University of Virginia Library

When Summerfruits have ripened sweet,
When Winds are sighing, and Flowers dying,
And latest are blinking in Brake and Dell:
When Autumnleaves are first windflying,
And rainbowhued by the ripening Spell
Of sunbaked Juices that downward fleet
From the seasoned Boughs i'the Roots to dwell
In their Wintercells, when old Carles tell
By Ingleblaze their Christmasstales,
That smack of the Taste of ancient Days,
And the Newyearmidnightsdream is told
To the Flameflap and the whistling Gale's
Wild Wintermusic, as he lays
Some stout Oak low, and the Blood runs cold
Of the prickeared Urchin, 'neath the Charm
Of braincoined Fears and spritewrought Harm;
And good, old Songs, Heartmusic, meet
For Merrymakings where the Heart
Takes a new Lease of Life and Love,
Are sung by household Lips, so sweet
To wiser Minds, who play their Part
On Life's calm Homestage, far above
Ambition's vain heartfevering Cares
Soulsoiling Wealth, and all the Fears
Of him whose Mind is not his own,
But fashioned at Opinion's Beck,
Cameleonlike, a Bubble blown
By every Breath of Folly thro'
The Void wherein 'tis born and dies:
With no Selfstrength, Selfworth or Hue,
But borrowed all, like Atomies
Windlifted in the Sumbeamstrack.
When Summerfeelings pass away
With the bright Things that gave them Birth,
They leave their Sweetness in the Heart,
By Thought's Honeybees preserved,
And for Aftertimes reserved;
Thought's Honeybees, whose Summerday
Tho' gone, has left a sober Mirth,
Which shall endure with kindly Ray
To lighten o'er the Winterhearth:
In the Hour of outward Dearth
A Taste of past Joys to impart:
As the Honey still retains
The Flavor which the Flower gave,
When this to charm no more remains,
And Wisdom that alone can save;
Their Colors, Forms and Scents and Hues,
The Soul can take from outward Things,
And with them recreate past Views:
Like the Wildeagle it has wings
Of unseen Motion, which will bear
It cloudwards from this Prisonscene,
And give it Visions, fresh and fair.
When all Fruits, ripe to the Core,
Swell to Bursting: when no more
You can see the toppling Wain,
Crowned with Cere's golden Grain,
Filling all the narrow Lane,
And as creaking on it goes,
Leaving Cornspikes on the Rows
Of the Hedgesideelms, which spread
In groinlike Arches overhead.
When the Garners brimfull tell
That the Earth has yielded well,
Paying back Man's Toil and Care
With all Gifts and Produce fair,
Teaching many a Lesson high
In her wise Economy:
How to turn to fitting Use
Means which men too oft abuse,
And e'en in most despisëd Things
To seek and find high Ministrings.
When the Rainbowharvests all
Are gathered in, and none to fall
'Neath Hook or Sickle now remain,
'Tis a Sign that Summer's Train
Has departed: that again
Prudence, Toil, and Hope begin
A new Race, repeating in
The selfsame Track, the selfsame Round
Of the Season's narrow Bound,
The Image of the former Year,
As in a Glass reflected clear.
When the Stubblefield, closeclipped,
Tells that Harvesthome is done,
Tho' Fancy still can think she hears,
(Cheating her Heart from Winterfears)
The Harvestcarols dieing on
Her charmëd Ear, and sheafëd Corn
Loudrustling in the Breeze, or borne
To the careful Granary
There to be stacked high and dry
For the Wintersuse, or Years
Of scanty Growth: when now frostnipp'd
Flowers hang drooping 'neath the Morn,
Tho' the Lark still soars the Sky,
As tho' Winter's dreaded Name
Not one Pulse of Joy could tame,
Seasonfree, as unto him
All Times and Places were the same;
When the Swallow's swift Wings skim
The Foamwave that sparkles by,
Speeding blithely whence he came:
When the cawing Rooks do gather
Sticks and Straws for Winterweather,
Architects who build and plan,
Tho' unschooled, as well as Man,
With his Terms of Art precise,
And his Rules and Measures nice.

When the redcheeked Apple falls,
And from the purplestainëd Grapes,
Droppingripe on warm Southwalls,
The Nectarjuice almost escapes:
When from Summer's parting Lip
Their last Beautytinge they take,
Fragrant Hues and Scents that make
The wandering Bee athirst to sip:
Dewwine with warm Sunbeams blent,
That might fill the Veins nighspent
Of Age with Vigor — Bunches such
As in his rosyfingered Clutch,
(Sweet as kisses, full and lush)
Bacchus 'self was wont to crush
When with Frolic, Mirth and Glee,
And manyvoicëd Revelry,
From the Middayheart he strayed
Thro' Nysa's echohaunted Shade,
Where the Dryads answered him
'Mid the Alleys faint and dim,
And the manyfountained Glade
By the Birds was vocal made,
While from some widebranching Oak
Came the Woodman's far off Stroke,
Far, far from the sacred Spot
Which Man's foot disturbëd not;
There on heaped up Flowers he'd lie
Counting the Moments as they fly,
Grapeberries for his Rosary:
Whose Nectardrops seemed to his Mouth
Sweet as the Breath of the sweet South,
Trickling o'er his laughing Lip,
As with Head held back he'd sip,
While old Silenus watched the Boy,
And held his Sides, and laughed for Joy:
Now when 'neath their leafy Palls
Tender Flowerets buried lie,
Yielding to harsh Destiny,
From which nothing fair escapes,
And the Hoarfrost weaves Fancyshapes,
'Till the thawing Sunbeam falls;
For Nature has her Fancies too,
And with the Clouds and with the Winds
She fashions Pictures evernew,
At her sweet Will like Poetminds,
Who are but Utterers of Things
Which she has sent thro' Ear and Eye
Unto the Heart, which o'er them flings
The Charm of human Feeling high,
The sweet Touch of Humanity.
The Heart, which by its Hopes and Fears,
Its Yearnings, Joys and Loves endears
The meanest Thing, till it can give
An Impulse unto all who live:
Yes! in Nature's every Form,
In Cloud, in Sunshine and in Storm,
In Voice of Stream or Song of Bird,
In all that's seen and all that's heard,
One Spirit still is hovering nigh,
The Soul of all her Poesy;
Typ'd in the Echo's mystic Voice
That bids the Heart of Man rejoice
To think the universal Soul,
Pulsing thro' each Part and Whole,
A sympathetic Response gives
Unto everything that lives.
'Tis from this eternal Source
Each smaller Stream derives it Course
Supplied like Rivers from the Sea,
And flowing thither constantly.
Of all Nature's Harmonies
The corresponding Keynote lies
In Man's Soul, and every Part
Hath an Echo in his Heart,
As a Mirror where you see
All Things in Epitome:
The moral World and physical,
The outward and the inner, all
Form one vast and perfect whole,
Moved by one pervading Soul.
And the highest Poet he
Who of the vast Machinery
At the Centre stands and sees
Creation rise by due Degrees,
And with Wisdom's Masterkey
Unlocks the Soul of Harmony.

When Grasshopper, chirping late,
Easing thus his merry Heart
Not from Cares but Overjoy,
Tells that Summer's out of Date,
Yet thereat no Fears annoy
His blithe Spirit, not one Smart
For lost Moments, Wishes ill,
As he sang, so sings he still:
In his Lifesdregs keeping holy
That Joyessence fresh and clear,
Free from Taint of Melancholy,
Which from Nature, when the Year
Saw his Birthday young like him,
He received, a Boon of Glory
Man might envy, whom a whim,
A mere Nothing can o'erdim,
Changing Joy's Smile to a Tear,
From his Cradle to his Bier:
Everseeking, nevertasting,
Some Airform of Fancy grasping,
Present moments everwasting
For those that come not for his Asking:
And when come not worth the Tasking
Wherewith Fancy, sick at Heart,
Ransacked all her slippery Art,
Giving to Time's future Shape
Graces, in their stead the Ape,
Grinning Mockery, to find:
Disappointment hid behind
The form of ripe Fruition
When the Bubbledream is gone!

When the Redbreast whistles blithe,
Taking of sweet Song his fill,
Tho' the other Birds be still,
And the Lambs fullsized bleat strong,
Wellwool'd gainst the Winterschill,
When no more the Reapingscythe
Finds a Cornstalk to cut down,
And the Stubblefield looks brown:
When the formless Vapor shows
Objects indistinct and wrong,
When the Daylight shorter grows,
And Owl and Bat's Delight is long:
When nigh eveless Night draws on,
Waiting scarce for Set of Sun,
Like Enchantress, whose high Spell
Works a sudden Miracle.
When the Nightingale's Spellsong
Is rare heard the Brakes among,
Now by ruder Sounds o'erblown
Which from Winter take their Tone,
The harshvoicëd Wind 'tmay be,
With rudeseasoned Rivalry,
Or the Nightbirds bolder made
By the lengthened Eveningshade;
When the Peasant, weatherwise
Shakes his grey Head at the Skies,
By his blazing Cottageflame
Mutters Winter's chilly Name,
Lives o'er the Past in many a Tale,
And prophecies, and quaffs his Ale:
While the Fire's fitful Blaze
On his sunburnt Features plays,
And in Chimneynook to sleep
Tired Dog and Urchin creep.
When the Weathersigns are rife
Telling of new Season's Life,
And all Creatures, instinctwise,
Tho' taught not to philosophize,
Now prepare, each in his Way,
To protract Life's little Day;
When the Hazelnuts fullgrown
To the Squirrel ripely shown,
Thro' the scant Leaves plump and brown,
Give a Relish to his Tooth
Epicures might grudge in Sooth:
And the Acorns pattering
To the Swine a rich Treat bring,
While the passing Traveller sees
Them grunting 'neath the windshook Trees.
Now when all Earth's living Creatures
Tell of change in Time's old Features,
And thy own Heart, plainer still
Than falling Leaf or faded Hill,
Tells thee that the Summer's flown,
With all Joys that thou hast known,
When thou feel'st that, like the Year,
Thy Heart too is in the sere
And yellow Leaf, that it must be
Changed in its fancied Unity:
Reflect but shattered Fragments now
Like broken Glass of former Joy,
And of its former Self retain
Dull Memory with present Pain:
The Remnants of a Joy which was
A perfect Whole, ere Time the Glass
Of Hope had broke, whose Fragments now
But multiply an idle Show,
Which puzzles still the cheated Eye
That vainly would identify.

Take Courage Heart, for here below
What are such Things but idle Show,
Whose whole Worth in thyself doth dwell
Created by thy Magicspell.
According as thou turn'st to good
Or evil Use Time's changeful Mood,
So, like the Wind the Eagleswings,
'Twill lift thy Soul to higher Things
Than those whereon the Eye doth rest,
Or make thee level with the Beast
Who lives but unto Time and Earth,
Whereof his Food and Joys have Birth.
But thou that draw'st from such mean Source
Only thy Body's brieflived Force,
Shouldst not submit thy Soul thereto.
But to its Service these subdue,
Nor from the changeful Seasons here
Take Argument of Hope or Fear.

When thy Heart with outward Things
Tells that Time upon his Wings
Has thy Summerfancies stole,
And far from th' imagined Goal,
Still thy Hopes keep toiling on
For Joys that seemed already won,
And in Future trust to find
Bliss that shall not cheat the Mind,
More than all thou'st left behind;
Tho', if thou think'st well, there is
Nor surer, nor a greater Bliss,
For what so sure as that which thou
Dost enjoy, not thinking how
Or when or where it is enjoyed,
Lost in the Bliss, which is destroyed
Or past, when you begin to think
Of what it is: then does it shrink
Up from a boundless Joy to a
Cold Reflex of what's passed away.

When all these Signs tell the Year
Hath laid Summer on his Bier,
When all Fruits are gathered in,
And our indoor Joys begin,
When the fixed Mind seeks at Home
Bliss for which Fools vainly roam,
When in sober Thought it tastes
Sweeter Joys than Summer wastes,
Who, too lavishly profuse
Of Pleasure scarcely knows its Use,
Plucking Fruit and smelling Flower
As Winter had o'er these no Power,
Who severely wise and kind,
Concentrates within the Mind.
When at Wisdom's Harvesthome,
Gleaning from the fleeting Doom
And quick change of earthly Things
Bright Truths and high Aspirings,
It selfcentred in the Sphere
Of Desires calm and clear
Moves on unto its true End,
E'en as kindred Stars do bend
In one Constellation knit,
To the Source from whence they're lit.
Then look thro' thy Heart, and say
What the Summer in its Day
Has ripened there of Good and Bright,
That may glad thy Aftersight.
Has it had its Harvesthome,
Its Springgrowth and its Summerbloom,
And when Bloom has passed away,
Has it had its Seedingday,
Of wellripened, seasoned Thought,
From Experience duly bought:
Of wise Joys, which in the Mind
Seeds of better leave behind,
Joys by Sorrow touched and tried,
And freed from earthly Dross and Pride:
Such as unreproved and free,
Sweeten Aftermemory,
Like Scents which tho' lost in Air,
Leave a longbreathed Odor there:
Has the Summer left for thee
In the Soul's high Granary,
Produce not of hasty Growth,
But of wellmaturëd Worth?
Fellowcreature Love and Peace,
With a Mind and Heart at Ease,
An high Trust in human Worth,
Whence true selfrespect has Birth,
And a Love for everything
Which with Man holds Communing,
From the meanest Worm that creeps
To the Babe that cradled sleeps
On his Mother's lovestirred Breast,
Like a young Bird on the Nest;
Has the Summer left thy Heart
That which passes Show, the Art,
Like wise Nature, to prepare
From the Past a Future fair?
From thine undisturbëd Breast
To create a high Selfrest,
And as Earth seems barren round
Yet has rich seeds underground,
In the Winter of thy Day
Still to foster Faith's pure Ray.
As the Earth within her Breast,
When she seems at barren Rest,
Still prepares in her good Time
Coming Springs, and from the Slime
Of the brute Soil moulds to Life
Forms with Grace and Beauty rife.
So within thy inmost Soul,
Striving towards a higher Goal,
From this Life's Impediments
And the Body's downward Bents,
Frame thou the Wings to upward Aims,
As from the gross Wood rise pure Flames.
In thy Spirit's fertile Womb
Mould its Shapes not for the Tomb:
There let Faith beget on Love
The Angel thou shalt be above!
From Life's dull and Winterclime
Prepare the Springs of coming Time,
Thus the Seasons o'er thy Heart
Pass and leave no fretting Smart,
Each in its own kind is good
Tho' they yield a different Food:
Still for Immortality
Thought from all can draw supply:
Meanings from the falling Leaf,
Warnings from things sweet and brief,
Thoughts too deep for Words in Things
To which homedear Memory clings:
Food for Love in all we see,
For Love is the Lifefaculty,
The high Basis-element,
Where noblest Things take nobler Bent,
In which alone they breathe and fly,
Unfold their Wings and seek the Sky.
Thus pass the fleeting Shows of Things,
These Time takes off, e'en as he brings,
While the pure Soul unchanged doth lie
Selfcentred in its Unity!

Lies not Life's true Worth in Thought,
Are not hence its best Hues caught?
Can we not in Soul pass in
To the Promiseland, and win
Even to Reality
Some Shadow of that purer Sky?
View, like the Hebrew, from afar
The Land which earthly Senses bar?
Is it not enough to think
And, as with a Lethedrink,
Gnawing Sorrows melt away
In the Warmth of Faith's full Ray:
She feels not the Weight of Years,
In her Eye are no dim Tears,
She knows neither Age nor Youth,
For her Being is a Truth,
And all Truth unchanging is,
No Cameleonhues are his,
In old Hearts and young the same,
Burning as their Altarflame.
Tho' I bodyold may be
Still heartyoung I'll taste the Glee
Of all Things that in my Youth
Were to me a weekday Truth:
Ever in the Hope before me,
As with Prophetseye I'll see
From the Rainbow's Cloudpath rise
Shadowings of bright Mysteries,
Wherein the Soul doth trust to be
What here it seems but scantily.
Still shall Fancy to me bring
Flowers of Springblossoming,
Buds of southern Hue and Clime
In the chill mid wintertime,
With the ripest Summerfruits
And a Mood that therewith suits!
And tho' fullripe they be not,
I'll not quarrel with my Lot,
But the ripe Half thankfully
Eat, nor linger greedily
Till the whole shall ripened be:
Grateful what the Seasons give
Will I take, and learn to live,
As the wise Bee, who doth hive
From each Flower, as it blows,
The Honey which Delay would lose:
Like him, mould each different Store
Into Wisdom's compact Lore,
Giving her enduring Taste
To Sweets which one brief Hour might waste,
For no Joy is perfect here,
Half is ripe, and half is sere,
Half in Disappointment's Shade,
Half by Hope's warm Sun o'errayed:
I'll pluck it as it chance to be,
Half is worth the Whole to me:
Fancy still shall bring me Pleasures
From an whole Life's scattered Treasures,
She shall plant in my old Breast
Youth's wise Heart with all Life's best,
Make me as I was of old
Ere Life's weary Tale was told,
Thus, for ever young, the Heart
Changes with Alchymic Art
To pure Gold the Dross of Things,
Plucking from Time's rapid Wings
Feathers for a higher Flight,
When it feels fullfledged its Might.
From Doubt's curious Questionings,
Flashings forth of hidden Things
Drawing stronger Faith and Love:
Quickened Pulses that do move
In a holier Unison,
(Like agemellowed eldtime Song
Sung in Nature's Ear so long,)
With the hidden Heart of Things,
Throb for Throb, mysterious Yearnings;
Thus as Life shall near its End,
Wisely I the Dregs will spend:
They shall not be troubled Lees
Where all Taste of Goodness dies,
But a genial Liquor still,
Fit to cheer the Heart at will.
Thus I'll pluck, on the Gravesbrink,
Life's last Flowers ere I sink,
Thus my last Earthglance shall be
Sweet as closing Minstrelsy,
Or as the calm Sunsetray
Betokening a fairer Day.
And the first Taste of Heavensbliss
Mingle with the last of this!
Thus my Heart with sober mirth
Shall await its second Birth,
Selfmoulded to that inward Form
Which outlives both Time and Storm!