%<*< 
 
 Bulkeley Library
 
 THE PLACE OF MY DESIRE 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS
 
 THE 
 
 PLACE OF MY DESIRE 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 EDITH COLBY BANFIELD 
 
 BOSTON 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 
 1904
 
 Copyright, 1904, 
 BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 
 
 All rights reserved 
 Published October, 1904 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 EDITH COLBY BANFIELD was born 
 February 14, 1870, in Washington, D.C. 
 She was the daughter of Everett C. Banfield 
 and Anne S. Fiske, the only sister of Helen 
 Jackson ("H.H."). She was graduated from 
 Vassar College in 1892. A large part of her 
 life was spent at the old home in Wolfeboro, 
 on the shore of Lake Winnepesaukee, but 
 during the three years before her death her 
 home was in Colorado Springs, where she died 
 suddenly, March 30, 1903. 
 
 The poems in this little book have been 
 chosen from among the papers left at her 
 death. A few have already been published: 
 " Glamour " in the Atlantic Monthly, " Home 
 sickness " and " Night on the Desert " in the 
 Century, others in the Outlook, the Dial, and 
 elsewhere, but most of them were being 
 held by her to be moulded into more perfect 
 form. Any alteration by another hand than 
 hers was not to be considered, and such poems
 
 viii Preface. 
 
 and parts of poems as are here brought to 
 gether stand, word for word, as she left them. 
 It is not, therefore, as finished or even as 
 mature work that they should be judged. 
 Many of them were written during her col 
 lege days, naive, light, incomplete perhaps, 
 though never crude and never insincere, 
 while at their best they are but the tentative 
 and fragmentary expression of an artist who 
 was still striving for mastery of her chosen 
 instrument. In the attainment of such mas 
 tery her hand was stayed, but the little it had 
 wrought comes to us, in its exquisite grace, 
 in its strong yet gentle beauty, in the sim 
 plicity of its complete sincerity, as the ex 
 pression of a rare and lovely spirit. 
 
 E. E. M. 
 E. W. M.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 ALL OUT ALONG THE COUNTRY-SIDE " XV 
 
 n 
 
 " WHEN I CONSIDER HOW ALL LANGUAGE LIES " . 3 
 
 " FOR THIS DO ME NO HONOR, DEAR MY FRIEND " . 4 
 
 " TO HIM WHO READS IT, POETRY DOTH SEEM "... 5 
 
 IN POETRY S HIGH TOWER 6 
 
 SONGS 7 
 
 AT TWILIGHT. I 8 
 
 AT TWILIGHT. II 9 
 
 THE MUSE 10 
 
 "ALONG THE EDGES OF THE NIGHT" 11 
 
 "I WROTE IN TEARS, IN SCALDING TEARS " .... 12 
 
 , anti tfjer Sonnttg. 
 
 POETS OF ENGLAND. I 15 
 
 POETS OF ENGLAND. II 16 
 
 CHAUCER 17 
 
 CHAUCER AND KEATS 18 
 
 SHAKESPEARE 19 
 
 WORDSWORTH 20 
 
 DE QUINCEY AND OUR LADIES OF SORROW ... 21 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD 22
 
 x Contents. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 ROBERT Louis STEVENSON 23 
 
 THE SIGN 24 
 
 GLAMOUR 25 
 
 "HOW BEAUTIFUL LIES THE DIM-DISTANCED PAST " 26 
 
 " SPIRIT OF INCOMMUNICABLE THINGS " 27 
 
 To A PlNE-TREB 28 
 
 MOON-CLOUDS 29 
 
 SUNSET 30 
 
 A TWILIGHT SONNET 31 
 
 " As LITTLE AIRS COME BLOWING IN ALL DAY " . . 32 
 
 A GARDEN PRAYER 33 
 
 " WITHIN A SHELTERED GARDEN so TO SIT "... 34 
 
 THE FIELDS AGAINST THE SKY 35 
 
 WORSHIP 36 
 
 "THERE is A PLACE BESIDE A DEWY WOOD" . . 37 
 
 LAND AND SEA 38 
 
 THE SEA 39 
 
 To A PORTRAIT OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 40 
 
 "THEY ALSO SERVE WHO ONLY STAND AND WAIT" 41 
 
 PENIEL 42 
 
 THE WORTH OF SPEECH 43 
 
 " WlIO HAVE NOT BEEN IN BONDAGE DO NOT KNOW " 44 
 
 To ONE OF FULL YEARS WHO DIED IN HER SLEEP 45 
 
 To ONE WHOSE FATHER DIED BEFORE HKB BIRTH 46 
 
 INFANCY. I 47 
 
 INFANCY. II 48 
 
 ON THE BUST OF A CHILD. I 49 
 
 ON THE BUST OF A CHILD. II 50 
 
 "I HOLD MY DARLING CLOSE AGAINST MY HEART". 51 
 
 "MY SISTER S CHILD, AND ALMOST CHILD OF MINE" 52 
 
 "LET ME NOT MOURN THE SWEET FORGOTTEN KISS " 53 
 
 " HER FACE I HOLD A VISION IN MY HEART " . . 54 
 "IF THOUGHT SOME SWIFTER TRAVEL COULD BDT 
 
 FIND " 55 
 
 " As ONE DOTH VAINLY STRUGGLE TO RECALL" . 56
 
 Contents. xi 
 
 PAGE 
 " BE THOU MY FRIEND, DEAR FRIEND, FOR FRIEND 
 
 THOU ART" 57 
 
 SOLITUDE. I 58 
 
 SOLITUDE. II 59 
 
 RECOGNITION 60 
 
 Poems anb Jragmnttg. 
 
 A DREAM 63 
 
 Mr LADY S EYES 65 
 
 INDOLENCE 66 
 
 INDIAN NAMES 68 
 
 IN AUTUMN 69 
 
 BiTTER-SwEET 70 
 
 THE PINES 72 
 
 WINTER WOODS 73 
 
 WINTER TWILIGHT 74 
 
 ON THE MOUNTAIN 75 
 
 THE BREAKING STORM 76 
 
 AFTER THE SUMMER RAIN 77 
 
 DAWN 78 
 
 MORNING SONG 79 
 
 "IF I COULD BUT REBUILD IN RHYME* .... 80 
 
 MARIPOSA LILIES 81 
 
 WIND IN THE TREES 82 
 
 THE BELL-BUOY 83 
 
 THE SILENT VISITORS 84 
 
 QUEST 85 
 
 CALL 86 
 
 THE CLUE 87 
 
 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 88 
 
 " LlFE WAS REAL IN CHILDHOOD DAYS " . . . . 89 
 
 " O SPENDTHRIFT YEARS, WHEN WITHOUT RUTH " . 90 
 
 " WEARY ARE THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT " . . 91
 
 xii Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " BRUISED IN SPIRIT, SORE AT HEART " 92 
 
 " THE PRICE OF WISDOM IS THE THING MOST DEAR 
 
 IN LIFE" 93 
 
 " I MISSED THE CHERISHED THING I SOUGHT " . . 94 
 
 To H. B. J. 95 
 
 ilti Poems ant) Songs. 
 
 LITTLE-FOLK LAND 99 
 
 To H. J 101 
 
 To E. K 102 
 
 A PLEA 103 
 
 To ELIZABETH 104 
 
 "LlKE A PIECE OF THISTLE-DOWN" 106 
 
 " MY FLOWERS BLOOM MOKE SWEET FOR ME TO-DAY " 107 
 
 Lois 108 
 
 To E. B. D 109 
 
 "LULLABY-LAND" 112 
 
 LULLABY 113 
 
 " THE END OF THE DAY." (To the painting by Ser 
 geant Kendall) 114 
 
 "THERE ARE GARDENS, GARDENS, OVER ALL THE 
 
 LAND" 116 
 
 THE LITTLE NEW MOON 117 
 
 MOON SONG 118 
 
 "Do YOU KNOW" 119 
 
 "IF I WERE A LITTLE PINK SHELL BY THE SEA" . 120 
 
 PEE-WEE 121 
 
 MY NEIGHBOR S LINDEN 122 
 
 PUSSY-WILLOWS 123 
 
 PARTRIDGE-VINE 124 
 
 JASMINE 125 
 
 WILD ROSE 126 
 
 CLOVEK 127
 
 Contents. xiii 
 
 Place 0f fHs Besire" antJ tfjer 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE PLACE or MY DESIRE 131 
 
 SUNSET AT WINNEPESAUKEE. I 134 
 
 SUNSET AT WINNEPESAUKEE. II 135 
 
 SUNSET AT WINNEPESAUKEE. Ill 136 
 
 " THE BRAVE WEST WINDS COME SWEEPING DOWN 
 
 THE BROADS" -. . . 137 
 
 To WINNEPESAUKEE 138 
 
 INDIAN SUMMER 139 
 
 SURPRISAL 140 
 
 "IF MY STRENGTH GO FROM ME " 141 
 
 " O VIOLETS AND SUNSHINE AND VAGUE THRILLS " . 143 
 
 IN THE ROCKIES 144 
 
 NIGHT ON THE DESERT 145 
 
 HOMESICKNESS 146 
 
 SAILOR BLOOD 148 
 
 "IN A FAR LAND OF SUNSHINE" 150 
 
 "I SEE THESE MOUNTAINS NOW FOREVER WITH 
 
 CHANGED EYES " 151 
 
 MOTHER EARTH 152 
 
 BODY AND SPIRIT 153
 
 /ILL out along the country-side 
 
 The little untaught wild flowers grow, 
 Where men may pick them as they go, 
 To carry, maybe, for a day, 
 And then fling carelessly away. 
 
 If so my little verses here 
 
 Shall bring some touch of grace or cheer 
 
 To any traveller by the way, 
 
 A nd brighten but a single day, 
 
 My heart is glad and satisfied.
 
 WHEN I consider how all language lies 
 Before me like a vast, exhaustless sea, 
 On which I choose to venture, daring-wise 
 In this so fragile bark of Poesy ; 
 When I consider what new worlds of thought 
 Beyond the dim-defined horizon lie, 
 Whereto some navigator may be brought 
 And if some other seeker, why not I ? 
 Then am I thrilled, like mariners of old 
 Who trimmed their sails for undiscovered shore, 
 And doubted if they were but over-bold, 
 Nor knew the deep that they must voyage o er, 
 Yet fearless sought those unseen countries far, 
 O er chartless seas, beneath the lone north star.
 
 On Poesy. 
 
 FOR this do me no honor, dear my friend, 
 That I a setting of some sort have wrought 
 To hold the scattered pearls of thine own 
 
 thought, 
 
 And their fair beauties to unite and blend. 
 But let me honor thee, so free to wend 
 Along the bolder ways, that thou hast brought 
 My life a richness it in vain had sought 
 Within the circle where my days I spend. 
 Thy thoughts are free wild birds thou canst not 
 
 catch 
 
 To put within the sonnet s gilded bars, 
 But of their untamed singing mine do snatch 
 A melody of wind and woods and stars : 
 As caged mocking-birds will steal the song 
 Of sunlit orioles that flash along.
 
 On Poesy. 
 
 TO him who reads it, poetry doth seem 
 Like any quiet, leafy-bordered stream, 
 Whereby t is pleasant of an afternoon 
 To sit and see the silver ripples run, 
 And listen for the calling of the loon, 
 And watch the downward journey of the sun ; 
 To hear the little border whisperings 
 And meditate on many gentle things ; 
 And when the heart of beauty hath its fill 
 To rise and follow on one s homeward way 
 In peace, while that sweet river s presence still 
 Doth cast a glamour o er the closing day. 
 So is not poetry to him who writes. 
 Ah me, it is a fever in the blood 
 That keeps him tossing many weary nights, 
 While round about him doth the darkness brood ; 
 It is a wild delirium of mind 
 For which no healing can physician find ; 
 No dulling drug his madness can abate. 
 For him are cooling waters cool in vain, 
 And loving hands cannot alleviate, 
 By soothing touch, the throbbing of his brain !
 
