Blooms of the Berry Part 10

I.

O Life! O Death! O G.o.d!

Have I not striven?

Have I not known thee, G.o.d, As thy stars know Heaven?

Have I not held thee true, True as thy deepest, Sweet and immaculate blue, Of nights that feel thy dew?

Have I not _known_ thee true, O G.o.d that keepest?

II.

O G.o.d, my father, G.o.d!

Didst give me fire To rise above the clod, And soar, aspire!

What tho' I strive and strive, And all my life says live, The sneerful scorn of men But beats it down again; And, O! sun-centered high, O G.o.d! grand poet!

Beneath thy tender sky Each day new Keatses die, And thou dost know it!

III.

They know thee beautiful!

They know thee bitter!

And all their eyes are full, O G.o.d! most beautiful!

Of tears that glitter.

Thou art above their tears; Thou art beyond their years; Thou sittest, G.o.d of Hosts, Among thy glorious ghosts, So high and holy; And canst thou know the tears, The strivings and the fears, O G.o.d of G.o.dly peers!

Of such so lowly?

IV.

They who were fondly fain To tell what mother pain Of Nature makes the rain;

They who were glad to know The sorrow of her snow, Of her wild winds the woe;

The magic of her light, The pa.s.sion of her night, And of her death the might;

They who had tears and sighs For every bud that dies While the dew on it lies;

They who had utterance for Each warm, rose-hearted star That stammers from afar;

The demon of vast seas, The lips of lyric trees, Lays of sonorous bees;

The fragrance-fays that dower Each wildwood bosk and bower With its faint musk of flower;

Of Time the feverish flight; Earth, man, and, last, man's right To thee, O Infinite!

FAIRIES.

On the tremulous coppice, From her plenteous hair, Large golden-rayed poppies Of moon-litten air The Night hath flung there.

In the fern-favored hollow The fire-flies fleet Uncertainly follow Pale phantoms of heat, Druid shadows that meet.

Hidden flowers are fragrant; The night hazes furl O'er the solitudes vagrant In purple and pearl, Sway-swinging and curl.

From moss-cus.h.i.+oned valley Where the red sunlight fails, Rocks where musically The hollow spring wails, And the limber fern trails,

With a ripple and twinkle Of luminous arms, Of voices that tinkle, And feet that are storms Of chaste, naked charms,

Like echoes that revel On hills, where the brier Vaults roofs of dishevel And green, greedy fire, They come as a choir.

At the root of the mountain Where the dim forest lies, By the spar-spouting fountain Where the low lily dies, With their star-stinging eyes.

They gather sweet singing In voices that seem Faint ringing and clinging In dreams that we dream, In visions that gleam.

Sweet lisping of kisses, Dry rustle of hair; A footfall that hisses Like a leaf in the air When the brown boughs are bare.

The music that scatters From love-litten eyes; The music that flatters In words and low sighs, In laughter that dies:

"Come hither, come hither, In the million-eyed night, Ere the moon-flowers wither And the harvester white, Morning reaps them with light.

"Come hither, where singing Is pleasant as tears, Or dead kisses, clinging To the murdering years, In memory's ears.

"Come hither where kisses Are waiting for you, For lips and long tresses, As for wild flowers blue The moon-heated dew.

"Come hither from coppice And violet dale, The mountain whose top is In vapors that sail With pearly hail pale.

"Why tarry? come hither While the molten moon beams, Ere the golden spark wither Of the glow-worm that gleams Like a star in still streams!"

THE TRYST.

Had fallen a fragrant shower; The leaves were dripping yet; Each fern and rain-weighed flower Around were gleaming wet; On ev'ry bosky bower A million gems were set.

The dust's moist odors sifted Cool with the summer rain, Mixed with the musk that drifted From orchard and from plain;-- Her garden's fence white lifted Its length along the lane.

The moon the clouds had shattered In curdled peaks of pearl; The honeysuckle scattered Warm odors from each curl, Where the white moonlight, flattered, Hung molten 'round a girl.

Then grew the night completer With light and cloud and air; Aromas sweet blew sweeter, Sweet flowers fair, more fair; Fleet feet and fast grew fleeter Thro' that fair sorceress there.