Part 2

I followed a bell, and it all came true: Some down, and a yellow-bird; And Cedars—oh!—and specked with blue; And everything else I heard:

Only whatever it is, behind The bell with the farthest call; The one I follow and never find, —The loveliest one of all.

WIND.

I let them call it just the Wind And tell me not to grieve: But I know all it left behind, And more than they believe.

I know about the far-off lands Where people never sleep; They hide their faces in their hands, And rock and weep and weep.

And I too little, all alone, To go and find them yet:— But oh, I hear!—When I am grown, I never will forget.

THE MYSTIC.

People say to me, ‘A Penny for your thought!’ And I can’t remember thinking; And I should think I ought. I wasn’t sleeping, either: I know that, because I saw things out of both my eyes. I wonder where I was.

Now I’m back, I see them Sitting all around; And the noise together Makes a purring sound. But I know something more Than just awhile ago. I know something more!— I wonder what I know.

THE MASTERPIECE.

My mother cut it out for me And started it so I could see; And then she turned some edges in And let me take it to begin. I made it. But I did not know How very hard it is to sew. I took a long time for that stitch, And now it’s there, I don’t know which Is better. But not one is small, And they are not alike at all. That side was very hard to fix; And then the needle always pricks, But you must hold it and take care, Because the point is always there. And knots keep coming, by and by; And then, no matter how you try, The thread comes out of its old eye.

· · · · ·

But someway, now I have it done,— I think it is a pretty one.

LATE.

My father brought somebody up, To show us all asleep. They came as softly up the stairs As you could creep.

They whispered in the doorway there And looked at us awhile. I had my eyes shut up, but I Could feel him smile.

I shut my eyes up close, and lay As still as I could keep; Because I knew he wanted us To be asleep.

CAKES AND ALE.

I’m always glad when Andrew comes. If only I am there, He stays awhile and talks to me As if he did not care.

He took me to some Music once, When it was all for me: And O, I had a splendid time! And he said, so did he.

It lasts, as if the Music still Went round and round the sky:— He said he had a good time, too; And I said, so did I!

EARLY.

I like to lie and wait to see My mother braid her hair. It is as long as it can be, And yet she doesn’t care. I love my mother’s hair.

And then the way her fingers go; They look so quick and white,— In and out, and to and fro, And braiding in the light, And it is always right.

So then she winds it, shiny brown, Around her head into a crown, Just like the day before. And then she looks and pats it down, And looks a minute more; While I stay here all still and cool. O, isn’t morning beautiful?

THE YOUNG THINGS.

THE SAPLING.

When I was but a sprig of May, With wonders to command, Above all else I loved most well What none could understand; And dear were things far-off—far-off, but nothing near at hand.

O, now it was the sunset isle Beyond the weather-vane; And now it was the chime I heard From belfry-towers of Spain; But never yet the little leaf that tapped my window-pane.

Heigh-ho, the wistful things unseen That reach, as I did then, To guess, and wear the heart of youth With eager Why and When! And never eye takes heed of them, in all the world of men.

THE HERO.

I saw the river going, All silver to the brim, Along the southern meadows That were a home to him.

I sang, ‘O River, bear him My dream, a silver swan. ’Tis only he, all day, all day, That I do think upon.’

And oh, my foolish heart forgot, So rapt in heart’s desire, The years he has been sleeping, Beneath a far-off spire.

NESTS.

O Sparrow, sparrow, did you ever try To build a nest high up where no birds are, And close unto a star, Where it might cling and hear the wind go by? For that did I!

And far and far I flew along the quest, For shelter, and I passed the summer rain, I saw the daylight wane; I found among the stars no place of rest, And built no nest.

Down to the Earth again with baffled wings, The warm green earth where such as we must stay. But all the livelong day, High over heaven my dream nest clings and swings, And my heart sings, Sparrow!

SIDE STREETS.

Some days the faces in the street Are clouded all, and dull; And near or far, not one I see To call it beautiful.

O heavy, heavy is my heart; And is the spirit blind? That I am stricken with a doubt, Because of human kind.

Until I rest my looks upon Some cart-horse standing by, With patient forehead, weary mane, And unreproachful eye.

And kiss him on the brow I do!— Because I have a mind To thank him just that he will be So beautiful, and kind.

THE FIR-TREE.

The winds have blown more bitter Each darkening day of fall; High over all the house-tops The stars are far and small. I wonder, will my fir-tree Be green in spite of all?

O grief is colder—colder Than wind from any part; And tears of grief are bitter tears, And doubt’s a sorer smart! But I promised to my fir-tree To keep the fragrant heart.

EARLY-HEART.

‘Early-Heart tends no geese like ours; Every one is a swan, Fit to sing with a nightingale, Or say to a goose, Begone!’

‘Alack, poor souls,’ quoth Early-Heart, ‘Then yours be only geese? Nor only so; but your sheep are sheep; And mine have a golden fleece!’

