds 
 From out the darkened disks they hold, 
 
 And, shorn and rayless, idly swing, 
 Nor longer sunward, as of old. 
 Lift up in loyal worshiping ; 
 
 — But pause a space ! for, by and by. 
 
 From out the blue 
 Far reaches of the autumn sky, 
 With buoyant speed and eager wing, 
 
 A feathered flock comes wheeling down. 
 So circling in a rapid ring 
 
 Till all at once, on every brown 
 And withered head, with grace untold, 
 In yellow fringe the finches cling, 
 A halo light, a living crown, 
 A very aureole of gold. 
 
 Transmuting and transfiguring ! 
 
 Through plumy grass the crickets whir j 
 And ever, wavering in the breeze. 
 Between the low-boughed pippin trees, 
 In lacy films fine cobwebs stir, 
 
 And swing, half-seen, their broideries ; 
 Till suddenly some shaft of light 
 
 51 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 Strikes out a single silver line 
 To shine 
 
 An instant, and then intertwine, 
 And fade, 
 
 And merge in dusky strands of 
 shade. 
 The overhanging branches braid j 
 So 
 To and fro, 
 Now bright. 
 
 Now quite 
 
 Slipped out of sight ; 
 Then presently a woven blur 
 Of swaying, silken gossamer. 
 
 — Ah, tempered sky, and bloomy things. 
 And scent, and song, and wafting wings, 
 All sweetest syllables were vain 
 To render plain 
 The garden's dreamy whisperings ! 
 The tender beauty of the spot. 
 The nameless spell, — I know not what, 
 Nor have I skill in any way 
 To so convey 
 Those gracious secrets I would fain 
 Find art to say ! 
 But in the sunshine, watching these 
 52 
 
PRESENTIMENT 
 
 Slight threads that loop the apple-trees, 
 So, too, I weave this web of song. 
 Whose tissue, touched by fancy's long 
 Bright 
 
 Wand of light. 
 Is but the half-caught fitful sheen 
 Through that unseen 
 
 Close warp of love, forever bound 
 And interwound. 
 As fine as floss, yet strong as steel ; 
 Whereof I feel 
 Not any years that intervene. 
 
 Nor any stress of space, may part 
 Its golden ties, that lie between 
 
 This old-time garden and my heart. 
 
 PRESENTIMENT 
 
 OFTTIMES I feel, yet know not why. 
 This haunting prescience stir in me : 
 I know that when I come to die 
 
 — It matters not where that may be, 
 
 — Or near or far, on land or sea, 
 An overpowering wish to lie 
 
 Beneath the roof I loved so well. 
 In that dear shelter wherein we. 
 
 In life's sweet April, used to dwell, 
 
 53 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 Where first my baby lips drew breath, 
 Oh, in the bitterness of death 
 
 This wish will bring fresh agony ! 
 That hearth where now no fires are lit. 
 My heart will break desiring it. 
 
 B 
 
 THE EXILES 
 ARE blackened boughs 
 
 ►That seem to press 
 Low skies, storm-swept and pitiless. 
 Must be the only roofs to house 
 Or shelter their distress. 
 
 They tread by night 
 
 Beneath the trees j 
 
 Before them desert distances. 
 Whereon the endless snows are white. 
 
 And endless tempests freeze. 
 
 Their eyes are bound. 
 
 And iron bands 
 
 Are heavy on their helpless hands 
 Ordained to delve the barren ground 
 
 Of bleak, unlovely lands. 
 
 Week after week. 
 Across the snow 
 54 
 
IN MID-OCTOBER 
 
 And weary wastes, they wander so ; 
 No human heart wherein to seek 
 Surcease of any woe. 
 
 Forevermore 
 
 Their footsteps wend 
 
 Afar from hearth, and home, and friend 
 Nor know they what grief hath in store 
 
 Before the bitter end. 
 
 Whate'er their deeds. 
 
 It matters not 5 
 
 Their very names shall be forgot j 
 Their agony, their heartsick needs, 
 
 And their forsaken lot. 
 
 IN MID-OCTOBER 
 
 THE dewy morning sky is pale 
 Where, steeped in dazzling light. 
 The southward-slipping sunbeams veil 
 Its pearly depths from sight. 
 
 But in the north, more pure and deep 
 
 Than ever summer knew. 
 The sweet October heavens keep 
 
 Their rich autumnal blue. 
 
 55 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 The little clouds float out so clear, 
 Slow shredding in the breeze, 
 
 I think none ever strayed so near 
 These lofty forest trees. 
 
 Along the smoky river's edge 
 
 Green marsh-moss thickly grows. 
 
 And smart-weeds glisten in the sedge 
 Like coral, white and rose. 
 