 On Poesy. 
 
 IN POETRY S HIGH TOWER. 
 
 UP in this belfry tower of poetry 
 I flee disquiet and the vexing things 
 Left far and dim below. Mid fluttering wings 
 I overlook the city under me, 
 I see the morning break upon the sea, 
 And watch the westward spires where evening 
 
 clings : 
 
 Yea, this old bell, obedient that rings, 
 I even waken, halt and tremblingly. 
 Could I but ring it as blind Milton rung, 
 I would not need to see the morning light ; 
 What sounds would issue from its mighty 
 
 tongue, 
 More strong than death, more comforting than 
 
 sight ! 
 
 Ah, let no weakling think he can regain 
 One single peal of that triumphant strain !
 
 Songs. 
 
 SONGS. 
 
 SOME songs there are that whisper like the 
 wind 
 
 Of far-off countries and of gentle climes ; 
 And some that murmur like the distant sea 
 Of life and death and wide eternity ; 
 And some there are that ring like silver chimes 
 Across the barren moors ; and some whose knell 
 Is like the tolling of a funeral bell ; 
 And some whose melodies go blowing by 
 Like summer sounds beneath a summer sky. 
 O songs of sweetness, were I deaf and blind, 
 This dear old world were yet unlost to me 
 While still your measures stirred within my 
 mind !
 
 On Poesy. 
 
 AT TWILIGHT. 
 
 I. 
 
 THERE comes a time of day when I would 
 fain 
 
 Sit down to some beloved instrument, 
 And with impassioned hands and eyes down- 
 bent, 
 
 Disburden me of my remembered pain ; 
 Pour out my heart s dear joy in some wild strain, 
 Or voice those mingled moods wherein are blent 
 A cherished sadness and divine content, 
 With all the longings twilight hath in train. 
 Alas, that I am not sweet music s child, 
 That my untutored fingers cannot free 
 The melodies that make my heart so wild ! 
 Yet shall they not remain unvoiced things ; 
 The sonnet shall be little harp to me, 
 And I 11 pluck music from its golden strings.
 
 At Twilight. 
 
 II. 
 
 A LITTLE lyre of fragile-fashioned grace, 
 Whereou I 11 weave some air in minor 
 
 key, 
 
 And by the phrasing of that melody 
 Ease my heart s fulness for a little space ; 
 Whereon I 11 thread my song, and interlace 
 The notes that are persuasive unto me, 
 Returning to them as delayingly 
 As e er the daylight doth her steps retrace. 
 So then my soul in silence shall not sit 
 At that sweet hour when music comes to woo, 
 And shadow-fancies through the gloaming flit : 
 Of twilight solace I shall have my share, 
 And through the dreamy darkness will I too 
 Pour out my plaint upon the burdened air.
 
 10 On Poesy. 
 
 THE MUSE. 
 
 HER hand is heavy on me : I must write 
 Her bidding ere she let me go. 
 She standeth stern : with unrelenting sight 
 She sees the words come faltering and slow 
 And strikes aside my hand and takes the pen, 
 And writes a swift and perfect line 
 Upon my faulty page and then, 
 " Match now thy writing unto mine ! " 
 Her hand is heavy on me and I write, 
 Through days of weariness and nights of pain 
 I do her bidding as her bond slave might, 
 Untouched by future hope or dream of gain.
 
 On Poesy. 11 
 
 ALONG the edges of the night 
 My little rhymes do peep and steal, 
 And oftentimes in dreams I feel 
 Their tiny footsteps falling light, 
 Or hear their roguish whispers burn 
 Beside my pillow as I turn ; 
 And vainly do I bid them cease 
 And let me slumber on in peace. 
 The sprites but mock me as they prance 
 And wind about in teasing dance. 
 But when I wake, the broad daylight 
 Doth startle them to sudden flight, 
 And then I coax and try to keep 
 Those small disturbers of my sleep !
 
 12 On Poesy. 
 
 1 WROTE in tears, in scalding tears, 
 A blithesome little roundelay, 
 And sent it in its lightsome way. 
 Ah me, I wonder if it cheers, 
 Or whether in its measure gay 
 Some finer ears 
 Detect the beat of falling tears !
 
 anfc
 
 I. 
 
 T HAVE not been in England. Nay, and yet 
 * My spirit there hath ever been at home, 
 And I since childish days have seemed to roam 
 Through beechen groves, and watched the sun 
 light fret 
 
 The English greensward ; hedges dewy-wet 
 Have blushed in blossomed by-ways of my 
 
 dream, 
 
 And by the grassy margin of some stream 
 Have plucked me cowslips for a coronet. 
 Poets of England, ye it is have made 
 That England is to every one his own ; 
 Ye have acquainted us with wood and glade 
 And golden daffodils by lake-winds blown, 
 At your sweet summons have we sought the 
 
 shade 
 To learn how sings the nightingale alone.
 
 16 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 IL 
 
 I HAVE not been in England. Nay, have not, 
 Yet have I seen her palaces and towers, 
 And I have seen the sunlight break in showers 
 Upon her minster spires. From some high spot 
 I, even as the Lady of Shalott, 
 Have counted many knights and pages gay, 
 And watched the river winding on its way 
 To the dim pinnacles of Camelot. 
 Poets of England, ye the charmed glass 
 (Save that the charm hath not a touch of ill) 
 Wherein I see my lords and ladies pass, 
 And those sweet waters flowing at their will. 
 Ah, what though they but shadows be, alas, 
 If as I spin I can but see them still ?
 
 Chaucer. 17 
 
 CHAUCER. 
 
 THY words are like a sweet, refreshing 
 shower 
 
 To one who travels on a dusty way : 
 Thou breathest of the hawthorn boughs of May, 
 And leadest one as to a pleasant bower 
 Where, hidden in the tangled leaf and flower, 
 Some little bird pours forth his roundelay ; 
 Then out again to meet the golden day 
 In open meadows with their starry dower. 
 Ah, Chaucer ! thou art like a little child 
 Who prattles all the day for very glee, 
 And forces old and grave to be beguiled 
 With woven tales and winsome imagery ; 
 Nor more than any child dost thou surmise 
 How in simplicity thy heart is wise !
 
 18 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 CHAUCER AND KEATS. 
 
 YE are my morning poets, like the dawn 
 In loveliness and bright simplicity ; 
 So full of a sweet wonderment to me 
 That from old Earth such newness can be drawn. 
 The dewy daisies waking on the lawn, 
 The golden buttercups abroad the lea 
 Seem not more fresh, more virginal to be 
 Than your clear verses, of their beauty born. 
 I tiptoe stand upon a little hill, 
 
 Keats, with you, and feel the world a-thrill ; 
 
 1 read my Chaucer through your youthful eyes 
 For sake of one small verse that made me wise ; 
 And morning holds you both forever bright 
 With dews and freshness and the early light.
 
 Shakespeare. 1 9 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 GLAD have I drunk of Chaucer s living 
 spring, 
 
 And I have followed Spenser s silver stream 
 Through new-awakened meadows ; traced the 
 
 gleam 
 
 Of many fertile rivers issuing : 
 In sterner regions I have heard the roll 
 Of Milton s torrent harmonies, that sweep 
 Reverberating chords through chasms deep ; 
 And in pure waters have I seen the soul 
 Of gentle Keats. But Shakespeare ! Ah, the 
 
 sea, 
 
 With its great pulses throbbing mightily, 
 Bears all the commerce of our human-kind, 
 And touches every shore in friendliness. 
 A trackless thoroughfare, and measureless 
 As the eternal ocean, is that mind !
 
 20 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 TT7HEN quiet lights steal down the after 
 noon 
 
 And hills stretch out, and purple shadows lie 
 Along their lengthening slopes ; then, pensive, I 
 Dream of the English Lakes and their rich boon. 
 I have not seen their sunsets and their noon, 
 But I behold with an awakened eye 
 The loveliness beneath my native sky, 
 My own hill-girdled lake, whose waters croon 
 As when I was a child. Here it is sweet 
 To sit in humbleness at Wordsworth s feet 
 And with his eyes spell out the lettered hills, 
 While daylight fades, and lovely evening fills. 
 As peaceful as the declining end of day 
 Thy poems, Wordsworth, in my memory stay.
 
 De Quincey and Our Ladies of Sorrow. 21 
 
 DE QUINCEY AND OUR LADIES OF 
 SORROW. 
 
 DREAMER of wild, unfathomable dreams, 
 Levana surely did deliver thee 
 To the strange dealings of those Sisters Three 
 Whom thou wast first to name. With starry 
 
 gleams 
 
 Came She of Tears to fill thine early days, 
 Then She of Sighs next had thee for her own, 
 And lastly She of Darkness ah, make moan 
 Did lead thee through the unutterable ways. 
 Assuredly did these lay bare to thee 
 The hidden things that man ought not to see, 
 And unto thy plagued spirit did unfold 
 Secrets unnameable and truths of old ; 
 And for a sign, did work thee gift of speech 
 That to all heights could scale, to all depths 
 reach.
 
 22 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD. 
 
 AJSTERE and pure, and steadfast as a star 
 Thy poet soul doth shine in beauty high, 
 Lovely as lonely, friendly though so far, 
 Uplifting hearts unto the solemn sky. 
 As doth some star gleam, on a winter s night, 
 Draw me from self and teach me to endure. 
 So am I lifted by thy spirit s light, 
 So by its shining am I made more pure. 
 Mournful indeed, as stars and oceans are, 
 And measured tides that neath the starlight roll, 
 Thy words from out the deep, across the bar, 
 Roll measured in, and break upon my soul, 
 Till I am filled with the solemnity 
 Of starlit heavens and unresting sea.
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson. 23 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 
 TUSITALA, teller of brave tales, 
 As children clamber to their father s 
 
 knee 
 
 To drink of stories while the twilight fails, 
 We in our gentler moments turn to thee ! 
 A spell is in thy words, and none may leave 
 The charmed circle pressing to thy side 
 While thou the web of golden tales dost weave, 
 To hold us listening and open-eyed. 
 Dear Tusitala ! Ay, and more than this : 
 Thou hast the gift of love, that none may go 
 From out thy story-land but seems to miss 
 A bright and gracious presence, and to know 
 A tiny thing is all thy master s art 
 Beside thy loving, patient, human heart.
 
 24 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 THE SIGN. 
 
 AjtL things of beauty bear this single sign 
 That they do seem forever to have been, 
 That we of old their loveliness have known, 
 Or else have dreamed within a dream divine. 
 The poet in his perfect ordered line 
 Has only said what we did always mean, 
 The painter doth but bring to us our own, 
 And the musician that for winch we pine. 
 So every little flower along the Spring 
 Is born to its perfection, nor could be 
 But just that sweet inevitable thing 
 Our hearts had visioned ere our eyes did see 
 And touch discover. So a lovely face 
 At first beholding wears familiar grace.
 
 Glamour. 25 
 
 GLAMOUR. 
 
 WONDER days when heart and I were 
 
 young, 
 
 And all the world was radiant and new ; 
 When every little common flower that grew 
 Interpreted to me an unknown tongue, 
 Or seemed a fairy bell that late had rung 
 Its silver peal across the morning dew ; 
 When skies were tapestries of living blue, 
 And stars a mesh of jewels overhung ! 
 Now is my happy youth fulfilled, and I 
 Am come to mine inheritance of pain ; 
 Yet does the brightness of the days gone by 
 Still cast a glory over hill and plain ; 
 Still can I go beneath the open sky 
 And feel the old world young and strange again.
 
 26 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 HOW beautiful lies the dim-distanced Past, 
 With glint of turrets and of winding 
 
 streams, 
 
 With shadows luminous and cloudy gleams 
 Athwart the purple border region cast : 
 A storied country, stretching vague and vast, 
 A wonderland of distances and dreams. 
 So fair, so far, so mystical, it seems 
 To draw down Heaven s garment and at last 
 To melt in atmosphere ! But lovely too 
 Is this dear Present with its glad, near view 
 Of life s most common things. We who find 
 
 sweet 
 
 The very dust and grass-blades at our feet, 
 Need not to look afar, but need how much 
 The comforting of nearness and of touch !
 
 Sonnet. 27 
 
 OPIRIT of incommunicable things, 
 
 ^ How often in the silences of night 
 
 I seem to hear the rustling of thy wings, 
 
 And dream that thou art stooping to alight ! 
 
 How often in the pauses of the day 
 
 I feel a sudden stirring of the air, 
 
 And waiting, breathless, hold me in the way, 
 
 If it so be that thou shalt linger there ! 
 
 Spirit of incommunicable things, 
 
 Abroad forever on the winds of night, 
 
 Abroad forever over land and sea, 
 
 We may but hear the beating of thy wings, 
 
 The passing of thy shadow may but see, 
 
 Nor ever wilt thou tarry in thy flight !
 
 28 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 TO A PINE-TREE. 
 
 O SOLITARY Pine, that hast forgot 
 The sweet security of comradeship, 
 The bleak powers compass thee, but swerve 
 
 thee not, 
 
 Though all the winds of heaven be let slip, 
 And like a swift-surrounding angry tide 
 The elements beset thy giant form. 
 Thou grippest with thy roots the mountain-side, 
 And spreadest fearless branches to the storm. 
 kingly-hearted, thou in solitude 
 Amid the buffetings and stress and strain 
 Hast wrought a largeness and a hardihood 
 Thy brethren of the forest may not gain ; 
 Yea, out of loneliness they may not guess 
 Hast thou achieved thy larger nobleness.
 
 Moon-Clouds. 29 
 
 MOON-CLOUDS. 
 
 O FLEECY moonlit clouds that sweep the 
 night, 
 
 Wind-blown across the darkness of that blue, 
 White is the moon, but ye are yet more white, 
 More luminous, to my bewildered view ! 
 So wonderful, so near in your wild haste 
 I seem upborne upon your silken fleece, 
 And strangely carried through the skyey waste 
 Where moon-beams flood, and great winds do 
 
 not cease. 
 
 Ye come on wings from the tumultuous west, 
 And cross the moon and melt away like dreams, 
 And still I follow on your fading quest 
 In that fair dreamland of white rifts and gleams, 
 And seem with you to melt to nothingness 
 In the great whirl of silent sweeping space !
 
 30 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 NOT only in the west the wonder lies, 
 But all the quiet east is overblown 
 With sunset-loosened clouds that float and rise- 
 Like rosy dreams from out the fair unknown ; 
 That float and pass as over fields of sleep, 
 Or now with sudden passionateness pour 
 Like crested billows from some boundless deep, 
 Uprolling on the wide horizon shore. 
 Ah, brief as dreams are those soft-tinted clouds 
 That gather up the glory of the day 
 In one swift flush, ere fall the twilight shrouds 
 To wrap the world in shadow-mists of gray : 
 Too soon recede those sunset billows rolled 
 Along strange shores from out a sea of gold.
 
 A Twilight Sonnet. 31 
 
 A TWILIGHT SONNET. 
 
 A5 dies the music from the master s bow, 
 As fades the sunset from the western sky, 
 As faint the winds, until they also die, 
 So my sweet joys back into silence go. 
 As rivers to the great calm ocean flow, 
 So flow my griefs to their abiding sea, 
 And there are stilled into tranquillity 
 In silent depths that can no tumult know. 
 As little birds at night-time fold their wings 
 And come to rest upon the nearest bough, 
 My thoughts do all, like little tired things, 
 Drop down to rest, they care not where or how. 
 Then is my heart like to the twilight world 
 Where fitful winds are hushed, and flowers lie 
 furled.
 
 32 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 AS little airs come blowing in all day 
 At every open window of the room, 
 Refreshing it, and making sweet its gloom 
 With scent of clover-fields and new-mown hay, 
 So fancies light come wandering my way, 
 And enter in, and fill the open room 
 Of my bare mind with memories of bloom 
 And breaths of beauty graciously astray. 
 And I within am grateful for this thing 
 That thoughts are blown to me from this sweet 
 
 world 
 
 Full of a loveliness that is not mine, 
 Full of a freshness somewhere caught a-wing 
 Along the morning s edge, from clouds rose- 
 curled, 
 Or from the shaken dew-drops as they shine.
 
 A Garden Prayer. 33 
 
 A GARDEN PRAYER. 
 
 TN one familiar garden let me grow, 
 * Amid the sweetness of the things I love ; 
 Let me brush cheeks with blossoms that I know, 
 And reach to roses beckoning me above. 
 Of these accustomed dews still let me drink, 
 And ever feel the morning on my face 
 Athwart these garden ways, and ever sink 
 Unto the slumberous night in this one place. 
 Transplant me not, Gardener, but let be 
 My intertwined roots in this same spot 
 Where the glad earth received me. Here for me 
 Are all my joys, my loves. Transplant me not, 
 Lest spite of warmer soil and sunnier sky, 
 In my great loneliness I pine and die.
 
 34 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 T T 71THIN a sheltered garden so to sit 
 
 * Amid the Sabbath stillness of the air, 
 With fitful peal of church bells breaking it 
 And making it more musically fair ; 
 To feel the morning coolness on my face, 
 The freshness of God s morning in its dew, 
 To offer gratitude in grassy place 
 Mid beds of violets new-bathed and blue ; 
 This is to me the sweetness of the day, 
 The crowning loveliness of all the week ; 
 The hour of peace and perfectness ; the way 
 Wherein I find the blessing that I seek. 
 Then even is my heart a holy book, 
 Wherein for healing I may search and look.
 
 The Fields against the Sky. 35 
 
 THE FIELDS AGAINST THE SKY. 
 
 THESE quiet fields that rise against the sky, 
 From morning until evening do not cease 
 To give a sense of sweet security, 
 And fill my spirit with a gentle peace. 
 The haystacks outlined on their easy heights 
 Possess an incommunicable charm, 
 Awaken thoughts of coming winter nights, 
 And little cottages secure from harm. 
 Such friendliness there is in these fair slopes, 
 Such tranquil thought of earth and human-kind, 
 Yet also do they stir in me strange hopes, 
 And with strange longings tantalize my mind 
 Till like a child I think by mounting them 
 To reach and touch the very heaven s hem. 
 
 PAKADISE ROAD, NEWPORT.
 
 36 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 WORSHIP. 
 
 I WANDERED down the dim-lit forest aisles 
 With brooding eyes and reverent, slow feet ; 
 I saw the quiet arches over-meet, 
 More fair than mediaeval builded piles ; 
 I traced the shadowy cathedral line, 
 And heard the tiny choristers repeat 
 Their Benedicite, up-singing sweet 
 Above the surging octaves of the pines. 
 Most holy high Cathedral of the wood 
 Whose doors are ever open night and day 
 That they who will may enter, it is good 
 In thy great nave to linger and to pray, 
 Thence from the silence and the solitude 
 To go ennobled on the daily way.
 
 Sonnet. 37 
 
 THERE is a place beside a dewy wood, 
 A grassy hollow bordering the shade, 
 Where once I sudden chanced, and startled 
 
 stood, 
 
 Held in a breathless wonder, half afraid. 
 So fair anemones I had not seen 
 In all the places of the country side, 
 Such April snows upon such bank of green, 
 Such myriads of blossoms, starry-eyed ! 
 Oh, sweet surprisal of a long-lost way, 
 How oft I chance upon thee in my heart, 
 How often stand within that yesterday, 
 Fresh marvelling, and feel the quick joy start, 
 And see again those blown anemones 
 Lift cool and white beneath the sheltering trees !
 
 38 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 LAND AND SEA. 
 
 UNTO His peoples God hath given the land, 
 And there allows their petty ownerships, 
 Their little acres and asundered strips 
 Of titled earth, whereon their homes may stand ; 
 But He the sea reserveth in His hand, 
 And all the waters thereunto that flow ; 
 The ships thereon are free to come and go 
 By His sole sufferance ; strand to farthest strand 
 The continents like documents reveal 
 Man s superscription and his countersign 
 Traced on them legibly from line to line ; 
 But like a hidden scroll the sea doth bear 
 The single stamp of God s great signet-seal, 
 Nor could he break it, who should even dare !
 
 The Sea. 39 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 COULD I in numbers tell of the great sea, 
 And gather up the purport of the sound 
 Wherewith on many shores unceasingly 
 It makes its moan, the continents around ; 
 Could I its battlings understand aright, 
 As to the deep the tempest gives alarm, 
 Divine its passion on a moonlit night, 
 Or guess the secret underneath its calm, 
 Then could I wrest the meaning out of life 
 And could unlock the door of my own heart, 
 Know the beginning and the end of strife, 
 And comprehend the purpose of the part 
 In the great whole yea, by the burdened sea 
 Foreread the future and its mystery.
 
 40 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 TO A PORTRAIT OF ABRAHAM 
 LINCOLN. 
 
 THY rugged features more heroic are 
 Than chiselled outlines of some godlike 
 
 Greek ; 
 
 Thy steadfast lips more eloquent did speak 
 Than lips of orators renowned afar ; 
 While gentle wit and tolerance of folly, 
 And human sympathies and love of right 
 Shone never with more kind and steady light 
 Than from the cavern of thy melancholy. 
 O prophet sorrowful, did thy deep eyes 
 Foresee and weep thy country s agonies ? 
 And did thy lonely heart foreread thy doom 
 To give thy brow such majesty of gloom ? 
 Ah, hadst thou seen the end, thou still hadst led 
 Thy people with the same unswerving tread !
 
 Sonnet. 41 
 
 11 f A HEY also serve who only stand and 
 
 1 wait." 
 
 How many hearts high words have comforted ! 
 Dumb hearts and slow, that have no wit to 
 
 phrase 
 
 The plainest duty for themselves, are led 
 To brave endurance and to feats of praise 
 By some stern prophet s vigorous command. 
 As leaders call upon the battle-field, 
 And feeble knees grow strong and weapons yield 
 A sudden valor to the timid hand, 
 So do great words go ringing down the days, 
 And cowards follow in heroic ways. 
 But for great Milton s far-resounding word 
 Had thousands fallen faint of hope deferred : 
 But for his patience, I of low estate 
 Had cursed my life this day and scorned to wait.
 
 42 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 PEXIEL. 
 
 O WRESTLING angel of the long night 
 hours, 
 
 Unbidden comer to a lonely place, 
 At thy dread grasp an awful fear devours 
 My soul, yet will I not entreat for grace. 
 Still struggling with thee till the break of day, 
 Hurt in my sinew, spent with weariness, 
 Remembering Jacob, I am strong to say 
 " I will not let thee go except thou bless ! " 
 So shalt thou bless me, and I shall prevail. 
 I may not make thee tell me who thou art, 
 Strange spirit, fleeing at the dawnlight pale, 
 And I am grievous hurt ; yet in my heart 
 I know that God hath met me in this place, 
 And that I here have seen Him face to face.
 
 The Worth of Speech. 43 
 
 THE WORTH OF SPEECH. 
 
 HAST thou a word to give thy brother man ? 
 Hold it not back, for bitter is his need, 
 No less of noble end than kindly deed 
 To help him onward in his journey s span. 
 The faintest breath may into action fan 
 A slumbering impulse. Little boots thy creed 
 Or thine own doubt, if thou hast fuel to feed 
 The fire low-burning in some soul. Who can, 
 Is bound to speak. Good deeds must minister 
 To this poor body with its store of ills, 
 But one white word with sudden glory fills 
 The inmost heart, and doth such boon confer 
 That evermore the life is blessed thereby, 
 And comes more nearly to the true and high.
 
