A SLEEPING BEAUTY
I
An alien wind that blew and blew
Over the fields where the ripe grain grew,
Sending ripples of shine and shade
That crept and crouched at her feet and played.
The sea-like summer washed the moss
Till the sun-drenched lilies hung like floss,
Draping the throne of green and gold
That lulled her there like a queen of old.
II
Was it the hum of a bumblebee,
Or the long-hushed bugle eerily
Winding a call to the daring Prince
Lost in the wood long ages since?—
A dim old wood, with a palace rare
Hidden away in its depths somewhere!
Was it the Princess, tranced in sleep,
Awaiting her lover's touch to leap
Into the arms that bent above?—
To thaw his heart with the breath of love—
And cloy his lips, through her waking tears,
With the dead-ripe kiss of a hundred years!
III
An alien wind that blew and blew.—
I had blurred my eyes as the artists do,
Coaxing life to a half-sketched face,
Or dreaming bloom for a grassy place.
The bee droned on in an undertone;
And a shadow-bird trailed all alone
Across the wheat, while a liquid cry
Dripped from above, as it went by.
What to her was the far-off whir
Of the quail's quick wing or the chipmunk's chirr?—
What to her was the shade that slid
Over the hill where the reapers hid?—
Or what the hunter, with one foot raised,
As he turned to go—yet, pausing, gazed?
