 | Poems of Charles Warren Stoddard . |  |
124
IN CONFERENCE
If I could fly the hateful town,
And flying, suddenly discover
Some velvet valley, softly brown,
With hills that elbow one another—
And flying, suddenly discover
Some velvet valley, softly brown,
With hills that elbow one another—
Those robust hills; so resolute
And satisfied, with brawny shoulders
Set close together, in their mute,
Firm way, that startles us beholders,
And satisfied, with brawny shoulders
Set close together, in their mute,
Firm way, that startles us beholders,
And gathered close about my vale,
To nurse it, sitting still together,
Its body-guard in autumn mail,
Like Arabs in their cloaks of leather,
To nurse it, sitting still together,
Its body-guard in autumn mail,
Like Arabs in their cloaks of leather,
I would dispose myself among
Their surging waves of grain, beseeching
Some brief translation of their tongue,
Some knowledge of their healthful preaching.
Their surging waves of grain, beseeching
Some brief translation of their tongue,
Some knowledge of their healthful preaching.
125
Oh! pleasure for a spirit vext,
A listening, after introduction,
To whispered echoes of their text,
And volumes of their pure instruction;
A listening, after introduction,
To whispered echoes of their text,
And volumes of their pure instruction;
While ever from the valley's rim
The wind peeps over as it passes,
And merrily and mild for him,
Blows silver clouds across the grasses;
The wind peeps over as it passes,
And merrily and mild for him,
Blows silver clouds across the grasses;
Brings down an apple with his hail—
Plump skin—was ever apple riper?
And frights, in hasty whirr, a quail
That was my musical chief piper.
Plump skin—was ever apple riper?
And frights, in hasty whirr, a quail
That was my musical chief piper.
Full-bosomed quail in mottled casque
And plume, and silken bib to cover
Your panting throat, I only ask,
Return again unto your lover!
And plume, and silken bib to cover
Your panting throat, I only ask,
Return again unto your lover!
Now swoops an inky cloud of birds
Into the valley's deepest dimple;
They storm me with their teasing words,
Yet please me with their gambols simple.
Into the valley's deepest dimple;
They storm me with their teasing words,
Yet please me with their gambols simple.
126
I wish those five in epaulets
Of rose would quell the boisterous greeting;
But I suppose each one forgets
He interrupts my quiet meeting.
Of rose would quell the boisterous greeting;
But I suppose each one forgets
He interrupts my quiet meeting.
Their little hearts with song-delight
Are over-full—sufficient reason;
The pretty things are pardoned quite
For only singing out of season.
Are over-full—sufficient reason;
The pretty things are pardoned quite
For only singing out of season.
Was that a sprinkle on my face,
Descending from this sky of blueness?
Baptism in this holy place
Is fitting; for a sense of newness
Descending from this sky of blueness?
Baptism in this holy place
Is fitting; for a sense of newness
Pervades these vestibules of earth—
Sacristies, most securely hidden—
These halls, appropriate to new birth,
Where all unto the feast are bidden.
Sacristies, most securely hidden—
These halls, appropriate to new birth,
Where all unto the feast are bidden.
How silent has the valley grown—
The birds have hushed their playful riot;
A murmur, as a bee's dull drone,
Is all that stirs the perfect quiet.
The birds have hushed their playful riot;
A murmur, as a bee's dull drone,
Is all that stirs the perfect quiet.
127
Transparent curtains of the rain
Are sweeping down to me, delighting
The dusty trees; where I have lain
The broken grasses now are righting.
Are sweeping down to me, delighting
The dusty trees; where I have lain
The broken grasses now are righting.
The swarms of blackbirds lift away;
The most demoralized of creatures
Myself will be, if I delay—
So now, farewell, my wholesome preachers!
The most demoralized of creatures
Myself will be, if I delay—
So now, farewell, my wholesome preachers!
With your broad foreheads in the mist,
You cannot show a sign of sorrow;
But you are honest, keep the tryst—
I'll worship with you on to-morrow.
You cannot show a sign of sorrow;
But you are honest, keep the tryst—
I'll worship with you on to-morrow.
| Poems of Charles Warren Stoddard . | |