 44 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 WHO have not been in bondage do not know 
 The length and height and breadth of 
 
 liberty ; 
 
 The captive hath its measure ; only he 
 Conceives how free the winds of heaven blow. 
 They value health who most have felt pain s 
 
 throe, 
 
 And weakness best appraises hardihood. 
 Of want alone is plenty understood, 
 And friends unto the friendless fairest show. 
 O frail humanity, that still must learn 
 By losing, and must comprehend through pain, 
 This is the mystery of life, to yearn, 
 To lose, and out of losses to make gain. 
 The spirit grows by that which takes away, 
 And wisdom maketh rich the impoverished day.
 
 One of Full Years who died in her Sleep. 45 
 
 TO ONE OF FULL YEARS WHO DIED 
 IN HER SLEEP. 
 
 AS peacefully as a perfected flower 
 *J^ Doth drop its petals in the quiet night, 
 Her spirit in the dark hath taken flight 
 At the swift summons of the silent power. 
 So easily hath she attained that hour 
 That others gain but after bitter fight 
 And weariness and faintings and affright 
 And lonely vigils in death s prison tower. 
 Ah, were but death so pitiful to all, 
 And we could die as we lie down to sleep, 
 With one familiar prayer that we repeat, 
 To bid the dear Lord take our souls and keep, 
 Then death were but a kindness to befall 
 Some night at end of life, when rest is sweet !
 
 46 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 TO ONE WHOSE FATHER DIED 
 BEFORE HER BIRTH. 
 
 IS this the sorrow writ within thine eyes, 
 Thy mother s woe while yet thou wast un 
 born, 
 
 So that from birth thou wast already wise 
 In the great griefs that leave the heart forlorn ? 
 A child of grief indeed thou seem st to me ; 
 Thy brow doth wear the trouble of past years, 
 Remembered not, yet ever borne by thee, 
 Whose eyes are heavy with thy mother s tears. 
 Couldst thou, remembering, grieving, mourn for 
 
 him 
 
 As we our fathers mourn in tenderness, 
 Thy face were not so filled with longing dim, 
 The yearning of a child bora fatherless. 
 Strange mystery that thou shouldst meet with 
 
 death 
 In life s dark chamber, ere thou drewest breath !
 
 Infancy. 47 
 
 INFANCY. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE dawn is ever lovelier than the day ; 
 The early morning murmurs of the wind 
 Forbode a beauty that we fail to find 
 Along the noontide turnings of our way. 
 The tender opening of a poet s lay 
 Hath hint of something that we later miss ; 
 And we a gentle grievance make of this, 
 That nothing purer can musician play 
 Beyond the prelude. O thou little child, 
 My love, my unblown rose, that robbed the dawn 
 Of sweetness, and from out the morning smiled, 
 My heart is with a sadness overborne, 
 That from thy dewy forehead Time will steal 
 Each trace of freshness as thy days unseal !
 
 48 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 II. 
 
 And yet, thou sweet of heart, do I not yearn 
 To see thy life its petals fair unfold, 
 To learn what each to-morrow hath in hold, 
 And what each night will bring thee in its turn ? 
 Though none there be so sorrowful and stern 
 As silent Time, yet would I bar his way, 
 And have him leave thee ever as to-day 
 On the wide world s breast, thou tiny uncurled 
 
 fern? 
 
 Ah, little one, I know not what I would, 
 Nor why I grieve who am so wholly glad, 
 Save that my heart is burdened for thy good, 
 And for its very joy of thee is sad. 
 My hidden hopes are interblent with fears, 
 And all my mother-love wells up in tears.
 
 On the Bust of a Child. 49 
 
 ON THE BUST OF A CHILD. 
 
 (BY SERGEANT KENDALL.) 
 I. 
 
 hath the sculptor modelled her pure face, 
 That all its pathos captured is in clay, 
 And I, who know her not, could weep to-day 
 For love of childhood and a dear child s grace ; 
 Could weep and yet be glad in one sweet space 
 Before her loveliness. Her cheeks, they say, 
 Are like the wild rose petals blown in May, 
 And like pale violets born in some shy place 
 Are her wide eyes. I heed not, as I trace 
 Each perfect line of lip and cheek and chin, 
 And, dreaming that the soul is there within, 
 Yearn but to take the tender little face 
 In my two hands, and so to bend me low 
 To that sweet mouth, and half-uplifted brow !
 
 50 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 II. 
 
 They tell me, gazing, that to her the door 
 Of sound is shut ; that she will never wake 
 To voice of wind or utterance of lake 
 Or speech of friends : then I, who had wept o er 
 Her simple loveliness, am grieved the more 
 With sorrowful sweet pity for her sake, 
 And in the lines the little taught lips take 
 Read a new secret pathos missed before. 
 Yet is she strangely happy, hearing not ; 
 Like an exquisite shell beside the shore 
 That has no knowledge of the breaker s roar, 
 But holds the heart of ocean unforgot ; 
 That through all tumult and all wild unease 
 Hears but the sound of stillness in deep seas.
 
 Sonnet. 51 
 
 T HOLD my darling close against my heart, 
 * I press my lips upon his golden head, 
 I feel his breathing and each childish start, 
 Whereby my love is strangely comforted. 
 He slumbers sound upon my circling arm, 
 Nor dreams that I must lie awake for joy, 
 That I may thus encompass him from harm, 
 This sweet night long, my golden-hearted boy. 
 Ah, could I ever have him near to me, 
 Protect my darling always, night and day, 
 How then my heart would ever richer be, 
 How then my life would stretch a shining way f 
 But I must dream again in loneliness 
 Of these sweet lips that I so fondly press.
 
 52 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 MY sister s child, and almost child of mine, 
 Is mother-love a greater love than this ? 
 Could mother-love more wistfully resign 
 Its precious burden and its weight of bliss ? 
 My heart is heavy with the love of thee, 
 My eyes I lift not lest they overflow ; 
 Now have they come to take thee far from me, 
 
 heart, my heart, how can I let thee go ? 
 
 1 have no help, for thou art not my own, 
 
 I have all pain, so much my own thou art ; 
 I must go forward childless and alone, 
 And hide from men the hurt within my heart. 
 My steps are ready and my eyes are set, 
 Good-bye, my child, O love, my love, not 
 yet!
 
 Sonnet. 53 
 
 T ET me not mourn the sweet forgotten kiss 
 *- Who still may guide my darling on his 
 
 way; 
 
 Let me not grieve for that departed day, 
 Nor overmuch the childish fondlings miss ; 
 Shall I not learn a new and higher bliss 
 As he and I the unfolding laws obey ? 
 Let other loves supplant me as they may 
 Still shall I be forever sure of this : 
 To these new loves my love hath moulded him ; 
 E en though I die, and fade into the dim 
 Faint region of his past, yet shall I be 
 Forever part of his sweet destiny ! 
 This single deed of loving have I wrought, 
 That of my love his tenderness was taught.
 
 54 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 HER face I hold a vision in my heart, 
 Bright, lovely, and unfading, safe from 
 change ; 
 
 Time cannot harm it, hidden there apart, 
 Nor seasons write upon it as a scroll, 
 Nor sorrow grave it. Nothing sad or strange 
 Can come unto it, marring one fair line 
 Of the old loveliness. Radiant it doth shine 
 Like a perpetual sunlight in my soul. 
 Undimmed the goddess-glory, youth like gold, 
 The clear-eyed gaze, and smile so human-sweet, 
 The face like morning that I ran to meet, 
 That was my light of living through child years, 
 And lit the way of life as I grew old. 
 Though sorrow blind my eyes with bitter tears, 
 And all men s faces are a mist to me, 
 Her face of joy forever I behold, 
 With clearest sight I shall forever see.
 
 Sonnet. 55 
 
 IF thought some swifter travel could but find 
 Than this laborious slow written speech, 
 If scientists some braver way could teach 
 By which we might indeed outstrip the wind, 
 Then I to thee my musings could unbind, 
 And we two could be talking each to each, 
 And every quiet thought of mine would reach 
 Across a continent to touch thy mind. 
 Across bare ether do the currents sweep 
 That yesterday were shackled. Who shall say 
 They shall not go untrammelled through the 
 
 deep 
 
 Ere sets to-morrow s sun, or that some day 
 The unknown forces in the mind that keep 
 Shall not compel all barriers to give way ? 
 
 To K. IN SAN FRANCISCO.
 
 56 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 /IS one doth vainly struggle to recall 
 x\- The clear elusive note of some wild bird, 
 And longs again to have the pure notes fall 
 That he alas ! too transiently has heard, 
 So do I seek thy presence to restore, 
 That wove about ray heart so swift a spell, 
 And long to feel thy nameless charm once 
 
 more, 
 
 Dear stranger, loved so suddenly and well ! 
 As he within the forest hearkens long 
 For that one bird to sing its sweet way back, 
 And goes disconsolate till that one song 
 Again outbreaks to fill his spirit s lack, 
 So I, reluctant, go upon my way, 
 And for our next sweet meeting dumbly pray.
 
 Sonnet. 57 
 
 T>E thou my friend, dear friend, for friend 
 
 -*-* thou art 
 
 And shalt be whether thou wilt be or no ; 
 
 Thou canst not shut thyself from out my heart, 
 
 Not take away the knowledge that I know. 
 
 Forever thou art lovely to my love, 
 
 Nor with thy graces canst thou unacquaint 
 
 A heart that hath acquaintanceship above 
 
 All portraits of thee that thy friends could 
 
 paint. 
 
 So truly in my love thou art portrayed 
 That I do count thee altogether mine, 
 And of the future am so unafraid 
 That I will ask of thee no word or sign. 
 I need no pledge of friendship s surety 
 Who am so sure of friendship and of thee.
 
 58 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 
 I. 
 
 I LOVE my friends, yet love I solitude, 
 And love to go alone beneath the sky, 
 Unhindered as the winds that wander by, 
 And irresponsible : now in the wood, 
 Now in the field to linger, at my mood, 
 And now upon some grassy slope to lie 
 Too undisturbed to care to question why 
 One spot above another should seem good ; 
 To choose my way without a thought of choice, 
 As rivers are unconscious where they wind, 
 And clouds all day will drift contentedly ; 
 To let my misty thoughts blow loose and free, 
 Untroubled by the sound of my own voice 
 Or by the leading of another s mind.
 
 Solitude. 59 
 
 II. 
 
 Or like some little creature in the wood, 
 That follows busily a single quest, 
 Some burning purpose in his little breast, 
 Unquestioned, unmolested, unpursued, 
 So do I love in hours of solitude 
 To follow hard my fancy east or west, 
 The secret of my going unconfessed, 
 A hidden purpose working in the blood. 
 I find it strangely pleasant to be dumb, 
 To harbor secrets that are all my own, 
 And keep my motives to myself alone ; 
 To learn how life and industry are sweet 
 To little animals ; to go and come 
 As they do, with mute lips and busy feet.
 
 60 The English Poets and other Sonnets. 
 
 RECOGNITION. 
 
 OUR eyes are holden that we may not see. 
 With hearts that burn within us do we 
 
 stray 
 
 Along some old familiar grass-grown way, 
 And reach our hands to some outspreading tree 
 That waits us by the roadside, brotherly. 
 We wander down the fields as children may, 
 And loiter with the loitering summer day, 
 But miss the recognition. Blind are we. 
 Only, sometimes there falls a healing touch 
 On our dull lids, and for a moment s space 
 The look of this old earth we love so much 
 And grieve so much with our distrust and doubt, 
 Is like the look of some long-absent face 
 Whose sudden nearness makes the heart cry out !
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 I DREAMED a fair and fragile dream 
 A maid in amethyst 
 Sat where the tinted light did stream 
 As through a jewelled mist. 
 
 In fashion strange the dream did come, - 
 In Csedmon it was writ ; 
 I seemed to read the ancient tome, 
 Yet saw the maiden sit 
 
 Where falling lights and shadows met, 
 And heard her tell her tale 
 To jewels in the mullions set, 
 That flashed and then grew pale. 
 
 " My mother made a vow, and so 
 Her child must be a nun. 
 I must unto the convent go 
 When my trousseau is done."
 
