Chapter 2
"O ho! O ho! 'tis noon, I say; The roses blow. Away, away, above the hay The burly bees to the roses gay Hum love-tunes all the livelong day, So low! so low! The roses' Minnesingers they."
II.
TWILIGHT.
Up velvet lawns of lilac skies The tawny moon begins to rise Behind low blue-black hills of trees, As rises from faint Siren seas, To rock in purple deeps, hip-hid, A virgin-bosom'd Oceanid. Gaunt shadows crouch by rock and wood, Like hairy Satyrs, grim and rude, Till the white Dryads of the moon Come noiseless in their silver shoon To beautify them with their love. The sweet, sad notes I hear, I hear, Beyond dim pines and mellow hills, Of some fair maiden harvester, The lovely Limnad of the grove Whose singing charms me while it kills:
"O deep! O deep! the twilight rare Pales on to sleep; And fair, so fair! fades the rich air. The fountain shines in its ferny lair, Where the cold Nymph sits in her oozy hair To weep, to weep, For a mortal youth who is not there."
GOING FOR THE COWS.
I.
The juice-big apples' sullen gold, Like lazy Sultans laughed and lolled 'Mid heavy mats of leaves that lay Green-flatten'd 'gainst the glaring day; And here a pear of rusty brown, And peaches on whose brows the down Waxed furry as the ears of Pan, And, like Diana's cheeks, whose tan Burnt tender secresies of fire, Or wan as Psyche's with desire Of lips that love to kiss or taste Voluptuous ripeness there sweet placed. And down the orchard vistas he,-- Barefooted, trousers out at knee, Face shadowing from the sloping sun A hat of straw, brim-sagging broad,-- Came, lowly whistling some vague tune, Upon the sunbeam-sprinkled road. Lank in his hand a twig with which In boyish thoughtlessness he crushed Rare pennyroyal myriads rich In pungent souls that warmly gushed. Before him whirled in rattling fear The saffron-bellied grasshopper; And ringing from the musky dells Came faint the cows' melodious bells, Where whimp'ring like a fretful hound The fountain bubbled up in sound.
II.
Yellow as sunset skies and pale As fairy clouds that stay or sail Thro' azure vaults of summer, blue As summer heavens the violets grew; And mosses on which spurts of light Fell laughing, like the lips one might Feign for a Hebe or a girl Whose mouth heat-lightens up with pearl; Limp ferns in murmuring shadows shrunk And silent as if stunned or drunk With moist aromas of the wood; Dry rustlings of the quietude; On silver fronds' thin tresses new Cold limpid blisters of the dew. Across the rambling fence she leaned: A gingham gown to ankles bare; Her artless beauty, bonnet-screened, Tempestuous with its stormy hair. A rain-crow gurgled in a vine,-- She heard it not--a step she hears; The wild rose smelt like delicate wine,-- She knew it not--'tis he that nears. With smiles of greeting all her face Grew musical; with rustic grace He leant beside her, and they had Some parley, with light laughter glad; I know not what; I know but this, Its final period was a kiss.
SONG OF THE SPIRITS OF SPRING.
I.
Wafted o'er purple seas, From gold Hesperides, Mixed with the southern breeze, Hail to us spirits! Dripping with fragrant rains, Fire of our ardent veins, Life of the barren plains, Woodlands and germs that the woodland inherits.
II.
Wan as the creamy mist, Tinged with pale amethyst, Warm with the sun that kissed Vine-tangled mountains Looming o'er tropic lakes, Where ev'ry air that shakes Tamarisk coverts makes Music that haunts like the falling of fountains.
III.
Swift are our flashing feet, Fleet with the winds that meet, Winds that, blown, billow sweet, And with light porous, Boom with the drunken bees, Sigh with the surge of seas, Rush with the rush of trees, Birds and wild wings and of torrents sonorous.
IV.
Stars in our liquid eyes, Stars of the darkest skies, And on our fingers lies Starlight; and shadows, Unmooned, of nights that creep Hide in our tresses deep, And in our limbs white sleep Dreams like a baby in asphodel meadows.
V.
Music of many streams, Strength of a million beams, Fire and sainted dreams, Murmuring lowly, Pulse on hot lips of light, Which, what they kiss of blight, Quicken and blossom white, Raise to be beautiful, perfect, and holy.
VI.
Oh, will you sit and wait, When fields, erst desolate, Now are intoxicate With life that flowers? Purple with love and rife With their fierce budded life, Passion and rosy strife Drained from warm winds and the turbulent showers?
VII.
Nay! at our feet you'll lie: For the winds lullaby, For our completest sky, And largess flying Of pinky pearls of blooms, For the one bee that booms, And the warm-spilled perfumes Forget for a moment already we're dying!
THE SPIRITS OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS.
[VOICES SINGING.]
FIRST CHORUS.
Ere the birth of Death and of Time, Ere the birth of Hell and its torments, Ere the orbs of heat and of rime And the winds to the heavens were as garments, Worm-like in the womb of Space, Worm-like from her monster womb, We sprung, a myriad race Of thunder and tempest and gloom.
SECOND CHORUS.
As from the evil good Springs like a fire, As bland beatitude Wells from the dire, So was the Chaos brood Of us the sire.
FIRST CHORUS.
We had lain for gaunt ages asleep 'Neath her breast in a bulk of torpor, When down through the vasts of the deep Clove a sound like the notes of a harper; Clove a sound, and the horrors grew Tumultuous with turbulent night, With whirlwinds of blackness that blew, And storm that was godly in might. And the walls of our prison were shattered Like the crust of a fire-wrecked world; Like torrents of clouds that are scattered On the face of the Night we are hurled.
SECOND CHORUS.
Us, in unholy thought Patiently lying, Eons of violence wrought, Violence defying. When on a mighty wind,-- Born of a godly mind Large with a motive kind,-- Girdled with wonder, Flame and a strength of song Rushed in a voice along, Burst and, lo! we were strong-- Strong as the thunder.
FIRST CHORUS.
We lurk in the upper spaces, Where the oceans of tempest are born, Where the scowls of our shadowy faces Are safe from the splendors of morn. Our homes are wrecked worlds and each planet Whose sun is a light that is sped; Bleak moons whose cold bodies of granite Are hollow and flameless and dead.
SECOND CHORUS.
We in the living sun Live like a passion; Ere all his stars begun We and the sun were one, As God did fashion. Lo! from our burning hands, Flung like inspired brands, Hurled we the stars, like sands Whirled in the ocean; And all our breath was life, Life to those worlds and rife With ever-moving strife, Passion for motion.
FIRST CHORUS.
Our beds are the tombs of the mortals; We feed on their crimes and the thought That falters and halts at the portals Of actions, intentions unwrought. We cover the face of to-morrow; We frown in the hours that be; We breathe in the presence of sorrow, And death and destruction are we.
SECOND CHORUS.
We are the hope and ease, Joy and the pleasure, Authors of love and peace, Love that shall never cease, Free as the azure. Birth of our eyes--the might, Power and strength of light, Victor o'er death and night, Flesh and its yearnings: And from our utt'rance streams Beauty with burnings After completer dreams, Fuller discernings.
Morning and birth are ours, Dew that is blown From our light lips like flowers; Clouds and the beating showers, Stars that are sown; Song and the bursting buds, Life of the many floods, Winds that are strown.
Ye in your darkness are Dark and infernal; Subject to death and mar! But in the spaces far, Like our effulgent star, We are eternal!
TO SORROW.
I.
O tear-eyed goddess of the marble brow, Who showerest snows of tresses on the night Of anguished temples! lonely watcher, thou Who bendest o'er the couch of life's dead light! Who in the hollow hours of night's noon Rockest the cradle of the child, Whose fever-blooded eyeballs seek the moon To cool their pulses wild. Thou who dost stoop to kiss a sister's cheek, Which rules the alabastar death with youth; Thou who art mad and strangely meek,-- Empress of passions, couth, uncouth, We kneel to thee!
II.
O Sorrow, when the sapless world grows white, And singing gathers on her springtide robes, On some bleak steep which takes the ruby light Of day, braid in thy locks the spirit globes Of cool, weak snowdrops dashed with frozen dew, And hasten to the leas below Where Spring may wandered be from the rich blue Which rims yon clouds of snow. From the pied crocus and the violet's hues, Think then how thou didst rake the bosoming snow, To show some mother the soft blues Of baby eyes, the sparkling glow Of dimple-dotted cheeks.
III.
On some hoar upland, hoar with clustered thorns, Hard by a river's wind-blown lisp of waves, Sit with young white-skinned Spring, whose dewy morns Laugh in his pouting cheeks which Health enslaves. There feast thee on the brede of his long hair, Where half-grown roses royal blaze. And cool-eyed primroses wide-diskéd bare, Frail stars of moonish haze, Contented lie wound in his breathing arms:-- 'Tis meet that grief should mingle with the wan, That blue of calms and gloom of storms Reign on the burning throne of dawn To glorify the world.
IV.
Or in the peaceful calm of stormy evens, When the sick, bloodless West doth winding spread A sheeted shroud of silver o'er the heavens And brooches it with one rich star's gold head, Low lay thee down beside a mountain lake, Which dimples at the twilight's sigh, Couched on plush mosses 'neath green bosks that shake Storm fragrance from on high,-- The cold, pure spice of rain-drenched forests deep,-- And gorge thy grief upon the nightingale, Who with the hush a war doth keep That bubbles down the starlit vale To Silence's rapt ear.
THE PASSING OF THE BEAUTIFUL.
On southern winds shot through with amber light, Breeding soft balm, and clothed in cloudy white, The lily-fingered Spring came o'er the hills Waking the crocus and the daffodils. O'er the cold earth she breathed a tender sigh,-- The maples sang and flung their banners high, Their crimson-tasseled pennons, and the elm Bound his dark brows with a green-crested helm. Beneath the musky rot of Autumn's leaves, Under the forest's myriad naked eaves, Life woke and rose in gold and green and blue, Robed in the star-light of the twinkling dew. With timid tread adown the barren wood Spring held her way, when, lo! before her stood White-mantled Winter wagging his white head, Stormy his brow, and stormily he said:-- "Sole lord of terror, and the fiend of storm, Crowned king of despots, my envermeiled arm Slew these vast woodlands crimsoning all their bowers! Thou, Spirit of Beauty, with thy bursting flowers, Swollen with pride, wouldst thou usurp my throne, Long planted here deep in the waste's wild moan? Sworn foe of beauty, with a band of ice I'll strangle thee tho' thou be welcomer thrice!" So round her throat a band of blasting frost, Her sainted throat of snow, he coiled and crossed, And cast her on the dark, unfeeling mold; Her tender blossoms, blighted in the fold Of her warm bosoms, trembling bowed their brows In holy meekness, or in scattered rows Huddled about her white and silent feet, Or on pale lips laid fond last kisses sweet, And died: lilacs all musky for the May, And bluer violets, and snow drops lay Silent and dead, but yet divinely fair, Like ice gems glist'ning in Spring's lovely hair. The Beautiful, so innocent, sweet, and pure, Why must thou perish, and the evil still endure? Too soon must pass the Beautiful away! Too long doth Terror hold anarchal sway! Alas! sad heart, bow not beneath the pain, Time changeth all, the Beautiful wakes again! We can not question such; a higher power Knows best what bud is ripest in its flower; Silently plucks it at the fittest hour.
A NOVEMBER SKETCH.
The hoar-frost hisses 'neath the feet, And the worm-fence's straggling length, Smote by the morning's slanted strength, Sparkles one rib of virgin sleet.
To withered fields the crisp breeze talks, And silently and sadly lifts The bronz'd leaves from the beech and drifts Them wadded down the woodland walks.
Reluctantly and one by one The worthless leaves sift slowly down, And thro' the mournful vistas blown Drop rustling, and their rest is won.
Where stands the brook beneath its fall, Thin-scaled with ice the pool is bound, And on the pebbles scattered 'round The ooze is frozen; one and all
White as rare crystals shining fair. There stirs no life: the faded wood Mourns sighing, and the solitude Seems shaken with a mighty care.
