[Poems by Woolson in] Five generations (1785-1923) being scattered chapters from the history of the Cooper, Pomeroy, Woolson and Benedict families, with extracts From their Letters and Journals, as well as articles and poems by Constance Fenimore Woolson |
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LONGING. |
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 | [Poems by Woolson in] Five generations (1785-1923) |  |
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LONGING.
I.
In the wide valley open to the sun,Where the slow river flows on toward the south
Between the grain-fields, whose low fences run
As far as eye can reach, ne'er ending, ne'er begun,
The longing people pause amid the burning drouth,
And, gazing over the hot fields with dreaming eyes,
They seem to see a distant rocky island rise
From out the furrows; and a cry bursts forth,—
A cry of weary longing for the North.
“Oh, for the cedars that grow on the northern island
Oh, for the larches that toss in the northern breeze,
Oh, for the path beneath the dark aisles of the spruces,
The dancing foam-crested waves of the fresh-water seas!
Oh, for a sight of the clambering mountain blue-bell,
The wash of the sounding surf on the pebbly shore,
The spicy smell of the blue-green juniper-berry,
The storm-beaten peaks of the gray cliffs towering o'er
Cool-shaded nooks, afar from this heat and glare—
Would I were there, would I were there!”
II.
On the far island at the great lake's headWhere the short summer scarcely warms the air,
Or turns the early cherry to its red,
Before quick-coming autumn nips the forest dead,
The silent people in their stony furrows bare,
Pause in their task, as though their weary, care-worn eyes,
Saw, from the waves, a distant sunny valley rise,
And, dreaming, gaze, until from hard-set mouth,
Bursts forth a cry of longing for the south:
“Oh, for the deep lush grass of the green mill-race meadow,
Oh, for the broad fields golden with fast growing grain,
Oh, for the pulse of the earth in ripening weather,
The glowing heat of the sun on the dead level plain!
Oh, for a sight of the full-bosomed water-lily
Basking at ease as the slow river onward flows,
The sound of the myriad-gilded summer insects,
The scent of the heliotrope and the sweet tube rose!
Oh, land of the South, fruitful, blossoming, fair—
Would I were there, would I were there!”
| [Poems by Woolson in] Five generations (1785-1923) | |