 | Collected poems of Herman Melville |  |
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1. PART I
THE YEAR
THE LOITERER
1
She will come tho' she loiter, believe,Her pledge it assigns not the day;
Why brood by the embers night after night,
Sighing over their dying away—
Well, let her delay;
She is everywhere longed for as here;
A favorite, freakish and young:
Her can we gladden, then us she can cheer?
Let us think no wrong.
2
But watch and wait:Wait by the pasture-bars
Or watch by the garden-gate;
For, after coming, tho' wide she stray,
First ever she shows on the slender way—
Slim sheep-track threads the hill-side brown,
Or foot-path leads to the garden down.
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3
While snow lingered under the fir,
Loth to melt from embrace of the earth,
And ashy red embers of logs
In moonlight dozed on the hearth;
And in cage by the window sun-warmed
Our bird was enheartened to song;
It was then that, as yearly before,
By the self-same foot-path along,
She drew to the weather-beat door
That was sunned thro' the skeleton-tree:
Nothing she said, but seemed to say—
“Old folks, aren't ye glad to see me!”
And tears brimmed our eyes—bless the day!
Loth to melt from embrace of the earth,
And ashy red embers of logs
In moonlight dozed on the hearth;
And in cage by the window sun-warmed
Our bird was enheartened to song;
It was then that, as yearly before,
By the self-same foot-path along,
She drew to the weather-beat door
That was sunned thro' the skeleton-tree:
Nothing she said, but seemed to say—
“Old folks, aren't ye glad to see me!”
And tears brimmed our eyes—bless the day!
Then she turned; revisited in sort—
She was here—she was there,
Peeping eager everywhere,
Like one who revisits scenes never forgot.
She was here—she was there,
Peeping eager everywhere,
Like one who revisits scenes never forgot.
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WHEN FORTH THE SHEPHERD LEADS THE FLOCK
When forth the shepherd leads the flock,
White lamb and dingy ewe,
And there's dibbling in the garden,
Then the world begins anew.
White lamb and dingy ewe,
And there's dibbling in the garden,
Then the world begins anew.
When Buttercups make bright
The meadows up and down,
The Golden Age returns to fields
If never to the town.
The meadows up and down,
The Golden Age returns to fields
If never to the town.
When stir the freshening airs
Forerunning showers to meads,
And Dandelions prance,
Then Heart-Free shares the dance—
A Wilding with the Weeds!
Forerunning showers to meads,
And Dandelions prance,
Then Heart-Free shares the dance—
A Wilding with the Weeds!
But alack and alas
For things of wilding feature!
Since hearsed was Pan
Ill befalls each profitless creature—
Profitless to man!
For things of wilding feature!
Since hearsed was Pan
Ill befalls each profitless creature—
Profitless to man!
Buttercup and Dandelion,
Wildings, and the rest,
Commoners and holiday-makers,
Note them in one test:
The farmers scout them,
Yea, and would rout them,
Hay is better without them—
Tares in the grass!
The florists pooh-pooh them;
Few but children do woo them,
Love them, reprieve them,
Retrieve and inweave them,
Never sighing—Alas!
Wildings, and the rest,
Commoners and holiday-makers,
Note them in one test:
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Yea, and would rout them,
Hay is better without them—
Tares in the grass!
The florists pooh-pooh them;
Few but children do woo them,
Love them, reprieve them,
Retrieve and inweave them,
Never sighing—Alas!
THE LITTLE GOOD FELLOWS
Make way, make way, give leave to rove
Under your orchard as above;
A yearly welcome if ye love!
And all who loved us alway throve.
Under your orchard as above;
A yearly welcome if ye love!
And all who loved us alway throve.
Love for love. For ever we
When some unfriended man we see
Lifeless under forest-eaves,
Cover him with buds and leaves;
And charge the chipmunk, mouse, and mole—
Molest not this poor human soul!
When some unfriended man we see
Lifeless under forest-eaves,
Cover him with buds and leaves;
And charge the chipmunk, mouse, and mole—
Molest not this poor human soul!
Then let us never on green floor
Where your paths wind round about,
Keep to the middle in misdoubt,
Shy and aloof, unsure of ye;
But come like grass to stones on moor,
Wherever mortals be.
But toss your caps, O maids and men,
Snow-bound long in farm-house pen:
We chase Old Winter back to den.
See our red waistcoats! Alive be then—
Alive to the bridal-favors when
They blossom your orchards every Spring,
And cock-robin curves on a bridegroom's wing!
Where your paths wind round about,
Keep to the middle in misdoubt,
Shy and aloof, unsure of ye;
But come like grass to stones on moor,
Wherever mortals be.
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Snow-bound long in farm-house pen:
We chase Old Winter back to den.
See our red waistcoats! Alive be then—
Alive to the bridal-favors when
They blossom your orchards every Spring,
And cock-robin curves on a bridegroom's wing!
CLOVER
The June day dawns, the joy-winds rush,Your jovial fields are dresst;
Rosier for thee the Dawn's red flush,
Ruddier the Ruddock's breast.
MADCAPS
Through the orchard I followTwo children in glee.
From an apple-tree's hollow
They startle the bee.
The White Clover throws
Perfume in their way
To the hedge of Red Rose;
Between Roses and Clover
The Strawberry grows.
It is Lily and Cherry
Companioned by Butterflies
Madcaps as merry!
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THE OLD FASHION
Now youthful is Ver
And the same, and forever,
Year after year;
And her bobolinks sing,
And they vary never
In juvenile cheer.
And the same, and forever,
Year after year;
And her bobolinks sing,
And they vary never
In juvenile cheer.
Old-fashioned is Ver
Tho' eternally new,
And her bobolink's young
Keep the old fashion true:
Chee, Chee! they will sing
While the welkin is blue.
Tho' eternally new,
And her bobolink's young
Keep the old fashion true:
Chee, Chee! they will sing
While the welkin is blue.
BUTTERFLY DITTY
Summer comes in like a sea,
Wave upon wave how bright;
Thro' the heaven of summer we'll flee
And tipple the light!
Wave upon wave how bright;
Thro' the heaven of summer we'll flee
And tipple the light!
From garden to garden,
Such charter have we,
We'll rove and we'll revel,
And idlers we'll be!
Such charter have we,
We'll rove and we'll revel,
And idlers we'll be!
We'll rove and we'll revel,
Concerned but for this,—
That Man, Eden's bad boy,
Partakes not the bliss.
Concerned but for this,—
That Man, Eden's bad boy,
Partakes not the bliss.
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THE BLUE-BIRD
Beneath yon Larkspur's azure bells
That sun their bees in balmy air
In mould no more the Blue-Bird dwells
Tho' late he found interment there.
That sun their bees in balmy air
In mould no more the Blue-Bird dwells
Tho' late he found interment there.
All stiff he lay beneath the Fir
When shrill the March piped overhead,
And Pity gave him sepulchre
Within the Garden's sheltered bed.
When shrill the March piped overhead,
And Pity gave him sepulchre
Within the Garden's sheltered bed.
And soft she sighed—Too soon he came;
On wings of hope he met the knell;
His heavenly tint the dust shall tame;
Ah, some misgiving had been well!
On wings of hope he met the knell;
His heavenly tint the dust shall tame;
Ah, some misgiving had been well!
But, look, the clear etherial hue
In June it makes the Larkspur's dower;
It is the self-same welkin-blue—
The Bird's transfigured in the Flower.
In June it makes the Larkspur's dower;
It is the self-same welkin-blue—
The Bird's transfigured in the Flower.
THE LOVER AND THE SYRINGA BUSH
Like a lit-up Christmas Tree,Like a grotto pranked with spars,
Like white corals in green sea,
Like night's sky of crowded stars—
To me like these you show, Syringa
Such heightening power has love, believe,
While here by Eden's gate I linger
Love's tryst to keep, with truant Eve.
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THE DAIRYMAN'S CHILD
Soft as the morningWhen South winds blow,
Sweet as peach-orchards
When blossoms are seen,
Pure as a fresco
Of roses and snow,
Or an opal serene.
TROPHIES OF PEACE
ILLINOIS IN 1840
Files on files of Prairie Maize:
On hosts of spears the morning plays!
Aloft the rustling streamers show:
The floss embrowned is rich below.
