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THE BIRTHDAYS.
O morning, sweet and bright and clear!
Anew the earth seems blossoming:
In Summer's swarthy heart I hear
The fountain-heads of Spring.
Anew the earth seems blossoming:
In Summer's swarthy heart I hear
The fountain-heads of Spring.
It is your birthday, dearest one—
Far-off from you this summer day,
I think of many another sun
That August took from May:
Far-off from you this summer day,
I think of many another sun
That August took from May:
When—for your honor—sweet and bright,
The month of dust and dead perfume
Remember'd May's delicious light,
Her gentle breath and bloom.
The month of dust and dead perfume
Remember'd May's delicious light,
Her gentle breath and bloom.
I dream of many a birthday blithe,
Baptizing earth with loving dew,
When Time the reaper hid his scythe
And gather'd flowers for you.
Baptizing earth with loving dew,
When Time the reaper hid his scythe
And gather'd flowers for you.
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Lo, first I see the morning, love,
That on your mother's tender breast,
A wingless bird from Heaven above,
You found your earthly nest.
That on your mother's tender breast,
A wingless bird from Heaven above,
You found your earthly nest.
Your childhood's birthdays come and go,
Stealing from shining day to day
A lovely child with whom, I know,
The fairies loved to play.
Stealing from shining day to day
A lovely child with whom, I know,
The fairies loved to play.
Your grand old kinsman, Boone, I guess—
Ulysses of the Indian wild—
Enjoy'd no dearer loneliness
Than you a wandering child.
Ulysses of the Indian wild—
Enjoy'd no dearer loneliness
Than you a wandering child.
Shy as the butterfly you went
On visits to your baby flowers,
Among the lonely birds content
To pass unlonely hours.
On visits to your baby flowers,
Among the lonely birds content
To pass unlonely hours.
Nature, I deem, those birthdays caught
You to her breast in solitude:
Her loveliest picture-books she brought
And read you in the wood.
You to her breast in solitude:
Her loveliest picture-books she brought
And read you in the wood.
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All lovely things she gave your love:
The humble flowers, the stars on high,
The lightning's awful wing above,
The tremulous butterfly.
The humble flowers, the stars on high,
The lightning's awful wing above,
The tremulous butterfly.
My fancy, love-created, goes
Lightly from passing year to year:
My little fairy maiden grows
To tender girlhood dear.
Lightly from passing year to year:
My little fairy maiden grows
To tender girlhood dear.
A dreaming girl, as shy as dew
In dells of Fairyland apart,
Within your soul a lily grew—
A rose within your heart.
In dells of Fairyland apart,
Within your soul a lily grew—
A rose within your heart.
I follow on your changeful way,
Lift all the burdens from your hours,
Make you my constant queen of May
And wreathe your birthday flowers.
Lift all the burdens from your hours,
Make you my constant queen of May
And wreathe your birthday flowers.
My fancy follows: ah, perchance,
I, Fairy Prince of fable true,
Found you asleep in fated trance
And kiss'd you ere you knew!
I, Fairy Prince of fable true,
Found you asleep in fated trance
And kiss'd you ere you knew!
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They come, they vanish—swift or slow—
Oh, long unmask'd, those maskéd years:
At last the birthdays that I know
I see, with smiles and tears.
Oh, long unmask'd, those maskéd years:
At last the birthdays that I know
I see, with smiles and tears.
Your birthdays which are mine draw nigh:
Lo, yours and mine are join'd in one!—
Mine with the blue-bird's prophecy,
Yours with the August sun!
Lo, yours and mine are join'd in one!—
Mine with the blue-bird's prophecy,
Yours with the August sun!
And, look, another joins the two:
The First of March, the August day
Mingle their tender light and dew
With Marian's in May!
The First of March, the August day
Mingle their tender light and dew
With Marian's in May!
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