 | Under The Aspens |  |
11
To be only alive in the spring, coldly kissed by the breeze,
When a soul of blind love is astir in the bud and the blade,
When the fountain of sap rises up from the roots of the trees
To their pendulous boughs, is a summons of joy to a maid.
When a soul of blind love is astir in the bud and the blade,
When the fountain of sap rises up from the roots of the trees
To their pendulous boughs, is a summons of joy to a maid.
But was never a spring that so gladdened the heart and the eyes
As the spring that is gone, and whose flowers lie cold in the earth;
There was never a season that broke with so sweet a surprise—
That was loosed from the dark hold of death in so sudden a birth.
As the spring that is gone, and whose flowers lie cold in the earth;
There was never a season that broke with so sweet a surprise—
That was loosed from the dark hold of death in so sudden a birth.
12
For the rain and the sadness had fallen of summerless years
On the wood hardly ripened, and leaflets and blossoms, each one
Was as tender and soft as the heart that is nourished on tears
In its season of growth, and as freshly unclosed to the sun.
On the wood hardly ripened, and leaflets and blossoms, each one
Was as tender and soft as the heart that is nourished on tears
In its season of growth, and as freshly unclosed to the sun.
And I had seen summerless years with the sad seasons flown,
Fatherless, motherless, having to fight for my share,
A poor place in the shadow-crossed world which had not been my own
When the heart of a mother had held me from shadow of care.
Fatherless, motherless, having to fight for my share,
A poor place in the shadow-crossed world which had not been my own
When the heart of a mother had held me from shadow of care.
And I was abloom with the season when swift by his side
I was borne with the fast sailing clouds in my holiday glee,
And we greeted you river as rolling your silvery tide,
You past us and smiled on our joy in your way to the sea.
I was borne with the fast sailing clouds in my holiday glee,
And we greeted you river as rolling your silvery tide,
You past us and smiled on our joy in your way to the sea.
13
The city receding—the tasker and task left behind,
The babble of many exchanged for the deep words of one,
The breath-laden air for the kiss of the wandering wind,
And the hard, counted hours for the joy of a day but begun.
The babble of many exchanged for the deep words of one,
The breath-laden air for the kiss of the wandering wind,
And the hard, counted hours for the joy of a day but begun.
We pass the red roofs, and we look at the clock in the tower;
‘Only eleven,’ he says, ‘of this sweet April day;’
And we gaze on the fair gabled house with the almond in flower,
And the buds of the thorn that are big with the promise of May;
‘Only eleven,’ he says, ‘of this sweet April day;’
And we gaze on the fair gabled house with the almond in flower,
And the buds of the thorn that are big with the promise of May;
The chestnut whose fingers unclosing have let the white flame
Of the blossom slip through them, the alley of trees, and the two
Who are walking therein, while the birds on their steps linger tame,
And the buds as they pass seem to open and crowd on their view.
Of the blossom slip through them, the alley of trees, and the two
Who are walking therein, while the birds on their steps linger tame,
And the buds as they pass seem to open and crowd on their view.
14
And he whispered me softly: ‘Here love is at home, the fond tale
Is disclosed by the glad living creatures in beauty and song,
And our love as the love of this twain shall not falter or fail
For the scorn of the years; they shall touch it and do it no wrong.’
Is disclosed by the glad living creatures in beauty and song,
And our love as the love of this twain shall not falter or fail
For the scorn of the years; they shall touch it and do it no wrong.’
Then the russet and gold of the poplars was caught as with fire
Of a sun that had burst on the world and would never more set,
And straight from the dark grove of ilex there opened a quire
That sung of the love which had barely been spoken as yet.
Of a sun that had burst on the world and would never more set,
And straight from the dark grove of ilex there opened a quire
That sung of the love which had barely been spoken as yet.
For the wonder within us was shy, having grown beyond reach
Of the thoughts of our hearts in the days love had been but a dream,
And the joy of it deepened to awe when it first put on speech
And we felt ourselves borne to our doom in the rush of its stream.
Of the thoughts of our hearts in the days love had been but a dream,
And the joy of it deepened to awe when it first put on speech
And we felt ourselves borne to our doom in the rush of its stream.
15
He had dared to make free with my heart, and had called by its name
The secret which trembling he drew from its maidenly hold,
And I heard unreproving, filled, thrilled with the joy and sweet shame—
Overborne by the stress of the passion which rendered him bold.
The secret which trembling he drew from its maidenly hold,
And I heard unreproving, filled, thrilled with the joy and sweet shame—
Overborne by the stress of the passion which rendered him bold.
But our love was at April, and opened no further that day;
It was rife as the sap in the immanent leaf, and discreet
As the yet folded blossom that softly is seeking its way
To the full, rounded life which the sun is at work to complete.
It was rife as the sap in the immanent leaf, and discreet
As the yet folded blossom that softly is seeking its way
To the full, rounded life which the sun is at work to complete.
So we spoke of the birds that unbosomed their full hearts in song,
Of the gorse on the heath—all the wealth of the summer foreshown—
Of the sweet-scented gums which the toils of the season prolong,—
Still of love and love's labour, but ventured no nearer our own.
Of the gorse on the heath—all the wealth of the summer foreshown—
Of the sweet-scented gums which the toils of the season prolong,—
Still of love and love's labour, but ventured no nearer our own.
16
Then the fair day was done, but its joy like a great tidal wave
Overflowed the low banks of the days and the nights that were near,
As I sat midst the laughter of work-fellows silent and grave,
And the voice of the task-mistress chiding awakened no fear.
Overflowed the low banks of the days and the nights that were near,
As I sat midst the laughter of work-fellows silent and grave,
And the voice of the task-mistress chiding awakened no fear.
And sometimes my joy would seem present and suddenly rise,
And bear me before it I hardly knew whither or why,
Till, lo, from the window a vision would gladden my eyes—
My love had foreboded aright, that my lover was nigh.
And bear me before it I hardly knew whither or why,
Till, lo, from the window a vision would gladden my eyes—
My love had foreboded aright, that my lover was nigh.
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