 And ruby-bodied dragon-flies 
 
 In shining clusters pause. 
 Or dart and sparkle, jewel-wise, 
 
 On wings of silver gauze. 
 
 Where tangled water-plants and grass 
 Come drifting round the reeds. 
 
 To find fresh cargoes, as they pass. 
 Of shells and scarlet seeds. 
 
 Adown the current, through the moss, 
 
 The yellow willows show 
 Like golden arras hung across 
 
 The water-world below. 
 
 Yet still the birch and maple trees 
 Have barely felt the frost, 
 56 
 
IN MID-OCTOBER 
 
 Nor hint of happy harmonies 
 The blackbird notes have lost. 
 
 And pink wild-roses, here and there. 
 
 Are blossoming anew. 
 While through the prairies everywhere 
 
 The violets are blue. 
 
 It is as if the aging year 
 
 A second time has found 
 Its childhood, whose first playthings here 
 
 Lie scattered on the ground. 
 
 And with such rarest vernal spell 
 
 It touches everything. 
 Till tinctured, too, I scarce can tell 
 
 If this be fall or spring ! 
 
 For if the April airs were sweet, 
 
 These are not any less } 
 Nor was the May-time more replete 
 
 With perfect blessedness. 
 
 57 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 PRESENT JOY 
 
 O HEART, beat swiftly ! that there may 
 No least allotted part 
 Of happiness elude thee ; nay, 
 Seize quickly that thou canst, nor stay 
 Too long in quest of greater, when 
 The spring so surely wears away, 
 The summer skies grow cold and gray. 
 And chill night cometh after day, 
 — Beat swifter, then, 
 O heart ! 
 
 For since fleet sorrow still pursues, 
 
 All gladness to destroy ; 
 Since wintry winds wait but to bruise 
 And break the foolish flower whose 
 
 Bright-petaled buds too late unfold ; 
 Oh ! therefore no faint ray refuse 
 Of warmth or light, but rather choose 
 Each gleam to cherish, lest thou lose 
 Thy little hold 
 Of joy. 
 
 And if it so be given thee 
 
 In anywise to taste 
 The brimming crystal purity 
 58 
 
NOVEMBER MORNING 
 
 Of life's deep springs, not listlessly- 
 Let their clear stream go by, but speed 
 To sip its sweets while sweet they be j 
 For slipping on they seek the sea. 
 The years roll past, and presently 
 There is no need 
 To haste. 
 
 NOVEMBER MORNING 
 
 A TINGLING, misty marvel 
 Blew hither in the night. 
 And now the little peach-trees 
 Are clasped in frozen light. 
 
 On linden tips and maples 
 
 An icy film is caught. 
 With shining threads of cobwebs 
 
 In pearly patterns wrought. 
 
 The autumn sun, in wonder. 
 
 Is gayly peering through 
 This crystal-tissued network 
 
 Across the frosty blue. 
 
 The weather-vane shows silver 
 Above the mossy leads 
 
 59 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 That glitter, brightly ice-glazed, 
 In rare transparent reds. 
 
 And round the eaves are fringes 
 
 Wherein the seven hues, 
 That bar the summer rainbows, 
 
 Congeal and interfuse. 
 
 Upon the walks the pebbles 
 Are each a precious stone j 
 
 The grass is tasselled hoar-frost. 
 The clover jewel-sown. 
 
 Such sparkle, sparkle, sparkle, 
 
 In earth and sky and air. 
 Oh ! can it be that darkness 
 
 Is ever anywhere ? 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE IN THE 
 CATHEDRAL 
 
 A THOUSAND tapers make the mid- 
 night bright. 
 And blaze about the carved cathedral 
 
 choir. 
 And touch the marble angels' wings with 
 fire, 
 60 
 
CHRISTMAS CHANT 
 
 And fill their faces with a golden light j 
 So fair they are, in folded robes of white. 
 It almost seems those parted lips suspire. 
 Divinely yearning for the heart's desire, 
 The marvel that shall glorify the night. 
 
 Then, all at once, from out the ancient 
 tower. 
 The bells peal forth ! and swelling over 
 them 
 The grand Te Deum magnifies the power 
 
 Of Him the holy, born in Bethlehem 5 
 — O dearest Child ! no gifts nor incense 
 
 sweet. 
 But my full heart, I oifer at Thy feet. 
 
 CHRISTMAS CHANT ROYAL TO 
 THE KING OF KINGS 
 
 WHAT God hath wrought, long cen- 
 turies ago. 
 What man hath cherished in divinest lore. 
 Chant, richly chant ! In stately chords and 
 slow. 
 Intone the marvel done this day of yore. 
 Sing of the star that burned so strangely 
 bright, 
 
 61 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 Of angel voices heard that hallowed night, 
 When all the folding heavens, east and 
 
 west. 
 Betrayed the coming of earth's gracious 
 Guest, 
 And, steeped in prescient joyfulness, all 
 things 
 Did glorify a little Babe's behest. 
 All hail to Him, the holy King of kings ! 
 