 64 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 I turned a page and saw with her 
 Rich robes of shining blue, 
 And all the garments sprinkled were 
 With rosemary and roe. 
 
 I sought again the maiden s face ; 
 She made no plaint or moan, 
 But did her simple words retrace 
 In a sweet undertone. 
 
 " Unto the convent I must go 
 When my trousseau is done, 
 My mother made a vow, and so 
 Her child must be a nun." 
 
 So piteous she leaned her head 
 Against the casement there, 
 I made to close the book I read 
 That I might smooth her hair. 
 
 The dream did fade like morning mist, 
 Yet does my heart see now 
 That figure clad in amethyst, 
 That pure and patient brow !
 
 My Lady s Eyes. 65 
 
 MY LADY S EYES. 
 
 MY lady s eyes are limpid springs, 
 More pure than any mountain lake ; 
 Thereto mine own do come to drink, 
 But unto love such fever clings 
 That I my thirst can never slake 
 At their sweet brink !
 
 66 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 OO many things there are to do, 
 
 ^ So many books to read ! 
 
 Ah, true, but tell me, you, 
 
 Where is the need, 
 
 When t is so perfect just to lie 
 
 Deep down within the unmown grass, 
 
 And watch the fleecy clouds that pass 
 
 Like sheep across the open sky, 
 
 And to one s quiet heart repeat 
 
 A few sweet phrases o er and o er, 
 
 That one has gleaned some other day 
 
 From out of Shakespeare s harvest-store. 
 
 Or even to let go 
 
 The poets, and to know 
 
 No wisdom but the love 
 
 Of this wise mother earth ; 
 
 To be instructed in the way 
 
 The wind will take the grasses, and to see 
 
 How little insects travel warily, 
 
 And learn the patience of all creeping things ; 
 
 To trace the flight of envied wings,
 
 Indolence. 67 
 
 And catch the bird-notes falling clear 
 As sudden raindrops, and to hear 
 How breezes in the tree-tops meet. 
 Instructed so, 
 
 The spirit s life is made more sweet 
 And knowledge hath its second birth.
 
 68 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 INDIAN NAMES. 
 
 THEY have left their names behind them, 
 adding rich barbaric grace 
 To the mountain, to the river, to the fertile 
 
 meadow-place, 
 
 Relics of the ancient redmen, of the sad and 
 vanished race. 
 
 We are glad beside their waters, we are strong 
 upon their hills, 
 
 Their old poetry upon us, like a glamour falls, 
 and fills 
 
 All the hollows of the mountains, and the chan 
 nels of the rills.
 
 In Autumn. 69 
 
 IN AUTUMN. 
 
 THESE golden days of fall to me 
 Are like a mint, a treasury 
 Of priceless memories, hoarded deep 
 Within my heart, where visions keep. 
 
 Each falling leaf, each golden beam, 
 Doth touch and loose some olden dream, 
 Till I stand deep in memories 
 Like leaves thick strewn beneath the trees. 
 
 Down aisles like these, in early days, 
 I walked the bright autumnal ways ; 
 Through drifts like these I thrust my feet, 
 A child upon a golden street. 
 
 golden days, so sad, so sweet, 
 How doth my heart itself repeat, 
 As I look back the stretch of years, 
 And count the autumns through my tears.
 
 70 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 APRIL rains are falling fierce 
 As some bleak November gale, 
 Whistling winds that sting and pierce ; 
 Gusts of snow and sudden hail, 
 Hurling white upon the hill, 
 Strike the sweet spring stark and chill ; 
 But within, upon the fire, 
 I am building funeral pyre, 
 W T hile I warm me in the heat 
 Of my burning bitter-sweet. 
 
 April lies forgot in storm, 
 April s buds are beaten back, 
 While November s ancient form 
 Towers ghostlike on her track, 
 And the wraith of the old year 
 Bars her from her blossomed cheer. 
 Hoarsely beat the wind and rain, 
 And the tossing boughs without 
 Scratch upon the window-pane, 
 Like a plaintive thing shut out ;
 
 Bitter-Sweet. 71 
 
 But within, I twine the fire 
 With the wild vine, high and higher, 
 While I warm me in the heat 
 Of my burning bitter-sweet !
 
 72 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 THE PINES. 
 
 THE piiie trees sing dim lullabies, 
 And sweet watch keep 
 Over the new-born snow, 
 That lies asleep.
 
 Winter Woods. 73 
 
 WINTER WOODS. 
 
 THERE is a solitude in winter woods 
 No stranger knows ; 
 A peace for unused heart too deep 
 In forest snows. 
 
 With reverence on the threshold wait 
 Till Nature thee initiate.
 
 74 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 WINTER TWILIGHT. 
 
 THE twilight follows hard the day, 
 It slips along the village street 
 And leaves a silent, shadowed way, 
 Where figures dim and fancies meet.
 
 On the Mountain. 75 
 
 ON THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 LIGHT upon the mountain, 
 Thy airy streamers fall 
 
 As clear and spirit-piercing 
 
 As silver bugle-call ! 
 
 O storm-cloud on the mountain 
 Thy shadow passes by 
 Like trumpetings of battle 
 Beneath an angry sky !
 
 76 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 THE BREAKING STORM. 
 
 O PASSIONATE, storm-burdened sky, 
 With windy wastes of water under ! 
 I see the rain-clouds sweeping by 
 And hear them rolling up the thunder, 
 
 And feel a wild tempestuous glee 
 
 Go coursing through my soul s commotion, 
 
 To see the elements set free 
 
 Upon the stretches of the ocean !
 
 After the Summer Rain. 77 
 
 AFTER THE SUMMER RAIN. 
 
 A7TER the summer rain 
 The air is sweet with the scent of 
 
 flowers 
 
 Crushed by the beat of the silver showers, 
 And the birds come out of their leafy 
 
 bowers 
 
 And sing as if it were spring again, 
 After the summer rain.
 
 78 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 DAWN. 
 
 THE fair gray dove of the earliest dawn 
 Lay brooding in the east. 
 The winds of the day were yet unborn, 
 The winds of the night had ceased. 
 
 More fair than the flush at the mountains rim 
 Was that grayness soft and shy ; 
 More pure than the sweet birds morning hymn 
 That silence trembled by, 
 
 Till the rosy gold of the morn out-broke, 
 And the dawn took wing away, 
 And the world o the weary turned and woke 
 To the light of the lusty day.
 
 Morning Song. 79 
 
 MORNING SONG. 
 
 MY curtain is pencilled with shadows of 
 leaves 
 
 And little birds fluttering down from the eaves, 
 Glad in the morning sun ; 
 Shadows that wave and tangle and twine 
 With every sweet wind that stirs in the vine, 
 Shadows that fly and are gone ! 
 
 Oh, old-fashioned window with tiny set panes, 
 Oh, drooping wistaria drenched in night-rains, 
 With diamond drops still a-shake, 
 What hath a palace with this to compare, 
 My own morning glimpse of vine and fresh air, 
 My own little room where I wake ? 
 
 THE " HESSIAN HOUSE 
 NEWPORT.
 
 80 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 IF I could but rebuild in rhyme 
 The slow-wrought loveliness of time, 
 This ancient house should ever stand 
 To grace and beautify the land ; 
 Its beaten front still face the sea, 
 And still the vines luxuriantly 
 Enwrap the mouldering walls and eaves 
 With deeply massed wistaria leaves, 
 And still should waving shadows blow 
 Across the vine-set casements so ! 
 
 THE " HESSIAN HOUSE," 
 NEWPORT.
 
 Mariposa Lilies. 81 
 
 MARIPOSA LILIES. 
 
 WE saw them on the side of dark Cheyenne, 
 Pale-gleaming in the moonlight as we 
 
 rode, 
 
 For night had closed around us once again 
 And laid its beauty on us like a load. 
 Before us stretched the prairies as the sea, 
 The mountains and the moon rose up behind, 
 And strangeness was afloat upon the wind. 
 A murmur of things past and things to be, 
 Their startling loveliness besought us there 
 Like some sweet thought that cometh unaware, 
 Their pale cups lifted to the heavens wide, 
 So slender-stemmed upon the mountain side !
 
 82 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 WIND IN THE TREES. 
 
 WAKE, wake, wind in the trees ! 
 Songs of the mainland, songs of the seas, 
 Whispers of heaven, moanings of earth, 
 Anguish at dying, travail at birth, 
 Rapture of loving, joy in the light, 
 Grief and betrayal, fear of the night, 
 Loneliness, madness, glory, and pain, 
 Yearning, fulfilment, and yearning again ; 
 These are thy songs, and stranger than these. 
 Wake, wake, wind in the trees !
 
 The Bell-Buoy. 83 
 
 THE BELL-BUOY. 
 
 HARK ! hark ! 
 
 A voice goes swinging through the dark 
 To bid the mariner beware beware beware ! 
 The night is black, and ominous the air, 
 And fears upon my heart press heavily, 
 For many be the sailors out at sea, 
 And many mothers kneel this night in prayer. 
 Ah God ! and there are shipwrecks everywhere 
 While borne along the north-wind s moan 
 I hear that ceaseless monotone 
 Its iterated warning bear. 
 
 hark ! hark ! 
 
 mariner, beware beware beware ! 
 The wave-tossed echoes, dim and gaunt, 
 Like spectral shadows clutch at me, 
 As if some burdened soul did haunt 
 Those shoals along the outer dark, 
 And expiate eternally 
 Some distant wrong, by hovering there 
 To bid the mariner beware beware beware !
 
 84 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 THE SILENT VISITORS. 
 
 THE fairest things are those that silent 
 come : 
 
 Ye may not hear the footfall of the flowers, 
 Nor the descending of the nightly de\v, 
 Nor by the sound of dropping may ye know 
 When come the flakes of the down-falling snow ; 
 The ear may not detect one shadow pass 
 Across the quiet, unforeboding grass, 
 Nor any fleecy cloud across the blue ; 
 The sweet approaching of the morning hours 
 Ye may not listen for, nor may ye hark 
 To hear the mystic closing-ill of dark ; 
 The little stars are silent up above ; 
 There is no sudden sound upon the sea 
 When breaks the moonlight on it silverly. 
 Ah, so the poem to the poet s brain 
 Steals silently as doth the thought of home. 
 And hearts may listen and may vainly strain 
 But cannot hear the coming-in of love !
 
 Quest. 85 
 
 QUEST. 
 
 THERE is a mantle cast upon the hills, 
 There is a strange suffusion of the air, 
 My soul is filled with vague and nameless thrills, 
 And I am urged to go, I know not where. 
 
 Whence are these longings set within my feet ? 
 Whence are these eager quickenings of the 
 
 heart ? 
 
 Whence is this sense of life, so new and sweet ? 
 Ah, let me hasten, ere the glow depart !
 
 86 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 CALL. 
 
 THE rainbow draws me and the purple hills, 
 I needs must go, I know not whereunto, 
 The river leads me, and the little rills, 
 I follow on what matter whereunto ? 
 
 The ocean claims me, and the ceaseless tides 
 Call up unto my soul forevermore, 
 The tempest, also, and the storm that rides, 
 These summon me forever, evermore !
 
 The Clue. 87 
 
 THE CLUE. 
 
 I FOLLOWED it through wooded dell 
 And by the river s gleam, 
 I sought it in the pink-lined bell 
 That swings beside the stream. 
 
 I felt it tremble on the air 
 Before the winds of dawn, 
 And touched it, but to lose it there, 
 As it was onward borne. 
 
 I heard it fall a silver note 
 
 Upon a twilight sea, 
 
 From out the vesper sparrow s throat, 
 
 To vanish utterly. 
 
 I dreamed I had it of the star 
 That guides upon the deep, 
 But when I waked it still was far 
 Within the bournes of sleep !
 
 88 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 
 
 A~I, just to yonder purple hill, 
 Where rainbow and horizon meet, 
 We hurry on and hurry still, 
 With swift impatient childish feet, 
 To find the fabled pot of gold. 
 So tired soon we did not know 
 The way would be so far to go 
 Before the pretty tiling were gained ; 
 Yet struggle on, all travel-stained, 
 Like little children over-bold, 
 And wonder that the hills retreat 
 Where rainbow and horizon meet !
 
