 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
9
OVER THE WALL
I know a spot where the wild vines creep,
And the coral moss-cups grow,
And where, at the foot of the rocky steep,
The sweet blue violets blow.
There all day long, in the summer-time,
You may hear the river's dreamy rhyme;
There all day long does the honey-bee
Murmur and hum in the hollow tree.
And the coral moss-cups grow,
And where, at the foot of the rocky steep,
The sweet blue violets blow.
There all day long, in the summer-time,
You may hear the river's dreamy rhyme;
There all day long does the honey-bee
Murmur and hum in the hollow tree.
And there the feathery hemlock makes
A shadow cool and sweet,
While from its emerald wing it shakes
Rare incense at your feet.
There do the silvery lichens cling,
There does the tremulous harebell swing;
And many a scarlet berry shines
Deep in the green of the tangled vines.
A shadow cool and sweet,
While from its emerald wing it shakes
Rare incense at your feet.
There do the silvery lichens cling,
There does the tremulous harebell swing;
And many a scarlet berry shines
Deep in the green of the tangled vines.
Over the wall at dawn of day,
Over the wall at noon,
Over the wall when the shadows say
That night is coming soon,
A little maiden with laughing eyes
Climbs in her eager haste, and hies
Down to the spot where the wild vines creep,
And violets bloom by the rocky steep.
Over the wall at noon,
Over the wall when the shadows say
That night is coming soon,
A little maiden with laughing eyes
Climbs in her eager haste, and hies
Down to the spot where the wild vines creep,
And violets bloom by the rocky steep.
10
All wild things love her. The murmuring bee
Scarce stirs when she draws near,
And sings the bird in the hemlock-tree
Its sweetest for her ear.
The harebells nod as she passes by,
The violet lifts its tender eye,
The low ferns bend her steps to greet,
And the mosses creep to her dancing feet.
Scarce stirs when she draws near,
And sings the bird in the hemlock-tree
Its sweetest for her ear.
The harebells nod as she passes by,
The violet lifts its tender eye,
The low ferns bend her steps to greet,
And the mosses creep to her dancing feet.
Up in her pathway seems to spring
All that is sweet or rare,—
Chrysalis quaint, or the moth's bright wing,
Or flower-buds strangely fair.
She watches the tiniest bird's-nest hid
The thickly clustering leaves amid;
And the small brown tree-toad on her arm
Quietly hops, and fears no harm.
All that is sweet or rare,—
Chrysalis quaint, or the moth's bright wing,
Or flower-buds strangely fair.
She watches the tiniest bird's-nest hid
The thickly clustering leaves amid;
And the small brown tree-toad on her arm
Quietly hops, and fears no harm.
Ah, child of the laughing eyes, and heart
Attuned to Nature's voice!
Thou hast found a bliss that will ne'er depart
While earth can say, “Rejoice!”
The years must come, and the years must go;
But the flowers will bloom, and the breezes blow,
And bird and butterfly, moth and bee,
Bring on their swift wings joy to thee!
Attuned to Nature's voice!
Thou hast found a bliss that will ne'er depart
While earth can say, “Rejoice!”
The years must come, and the years must go;
But the flowers will bloom, and the breezes blow,
And bird and butterfly, moth and bee,
Bring on their swift wings joy to thee!
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |