Blooms of the Berry Part 12

DESERTED.

A broken rainbow on the skies of May Touching the sodden roses and low clouds, And in wet clouds like scattered jewels lost: Upon the heaven of a soul the ghost Of a great love, perfect in its pure ray, Touching the roses moist of memory To die within the Present's grief of clouds-- A broken rainbow on the skies of May.

A flas.h.i.+ng humming-bird amid strange flowers, Or red or white; its darting length of tongue Sucking and drinking all the cell-stored sweet, And now the surfeit and the hurried fleet: A love that put into expanding bowers Of one's large heart a tongue's persuasive powers To cream with joy, and riffled, so was gone-- A flas.h.i.+ng humming-bird amid strange flowers.

A foamy moon which thro' a night of fleece Moves amber girt into a bulk of dark, And, lost to eye, rims all the black with froth: A love of smiles, that, tinctured like a moth, Moved thro' a soul's night-dun and made a peace-- More bland than Melancholy's white--to cease In blanks of Time zoned with pale Memory's spark-- A foamy moon that brinks a storm with fleece.

A blaze of living thunder--not a leap-- Momental spouting balds the piled storm, The ghastly mountains and the livid ocean, The pine-roared crag, then blots the sight's commotion: A love that swiftly pouring bared the deep, Which cleaves white Life from Death, Death from white Sleep, And, ceasing, gave a brain one blur of storm-- Blank blast of midnight, love for Death and Sleep.

THE DREAM OF CHRIST.

I saw her twins of eyelids listless swoon Mesmeric eyes, Like the mild lapsing of a lulling tune On wide surprise, While slow the graceful presence of a moon Mellowed the purple skies.

And had she dreamed or had in fancy gone As one who sought To hail the influx of a G.o.dly dawn Of heavenly thought, Trod trembling o'er old sainted hill and lawn With intense angels fraught?

Sailed thro' majestic domes of the deep night By isles of stars, Wand'ring like some pure blessing warm with light From worldly jars To the high halls of morning, pearly white, And heaped with golden bars.

Past temples vast, deluged with sandy seas, Whose ruins stand Like bleaching bones of dead monstrosities Crashed to the land, Stupendous homes of cursed idolatries Fallen to dust and sand.

Ugly and b.e.s.t.i.a.l G.o.ds caked thick with gold-- Their hideousness Blaspheming Christ--'mid shattered altars rolled To rottenness, Their slaves abolished and their priests of old Trodden to nothingness.

Thro' Syrian plains curtained with curling mist The gra.s.s she trailed, Where the shy floweret; by the dew-drop kissed, Sweet blus.h.i.+ng quailed; And drowned in purple vales of amethyst The moon-mad bulbuls wailed.

On glimmering wolds had seemed to hear the bleat Of folded flocks; Seen broad-browed sages pa.s.s with sandaled feet And h.o.a.ry locks, While swimming in a bath of molten heat A great star glorious rocks.

In fancy o'er a beaming baby bent-- Cradled amiss In a rude manger--on its brow to print One holy kiss, While down the slant winds faint aromas went And anthems deep of bliss....

And then she woke. The winter moon above Burst on her sight; And with strange sweetness all her dream was wove In its far flight, For jubilant bells rocked booming "peace and love"

Down all the aisles of night.

TO AUTUMN.

I oft have net thee, Autumn, wandering Beside a misty stream, thy locks flung wild; Thy cheeks a hectic flush more fair than Spring, As if on thee the scarlet copse had smiled.

Or thee I've seen a twisted oak beneath, Thy gentle eyes with foolish weeping dim, Beneath a faded oak from whose tinged leaves Thou woundedst drowsy wreaths, while the soft breath Of Morn did kiss thy locks and make them swim Far out behind, brown as the rustling sheaves.

Oft have I thee upon a hillock seen, Dream-visaged, all agaze at glimpses faint Of glimmering woods that glanced the hills between With Indian faces from thy airy paint.

Or I have met thee 'twixt two dappled hills Within a dingled valley nigh a fall, Clasped in thy tinted hand a ruddy flower, And lowly stooping where the leaf-dammed rills Went babbling low thro' wildwood's arrased hall, Where burned the beech and maples glared their power.

Oft have I seen thee in a ruined mill, Where basked the crimson creeper serpentine; Where fallen leaves did stir and rustle chill, And saw thee rest beneath a wild grape-vine.

While Echo, sad amid his deep-voiced mountains-- More sad than erst--did raise a dreamy speech And call thee to his youthful, amorous arms, Where splashed the murmuring forest's limpid fountains; And tho' his words thy pink-sh.e.l.l ears did reach, Thou wouldst not heed or guile him with thy charms.

Once saw thee in a hollow girt with trees, A-dream amid the harvest's tawny grain; Thy plushy cheek faint flus.h.i.+ng in the breeze, In thy deep eyes a drowsy sky's blue stain.

And where within the woodland's twilight path The cloud-winged skies did peep all speechless down, And stirred the gaudy leaves with fragrant breath, I've seen thee walk, nor fear the Winter's wrath; There drop asleep clad in thy gipsy gown, While Echo bending o'er dropp'd tears upon thy wreath.

AN ADDRESS TO NIGHT.

Like some sad spirit from an unknown sh.o.r.e Thou comest with two children in thine arms: Flushed, poppied Sleep, whom mortals aye adore, Her flowing raiment sculptured to her charms.

Soft on thy bosom in pure baby rest Clasped as a fair white rose in musky nest; But on thy other, like a thought of woe, Her brother, lean, cold Death doth thin recline, To thee as dear as she, thy maid divine, Whose frowsy hair his hectic breathings blow In poppied ringlets billowing all her marble brow.

Oft have I taken Sleep from thy vague arms And fondled her faint head, with poppies wreath'd, Within my bosom's depths, until its storms With her were hushed and I but mildly breath'd.

And then this child, O Night! with frolic art Arose from rest, and on my panting heart Blew bubbles of dreams where elfin worlds were lost, Until my airy soul smiled light on me From some far land too dim for day to see, And wandered in a shape of limpid frost Within a dusky dale where soundless streams did flee.

Welcome to Earth, O Night the saintly garbed!

Slip meek as love into the Day's flushed heart!

Drop in a dream from where the meteors...o...b..d Wander past systems scorning map or chart; Or sit aloft, thy hands brimmed full of stars, Or come in garb of storms 'mid thunder jars, When lightning-frilled gleams wide thy cloud-frounced dress, Then art thou grand! but, oh, when thy pure feet Along the star-strewn floors of Heaven beat, And thy cool breath the heated world doth bless, Thou art G.o.d's angel of true love and gentleness!

THE HERON.

EVENING.

As slaughter red the long creek crawls From solitary forest walls, Out where the eve's wild glory falls.

One wiry leg drowned in his breast, Neck-shrunk, flame-gilded with the West, Stark-stately he the evening wears.

NIGHT.

The whimp'ring creek breaks on the stone; The new moon came, but now is gone; White, tingling stars wink out alone.

Lank specter of wet, windy lands, The melancholy heron stands; Then, clamoring, dives into the stars.

A DIRGE.

I.

Life has fled; she is dead, Sleeping in the flow'ry vale Where the fleeting shades are shed Ghost-like o'er her features pale.

Lay her 'neath the violets wild, Lay her like a dreaming child 'Neath the waving gra.s.s Where the shadows pa.s.s.