The Triumph Of Music Part 3

So ho, for the rose, the Romeo rose, And the lyric he hides in his heart; And ho, for the epic the oak tree knows, Sonorous and mighty in art.

The lily with woes that her white face shows Hath a satire she yearns to impart, But none of those, her hates and her foes, For a heart that sings but for sport, And s.h.i.+fts where the song-wind blows.

TYRANNY.

There is not aught more merciless Than such fast lips that will not speak, That stir not if I curse or bless A G.o.d that made them weak.

More madd'ning to one there is naught, Than such white eyelids sealed on eyes, Eyes vacant of the thing named thought, An exile in the skies.

Ah, silent tongue! ah, ear so dull!

How angel utterances low Have wooed you! they more beautiful Than mortal harsh with woe!

VISIONS.

When the snow was deep on the flower-beds, And the sleet was caked on the brier; When the frost was down in the brown bulbs' heads, And the ways were clogged with mire;

When the wind to syringa and bare rose-tree Brought the phantoms of vanished flowers, And the days were sorry as sorry could be, And Time limped cursing his fardle of hours:

Heigho! had I not a book and the logs?

And I swear that I wasn't mistaken, But I heard the frogs croaking in far-off bogs, And the brush-sparrow's song in the braken.

And I strolled by paths which the Springtide knew, In her mossy dells, by her ferny pa.s.ses, Where the ground was holy with flowers and dew, And the insect life in the gra.s.ses.

And I knew the Spring as a lover who knows His sweetheart, to whom he has given A kiss on the cheek that warmed its white rose, In her eyes brought the laughter of heaven.

For a poem I'd read, a simple thing, A little lyric that had the power To make the brush-sparrow come and sing, And the winter woodlands flower.

THE OLD BYWAY

Its rotting fence one scarcely sees Through sumach and wild blackberries, Thick elder and the white wild-rose, Big ox-eyed daisies where the bees Hang droning in repose.

The limber lizards glide away Gray on its moss and lichens gray; Warm b.u.t.terflies float in the sun, Gay Ariels of the lonesome day; And there the ground squirrels run.

The red-bird stays one note to lift; High overhead dark swallows drift; 'Neath sun-soaked clouds of beaten cream, Through which hot bits of azure sift, The gray hawks soar and scream.

Among the pungent weeds they fill Dry gra.s.shoppers pipe with a will; And in the gra.s.s-grown ruts, where stirs The basking snake, mole-crickets shrill; O'er head the locust whirrs.

At evening, when the sad West turns To dusky Night a cheek that burns, The tree-toads in the wild-plum sing, And ghosts of long-dead flowers and ferns The wind wakes whispering.

DIURNAL.

I

A molten ruby clear as wine Along the east the dawning swims; The morning-glories swing and s.h.i.+ne, The night dews bead their satin rims; The bees rob sweets from shrub and vine, The gold hangs on their limbs.

Sweet morn, the South, A royal lover, From his fragrant mouth, Sweet morn, the South Breathes on and over Keen scents of wild honey and rosy clover.

II

Beside the wall the roses blow Long summer noons the winds forsake; Beside the wall the poppies glow So full of fire their hearts do ache; The dipping b.u.t.terflies come slow, Half dreaming, half awake.

Sweet noontide, rest, A slave-girl weary With her babe at her breast; Sweet noontide, rest, The day grows dreary As soft limbs that are tired and eyes that are teary.

III

Along lone paths the cricket cries Sad summer nights that know the dew; One mad star thwart the heavens flies Curved glittering on the gla.s.sy blue; Now grows the big moon on the skies.

The stars are faint and few.

Sweet night, breathe thou With a pa.s.sion taken From a Romeo's vow; Sweet night, breathe thou Like a beauty shaken Of amorous dreams that have made her waken.

THE WOOD-PATH.

Here doth white Spring white violets show, Broadcast doth white, frail wind-flowers sow Through starry mosses amber-fair, As delicate as ferns that grow, Hart's-tongue and maiden-hair.

Here fungus life is beautiful, White mushroom and the thick toad-stool As various colored as wild blooms; Existences that love the cool, Distinct in rank perfumes.

Here stray the wandering cows to rest, The calling cat-bird builds her nest In spice-wood bushes dark and deep; Here raps the woodp.e.c.k.e.r his best, And here young rabbits leap.

Tall b.u.t.ternuts and hickories, The pawpaw and persimmon trees, The beech, the chestnut, and the oak, Wall shadows huge, like ghosts of bees Through which gold sun-bits soak.

Here to pale melancholy moons.

In haunted nights of dreamy Junes, Wails wildly the weird whippoorwill, Whose mournful and demonic tunes Wild woods with phantoms fill.

DEFICIENCY.