 | The Autumn Garden |  |
83
An Episode in Mountain Manœuvres
Far down the glacier-streams, by pathways made for mules,
The mountain-troops have come, and crowd our café-stools,
Their elbows brush the board, and in the evening breeze
Their long moustaches wave, their hands rest on their knees.
Weary and soiled they come, from marching, days on days,
Up torrents choked with thorns, down rattling pebbly ways;
Patient and brown they sit, blue-clad, with white-webb'd feet,
The mountain-troops have come, and crowd our café-stools,
Their elbows brush the board, and in the evening breeze
Their long moustaches wave, their hands rest on their knees.
Weary and soiled they come, from marching, days on days,
Up torrents choked with thorns, down rattling pebbly ways;
Patient and brown they sit, blue-clad, with white-webb'd feet,
Like carrier-pigeons perched, half-dozing in the heat,
They seem to bear the hue of gentians in their eyes.
They seem to bear the hue of gentians in their eyes.
The old gray town has scarce awaked from its surprise
At this pacific inroad from the virgin-snows.
Scented and deep the twilight wind that gently blows
From vines engendering slow the tender wine begun;
From beds of matted thyme and mint-weed hot i' the sun;
From vaguely perfumed places rising far to south.
At this pacific inroad from the virgin-snows.
Scented and deep the twilight wind that gently blows
From vines engendering slow the tender wine begun;
From beds of matted thyme and mint-weed hot i' the sun;
From vaguely perfumed places rising far to south.
The children lounge from school, with peaches at their mouth,
And watch the soldiers playing tric-trac in the shade,
Or march with mimic drum and clarion un-afraid,
Until real warriors seize some straggler from the ranks,
And break in shrieks of mirth that insolent phalanx.
And watch the soldiers playing tric-trac in the shade,
Or march with mimic drum and clarion un-afraid,
84
And break in shrieks of mirth that insolent phalanx.
Mounting the meadow-side, we start by slow degrees
To gather crocus-buds beneath the walnut-trees;
To watch within the disks of broad rough thistle-flowers
The tipsy velvet bees that suck for hours and hours,
And flounder home at last by mere blind instinct led;—
To hear the gushing spring half-strangled in its bed,
A briar around its brows, thick purslains at its throat,
Its limbs enmeshed in weeds that rather drag than float;
To taste the savorous hour that ushers in the dark.
To gather crocus-buds beneath the walnut-trees;
To watch within the disks of broad rough thistle-flowers
The tipsy velvet bees that suck for hours and hours,
And flounder home at last by mere blind instinct led;—
To hear the gushing spring half-strangled in its bed,
A briar around its brows, thick purslains at its throat,
Its limbs enmeshed in weeds that rather drag than float;
To taste the savorous hour that ushers in the dark.
When lo! returning back, the town is still and stark.
Silence is everywhere! The troops have taken flight!
The tired battalion gone to face a mountain night!
Silence is everywhere! The troops have taken flight!
The tired battalion gone to face a mountain night!
On some high upland crest their bivouack is spread,
And nearer much to heaven than ours their wholesome bed;
Their eyes will open next where all the gentians are,
Close under Hesperus, their sentinel, their star.
And nearer much to heaven than ours their wholesome bed;
Their eyes will open next where all the gentians are,
Close under Hesperus, their sentinel, their star.
Allevard, 1903
| The Autumn Garden | |