 | Western windows and other poems |  |
53
NEW GRASS.
Along the sultry city street,
Faint subtile breaths of fragrance meet
Me, wandering unaware
(In April warmth, while yet the sun
For Spring no constant place has won)
By many a vacant square.
Faint subtile breaths of fragrance meet
Me, wandering unaware
(In April warmth, while yet the sun
For Spring no constant place has won)
By many a vacant square.
Whoever reads these lines has felt
That breath whose long-lost perfumes melt
The spirit—newly found
While the sweet, banished families
Of earth's forgotten sympathies
Rise from the sweating ground.
That breath whose long-lost perfumes melt
The spirit—newly found
While the sweet, banished families
Of earth's forgotten sympathies
Rise from the sweating ground.
It is the subtile breath of grass;
And as I pause, or lingering pass,
With half-shut eyes, behold!
Bright from old baptisms of dew
Fresh meadows burst upon my view,
And new becomes the old!
And as I pause, or lingering pass,
With half-shut eyes, behold!
Bright from old baptisms of dew
Fresh meadows burst upon my view,
And new becomes the old!
54
Old longings (Pleasure kissing Pain),
Old visions visit me again—
Life's quiet deeps are stirr'd:
The fountain-heads of memory flow
Through channels dry so long ago,
With music long unheard.
Old visions visit me again—
Life's quiet deeps are stirr'd:
The fountain-heads of memory flow
Through channels dry so long ago,
With music long unheard.
I think of pastures, evermore
Greener than any hour before,
Where cattle wander slow,
Large-uddered in the sun, or chew
The cud content in shadows new,
Or, shadows, homeward low.
Greener than any hour before,
Where cattle wander slow,
Large-uddered in the sun, or chew
The cud content in shadows new,
Or, shadows, homeward low.
I dream of prairies dear to me:
Afar in town I seem to see
Their widening miles arise,
Where, like the butterfly anear,
Far off in sunny mist the deer,
That seems no larger, flies.
Afar in town I seem to see
Their widening miles arise,
Where, like the butterfly anear,
Far off in sunny mist the deer,
That seems no larger, flies.
Thy rural lanes, Ohio, come
Back to me, grateful with the hum
Of every thing that stirs:
Dear places, sadden'd by the years,
Lost to my sight send sudden tears,
Their secret messengers.
Back to me, grateful with the hum
Of every thing that stirs:
Dear places, sadden'd by the years,
Lost to my sight send sudden tears,
Their secret messengers.
55
I think of paths a-swarm with wings
Of bird and bee—all lovely things
From sun or sunny clod;
Of play-grounds where the children play,
And fear not Time will come to-day,
And feel the warming sod.
Of bird and bee—all lovely things
From sun or sunny clod;
Of play-grounds where the children play,
And fear not Time will come to-day,
And feel the warming sod.
New grass: it grows by cottage doors,
In orchards hush'd with bloom, by shores
Of streams that flow as green,
On hill-slopes white with tents or sheep,
And where the sacred mosses keep
The holy dead unseen.
In orchards hush'd with bloom, by shores
Of streams that flow as green,
On hill-slopes white with tents or sheep,
And where the sacred mosses keep
The holy dead unseen.
It grows o'er distant graves I know—
Sweet grass! above them greener grow,
And guard them tenderly!
My brother's, not three summers green;
My sister's—new-made, only seen
Through far-off tears by me!
Sweet grass! above them greener grow,
And guard them tenderly!
My brother's, not three summers green;
My sister's—new-made, only seen
Through far-off tears by me!
It grows on battle-fields—alas!
Old battle-fields are lost in grass;
New battles wait the new:
Hark, is it the living warmth I hear?
The cannon far or bee anear?
The bee and cannon too!
Old battle-fields are lost in grass;
New battles wait the new:
Hark, is it the living warmth I hear?
The cannon far or bee anear?
The bee and cannon too!
Washington, April, 1863.
| Western windows and other poems | |