 Yea ! sing how though unto the Child did go 
 
 The wizard ones, to worship and adore. 
 And lowly bending at His feet bestow 
 
 The gold, and myrrh, and frankincense 
 they bore 5 
 How though high heaven, in starry splendor 
 
 dight. 
 Did homage to the promised Prince of light, 
 Nathless, below, men idly slept, nor 
 
 guessed 
 The priceless gift of great Messiah blest ; 
 Nor star, nor song, nor shining angel-wings 
 
 That lordly presence anywise confessed ! 
 All hail to Him, the holy King of kings ! 
 
 For so God chose from out a manger low 
 
 The Light divine of all the world to pour j 
 62 
 
CHRISTMAS CHANT 
 
 And so He willed His own dear Son should 
 go 
 In mortal guise from out that stable door j 
 Yet did He gird Him with such matchless 
 
 might 
 'Gainst death, and wrong, and eviluess to 
 smite. 
 That for all souls by sieging sins opprest, 
 He made the certain citadel of rest. 
 What need, indeed, of earthly blazonings. 
 
 Of pomp, of purple, or of regal crest ? 
 All hail to Him, the holy King of kings ! 
 
 The Nazarene, reviled, acquaint with woe, 
 
 Who all our mortal garb of sorrow wore ; 
 
 Who meekly proved how that He loved us so, 
 
 Nor shame, nor scorn, nor grievous death 
 
 forbore 5 
 
 The risen Monarch, from before whose sight 
 
 All powers of evil flee in sore affright 5 
 
 The piteous Lord, whose all-forgiving 
 
 breast 
 Hath boundless bounty both for worst 
 and best ; 
 The God majestic, whence, eternal, springs 
 
 All glory, grace, and light ineffablest. 
 All hail to Him, the holy King of kings ! 
 
 63 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 Aye ! though the years to olden cycles grow. 
 Yet still, with newborn gladness, o' er and 
 o'er 
 Men learn the lesson of the Christ, and so 
 
 Shall all the ages hence forevermore ; 
 Forevermore shall earth His praise recite. 
 And sound His greatness unto heaven's 
 height ; 
 Still sinful souls, by His great love 
 
 caressed. 
 Shall fain forego each God-forbidden 
 quest, 
 And seek the ceaseless shelter that He brings 
 The hurt, the helpless, and the heart dis- 
 tressed. 
 All hail to Him, the holy King of kings ! 
 
 Etivoy 
 And so this day, though loosed in flurried 
 
 flight 
 The spangling snows enwrap the world in 
 
 white. 
 Let every hearth with holly-boughs be drest, 
 This feast' s fair honor freshly to attest ; 
 Let trolls be trolled, and every bell that rings 
 With chiming cadence still the theme invest : 
 All hail to Him, the holy King of kings ! 
 64 
 
THE MARSH MIST 
 
 THE MARSH MIST 
 
 THE sun slipped red behind the haze 
 Of distant forest boughs, that raise 
 In softened lines along the west, 
 
 A leafy crest. 
 The marshy prairie-land became 
 A shining, many-colored maze j 
 A tracery of gold and flame ; 
 
 An airy blaze 
 Of rosy radiance without name ! 
 Of ruddy fire that crept. 
 And swept. 
 Through all the lacing water-ways. 
 
 — Then, by-and-by. 
 Beyond the rushes, lush and high. 
 The June sunset grew overpast. 
 
 The little limpid pools, that lie 
 Among the sedges, faintly glassed 
 
 The last 
 Pale afterglow, whose yellow rays 
 Flared up the dusky, western sky. 
 
 6S 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 In tangled lines of silver sheen 
 The long grass leant ; 
 
 And breeze-tossed birches swayed and bent 
 Above tall weeds and reeds, and green 
 Wild rice and mosses, where, half-seen, 
 Red lilies glowed, and, idly spent. 
 
 The wandering night-wind lightly went. 
 
 Sharp-cut against the eastern blue. 
 The deep green forest deeper grew ; 
 The leaves stirred, for a little space j 
 
 Then full and near. 
 Within the tender violet skies, 
 The moon rode up in gracious guise 5 
 And drifting darkly, level-wise. 
 With wings outspread in lazy grace, 
 Across her face, 
 A wild crane voyaged slowly through 
 The clear. 
 Sweet depths of dewy atmosphere. 
 