On hosts of spears the morning plays!
Aloft the rustling streamers show:
The floss embrowned is rich below.
When Asia scarfed in silks came on
Against the Greek and Marathon,
Did each plume and pennon dance
Sun-lit thus on helm and lance
Mindless of War's sickle so?
Against the Greek and Marathon,
Did each plume and pennon dance
Sun-lit thus on helm and lance
Mindless of War's sickle so?
For them, a tasseled dance of death:
For these—the reapers reap them low.
Reap them low, and stack the plain
With Ceres' trophies, golden grain.
Such monuments, and only such,
O Prairie! termless yield,
Though trooper Mars disdainful flout
Nor Annals fame the field.
For these—the reapers reap them low.
Reap them low, and stack the plain
With Ceres' trophies, golden grain.
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O Prairie! termless yield,
Though trooper Mars disdainful flout
Nor Annals fame the field.
IN THE PAUPER'S TURNIP-FIELD
Crow, in pulpit lone and tallOf yon charred hemlock, grimly dead,
Why on me in preachment call—
Me, by nearer preachment led
Here in homily of my hoe.
The hoe, the hoe,
My heavy hoe
That earthward bows me to foreshow
A mattock heavier than the hoe.
A WAY-SIDE WEED
By orchards red he whisks along,
A charioteer from villa fine;
With passing lash o' the whip he cuts
A way-side Weed divine.
A charioteer from villa fine;
With passing lash o' the whip he cuts
A way-side Weed divine.
But knows he what it is he does?
He flouts October's god
Whose sceptre is this Way-side Weed,
This swaying Golden Rod?
He flouts October's god
Whose sceptre is this Way-side Weed,
This swaying Golden Rod?
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THE CHIPMUNK
Heart of autumn!
Weather meet,
Like to sherbert
Cool and sweet.
Weather meet,
Like to sherbert
Cool and sweet.
Stock-still I stand,
And him I see
Prying, peeping
From Beech-tree;
Crickling, crackling
Gleefully!
But, affrighted
By wee sound,
Presto! vanish—
Whither bound?
And him I see
Prying, peeping
From Beech-tree;
Crickling, crackling
Gleefully!
But, affrighted
By wee sound,
Presto! vanish—
Whither bound?
So did Baby,
Crowing mirth,
E'en as startled
By some inkling
Touching Earth,
Flit (and whither?)
From our hearth!
Crowing mirth,
E'en as startled
By some inkling
Touching Earth,
Flit (and whither?)
From our hearth!
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FIELD ASTERS
Like the stars in commons blue
Peep their namesakes, Asters here,
Wild ones every autumn seen—
Seen of all, arresting few.
Peep their namesakes, Asters here,
Wild ones every autumn seen—
Seen of all, arresting few.
Seen indeed. But who their cheer
Interpret may, or what they mean
When so inscrutably their eyes
Us star-gazers scrutinize.
Interpret may, or what they mean
When so inscrutably their eyes
Us star-gazers scrutinize.
ALWAYS WITH US!
Betimes a wise guest
His visit will sever.
Yes, absence endears.
Revisit he would,
So remains not forever.
His visit will sever.
Yes, absence endears.
Revisit he would,
So remains not forever.
Well, Robin the wise one
He went yestreen,
Bound for the South
Where his chums convene.
He went yestreen,
Bound for the South
Where his chums convene.
Back, he'll come back
In his new Spring vest
And the more for long absence
Be welcomed with zest.
But thou, black Crow,
Inconsiderate fowl,
Wilt never away—
Take elsewhere thy cowl?
In his new Spring vest
And the more for long absence
Be welcomed with zest.
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Inconsiderate fowl,
Wilt never away—
Take elsewhere thy cowl?
From the blasted hemlock's
Whitened spur;
Whatever the season,
Or Winter or Ver
Or Summer or Fall,
Croaker, foreboder,
We hear thy call—
Caw! Caw! Caw!
Whitened spur;
Whatever the season,
Or Winter or Ver
Or Summer or Fall,
Croaker, foreboder,
We hear thy call—
Caw! Caw! Caw!
