 | [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
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POEMS OF NATURE AND HOME.
AN APRIL WELCOME.
Come up, April, through the valley,
In your robes of beauty drest,
Come and wake your flowery children
From their wintry beds of rest;
Come and overblow them softly
With the sweet breath of the south;
Drop upon them, warm and loving,
Tenderest kisses of your mouth.
In your robes of beauty drest,
Come and wake your flowery children
From their wintry beds of rest;
Come and overblow them softly
With the sweet breath of the south;
Drop upon them, warm and loving,
Tenderest kisses of your mouth.
Touch them with your rosy fingers,
Wake them with your pleasant tread,
Push away the leaf-brown covers,
Over all their faces spread;
Tell them how the sun is waiting
Longer daily in the skies,
Looking for the bright uplifting
Of their softly-fringèd eyes.
Wake them with your pleasant tread,
Push away the leaf-brown covers,
Over all their faces spread;
Tell them how the sun is waiting
Longer daily in the skies,
Looking for the bright uplifting
Of their softly-fringèd eyes.
Call the crow-foot and the crocus,
Call the pale anemone,
Call the violet and the daisy,
Clothed with careful modesty;
Seek the low and humble blossoms,
Of their beauties unaware,
Let the dandelion and fennel,
Show their shining yellow hair.
Call the pale anemone,
Call the violet and the daisy,
Clothed with careful modesty;
Seek the low and humble blossoms,
Of their beauties unaware,
Let the dandelion and fennel,
Show their shining yellow hair.
Bid the little homely sparrows
Chirping, in the cold and rain,
Their impatient sweet complaining,
Sing out from their hearts again;
Bid them set themselves to mating,
Cooling love in softest words,
Crowd their nests, all cold and empty,
Full of little callow birds.
Chirping, in the cold and rain,
Their impatient sweet complaining,
Sing out from their hearts again;
Bid them set themselves to mating,
Cooling love in softest words,
Crowd their nests, all cold and empty,
Full of little callow birds.
Come up, April, through the valley,
Where the fountain sleeps to-day,
Let him, freed from icy fetters,
Go rejoicing on his way;
Through the flower-enameled meadows
Let him run his laughing race,
Making love to all the blossoms
That o'erlean and kiss his face.
Where the fountain sleeps to-day,
Let him, freed from icy fetters,
Go rejoicing on his way;
Through the flower-enameled meadows
Let him run his laughing race,
Making love to all the blossoms
That o'erlean and kiss his face.
But not birds and blossoms only,
Not alone the streams complain,
Men and maidens too are calling,
Come up, April, come again!
Waiting with the sweet impatience
Of a lover for the hours
They shall set the tender beauty
Of thy feet among the flowers!
Not alone the streams complain,
Men and maidens too are calling,
Come up, April, come again!
Waiting with the sweet impatience
Of a lover for the hours
They shall set the tender beauty
Of thy feet among the flowers!
MY NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE.
In the years that now are dead and gone—
Aye, dead, but ne'er forgot—
My neighbor's stately house looked down
On the walls of my humble cot.
Aye, dead, but ne'er forgot—
My neighbor's stately house looked down
On the walls of my humble cot.
I had my flowers and trees, 't is true,
But they looked not fine and tall
As my neighbor's flowers and trees, that grew
On the other side of the wall.
But they looked not fine and tall
As my neighbor's flowers and trees, that grew
On the other side of the wall.
Through the autumn leaves his ripe fruits gleamed
With richer tints than mine,
And his grapes in the summer sunshine seemed
More full of precious wine.
With richer tints than mine,
And his grapes in the summer sunshine seemed
More full of precious wine.
Through garden walk and bower I stray
Unbidden now and free;
For my neighbor long has passed away,
And his wealth has come to me.
Unbidden now and free;
For my neighbor long has passed away,
And his wealth has come to me.
I pace those stately halls at last,
But a darker shadow falls
Within the house than once it cast
On my lowly cottage walls.
But a darker shadow falls
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On my lowly cottage walls.
I pluck the fruit, the wine I waste,
I drag through the weary hours;
But the fruit is bitter to my taste,
And I tire of the scent of flowers.
I drag through the weary hours;
But the fruit is bitter to my taste,
And I tire of the scent of flowers.
And I 'd take my poverty instead
And all that I have resign,
To feel as I felt when I coveted
The wealth that now is mine.
And all that I have resign,
To feel as I felt when I coveted
The wealth that now is mine.
THE FORTUNE IN THE DAISY.
Of what are you dreaming, my pretty maid,
With your feet in the summer clover?
Ah! you need not hang your modest head:
I know 't is about your lover.
With your feet in the summer clover?
Ah! you need not hang your modest head:
I know 't is about your lover.
I know by the blushes on your cheek,
Though you strive to hide the token;
And I know because you will not speak,
The thought that is unspoken.
Though you strive to hide the token;
And I know because you will not speak,
The thought that is unspoken.