 So fell the night ; hushed, slumber-bound ; 
 Not any sound 
 In all that wilderness was made ; 
 Nor did a single bird invade 
 The utter silence, wide and deep, 
 Therein the lowland lay asleep, 
 
 66 
 
THE MARSH MIST 
 
 Between the faintly spangling stars. 
 
 In silver bars, 
 The mellow moonlight beamed and streamed 
 And then — divinely visible — it seemed 
 
 The marshes dreamed ! 
 In vaporous wreaths and films unwound 
 
 Above the ground, 
 A strange white vision floated round ! 
 
 The grass grew hoary ; every blade 
 Was rich with rime, that overlaid, 
 
 In drifts of misty flakes, the frets 
 
 Of countless, quivering spider-nets j 
 While mocking, frosty filagrees 
 
 Wrapped all the trees ; 
 The reeds took on a sudden chill ; 
 
 An icy fringe began to freeze 
 Upon the tasselled sedge 5 — until, 
 
 Dissolving slow, with dreamful ease, 
 That wintry phantasy had merged 
 
 (But, ah, so subtly, silently !) 
 To mimic waves, that swept and surged. 
 
 Till all the marshes seemed to be 
 A boundless sea. 
 In whose vague depths long grasses trailed. 
 Touched out by bright. 
 
 Swift sparks of phosphorescent light, 
 Where gleaming fire-flies flashed and paled. 
 
 ^1 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 So, to and fro, with restless sweep. 
 
 Borne back and forth by ceaseless swells, 
 
 The tide rolled in ; and here and there 
 Laid bare. 
 
 Within its tossing, billowy deep, 
 
 The pink marsh-roses shone like shells. 
 
 Through lingering change of lessened light, 
 Within the west, 
 
 The moon went waning out of sight ; 
 The little stars glowed half confessed j 
 
 Across the sedge the eastern gray 
 
 Verged surely onward into day ; 
 The darkness hovered eerily 5 
 A chilling damp the air oppressed j 
 
 — Then freshly, gently as may be, 
 Sweet hints of dawning came to fill 
 
 All things with hushed serenity. 
 The misty surge grew calm and still j 
 
 The marshes dreamed of perfect rest. 
 — But suddenly 
 
 A reed-bird piped within its nest ! 
 And borne with faint presaging thrill, 
 
 From out the margin of the dim 
 Horizon'' s rim. 
 
 ^8 
 
THE MARSH MIST 
 
 With cleaving motion from below, 
 Some dawn-blown current's xmderflow 
 Ran rippling through that airy sea ; 
 And, changed and channelled by such wide 
 Disturbing tide, 
 Impalpably it seemed to grow 
 More fleecy white, to break and rift. 
 And, fanned by viewless force, to lift, 
 
 — And drift, — and drift, — 
 To wander higher, — and more high, 
 
 — And so. 
 Within the sunny summer sky, 
 A morning cloud began to blow. 
 
 69 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 ENVOY 
 
 IF I had lived among the mountain peaks, 
 Through whose fine air 
 And purest ether, crystalline and rare. 
 The voice of nature most divinely speaks ; 
 Where far and free the winds of heaven 
 blow, 
 
 And from below 
 Not any mist nor valley vapor mars 
 The little stars 5 
 If viewing all things from such lofty height, 
 Might it not then been given me to know 
 All things more truly, and through keener 
 sight ? 
 
 And so, 
 From off the mountains could I not have 
 
 caught 
 Some semblance of their majesty, and 
 wrought 
 More high and strong 
 In song ? 
 
 Or had some fate decreed for me to dwell 
 Beside the tide 
 Of the great ocean, fathomless and wide. 
 
 70 
 
ENVOY 
 
 Whose mighty billows' ceaseless ebb and 
 swell 
 Tell ever of that grand sublimity 
 Within the sea, 
 Of storms that gather, and white gulls that 
 cry 
 
 From out the sky ; 
 If listening daily to the surges break 
 
 Along the shining sand, tumultuously. 
 Might not some echo of their voice awake 
 
 In me ? 
 Might not my song some subtler essence win. 
 And would not something, like the sea, 
 therein 
 More deep and clear 
 Appear ? 
 
 — And yet I know not were it loss or gain 
 Away from these 
 My native hills, and stream and forest 
 trees. 
 And level fields of richly-growing grain : 
 I cannot tell if they my song have filled. 
 
 Or something stilled. 
 Nor all that I have lacked, or they have 
 lent j 
 
 But am content, 
 
 71 
 
ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 
 
 Nay, more, thrice happy, if it be that they 
 So bid me sing that any pulse is thrilled 
 With hint of lightest summer wind, whose 
 play 
 
 Has spilled 
 The honey from the least sweet wild-rose 
 
 vine j 
 Or if, faint echoing up from any line, 
 Some meadow bird 
 Is heard. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 XI 07 
 
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