Decay and silence sadly drape The vigorous limbs of oldest trees, The rotting leaves and rocks whose knees Are shagged with moss, with misty crape.
To sullenness the surly crow All his derisive feeling yields, And o'er the barren stubble-fields Flaps cawless, wrapped in hungry woe.
The eve comes on: the teasel stoops Its spike-crowned head before the blast; The tattered leaves drive whirling past Like skeletons in whistling troops.
The pithy elder copses sigh; Their broad blue combs with berries weighed, Like heavy pendulums are swayed With ev'ry gust that hurries by.
Thro' matted walls of tangled brier That hedge the lane, the sumachs thrust Their scarlet torches red as rust, Burning with flames of stolid fire.
The evening's here--cold, hard, and drear; The lavish West with bullion bright Of molten silver walls the night Far as one star's thin rays appear.
Wedged toward the West's cold luridness The wild geese fly 'neath roseless domes; The wild cry of the leader comes Distant and harsh with loneliness.
The pale West dies, and in its cup Bubble on bubble pours the night: The East glows with a mystic light; The stars are keen; the moon is up.
THE WHITE EVENING.
From gray, bleak hills 'neath steely skies Thro' beards of ice the forests roar; Along the river's humming shore The skimming skater bird-like flies.
On windy meads where wave white breaks, Where fettered briers' glist'ning hands Reach to the cold moon's ghastly lands, Hoots the lorn owl, and crouching quakes.
With frowsy snow blanched is the world; Stiff sweeps the wind thro' murmuring pines, Then fiend-like deep-entangled whines Thro' the dead oak, that vagrant twirled
Phantoms the cliff o'er the wild wold: Ghost-vested willows rim the stream, Low hang lank limbs where in a dream The houseless hare leaps o'er the cold
On snow-tressed crags that twinkling flash, Like champions mailed for clanking war, Glares down large Phosphor's quiv'ring star, Where teeth of foam the fierce seas gnash.
Slim o'er the tree-tops weighed with white The country church's spire doth swell, A scintillating icicle, While fitfully the village light
In sallow stars stabs the gray dark; Homeward the creaking wagons strain Thro' knee-deep drifts; the steeple's vane A flitting ghost whirls in its sark.
Down from the flaky North with clash, Swathed in his beard of flashing sleet, With steeds of winds that jangling beat Life from the world, and roaring dash,--
Loud Winter! ruddy as a rose Blown by the June's mild, musky lips; The high moon dims her horn that dips, And fold on fold roll down the snows.
SUMMER.
I.
Now Lucifer ignites her taper bright To greet the wild-flowered Dawn, Who leads the tasseled Summer draped with light Down heaven's gilded lawn. Hark to the minstrels of the woods, Tuning glad harps in haunted solitudes! List to the rillet's music soft, The tree's hushed song: Flushed from her star aloft Comes blue-eyed Summer stepping meek along.
II.
And as the lusty lover leads her in, Clad in soft blushes red, With breezy lips her love he tries to win, Doth many a tear-drop shed: While airy sighs, dyed in his heart, Like Cupid's arrows, flame-tipped o'er her dart, He bends his yellow head and craves The timid maid For one sweet kiss, and laves Her rose-crowned locks with tears until 'tis paid.
III.
Come to the forest or the musky meadows Brown with their mellow grain; Come where the cascades shake green shadows, Where tawny orchards reign. Come where fall reapers ply the scythe, Where golden sheaves are heaped by damsels blithe: Come to the rock-rough mountain old, Tree-pierced and wild; Where freckled flowers paint the wold, Hail laughing Summer, sunny-haired, blonde child!
IV.
Come where the dragon-flies in coats of blue Flit o'er the wildwood streams, And fright the wild bee from the honey-dew Where if long-sipping dreams. Come where the touch-me-nots shy peep Gold-horned and speckled from the cascades steep: Come where the daisies by the rustic bridge Display their eyes, Or where the lilied sedge From emerald forest-pools, lance-like, thick rise.
V.
Come where the wild deer feed within the brake As red as oak and strong; Come where romantic echoes wildly wake Old hills to mystic song. Come to the vine-hung woodlands hoary, Come to the realms of hunting song and story; But come when Summer decks the land With garb of gold, With colors myriad as the sand-- A birth-fair child, tho' thousand summers old.
VI.
Come where the trees extend their shining arms Unto the star-sown skies; Displaying wrinkled age in limb-gnarled charms When Night, moon-eyed, brown lies Upon their bending lances seen With fluttered pennons in the moon's broad sheen. Come where the pearly dew is spread Upon the rose; Come where the fire-flies wed The drowsy Night flame-stained with sudden glows.
VII.
Come to the vine-dark dingle's whispering glens White with their blossoms pale; Come to the willowed weed-haired lakes and fens; Come to the tedded vale. Come all, and greet the brown-browed child With lips of honey red as a poppy wild, Clothed in her vernal robes of old, Her hair with wheat All tawny as with gold; Hail Summer with her sandaled grain-bound feet!
NIGHT.
Lo! where the car of Day down slopes of flame On burnished axle quits the drowsy skies! And as his snorting steeds of glowing brass Rush 'neath the earth, a glimmering dust of gold From their fierce hoofs o'er heaven's azure meads Rolls to yon star that burns beneath the moon. With solemn tread and holy-stoled, star-bound, The Night steps in, sad votaress, like a nun, To pace lone corridors of th' ebon-archéd sky. How sad! how beautiful! her raven locks Pale-filleted with stars that dance their sheen On her deep, holy eyes, and woo to sleep, Sleep or the easeful slumber of white Death! How calm o'er this great water, in its flow Silent and vast, smoothes yon cold sister sphere, Her lucid chasteness feathering the wax-white foam! As o'er a troubled brow falls calm content: As clear-eyed chastity in this bleak world Tinges and softens all the darker dross.
See, where the roses blow at the wood's edge In many a languid bloom, bowed to the moon And the dim river's lisp; sleep droops their lids With damask lashes trimmed and fragile rayed, Which the mad, frolic bee--rough paramour-- So often kissed beneath th' enlivening sun. How cool the breezes touch the tired head With unseen fingers long and soft! and there From its white couch of thorn-tree blossoms sweet, Pillowed with one milk cluster, floating, swooning, Drops the low nocturne of a dreaming bird, _Ave Maria_, nun-like, slumb'ring sung. See, there the violet mound in many an eye, A deep-blue eye, meek, delicate, and sad, As Sorrow's own sad eyes, great with far dreams, When haltingly she bends o'er Lethe's waves Falt'ring to drink, and falt'ring still remains, The Night with feet of moon-tinged mist swept o'er Them now, but as she passed she bent and kissed Each modest orb that selfless hung as tho' Thought-freighted low; then groped her train of jet Which billowing by did merely waft the sound Of a brief gust to each wild violet, To kiss each eye and laugh; then shed a tear Upon each downward face which nestled there.
She weeping from her silent vigil turns, As some pale mother from her cradled child, Frail, sick, and wan, with kisses warm and songs Wooed to a peaceful ease and tranquil rest, When the rathe cock crows to the graying East.
DAWN.
I.
Mist on the mountain height Silvery creeping; Incarnate beads of light Bloom-cradled sleeping, Dripped from the brow of Night.
II.
Shadows, and winds that rise Over the mountain; Stars in the spar that lies Cold in the fountain, Pale as the quickened skies.
III.
Sheep in the wattled folds Dreamily bleating, Dim on the thistled wolds, Where, glad with meeting, Morn the thin Night enfolds.
IV.
Sleep on the moaning sea Hushing his trouble; Rest on the cares that be Hued in Life's bubble, Calm on the woes of me....
V.
Mist from the mountain height Hurriedly fleeting; Star in the locks of Night Throbbing and beating, Thrilled with the coming light.
VI.
Flocks on the musky strips; Pearl in the fountain; Winds from the forest's lips; Red on the mountain; Dawn from the Orient trips.
JUNE.
I.
Hotly burns the amaryllis With its stars of red; Whitely rise the stately lilies From the lily bed; Withered shrinks the wax May-apple 'Neath its parasol; Chilly dies the violet dapple In its earthly hall.
II.