Green Fields and Running Brooks, and Other Poems Part 16

We got up a Christmas-doin's Last Christmas Eve-- Kindo' dimonstration 'At I railly believe Give more satisfaction-- Take it up and down-- Than ary intertainment Ever come to town!

Railly was a _theater_-- That's what it was,-- But, bein' in the church, you know, We had a "_Santy Clause_"-- So 's to git the _old folks_ To patternize, you see, And _back_ the inst.i.tootion up Kindo' _morally_.

Schoolteacher writ the thing-- (Was a friend o' mine), Got it out o' Longfeller's Pome "Evangeline"-- Er some'rs--'bout the _Purituns_--.

_Anyway_, the part "_John Alden_" fell to _me_-- And learnt it all by heart!

Claircy was "_Percilly_"-- (Schoolteacher 'lowed Me and her could act them two Best of all the crowd)-- Then--blame ef he didn't Git her Pap, i jing!-- To take the part o' "_Santy Clause_,"

To wind up the thing.

Law! the fun o' practisun!-- Was a week er two Me and Claircy didn't have Nothin' else to do!-- Kep' us jes a-meetin' round, Kindo' here and there, Ever' night rehearsin'-like, And gaddin' ever'where!

Game was wo'th the candle, though!-- Christmas Eve at last Rolled around.--And 'tendance jes Couldn't been surpa.s.sed!-- Neighbors from the country Come from Clay and Rush-- Yes, and 'crost the county-line Clean from Puckerbrus.h.!.+

Meetin'-house jes trimbled As "Old Santy" went Round amongst the childern, With their pepperment And sa.s.safrac and wintergreen Candy, and "a ball O' popcorn," the preacher 'nounced, "Free fer each and all!"

Schoolteacher suddently Whispered in my ear,-- "Guess I got you:--_Christmas-gift_!-- _Christmas is here_!"

I give _him_ a gold pen, And case to hold the thing,-- And _Claircy_ whispered "_Christmas-gift_!"

And I give her a _ring_.

"And now," says I, "jes watch _me_-- Christmas-gift," says I, "_I'm_ a-goin' to git one-- '_Santy's_' comin' by!"-- Then I rech and grabbed him: And, as you'll infer, 'Course I got the old man's, And _he_ gimme _her_!

REACH YOUR HAND TO ME.

Reach your hand to me, my friend, With its heartiest caress-- Sometime there will come an end To its present faithfulness-- Sometime I may ask in vain For the touch of it again, When between us land or sea Holds it ever back from me.

Sometime I may need it so, Groping somewhere in the night, It will seem to me as though Just a touch, however light, Would make all the darkness day, And along some sunny way Lead me through an April-shower Of my tears to this fair hour.

O the present is too sweet To go on forever thus!

Round the corner of the street Who can say what waits for us?-- Meeting--greeting, night and day, Faring each the self-same way-- Still somewhere the path must end.-- Reach your hand to me, my friend!

THE ROSE.

It tossed its head at the wooing breeze; And the sun, like a bashful swain, Beamed on it through the waving frees With a pa.s.sion all in vain,-- For my rose laughed in a crimson glee, And hid in the leaves in wait for me.

The honey-bee came there to sing His love through the languid hours, And vaunt of his hives, as a proud old king Might boast of his palace-towers: But my rose bowed in a mockery, And hid in the leaves in wait for me.

The humming-bird, like a courtier gay, Dipped down with a dalliant song, And tw.a.n.ged his wings through the roundelay Of love the whole day long: Yet my rose turned from his minstrelsy And hid in the leaves in wait for me.

The firefly came in the twilight dim My red, red rose to woo-- Till quenched was the flame of love in him, And the light of his lantern too, As my rose wept with dew-drops three And hid in the leaves in wait for me.

And I said: I will cult my own sweet rose-- Some day I will claim as mine The priceless worth of the flower that knows No change, but a bloom divine-- The bloom of a fadeless constancy That hides in the leaves in wait for me!

But time pa.s.sed by in a strange disguise, And I marked it not, but lay In a lazy dream, with drowsy eyes, Till the summer slipped away, And a chill wind sang in a minor key: "Where is the rose that waits for thee?"

I dream to-day, o'er a purple stain Of bloom on a withered stalk, Pelted down by the autumn rain In the dust of the garden-walk, That an Angel-rose in the world to be Will hide in the leaves in wait for me.

MY FRIEND.

"He is my friend," I said,-- "Be patient!" Overhead The skies were drear and dim; And lo! the thought of him Smited on my heart--and then The sun shone out again!

"He is my friend!" The words Brought summer and the birds; And all my winter-time Thawed into running rhyme And rippled into song, Warm, tender, brave, and strong.

And so it sings to-day.-- So may it sing alway!

Though waving gra.s.ses grow Between, and lilies blow Their trills of perfume clear As laughter to the ear, Let each mute measure end With "Still he is thy friend."

SUSPENSE.

A woman's figure, on a ground of night Inlaid with sallow stars that dimly stare Down in the lonesome eyes, uplifted there As in vague hope some alien lance of light Might pierce their woe. The tears that blind her sight-- The salt and bitter blood of her despair-- Her hands toss back through torrents of her hair And grip toward G.o.d with anguish infinite.

And O the carven mouth, with all its great Intensity of longing frozen fast In such a smile as well may designate The slowly-murdered heart, that, to the last, Conceals each newer wound, and back at Fate Throbs Love's eternal lie--"Lo, I can wait!"

THE Pa.s.sING OF A HEART.

O touch me with your hands-- For pity's sake!

My brow throbs ever on with such an ache As only your cool touch may take away; And so, I pray You, touch me with your hands!

Touch--touch me with your hands.-- Smooth back the hair You once caressed, and kissed, and called so fair That I did dream its gold would wear alway, And lo, to-day-- O touch me with your hands!

Just touch me with your hands, And let them press My weary eyelids with the old caress, And lull me till I sleep. Then go your way, That Death may say: He touched her with his hands.

BY HER WHITE BED.

By her white bed I muse a little s.p.a.ce: She fell asleep--not very long ago,-- And yet the gra.s.s was here and not the snow-- The leaf, the bud, the blossom, and--her face!-- Midsummer's heaven above us, and the grace Of Lovers own day, from dawn to afterglow; The fireflies' glimmering, and the sweet and low Plaint of the whip-poor-wills, and every place In thicker twilight for the roses' scent.

Then _night_.--She slept--in such tranquility, I walk atiptoe still, nor _dare_ to weep, Feeling, in all this hush, she rests content-- That though G.o.d stood to wake her for me, she Would mutely plead: "Nay, Lord! Let _him_ so sleep."

WE TO SIGH INSTEAD OF SING.

"Rain and rain! and rain and rain!"

Yesterday we muttered Grimly as the grim refrain That the thunders uttered: All the heavens under cloud-- All the suns.h.i.+ne sleeping; All the gra.s.ses limply bowed With their weight of weeping.