 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
389
AFTERNOON
O perfect day,
I bid thee stay!
Too fast thy glad hours slip away;
The morn, the noon,
Have fled too soon—
Delay, O golden afternoon!
I bid thee stay!
Too fast thy glad hours slip away;
The morn, the noon,
Have fled too soon—
Delay, O golden afternoon!
O peerless Sun,
Thou radiant one
Whose dazzling course is half-way run,
Stay, stay thy flight
Down yon blue height,
Nor haste thee to the arms of night!
Thou radiant one
Whose dazzling course is half-way run,
Stay, stay thy flight
Down yon blue height,
Nor haste thee to the arms of night!
The west wind blows
O'er beds of rose,
But does not stir my deep repose.
In dreamful guise
I close mine eyes,
Borne on its wings to Paradise.
O'er beds of rose,
But does not stir my deep repose.
In dreamful guise
I close mine eyes,
Borne on its wings to Paradise.
Beneath this tree
Half consciously
I share the life of all things free,
Hearing the beat
Of rhythmic feet,
As the grasses run my hand to meet.
Half consciously
I share the life of all things free,
Hearing the beat
Of rhythmic feet,
As the grasses run my hand to meet.
390
The wild bee's hum,
The lone bird's drum,
O'er the wide pastures faintly come;
And soft and clear
Falls on my ear
The cow-bell's tinkle, far and near!
The lone bird's drum,
O'er the wide pastures faintly come;
And soft and clear
Falls on my ear
The cow-bell's tinkle, far and near!
Before my eyes
Three blue peaks rise,
Piercing the bright autumnal skies;
Silent and grand,
On either hand,
Far mountain heights majestic stand.
Three blue peaks rise,
Piercing the bright autumnal skies;
Silent and grand,
On either hand,
Far mountain heights majestic stand.
By wreaths of mist
The vales are kissed—
Fair, floating clouds of amethyst,
That follow on,
Through shade and sun,
Where'er the river's course may run.
The vales are kissed—
Fair, floating clouds of amethyst,
That follow on,
Through shade and sun,
Where'er the river's course may run.
Here, looking down
On roof-trees brown,
I catch fair glimpses of the town.
There, far away,
The shadows play
On crags and bowlders, huge and gray.
On roof-trees brown,
I catch fair glimpses of the town.
There, far away,
The shadows play
On crags and bowlders, huge and gray.
All whispering low,
The breezes go—
The wandering birds flit to and fro;
Winged motes float by
Me as I lie,
And yellow leaves drop silently.
The breezes go—
The wandering birds flit to and fro;
Winged motes float by
Me as I lie,
And yellow leaves drop silently.
391
The morn, the noon,
Have fled too soon—
Delay, O golden afternoon,
While with rapt eyes
My spirit flies
From yon blue peaks to Paradise!
Have fled too soon—
Delay, O golden afternoon,
While with rapt eyes
My spirit flies
From yon blue peaks to Paradise!
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |