Part 4

Along the uplands, faintly seen Across the fallow fields between, The winter wheat grows bravely green Despite the coming cold; And studding all the stubbled ground In tasseled shocks the corn is bound, The ripened ears heaped close around In piles of purest gold.

To smoky wreaths along the ways The newly kindled brush-heaps blaze, And filmy veils of purple haze Mesh all the amber air; Among the fleeces of the sheep The yellow sunbeams softly creep, And sweet contentment, wide and deep, Rests gently everywhere.

_SUNNY NOON_

The rose-trees and the barberries Are strung with coral beads; And fitful breezes lightly sift The ripened poppy-seeds.

Still, heedless of the nipping frost, Along the garden bed The white and purple gillyflowers Their spicy fragrance shed.

And weaving richest tapestries Upon the lattice frame, The woodbine laces in and out In gold, and rose, and flame.

Along the wall the grapevines trace Their brown and twisted frets, And all the trailing clematis Is hung with soft aigrettes.

Through fringes that the larches wave The sky shows fair and blue, And somewhere, from beneath the eaves, I hear the pigeons coo.

The glory of the noonday sun Pervades the dreamy air, And the sweet heart of beauty throbs In music everywhere.

_THE GOLDEN WEDDING_

More sweet than all the buds that blow Where summer’s rarest roses grow, More splendid than white lily spires, Or shining, scarlet poppy fires, Love’s fragrant flower,—even so, The blossom of the heart’s desires.

And richer than all fields enfold Or all earth’s burdened branches hold, Than any autumn vintage red, Or yellow sheaves new harvested, Love’s ripened fruit of mellow gold, The sum of life, when all is said.

_EARLY NOVEMBER_

O the sweetness of the jangle Of the sheep-bells, in the tangle Of the wild witch-hazel bushes and the spreading red-bud trees! —Ah, the silence when it ceases! But the beauty of the fleeces, And the soft eyes peering at me through the woodbine lattices!

And beyond them, and the network Of the dogwood, and the fretwork Of the interlacing grapevines, and across the meadow land, I can see the color showing Where the winter-wheat is growing, With the corn encamped about it like a plumed protecting band.

While among the many-seeded Tufts of russet weeds, unheeded, Truant ducks go idly twinkling through the yellow stubble-field; Their white feathers like the glosses Of the shining silver bosses That adorn the tawny luster of an olden golden shield.

In long loops from off the hedges, Trailing downward to the edges Of the wayside grass and clover-leaves, fine cobweb threads are wound; Fairy clues that lead my eager Errant fancy to beleaguer Some concealed, enchanted chamber in the richly covered ground.

Till the sun begins the lighting Of his western fires, that smiting Through the orchard boughs are splintered into spears of ruddy flame; An irradiating splendor That transfigures all the slender Little leafless twigs and branches with a glory without name!

O, I know the year is going! Neither reaping-time nor sowing Will restore the tender beauty of its blossoms that are dead: Yet I cherish all their sweetness In the ripeness and completeness Of the gold and crimson fruitage that my heart has harvested.

_WHEREFORE WINGS?_

Heigho, sparrow! Reckless of the rain; When chill the cheerless wind grows, Chirping might and main! Is it naught, then, when the rose Blows again?

Beating, sleeting on your draggled coat! Surely, ’tis enough to drown Any happy note Nestling in that downy brown Little throat.

Ah me, sparrow! Had I but your power, Think you in the freezing sleet I would waste an hour? —I’d sing my sweetest to a sweet Orange flower!

_WINTRY TINTS_

The sky is like an opal, And the horizon’s ring Is yellow, like a band of gold, To hold so rich a thing.

The wheat-fields are as fleecy As any cloud that blows, But tawny tufts of standing corn Prick lightly through the snows.

Beside the drift-bound wind-mill A pearly shadow plays In tones of tender violet, And vague, elusive grays.

And tinged with quiet olive The hedges fine and bare, Whose thorny masses down the road An alien softness wear.

O, subtile chords of color Are fingered by the frost! Though touched and tuned to colder key, No grace of earth is lost.

For see! a deep red ruby The opal heaven grows, And yonder pool of ice is one Great golden-hearted rose!

_THE PERFECT FRIENDSHIP_

There is a garden so divinely fair That in its magic bound, surpassing sweet, The golden buds, so Persian songs repeat, Spring forth immortal in enchanted air; But, ah, a close there is, more heavenly rare, Where, cherished warm within the heart’s retreat, Love’s whitest lilies burgeon to complete And fragrant flowering lovely past compare.

O dearest friend, such lilies have I found Within my heart, undreamed-of but for thee! Nor any fabled buds of genie’s ground Are sweeter in their immortality; When thou art near, like notes of happy birds, My thoughts uprise in songs that need no words.

_JANUARY THAW_

The brook has broken through its glass, And where the snows were drifted Round tangled blades of last year’s grass, The yellow sun is sifted.

Uncovered by the melting night And warm, deceiving day-time, The myrtle bed is green and bright As in the midst of Maytime!

I almost fancy that I hear The hum of bees in clover, And from the maples, glad and clear, The first red-robin lover.

A mock spring laughs in mocking skies, (O little buds, be wary!) And masking in sweet April’s guise The youthful year makes merry.

_MORNING ON THE MOUNTAIN_

Upon the gray crags, steep and sheer, The columbines’ gold tassels swing, And wind-flowers cling, Where, lightly poised, the mountain deer Drink in the dewy atmosphere In long, deep draughts of sun and spring; From haunts that know no hunter’s snare The hermit-thrush and wood-dove wing, Whilst through green openings squirrels fare And here and there Great, silvery moths go fluttering.

Along the valley, in a trail Of purple light, the mist clouds sail, And, soft and pale As wreaths of newly risen smoke, They wrap the red-wood trees and veil The topmost crests of pine and oak, And balsam boughs and juniper Wherethrough the west winds faintly stir The underwood, and gently stroke The tall young ferns, and smooth the fur Of countless happy forest-folk.

Wild little hearts, that throb unknown Save to the fondling winds alone, Bright eyes, that sparkle free of fear, O earth is sweet, and life is dear! Here in these forests, still your own, In primal peace, this many a year God keep you here! Here where across the waking lands Young willows wave their bloomy wands, Whilst up the heights and far away The pine trees climb in singing bands And feathery spruces surge and sway And clap their cones, like little hands, For gladness of the day!

Up, up, they clamber on until The tenuous air smites keen and chill, And far winds blow From leagues of everlasting snow; And then the mountain buds, more bold, Their sheaths unfold And light their golden fires and glow With flame unquenched by frost or cold.

Whilst ever o’er them, shimmering high Against the sky, A glittering, crystal radiance streams, Wherein the mountain floats and gleams Through frosty fleeces, till it seems That some great morning star, instead Of earth, hangs trembling overhead, A dream of all most lovely dreams! An airy miracle, overspread With veils of silvery tissue spun Of ice and mist and snow and sun. A dazzle of all lights in one!

I watch it till, tall towering there Through brightening air, Such special splendor does it wear It seems the sun’s own citadel, At sight whereof my lips grow dumb With joy I find no voice to tell; So stricken silent, as with some Deep gladness of o’ermastering spell; Nor any song of mine may dare To follow where The summit’s utmost radiant peak, Bright as God’s chosen cherubim, Soars through the smiling sky to seek And fearless front the face of Him.

_THE LITTLE SISTER_

Along the street a tiny pair Of childish figures lately went; The boy’s face wore a fearless air, The little sister’s sweet content.

He closely clasped her chubby hand, And led her through the throng, while she Seemed perfectly to understand He would protect her loyally.

And as I watched them pass from sight, My heart began to ache, for so I held my brother’s fingers tight And toddled down the long ago.

Then all at once, beyond control, The tears uprose in blinding rain, Such hopeless yearning stirred my soul To lay my hand in his again!

_THE SEA-GARDENS OF SANTA CATALINA_

Lightly let the boat go drifting, Neither hand nor oar uplifting, Let no motion fret the ocean, and no sail be now unfurled; Stranger than Aladdin’s story, Lo, the dream-surpassing glory And the marvel unimagined of the limpid underworld!

Gaze within the magic mirror Of the water, crystal clearer Than the gleaming glass enchanted, made by Merlin’s sorcery And behold the secrets hidden Through the ages, till unbidden Sons of men came sailing, sailing down the blue Pacific sea.

See the pearl-encrusted portals Of the caverns, wherein mortals Dare not pierce with earthly vision, dare not fare with feet profane; Coral-columned halls with golden Thrones in emerald deeps withholden, Lit with sparkling amber splendor, where the merry mermen reign.

See the long kelp banners flying From their gardens underlying All the rare, transparent surface of this sunny, southern sea; Grasses, shot with silver spangles, Wreathed and caught in starry tangles Of the purple ocean-pansy and the fringed anemone.

And the brilliant sea-weeds scattered Like a gay mosaic shattered In a million shining fragments over all the ocean floor; While the bright-hued fish go darting In swift journeys, meeting, parting, Weaving gold and scarlet patterns through the water evermore.

Through the light that throbs and quivers Down the depths, and breaks and shivers Into splintered flakes of brightness, that so melt and interfuse Into all such strangest ranges Of translucent color changes, That the eye is thrilled, bewildered, with their rare enchanting hues.

—Ah, would thus upon the gleaming Southern sea, in happy dreaming, We might drift and drift forever! never shoreward guide the keel! Azure skies, forever smiling, Into visions sweet beguiling, And beneath our boat the splendor of those rosy dreams made real!

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:

Original spelling, hyphenation and punctuation have been kept unchanged.