 Fragment. 89 
 
 1" IFE was real in childhood days, 
 * Life was true and things were so, 
 But now I know not what I know, 
 There is a mist athwart my ways. 
 
 There is a film across my brain, 
 I reach my hand and grasp but shade. 
 The days of shadow stuff are made, 
 Of mocking joys and dreams of pain.
 
 90 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 O SPENDTHRIFT years, when without 
 ruth 
 
 We squandered all the gold of youth, 
 And cast our coin to wind and rain ; 
 In our impoverishment how we 
 Look back upon that liberty, 
 And cry for one young hour again !
 
 Fragment. 91 
 
 O WEARY are the watches of the night, 
 Before the morning dawneth still and 
 
 white, 
 
 And bitter are the thoughts that toss and start 
 Within the haunted chambers of the heart.
 
 92 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 "TO RUISED in spirit, sore at heart, 
 -*-* To the healing woods I fled, 
 Found one little forest flower, 
 Sent me early, for that hour ; 
 And I straight was comforted. 
 
 SAVANNAH.
 
 Fragment. 93 
 
 I A HE price of wisdom is the thing most dear 
 
 -* in life, 
 
 And Odin bought it with his plucked-out eye, 
 And drank there of the well by the Ygdrasil- 
 tree. 
 
 Thou, . . . , art my price most precious ever 
 
 paid. 
 
 Why must I this, who cared not to be wise ? 
 I would forever thirst, might I but still have 
 
 thee !
 
 94 Miscellaneous Poems and Fragments. 
 
 I MISSED the cherished thing I sought, 
 And gained a thing that others miss, 
 Who do but envy me for this, 
 Nor know how dearly it was bought.
 
 To H. B. J. 95 
 
 TO H. B. J. 
 
 TO leave done all that I can 
 Of kindness and beautiful thought, 
 With love fill life s little span, 
 This will I seek, as she sought. 
 
 Sought she ? Nay, as the flower 
 Springeth nor dreameth of death, 
 So she unfolded in power ; 
 Love was her life and her breath.
 
 ant)
 
 LITTLE -FOLK LAND. 
 
 THE children all go looking 
 In vain for Fairyland, 
 Where little folk have dwelling, 
 And wander hand in hand ; 
 Where silvery small voices 
 Ring clear upon the air, 
 Where magic little whispers 
 Work wonders everywhere ; 
 Where flower fields are forests, 
 For tiny feet to thread, 
 Where one has lived a lifetime 
 Before the day is fled. 
 For this dear wondrous country 
 The children look in vain ; 
 They find but empty flowers, 
 Through sun and summer rain. 
 It is the grown folks only 
 Have eyes for Fairyland, 
 Where little people wander, 
 And toddle hand in hand ;
 
 100 Child Poems and Songs. 
 
 Where gleeful voices prattle, 
 And whisper secrets strange ; 
 Where tiny sprites by magic 
 To bigger fairies change ; 
 Where dancing little figures 
 Get lost amid the flowers ; 
 Where days as years are measured, 
 And minutes count for hours : 
 It is the grown folks only 
 Can find the land of elves ; 
 How could the children guess it ? 
 The fairies are themselves.
 
 To H. J. 101 
 
 TO H. J. 
 
 WERE you a little Dutch girl 
 You d be, perhaps, as sweet, 
 As now you are, my hoyden, 
 And very much more neat ! 
 
 You d be a little housewife, 
 And even at your play 
 You d take your knitting needles, 
 And knit and knit away ! 
 
 You d never be forgetting 
 To feed your pussy-cat, 
 And she, like Holland pussies, 
 Would grow so sleek and fat. 
 
 But were you, dear, a Gretchen, 
 You d live across the sea, 
 And so would be, my dearie, 
 No kind of use to me.
 
 102 Child Poems and Songs. 
 
 TO E. K. 
 
 WITH A PHOTOGRAPH. 
 
 00 that you may remember, little maid, 
 
 ^ And keep my name until you come again, 
 And look up laughing at me, unafraid, 
 And let me kiss you as I kissed you when 
 We played together in the maple shade, 
 
 1 send you here this other little maid, 
 
 Who likewise loved the blossoms and the trees, 
 And all the sounds that filled the summer air ; 
 Who held her baby face against the breeze, 
 And laughed to feel it playing in her hair. 
 
 Last summer, little maid, was long ago, 
 But I have not forgotten, nor have you, 
 The marigolds that sleep beneath the snow ; 
 I pray you, little friend, remember too 
 The one that loved you in that long ago.
 
 A Plea. 103 
 
 A PLEA. 
 
 O LITTLE maidens of to-day, 
 Like little, dear, old-fashioned girls, 
 You part your hair and brush your curls, 
 Smooth off the brow 
 And wonder how 
 The pity ever came to pass 
 That every little lad and lass , 
 Some years ago as pictures show 
 Did cut their hair and let it drop 
 To cover their sweet foreheads up. 
 To-morrow s little maidens, pray, 
 Will ye not also please to wear 
 The pretty bands of parted hair, 
 And leave your little foreheads bare ?
 
 104 Child Poems and Songs. 
 
 TO ELIZABETH. 
 
 WEET and warm is the summer s breath, 
 
 Warm and wide is the summer s sea, 
 But the heart of the summer I find in thee, 
 Barefoot baby, Elizabeth ! 
 
 Little brown legs and dimpled feet, 
 Little brown dimpled arms and hands, 
 Child of the sun, child of the sands. 
 What hath the summer so sweet, so sweet ! 
 
 Little brown face where merriment plays, 
 Soft blown hair in a golden mist, 
 Sweet little lips so newly kissed, 
 Dear little voice and darling ways. 
 
 Great dark eyes where baby thoughts lie, 
 Shy and shadowy, dim and deep, 
 Where wonderful visions slumber and sleep, 
 And fleet little fancies go dreamily by. 
 
 All that babyhood means, thou art ; 
 More than summer can give, thou hast ; 
 Love lies hid in thy tiny past 
 And thy unrolled future, dear little heart !
 
 To Elizabeth. 105 
 
 Little daughter of artists, thou, 
 
 Art part of beauty s unwaking dream, 
 
 Art touched with the wandering light, the gleam, 
 
 That strays over earth, we know not how. 
 
 The light that beckons the artist on, 
 And haunts the poet with wordless grace, 
 Has fallen fair on thy baby face, 
 Divinely lingers, and is not gone.
 
 106 Child Poems and Songs. 
 
 T IKE a piece of thistle-down 
 * That floats across the grass 
 Was blown into my garden-bed 
 The dearest little lass ! 
 
 She lit among the lily-blooms 
 And lingered there a space, 
 And every little blossom reached 
 To kiss her baby face.
 
 Song. 107 
 
 MY flowers bloom more sweet for me to-day 
 Because a little maid once passed their 
 
 way 
 
 And flung about them in the summer air 
 The spell of baby looks and blowing hair.
 
 108 Child Poems and Songs. 
 
 LOIS. 
 
 WHEN the gentle maiden Lois 
 Sings her twilight songs, 
 Wistful thoughts and fanciful 
 Coine to me in throngs. 
 
 Lois s eyes are full of dreams, 
 Dreamy is her voice ; 
 Sweet the dear, old-fashioned songs 
 Sung to me by Lois !
 
 To E. B. D. 109 
 
 TO E. B. D. 
 
 HO, little boy, how I long to be 
 Back in my chosen place, 
 With a book of songs and thoughts of the sea 
 And you, little boy, in the nook with me, 
 Sharing the morning s grace ! 
 
 High, high in our perilous seat 
 
 Over the precipice-brow, 
 Sky overhead and sea at our feet, 
 On the sheer gray rocks where the salt winds 
 meet 
 
 Would that we both were now ! 
 
 Snug, snug in our sun-warmed nest, 
 
 Would we again could lie, 
 And watch the birds on the ocean s breast, 
 And sing the songs that we love the best, 
 
 You, little boy, and I ! 
 
 We would sing old songs and make us new, 
 
 There on the lichened rock ; 
 And this is the song I would make for you, 
 Watching the boats in the harbor blue, 
 
 And the distant white-winged flock :
 
 110 Child Poems and Songs. 
 
 Out afloat in a bonny boat, 
 With glad sail spread to the breeze, 
 Oh, to go where the white wings show 
 Far on the blue, blue seas ! 
 
 Tossing along with a shout and song, 
 And a snatch of a sailor s stave, 
 Blithe and free as the sunbeam sea, 
 Or the bird that rocks on the wave. 
 
 Oh, to sail in the windy gale 
 
 Where the wild sea-horses plunge, 
 
 Where the white storm drives, and tlie bent 
 
 sail strives 
 On with its lift and lunge f 
 
 Oh, to be on a changed sea, 
 When the shifting squall-winds scud, 
 To feel mid the strain of wind and rain 
 The leaping of sailor s blood/ 
 
 For bravest far of the hearts that are 
 Is the heart of tlie man at sea, 
 And tlie ocean life of windy strife 
 Is the life for you and me.
 
 To E. B. D. Ill 
 
 There we would sit through the high blue noon, 
 
 Dreaming of ships and spars, 
 Making a song for the winds to croon : 
 " Oh, to sail under sun and moon 
 
 And under the lonely stars ! "
 
 112 Child Poems and Songs. 
 
 " LULLABY-LAND." 
 
 WHERE is the road to Lullaby-land ? 
 Where is the ferry to Dreamlaiid-shore ? 
 Here, little wanderer, take ray hand, 
 Mother will show thee to Lullaby-land, 
 Mother will ferry her darling o er 
 The sweet rocking waters to Dreamland-shore. 
 
 Soft lie the shadows in Lullaby-land, 
 Soft lap the waters by Dreamland-shore, 
 Sweet is the sound on that far-away strand 
 Of little keels grating along the sand, 
 And tenderly stealeth the moonlight o er 
 The dear little children on Dreamland-shore. 
 
 Here, little weary one, take my hand, 
 
 Soon shall my dearie be far afloat ; 
 
 Mother s lap is Lullaby-land, 
 
 Mother s arms are the empty boat, 
 
 Waiting to carry her darling o er 
 
 The sweet rocking waters to Dreamland-shore.
 
 Lullaby. 113 
 
 o 
 
 LULLABY. 
 
 IUT beneath the summer sky, 
 We will weave a lullaby, 
 By-low, baby, lullaby. 
 
 Little breezes of the air, 
 Stoop to kiss my baby s hair, 
 Grasses tall and bending bough 
 Stoop to guard my baby s brow, 
 Mother birds are hiding high, 
 Gentle shadows wander by, 
 Where the quiet hollows lie 
 Sleeping to my lullaby, 
 
 By-low, baby, lullaby. 
 
 Meadow murmurs steal along 
 In a misty slumber song, 
 Little blossoms whisper low, 
 Tossing incense to and fro, 
 Tender echoes wake and die, 
 Little thoughts go blowing by, 
 Little dreams go floating high, 
 While I weave my lullaby, 
 
 By-low, baby, lullaby ! 
 
 8
 
 114 Child Poems and Songs. 
 
 "THE END OF THE DAY." 
 
 (TO THE PAINTING BY SERGEANT KENDALL.) 
 
 THE tender lights grow quiet in the sky, 
 The plays of little children all are done, 
 The starlight will come creeping by and by, 
 While thou and I take comfort, little one. 
 
 The day hath heavy been and fall of care, 
 My heart hath wearied, eager for the night, 
 But I am healed as I kiss thy hair 
 And fold thee to me in the fading light. 
 
 Thy slumberous dark eyes are wide with dreams ; 
 Where hast thou fared, my baby, at thy play, 
 From what far wonderlands and tinkling streams 
 Comest thou to me at the end of day ?
 