Quoth Early-Heart, ‘And if mine be swans, Right true you say, hereby. So take your little and leave my much; For the lad in luck am I!’

Waddle and quack, and bleat and baa, They quacked and they baa’d, ’tis true. But Early-Heart followed a white, white flock, And the hills were far and blue.

BEAUTIFUL.

I have no word to tell you The beauty of her face; From her, a wedding garment Would win a grace.

And as the glow of moonrise Will make the east divine, Doth Soul, the radiant dweller, Her face outshine.

AFTER ALL.

I would not now give up one hurt, In this far light of morning; Each one a rose, a blood-red rose, A rose for my adorning.

Yes, and the pallor of old grief, Too lowly even for scorning, Is warmed into a breathing rose, A rose for my adorning.

VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER.

I love my little gowns; I love my little shoes, All standing still below them, Set quietly by twos.

All day I wear them careless, But when I put them by They look so dear and different, And yet I don’t know why.

My oldest one of all,— Worn out; and then the best; But that I have not worn enough To love it, like the rest.

The dimity for Sunday, The blue one and the wool, Now that I see them hanging up, Are somehow beautiful.

Of all the white, with ribbons Gray-green, if I could choose; The fichu that helps everything Be gay; and then, my shoes.

My shoes that skip and saunter, And one that will untie:— They look so funny and so young, I hate to put them by.

I wonder,—if some day ... All this will be the Past?— Poor Hop-the-brook and Dance-with-me, They cannot always last!

THE TOP OF THE MORNING.

My days are strung in amber Till I am sad again: My days are full of sunlight Beyond all sun or rain.

My heart is full of tidings From every wind that blows; And I cannot say, ‘Good-day to you,’ But everybody knows!

FORETHOUGHT.

I did not keep the Rose he brought, After its day; Although it lived a longer time Than other roses may.

I let it go the way of all, For this one fear: Because it might persuade my heart That he was growing dear.

But now my heart is well assured; And I still sing; And no one here would ever know That I miss anything!

UNSAID.

Ah lad, if I could only say The smiles are not for you! But since your eyes are turned this way, What is there I can do? It’s one I see beyond, beyond, My heart is leaning to.

I know, I know, the whole hour long I have been dull and sad, And answered not the word at all I meant to answer, lad; Because my wits were gone astray With all the heart I had.

And now the latest ones are come, And he is coming too; And I would keep the starlight back, But oh, it will shine through! And since you never turn to see, You take it all to you.

DANCE-TIME.

It’s I live in a very wise Town, As all wise people know: They read, they write, they read all day As orchard-trees do grow.

Said I,—I was a young thing then, And a foolish young thing, too,— ‘I will not spend my little life thus; There’s much I’d rather do.

‘For I would rather look at you This way, with happy looks, Than lose the stars from my two eyes With poring over books.

‘I’d rather far be red and white For stupid folks to see Than write nine books for little dull worms To eat them, leisurely.

‘And I would rather have it said When all my days are through, “O she was good to see and hear And say Good-morning to!”

‘When learning makes you white and red And fresh as west-winds blow, I may spend sun and candle-light To learn what they all know.

‘But O, the wise in this wise Town, They have no longer prime. And there are fewer wise men, now, Than once upon a time!’

THE ENCHANTED SHEEP-FOLD.

The hills far-off were blue, blue, The hills at hand were brown; And all the herd-bells called to me As I came by the down.

The briars turned to roses—roses Ever we stayed to pull A white little rose, and a red little rose, And a lock of silver wool.

Nobody heeded,—none, none; And when True Love came by, They thought him nought but the shepherd boy. Nobody knew but I!

The trees were feathered like birds, birds; Birds were in every tree. Yet nobody heeded, nobody heard, Nobody knew, save we.

And he is fairer than all,—all. How could a heart go wrong? For his eyes I knew, and his knew mine, Like an old, old song.

YES, LOVE IS BLIND.

Truly, Love is blind. All my wish and will, That he takes for me: Sure Love cannot see, That he thinks so, still!

Truly, Love is blind; But he hears, instead. He hath such fine ears, Far away he hears Little words unsaid.

Truly, Love is blind; For the merest touch, Hover of a breath, Smiling underneath, He will take for much.

Blind, and without fear! Even so, I find He would have me here Always, very near. Truly, Love is blind.

THE MORNING WAS SO BRIGHT.

The morning was so bright to see, I thought that he would come, Though he is far away from me While I bide on at home.

The morning was so wide, so blue; The tide ran in to greet:— It could not be, I knew, I knew, But O, the wind was sweet!

There was a ripple on the pond; The road had one refrain; And something called me, just beyond The turn of every lane.

The trees were trying not to sing; They beckoned on and on: The day went by with promising, And now the day is gone.

The after-glow, it fades away With my own Star above;— And all the day, and all the day, I looked for my true love.

THE TWO.

And if they faltered in their speech, They knew not; for their eyes Grew like with gazing, each on each, Like deep of sea and skies.

