 | The high-top sweeting And Other Poems |  |
57
IN THE FIELDS.
Once more amid your pleasant scenes, New England fields and woods,
Your shining streams and sunny farms and shady solitudes,
Your pastures with their grazing herds, content and sleek and mute,
Your fair long rows of orchard trees, adroop with rosy fruit.
Your shining streams and sunny farms and shady solitudes,
Your pastures with their grazing herds, content and sleek and mute,
Your fair long rows of orchard trees, adroop with rosy fruit.
I pluck the brilliant golden-rod and asters at my feet;
I climb the vine-draped boulder, and pull the bitter-sweet;
I thread the deepest brookside dells to find the gentian blue,
And in sweet Nature's youth and joy, am young and joyful too.
I climb the vine-draped boulder, and pull the bitter-sweet;
I thread the deepest brookside dells to find the gentian blue,
And in sweet Nature's youth and joy, am young and joyful too.
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O wood-paths, wild wood-paths, in days remembered well,
I walked unsnared amid your toils, nor ever tripped nor fell;
O'er tangled stems and twisted roots I bounded lightly then,
Sure-footed as the antelope in wildest mountain glen.
I walked unsnared amid your toils, nor ever tripped nor fell;
O'er tangled stems and twisted roots I bounded lightly then,
Sure-footed as the antelope in wildest mountain glen.
Alas, alas! my foot has lost the cunning of old days;
I stumble in the briery paths; I shun the rocky ways;
The brambles tear my careless hair, and try to hold me back;
The thorn-boughs stab me as I pass, then close and hide my track.
I stumble in the briery paths; I shun the rocky ways;
The brambles tear my careless hair, and try to hold me back;
The thorn-boughs stab me as I pass, then close and hide my track.
O blackbird, glad blackbird, that warbles all the day,
Deep in the laden orchards, the old familiar lay,
When last I strolled as now among the stubble of the wheat,
You scarcely ceased your whistling at the rustle of my feet;
Deep in the laden orchards, the old familiar lay,
When last I strolled as now among the stubble of the wheat,
You scarcely ceased your whistling at the rustle of my feet;
59
You scarcely flew before me, as I came more near and near,
But sat unscared, and sang as if for me alone to hear;
While now you hear my greeting voice with wonder and affright,
With sudden sidelong glances, and swift suspicious flight.
But sat unscared, and sang as if for me alone to hear;
While now you hear my greeting voice with wonder and affright,
With sudden sidelong glances, and swift suspicious flight.
O squirrel in the oak-tree, where are your acorns stored?
I used to find your hiding-place, and wonder at your hoard;
We were fast friends and playmates then; oh, wherefore shun me now,
And chatter small defiance from the tall tree's topmost bough?
I used to find your hiding-place, and wonder at your hoard;
We were fast friends and playmates then; oh, wherefore shun me now,
And chatter small defiance from the tall tree's topmost bough?
O Nature, mother Nature, with your soul so strong and true,
What fate has snapped the tender bond that kept me close to you,—
The quick, electric sympathy alive to thrill and tone,
Which made your thousand varying moods seem echoes of my own?
What fate has snapped the tender bond that kept me close to you,—
The quick, electric sympathy alive to thrill and tone,
Which made your thousand varying moods seem echoes of my own?
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True, I have wandered far away from all I prized in youth;
But I have loved the forest still, with strong unswerving truth,
Amid the city's noise have heard the far-off song of streams,
And rambled all the well-known woods and hillsides in my dreams.
But I have loved the forest still, with strong unswerving truth,
Amid the city's noise have heard the far-off song of streams,
And rambled all the well-known woods and hillsides in my dreams.
Oh, take me to your heart again, and give to me once more
The loving, pure, believing soul I had in days of yore!
Shut all the tiresome world away, protect me and defend,
And be, as in my happier youth, my mother and my friend!
The loving, pure, believing soul I had in days of yore!
Shut all the tiresome world away, protect me and defend,
And be, as in my happier youth, my mother and my friend!
| The high-top sweeting And Other Poems | |