Later Poems Part 13

Spring Night

In the wondrous star-sown night, In the first sweet warmth of spring, I lie awake and listen To hear the glad earth sing.

I hear the brook in the wood Murmuring, as it goes, The song of the happy journey Only the wise heart knows.

I hear the trilling note Of the tree-frog under the hill, And the clear and watery treble Of his brother, silvery shrill.

And then I wander away Through the mighty forest of Sleep, To follow the fairy music To the sh.o.r.e of an endless deep.

Bloodroot

When April winds arrive And the soft rains are here, Some morning by the roadside These Fairy folk appear.

We never see their coming, However sharp our eyes; Each year as if by magic They take us by surprise.

Along the ragged woodside And by the green spring-run, Their small white heads are nodding And twinkling in the sun.

They crowd across the meadow In innocence and mirth, As if there were no sorrow In all this wondrous earth.

So frail, so unregarded, And yet about them clings A sorcery of welcome,-- The joy of common things.

Perhaps their trail of beauty Across the pasture sod In jubilant procession Is where an angel trod.

Daffodil's Return

What matter if the sun be lost?

What matter though the sky be gray?

There's joy enough about the house, For Daffodil comes home to-day.

There's news of swallows on the air, There's word of April on the way, They're calling flowers within the street, And Daffodil comes home to-day.

O who would care what fate may bring, Or what the years may take away!

There's life enough within the hour, For Daffodil comes home to-day.

Now the Lilac Tree's in Bud

Now the lilac tree's in bud, And the morning birds are loud.

Now a stirring in the blood Moves the heart of every crowd.

Word has gone abroad somewhere Of a great impending change.

There's a message in the air Of an import glad and strange.

Not an idler in the street, But is better off to-day.

Not a traveller you meet, But has something wise to say.

Now there's not a road too long, Not a day that is not good, Not a mile but hears a song Lifted from the misty wood.

Down along the Silvermine That's the blackbird's cheerful note!

You can see him flash and s.h.i.+ne With the scarlet on his coat.

Now the winds are soft with rain, And the twilight has a spell, Who from gladness could refrain Or with olden sorrows dwell?

White Iris

White Iris was a princess In a kingdom long ago, Mysterious as moonlight And silent as the snow.

She drew the world in wonder And swayed it with desire, Ere Babylon was builded Or a stone laid in Tyre.

Yet here within my garden Her loveliness appears, Undimmed by any sorrow Of all the tragic years.

How kind that earth should treasure So beautiful a thing-- All mystical enchantment, To stir our hearts in spring!

The Tree of Heaven

Young foreign-born Ailanthus, Because he grew so fast, We scorned his easy daring And doubted it would last.

But lo, when autumn gathers And all the woods are old, He stands in green and salmon, A glory to behold!

Among the ancient monarchs His airy tent is spread.

His robe of coronation Is ta.s.seled rosy red.

With something strange and Eastern, His height and grace proclaim His lineage and t.i.tle Is that celestial name.

This is the Tree of Heaven, Which seems to say to us, "Behold how rife is beauty, And how victorious!"

Peony