 " The End of the Day." 1 1 5 
 
 Drop book and play ; bring now thy fancies 
 
 home, 
 
 Bring home to mother all the little flock, 
 To-morrow they shall go again to roam 
 Abroad remembered fields by fern and rock. 
 
 To-morrow thou shalt prattle sweet again 
 And run about thy free, unconscious ways, 
 A little sunbeam fallen among men 
 And gladdening, whichever way it strays. 
 
 But now, but now, the hour is all my own ; 
 T is mine to hold thy weary little frame, 
 To press thee close, who art so quiet grown, 
 And murmur by-lows of my baby s name. 
 
 The little stars come creeping in the sky, 
 The plays of little children all are done, 
 And thou must off" to sleepsin by and by ; 
 Too brief the day s end, oh, my little one !
 
 116 Child Poems and Songs. 
 
 THERE are gardens, gardens, over all the 
 land, 
 
 Planted, nourished, tended by a loving Hand. 
 Sweetest of those gardens is the one I know, 
 Where the sunny prairies look to peaks of snow. 
 Morning draws not to me, and the night comes 
 
 not, 
 But my thoughts go turning to that sweetest 
 
 spot, 
 And my heart makes pleading : " * Christ the 
 
 Gardener keep 
 All those precious blossoms and the one 
 
 asleep."
 
 The Little New Moon. 117 
 
 THE LITTLE NEW MOON. 
 
 I SPIED one noon 
 A little new moon 
 Like a cobweb floating up high ; 
 But by and by, 
 When the day grew old, 
 It turned to gold 
 And floated down out of the sky.
 
 118 Child Poems and Songs. 
 
 MOON SONG. 
 
 THERE S a throne in the east and a throne 
 in the west, 
 
 And the royal heavens lie between. 
 For the golden sun is a sceptred king, 
 And the moon is his crowned queen. 
 
 A lonely queen is the silver moon, 
 Though the dimpling stars her maidens are ; 
 She passes among them silently 
 As she follows her lord afar.
 
 Svng. 119 
 
 DO you know 
 That you can go 
 In the early morning light 
 When the dew is on the grass 
 And find the little cobweb tents 
 The fairies sleep in all the night ? 
 But, alas, you 11 find no traces 
 Of their little fairy faces !
 
 120 Child Poems and Songs. 
 
 IF I were a little pink shell by the sea 
 How happy and cool and contented I d be ! 
 In the pretty white sand I would nestle and 
 
 lie 
 
 And play with the frolicsome waves going by ; 
 They would whisper ine secrets of things in the 
 
 deep, 
 
 And forever those secrets I d treasure and 
 keep.
 
 Pee -Wee. 121 
 
 PEE -WEE. 
 
 NAY, little pee -wee, be not sad; 
 Why art thou plaintive upon the bough ? 
 Summer is here and skies are glad 
 And only I am sorrowful ; thou 
 
 What hast thou had to do with grief, 
 What is the ache in thy tiny breast, 
 That there thou mournest within the leaf, 
 Sad at the door of thy own sweet nest ? 
 
 Poor little pee-wee, art thou too 
 Hurt with the weight of the sad world s woe, 
 Pained with pity beneath the blue 
 For the strange earth sorrows thou dost not 
 know? 
 
 I may not fathom thy soft lament, 
 Nor search the pain in thy pure-drawn note, 
 But my own dim trouble with thine is blent, 
 And utters itself from thy sweet throat.
 
 122 Child Poems and Songs. 
 
 MY NEIGHBOR S LINDEN. 
 
 CITY yards are n t big enough 
 To hold a spreading tree, 
 And so my neighbor s Linden 
 Gives shade enough for me. 
 
 Its branches touch my windows, 
 It cools my house with green, 
 It casts me waving shadows 
 With sunlight flashed between. 
 
 Some can follow summer 
 Through woods and over lea, 
 T is sweet to me to find her 
 Beneath my neighbor s tree.
 
 Pussy- Willows. 1 23 
 
 PUSSY-WILLOWS. 
 
 PUSSY-WILLOWS shyly peeping, 
 Gaining courage, slyly creeping, 
 From their little coats looked out 
 To find what Nature was about. 
 
 Pussy-willows, getting bolder, 
 Growing strong as they grew older, 
 Threw their old black coats away, 
 Showed soft, fuzzy robes of gray. 
 
 Pussy-willows, nodding brightly 
 As the breezes brushed them lightly, 
 Played at hide-and-seek all day 
 With the sunbeams warm and gay. 
 
 Pussy-willows, cloudy hours, 
 Revelled in the April showers, 
 Listened to the robins call, 
 Watched the sunshine sift and fall. 
 
 Pussy-willows, gold-dust laden, 
 Caught the eye of passing maiden ; 
 Ah, did April weep that day 
 For her booty borne away ?
 
 124 Child Poems and Songs. 
 
 PARTRIDGE-VINE. 
 
 THERE dwells within the forest, 
 Upon the lowly ground, 
 As dear a little creeper 
 As ye have ever found. 
 
 It shelters early blossoms, 
 As delicate and fair, 
 As arbutus, sweet neighbor, 
 That likewise nesteth there. 
 
 When others go in hiding, 
 This sturdy little vine 
 Makes brave with scarlet berries, 
 And winters with the pine. 
 
 O trusty little comrade 
 Of humble and of great, 
 What cheeriness and courage 
 Adorn thy low estate !
 
 Jasmine. 125 
 
 JASMINE. 
 
 JASMINE tangles in the wildwood, 
 Jasmine glimpsing in the sun, 
 Careless as the joy of childhood, 
 Sweet as dreams of love begun. 
 
 Vines of jasmine, creeping, clinging, 
 Climbing here and drooping there ; 
 Bells of jasmine swaying, swinging, 
 Spilling fragrance on the air. 
 
 Careless as the joy of childhood, 
 Sweet as dreams of love begun, 
 Jasmine tangles in the wildwood, 
 Jasmine blossoms in the sun.
 
 1 26 Child Poems and Songs. 
 
 WILD ROSE. 
 
 A KING might sue thee, peasant flower, 
 To grace his palace gardens rare, 
 But thou would st rue thee, every hour, 
 Should he thy beauty captive bear. 
 
 It is to thee a fairer boon 
 More lowly ways than his to bless ; 
 Along the free wild roads of June 
 To loiter in thy loveliness !
 
 Clover. 127 
 
 CLOVER. 
 
 A 3 but clover, common clover, 
 Growing as it used to grow 
 When the buttercups beside me 
 Were as tall as I, you know ! 
 
 When I roamed from morn till sundown, 
 Child upon the summer-side, 
 Brushed my way among the grasses, 
 Met the daisies level-eyed 
 
 Nothing was there quite like clover, 
 Nothing is there that to-day 
 Makes my heart so beat with gladness 
 In the blithe old careless way. 
 
 Simple ecstasy of being, 
 Simple pleasure in the sun, 
 Clover, I have not forgotten, 
 Nor with childhood have I done !
 
 of 
 anD otljer
 
 THE PLACE OF MY DESIRE. 
 
 HERE have I found the place of my desire ; 
 Here life does seem a gentle pastoral, 
 Where simple things in loveliness conspire, 
 And peace and quietness from Heaven fall 
 Like morning light. Here is no great or small, 
 But all things minister to my content, 
 And 1 am happy just to hear the call, 
 " Co boss, co boss," along the pasture sent, 
 With its own faint prolonging echoes borne and 
 blent. 
 
 Here little cottages are nestled low 
 
 In comfortable valley-lands. Behind, 
 
 The bending sky down-stoops to kiss the brow 
 
 Of sunlit uplands. Ah, and were I blind 
 
 Still I some share of friendliness would find, 
 
 Still would I know that by each cottage door 
 
 A darling brook light-heartedly did wind 
 
 To the great sea, that murmurs from the shore 
 
 And with its unspent yearning calls forevermore !
 
 132 " The Place of My Desire." 
 
 Here am I moved of many things to tell 
 
 That fill the quietness of my own heart ; 
 
 Of ferns and mosses growing down a well 
 
 All dripping cool ; of little roads apart 
 
 From beaten ways, where timid shadows start, 
 
 With hint of sweet seclusion just beyond ; 
 
 Of tiny creatures that so softly dart 
 
 They scarcely shake the dew from leaf or frond ; 
 
 Of silence brooding over an unrippled pond ; 
 
 Of cattle grazing on the quiet fields 
 In peaceful groups, through undisturbed days ; 
 Of harvest-lands rich-laden with their yields, 
 And russet fallows wrapped in autumn haze ; 
 Of corn-shock rustling in each wind that strays ; 
 Of little homes, that have no fear of harm ; 
 Of lowly folk, that follow lowly ways 
 And make each dear companionable farm 
 A hearth-side centre of security and calm. 
 
 And of the sea the solitary sea, 
 That beats with its old burden up the shore, 
 And then falls back again, half wearily, 
 As if its uttermost could do no more, 
 The sea, the mighty, that on its deep floor 
 So tenderly doth guard the frailest shell 
 And brings it up from that abounding store
 
 The Place of My Desire. 133 
 
 Of unspoiled wealth so cautiously and well 
 It lies unbroken on the beach, with the dim 
 spell 
 
 Of the unseen upon it, and the sound 
 Of ocean whisperings within it still. 
 Oft have I put my ear unto the ground 
 To catch the prisoned murmur that doth fill 
 My soul with a vague wistfulness, until 
 The strangeness of it grows a very pain. 
 But this this fragile shell was born to thrill 
 To the great ocean s heart and still is fain 
 To whisper wonders of the deeps where it has 
 lain. 
 
 Here have I found the place of my desire ; 
 
 Here life is lovely as an antique lay, 
 
 And kindles in my breast the sacred fire 
 
 Of poesy, till even I, to-day, 
 
 The muse s sweet behest must needs obey, 
 
 And in old linked metre try to trace 
 
 Some loveliness to catch, if so I may, 
 
 The over-welling beauty of this place, 
 
 And in a brimming measure hold it for a space. 
 
 PARADISE KOAD, 
 NEWPORT.
 
 1 34 " The Place of My Desire" 
 
 SUNSET AT WINNEPESAUKEE. 
 
 I. 
 
 LAKE of pure waters, met with quiet sky 
 Amid the sunset hills of amethyst, 
 Ye speak in silences, as lovers list, 
 And each new stillness passes like a sigh 
 That for some unnamed grief doth wake and die, 
 Or for some dreamed-of joy that hath been 
 
 missed. 
 
 What untraced sadness is there in this tryst, 
 Or am I sad that soon will darkness lie 
 Upon the trysting-spot ? Most gentle night, 
 Steal tenderly to this dear lake, nor yet 
 Disturb the soft caresses of the light. 
 Still tarry down the east, and longer let 
 The shadows play athwart the hills, that now 
 Grow slumberous ; and night-wind, loiter thou !
 
 Sunset at Winnepesaukee. 135 
 
 II. 
 
 Lake of opal, set with opal sky 
 Within encircling hills of amethyst, 
 The tints upon thee mingle as they list, 
 And each new blending is so fair that I 
 Could weep with wondering as it goes by. 
 A fire-opal that the sun hath kissed, 
 Thy colors gleam as through a sudden mist 
 Of wistful unshed tears that quivering lie ! 
 Such beauty hauntingly doth fill the heart, 
 As doth remembered gladness fill the night ; 
 And as a lover evermore doth bear 
 The image of one face most gentle fair, 
 So shall I carry thy bewildering light 
 Through unillumined ways and crowded mart.
 
 136 " The Place of My Desire" 
 
 III. 
 
 I think upon the old ^Egean sea 
 
 Such colors lay, when to the lonely sight 
 
 Of one outlooking far from Patmos height, 
 
 There fell a vision of the things to be, 
 
 And he beheld a city daringly, 
 
 Of gold like glass, with rivers running white, 
 
 And jasper walls upbuilt on chrysolite 
 
 And jacinth, topaz, and chalcedony. 
 