STOCKINGS IN THE FARM-HOUSE CHIMNEY
Happy, believe, this Christmas Eve
Are Willie and Rob and Nellie and May—
Happy in hope! in hope to receive
These stockings well stuffed from Santa Claus' sleigh.
Are Willie and Rob and Nellie and May—
Happy in hope! in hope to receive
These stockings well stuffed from Santa Claus' sleigh.
O the delight to believe in a wight
More than mortal, with something of man,
Whisking about, an invisible spright,
Almoner blest of Oberon's clan.
More than mortal, with something of man,
Whisking about, an invisible spright,
Almoner blest of Oberon's clan.
Stay, Truth, O stay in a long delay!
Why should these little ones find you out?
Let them forever with fable play,
Evermore hang the Stocking out!
Why should these little ones find you out?
Let them forever with fable play,
Evermore hang the Stocking out!
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A DUTCH CHRISTMAS UP THE HUDSON IN THE TIME OF PATROONS
Over the ruddy hearth, lo, the green bough!
In house of the sickle and home of the plough,
Arbored I sit and toast apples now!
In house of the sickle and home of the plough,
Arbored I sit and toast apples now!
Hi, there in barn! have done with the flail.
Worry not the wheat, nor winnow in the gale:
'Tis Christmas and holiday, turkey too and ale!
Worry not the wheat, nor winnow in the gale:
'Tis Christmas and holiday, turkey too and ale!
Creeping round the wainscot of old oak red,
The ground-pine, see—smell the sweet balsam shed!
The ground-pine, see—smell the sweet balsam shed!
Leave off, Katrina, to tarry there and scan:
The cream will take its time, girl, to rise in the pan.
Meanwhile here's a knocking, and the caller it is Van—
Tuenis Van der Blumacher, your merry Christmas man.
The cream will take its time, girl, to rise in the pan.
Meanwhile here's a knocking, and the caller it is Van—
Tuenis Van der Blumacher, your merry Christmas man.
Leafless the grove now where birds billed the kiss:
To-night when the fidler wipes his forehead, I wis,
And panting from the dance come our Hans and Cousin Chris,
Yon bush in the window will never be amiss!
To-night when the fidler wipes his forehead, I wis,
And panting from the dance come our Hans and Cousin Chris,
Yon bush in the window will never be amiss!
But oats have ye heaped, men, for horses in stall?
And for each heifer young and the old mother-cow
Have ye raked down the hay from the aftermath-mow?
The Christmas let come to the creatures one and all!
Tho' the pedlar, peering in, doubtless deemed it but folly,
The yoke-cattle's horns did I twine with green holly.
Good to breathe their sweet breath this blest Christmas morn,
Mindful of the ox, ass, and Babe new-born.
And for each heifer young and the old mother-cow
Have ye raked down the hay from the aftermath-mow?
The Christmas let come to the creatures one and all!
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The yoke-cattle's horns did I twine with green holly.
Good to breathe their sweet breath this blest Christmas morn,
Mindful of the ox, ass, and Babe new-born.
The snow drifts and drifts, and the frost it benumbs:
Elsie, pet, scatter to the snow-birds your crumbs.
Elsie, pet, scatter to the snow-birds your crumbs.
Sleigh-bells a' jingle! 'Tis Santa Claus: hail!
Villageward he goes thro' the spooming of the snows;
Yea, hurrying to round his many errands to a close,
A mince-pie he's taking to the one man in jail.—
What! drove right out between the gate-posts here?
Well, well, little Sharp-Eyes, blurred panes we must clear!
Villageward he goes thro' the spooming of the snows;
Yea, hurrying to round his many errands to a close,
A mince-pie he's taking to the one man in jail.—
What! drove right out between the gate-posts here?
Well, well, little Sharp-Eyes, blurred panes we must clear!
Our Santa Claus a clever way has and a free:
Gifts from him some will take who would never take from me.
For poor hereabouts there are none:—none so poor
But that pudding for an alms they would spurn from the door.
Gifts from him some will take who would never take from me.
For poor hereabouts there are none:—none so poor
But that pudding for an alms they would spurn from the door.
All the same to all in the world's wide ways—
Happy harvest of the conscience on many Christmas Days.
Happy harvest of the conscience on many Christmas Days.
| Collected poems of Herman Melville | |