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133

FARTHER ON.

We two went Maying up the hill—
Our little Hal and I—
Led onward by a linnet's trill;
The wind was soft, the sea was still,
And violet-blue the sky.
And blue as glimpses of the sea
Shone level violet-beds,
Far down below bare crag and tree;
And, sweetly shy as flowers can be,
White wind-flowers hung their heads.
Great crowds of scarlet columbines
Made sunrise in the wood,
Against the darkness of the pines;
In lilac gauze amid green vines
The wild geranium stood.
There are no hillsides pleasanter
Than ours, far on in May;
Light sea-winds leaf and blossom stir,
Never grew wood-flowers lovelier,
And yet I could not stay.
Some strange bewildering of the hour
My restless footsteps won;
Some whisper from a pine-tree bower,
Some fragrance of an unseen flower
A little farther on.
Till on a summit gray with moss
I found myself alone;
And saw, the billowy woods across,
The ocean-billows foam and toss,
And heard from both one moan.
What had I gained by climbing there?
The flowers were pale and thin
Around my feet; but all the air
Held hints of unknown sweetness rare,
Hid sky and wave within.
My boy-mate bounded up the steep,
His lithe arms heaped with bloom—
A treasure for a day to keep:
Saw he that grand horizon sweep,
That glory of vast room?

134

I know not; but his flowers were bright,
And full of perfume, too;
And he had felt a keen delight
In every sound and smell and sight,
The cheerful woodland through.
Yet hope I that he may not rest
In earthly sweetness won;
Since we in seeking are most blest,
And life hides evermore its best
A little farther on.