 Ah, did not John behold with westward eyes 
 
 The laying of those pure foundation stones 
 
 Along the evening s ramparts, one by one ; 
 
 And as he watched the jasper walls uprise, 
 
 See suddenly the four-and-twenty thrones 
 
 Within a city needing not the sun ?
 
 Poem. 137 
 
 THE brave west winds come sweeping down 
 the Broads, 
 
 The silver lights across the waters run, 
 And glance and burn like gleaming-bladed 
 
 swords 
 
 Outflashing from their scabbards in the sun. 
 Great purple shadows pass athwart the hills 
 And out into the open, swift away ! 
 Old prophecies awake, and strange wild thrills 
 Do course within the bosom of the day. 
 Oh, for the speed of some white-winged boat, 
 That I might sail thy silver waters o er, 
 And chase wind-driven shadows far afloat, 
 And follow to some dim retreating shore ! 
 Oh, that I might old ecstasies new find, 
 And drink deep draughts of thy life-giving wind !
 
 138 " The Place of My Desire." 
 
 TO WINNEPESAUKEE. 
 
 LAKE of changeful Avater, 
 And purple-shadowed hills, 
 
 Thy passionate wild beauty 
 
 My inward vision fills ! 
 
 As unforgotten music 
 Awakes within the heart, 
 Thy loveliness uprises, 
 To make my sorrow start, 
 
 And I cry out in longing, 
 Thy shores again to seek, 
 And feel for one fresh moment 
 Thy winds upon my cheek. 
 
 O gentle-bordered river, 
 Would I could comfort take, 
 And by thy quiet windings 
 Forget my stormy lake ! 
 
 BY THE CONNECTICUT.
 
 Indian Summer. 139 
 
 O REMINISCENT days 
 That touch the heart to tenderness, 
 sad and tranquil ways, 
 By waters rapt and motionless, 
 What silences are yours ! No more 
 The little waves lap lovingly, that lately took 
 The rhythm of the wind. 
 The shadows in the quiet bays 
 Sleep undisturbed, and all the woods are 
 
 dumb ; 
 
 More soft than falling sunbeams come 
 The fair down-faltering leaves, 
 And autumn pauses ere she stoops to bind 
 Her golden sheaves. 
 
 The waiting winds of Heaven will not stir, 
 Lest they shall roughly waken her 
 Sweet summer, who has stolen back for one 
 
 last look, 
 And sits day dreaming by the shore. 
 
 BY LAKE WINNEPESAUKEE.
 
 1 40 " The Place of My Desire" 
 
 SURPRISAL. 
 
 T JOURNEYED south, and came upon the 
 
 A spring, 
 
 Sweet loiterer by the way, 
 
 Dear child of unconcern. Oh, wondrous thing, 
 
 So to surprise her at her play, 
 
 With all her wreaths of green begun, 
 
 And lap heaped full of blossoms gay, 
 
 There holding joyful May-day in the sun !
 
 Poem. 141 
 
 IF my strength go from me 
 Take me to my South, 
 Where the salt tides enter 
 At the river s mouth ; 
 
 Where across the marshes, 
 Cloudy shadows pass, 
 Sail-boats slip and wander 
 Through the channelled grass ; 
 
 Where the jasmine tangles 
 Overrun the spring, 
 Mocking-birds in madness 
 Sing and sing and sing. 
 
 Let one friend go with me, 
 Northern born, as I, 
 That I be not lonely, 
 Underneath that sky. 
 
 There will I acquaint her 
 With each southern thing, 
 Violets and roses, 
 Vines and blossoming.
 
 142 " The Place of My Desire." 
 
 There into that sunshine 
 Shall we two go forth, 
 Loving yet the snow storms, 
 Of our own dear North ! 
 
 SAVANNAH.
 
 Poem. 143 
 
 VIOLETS and sunshine and vague thrills 
 That steal along the pulses of the air, 
 Japonicas and roses and the trills 
 Of little birds a-flutter everywhere ! 
 Here in the sunny southland I am set 
 Amid the blossoms and the warm, sweet things ; 
 Green trees above my head are shower-wet 
 And all the air hath hint of olden springs ; 
 But, oh, to be again in my own laud, 
 To look again upon my snowy hills, 
 To feel the clasp of a familiar hand, 
 And share again the fireside glow that fills 
 With warmth and cheeriness my little home 
 Amid the mountains whence the great winds 
 come! 
 
 SAVANNAH.
 
 1 44 " The Place of My Desire." 
 
 IN THE ROCKIES. 
 
 T AM a lover of New England ways, 
 
 - Of country roadsides and familiar flowers, 
 
 Of haunts that I have known from early days, 
 
 And followed far through long and happy hours. 
 
 How may I look on the gigantic West ? 
 
 How understand these mountains and ravines ? 
 
 How cease from saying, But my heart loves 
 
 best 
 
 The quiet East and all its wooded scenes ? 
 These are the mighty ones that I know not 
 Of ancient race and kingly lineage 
 Too great for me, still holding unforgot 
 The lesser hillsides of my heritage, 
 Like one of lowly birth who homesick clings 
 To humble memories mid halls of kings.
 
 Night on the Desert. 145 
 
 NIGHT ON THE DESERT. 
 
 OILENCE hath sound, and darkness hath a 
 ^ tongue 
 
 In all God s lauds but this, where no sounds be. 
 There is a whisper in each slumberous tree 
 When every little bird his song hath sung ; 
 A myriad murmurs, when the stars are hung, 
 Uprise from wood and riverside and lea, 
 And all the dwellers by the ancient sea 
 Hear through the dark the eternal breakers 
 
 flung. 
 
 But here upon the desert is no voice, 
 No speech, no language, but the emptiness 
 Of the primeval void. No hills rejoice, 
 No quenchless streams and rivers leap to bless. 
 On these still sands, alone with outer space, 
 The starlit night is awful as God s face. 
 
 COLORADO SPRINGS. 
 
 10
 
 1 46 " The Place of My Desire" 
 
 HOMESICKNESS. 
 
 WHERE can I wander, where upon the 
 plain, 
 
 Who find not that for which my heart is fain, 
 Not one sweet meadow where the violets 
 
 wake, 
 
 Nor any woodland bordering a lake ? 
 Where shall I search upon the mountain side, 
 Who cannot find the darlings of my pride 
 The first arbutus, hid beneath the snow, 
 The star-sown wind-flowers that I used to 
 
 know, 
 
 The winter-green, the little partridge-vine 
 Bright-berried yearly underneath the pine ? 
 Where shall I turn, who can no longer see 
 The far blue hills familiar unto me, 
 The hills of summer and the hills of snow 
 Where great winds drive and driven clouds 
 
 sweep low. 
 Too long my steps were taught New England 
 
 ways, 
 Too long my eyes looked out upon those days
 
 Homesickness. 147 
 
 To find their comfort here. Here sorrow 
 
 dwells, 
 
 And the wide future opens, dim and vast ; 
 But there forever lie the olden spells, 
 The balm of childhood and my hill-bound past ! 
 
 COLOBADO SPRINGS.
 
 1 48 " The Place of My Desire" 
 
 SAILOR BLOOD. 
 
 I COME of a race that loves the sea 
 And a driven ship is home to me. 
 On laud I faint and thirst and fail 
 And grow heart-sick for the roaring gale ; 
 I dream of a home that hath no place, 
 And the feel of the spray upon my face. 
 
 The mountains rise to a barren sky, 
 And the level plains are parched and dry ; 
 Like a stagnant sea they mock my gaze 
 With their limitless horizon haze ; 
 They have no breath, they mock at me, 
 Whose soul cries out for the living sea. 
 
 I am scourged of the dust that sweeps the 
 
 plains, 
 
 And the great dry winds that bring no rains ; 
 I am scourged of the dust, I am choked and 
 
 blind, 
 
 And the health of waters I cannot find, 
 And my sailor blood makes wild in me 
 For the wet of the storm, and the salt of the 
 
 seal
 
 Sailor Blood. 149 
 
 Child of the sea, how can I bear 
 
 The wide still plains and the desert air ? 
 
 Sounds of the sea I hear by night 
 
 In dreams that have not sound nor sight, 
 
 And my heart doth yearn and strain by day 
 
 For the throb two thousand miles away. 
 
 Doth strain and hark for the distant roar 
 Of great tides booming along the shore ; 
 Like a prisoned gull my heart doth beat 
 For the great wet winds and the dripping sheet, 
 And the crested waves and the bounding spray, 
 And the storms that brood o er the ocean gray. 
 
 I come of a race that loves the sea 
 And a driven ship is home to me. 
 On land I faint and thirst and fail 
 And grow heart-sick for the roaring gale ; 
 I dream of a home that hath no place, 
 And the feel of the spray upon my face !
 
 150 " The Place of My Desire" 
 
 IN a far land of sunshine, 
 I dreamed the sound of rain, 
 And in my far-off garden beds 
 I heard it fall again. 
 
 In a far land of sunshine, 
 I dreamed the smell of flowers, 
 My mignonette and heliotrope 
 New-freshened by the showers. 
 
 In a far land of sunshine, 
 
 I waked unto the light, 
 
 And wept to lose the sound of rain 
 
 That comforted my night.
 
 Poem. 151 
 
 T SEE these mountains now forever with 
 
 * changed eyes, 
 
 Since I have seen them lovely through the 
 
 summer storms, 
 And heard their thunders roll, their ceaseless 
 
 thunders roll. 
 
 No more I call them barren, that so rise 
 Unto the rains of heaven. No more my soul 
 Doth yearn unsatisfied in a far land, since it hath 
 
 seen 
 
 Hill bare and prairies over-crept with green. 
 Yea, even here I feel the distant sea 
 Pour out itself in rains to comfort me. 
 
 COLORADO SPRINGS.
 
 152 " The Place of My Desire." 
 
 MOTHER EARTH. 
 
 A STRANGER and an exile felt I here, 
 So unacquaint with mountain and with 
 
 plain, 
 
 So far removed from haunts that I hold dear, 
 My sea-girt lowlands and my hills of rain. 
 A stranger and an exile wandered I 
 With eyes that sought beyond the prairie s edge, 
 With homesick heart beneath an alien sky, 
 Foot-sore and faint for one familiar ledge 
 Until I flung me down upon the ground, 
 Far in the canon s hollow, with shut eyes, 
 And hearkened to the running water s sound 
 And felt the warm earth-contact, and grew wise. 
 O Mother Earth, here too, in canon wild, 
 Or on brown prairie, am I still thy child ! 
 
 COLORADO SPRINGS.
 
 Body and Spirit. 153 
 
 BODY AND SPIRIT. 
 
 THEN lie thou here, thou body of mine, 
 If so thou must. 
 My spirit thou canst not confine 
 In thy poor dust. 
 It wanders at will 
 
 Over the woodland and over the hill, 
 On and on to the windy shore, 
 On and out to the open sea. 
 It flies like a bird and circles free 
 O er all the spots where it loves to be. 
 O er all that it loved of yore 
 When thou, poor body, wast comrade true, 
 Lusty and strong to dare and do ; 
 Strong to climb to the topmost peak 
 Of the craggy mountain, grim and bare, 
 To lift the chin and hold the cheek 
 Gainst the mighty winds of the upper air, 
 To battle the storm with stalwart breast, 
 To ride in glee on the wild wave s crest, 
 With gripping hand and steady wrist 
 To hold the tiller and straining sheet 
 On the stormy lake where the squall- winds meet.
 
 154 " The Place of My Desire" 
 
 Now lie thou here, thou body of mine, 
 
 If so thou must. 
 
 I 11 not forget, good friend thou wast 
 
 In those old days of sky and pine 
 
 When body and soul were mated true, 
 
 Under the storm-clouds, under the blue ! 
 
 With memories there, need I repine ? 
 
 In this poor dust 
 
 The spirit still 
 
 Can wander at will 
 
 To all the spots where it loves to be ; 
 
 Over the woodland, over the hill, 
 
 On and out to the open sea !
 
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