AFTER-THOUGHT.

‘But I was happy then, How happy was I then!’ The sorry saying you may hear Upon the lips of men.

To know when you are happy, You would not call it wise; Yet, for the seeing happiness, How tears will clear the eyes!

They laugh best who laugh last, Says Pride that fears a fall. But O, who will not laugh at first May never laugh at all!

OTHERS.

NEAR AND FAR.

Near and far, near and far, All the lights were keeping Quiet watch with lamp and star, While the roads were sleeping.

And I saw, far and near: Starlight overhead; While a woman’s shadow, here, Made to-morrow’s bread.

Near and far; and I forgot Stars must needs be small: Lamp and shadow, knowing not, Did so fold them all.

FRIENDS ALL.

Little Kathleen, when I was ill, Offered the mass for me; And burned a holy candle, too As white as wax could be. Little Kathleen, I think of her,— It may be once a year,— When houses sweeten with the fir And bells ring out good cheer!

Hejà! But it is good to live And walk brown earth once more; And good to hear your fingers knock At some familiar door.— And O, to see them all again, To see them,—though they say, ‘And did you take a journey, then? And were you long away?’ _O, did you take a journey, then? And were you long away?_

VANTAGE.

The wisest finding that I have Is very young, no doubt. Yet many a man must needs grow old Before he finds it out.

How happily it comes about— And I was never told!— That we must all be young awhile, Before we can be old.

A SONG OF SOLOMON.

King Solomon was the wisest man Of all that have been kings. He built an House unto the Lord: And he sang of creeping things.

Of creeping things, of things that fly, Or swim within the seas; Of the little weed along the wall; And of the Cedar-trees.

And happier he, without mistake, Than all men since alive. God’s House he built; and he did make A thousand songs and five.

COUNSEL TO BEGGARS.

O, came you by the same road too, The road that called to me? And fellow-farers, will you learn What shelter there may be?

There’s daybreak there to fill your heart Red wine for half the way; And gold there is of sunset, then, To last another day.

(And fill your pockets with the same Altho’ your need be small. Take all the bounty while you may, To have some wherewithal.)

And if you see the new moon, I bid you tell the news, And lend the slender silverness For other poor to use.

And if your heart be sudden light, And yet you know not why, I counsel you to hold the joy; Let pride of woe go by.

And if your feet be wearied out, And you would rest therefore, Seek out some house; but look you leave Your sandals at the door.

For you shall find—tho’ sad to find Where houses be so few— Your too-much sorrow irks a friend, If ever it irkèd you!

Take heart. And if the open air No shelter seem to be, Yet there you shall—and only there— Have all that you can see.

THE TWA CHEERLESS.

Eh, is there nothing doing? Then give your soul good heed; And show yourself the miracles That you would like to read, As long as you’re in need.

And then suppose I sing myself —And if you will, give ear,— The very song I never heard, But I would like to hear: And this, man, will be cheer!

THE WALK.

We left the house, for we were sad, To talk of all the griefs we had;

And little did we talk at first, Leaving to silence all the worst.

The rain it rained and star was none; The wet made two lights out of one.

And broken paths of shining yet Made on before us, through the wet.

The more we walked and still would walk, The less did seem the need of talk.

The more we walked from light to light, The wiser grew the troubled night.

The tacit lamps proved something clear As often as one stayed to hear:

And better ways, and endless clews Dawned with the lengthening avenues.

Till where the street-ends met the square, We found a thousand tulips there,

Sleeping as flowers sleep o’nights, Beneath a thousand city-lights.

And then the Bridge from shore to shore Solved everything forevermore,

So clearly, you could leave the Why, Contented, to some by-and-by.

And time, and grief, were worn away Till there was nothing left, to say.

REFRAINS.

‘I love all the world to-day!’ _That is very young._ ‘So I sing, the while I may.’ _All the songs are sung._ ‘God would never say me nay.’ _Heed the foolish tongue!_

‘There’s a singing in the tree,’— _All the songs are sung._ ‘Nightingales! Oh, could it be?’ _Heed the foolish tongue!_ ‘And the new moon smiles at me.’ _Ah, the moon is young!_

OUTSIDE THE MUSIC.

Now they come, and now they stop, Now they all go in. Now the coaches drive away; And now it must begin.

All their faces looked the same, Every time before. If I heard it, I should know More and more and more.

If I heard it, I would sing, When I went away. I would sing it till I grew Beautiful, some day.

O, I hear a whiff of it; There’s another one;— And the coaches driving up, After it’s begun!

THE FAIREST.

The fairest thing that men have made, My lad, it is a Ship, O, beautiful beyond the white Wild bird she would outstrip! So beautiful, so beautiful, A heart must leap to bless, And after her the wake of foam Stay white with happiness.

And fairer than all things beside, My maid,—a Violin; Nay, aught that will give out again The music hid within. Or pipe or string or hollow shell, It breaks enchanted sleep, To win awhile the faëry heart Of air that none may keep.