You are counting the petals, one by one,
Of your dainty, dewy posies,
To find from their number, when 't is done,
The secret it discloses.
Of your dainty, dewy posies,
To find from their number, when 't is done,
The secret it discloses.
You would see if he comes with gold and land—
The lover that is to woo you;
Or only brings his heart and his hand,
For your heart and your hand to sue you.
The lover that is to woo you;
Or only brings his heart and his hand,
For your heart and your hand to sue you.
Beware, beware, what you say and do,
Fair maid, with your feet in the clover;
For the poorest man that comes to woo,
May be the richest lover!
Fair maid, with your feet in the clover;
For the poorest man that comes to woo,
May be the richest lover!
Since not by outward show and sign
Can you reckon worth's true measure,
Who only is rich in soul and mind,
May offer the greatest treasure.
Can you reckon worth's true measure,
Who only is rich in soul and mind,
May offer the greatest treasure.
Ah! there never was power in gems alone
To bind a brow from aching;
Nor strength enough in a jeweled zone
To hold a heart from breaking.
To bind a brow from aching;
Nor strength enough in a jeweled zone
To hold a heart from breaking.
Then be not caught by the sheen and glare
Of worldly wealth and splendor;
But speak him soft, and speak him fair,
Whose heart is true and tender.
Of worldly wealth and splendor;
But speak him soft, and speak him fair,
Whose heart is true and tender.
You may wear your virtues as a crown.
As you walk through life serenely;
And grace your simple rustic gown
With a beauty more than queenly—
As you walk through life serenely;
And grace your simple rustic gown
With a beauty more than queenly—
Though only one for you shall care,
One only speak your praises;
And you never wear, in your shining hair,
A richer flower than daisies!
One only speak your praises;
And you never wear, in your shining hair,
A richer flower than daisies!
A PICTURE.
Her brown hair plainly put away
Under her broad hat's rustic brim;
That threw across her placid brow
Its veil-like shadow, cool and dim:
Under her broad hat's rustic brim;
That threw across her placid brow
Its veil-like shadow, cool and dim:
Her shut lips sweet as if they moved
Only to accents good and true;
Her eyes down-dropt, yet bright and clear
As violets shining out of dew:
Only to accents good and true;
Her eyes down-dropt, yet bright and clear
As violets shining out of dew:
And folded close together now
The tender hands that seemed to prove
Their wondrous fitness to perform
The works of charitable love.
The tender hands that seemed to prove
Their wondrous fitness to perform
The works of charitable love.
Such is her picture, but too fair
For pencil or for pen to paint;
For who could show you all in one
The child, the woman, and the saint?
For pencil or for pen to paint;
For who could show you all in one
The child, the woman, and the saint?
I needs must fail; for mortal hand
Her full completeness may not trace,
Whose meek and quiet spirit gives
Heaven's beauty to an earthly face!
Her full completeness may not trace,
Whose meek and quiet spirit gives
Heaven's beauty to an earthly face!
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FAITH.
Dear, gentle Faith! on the sheltered porch
She used to sit by the hour,
As still and white as the whitest rose
That graced the vines of her bower.
She watched the motes in the sun, the bees,
And the glad birds come and go;
The butterflies, and the children bright
That chased them to and fro.
She saw them happy, one and all,
And she said that God was good;
Though she never had walked on the sweet green grass,
And, alas! she never would!
She used to sit by the hour,
As still and white as the whitest rose
That graced the vines of her bower.
She watched the motes in the sun, the bees,
And the glad birds come and go;
The butterflies, and the children bright
That chased them to and fro.
She saw them happy, one and all,
And she said that God was good;
Though she never had walked on the sweet green grass,
And, alas! she never would!
She saw the happy maid fulfill
Her woman's destiny;
The trusting bride on the lover's arm,
And the babe on the mother's knee.
She folded meek, her empty hands,
And she blest them, all and each,
While the treasure that she coveted
Was put beyond her reach.
Her woman's destiny;
The trusting bride on the lover's arm,
And the babe on the mother's knee.
She folded meek, her empty hands,
And she blest them, all and each,
While the treasure that she coveted
Was put beyond her reach.
“Yea, if God wills it so,” she said,
“Even so 't is mine to live.
What to withhold He knoweth best,
As well as what to give!”
“Even so 't is mine to live.
What to withhold He knoweth best,
As well as what to give!”
At last, for her, the very sight
Of the good, fair earth was done.
She could not reach the porch, nor see
The grass, nor the motes in the sun;
Yet still her smile of sweet content
Made heavenly all the place,
As if they sat about her bed
Who see the Father's face;
For to his will she bent her head,
As bends to the rain the rose.
“We know not what is best,” she said;
“We only know He knows!”
Of the good, fair earth was done.
She could not reach the porch, nor see
The grass, nor the motes in the sun;
Yet still her smile of sweet content
Made heavenly all the place,
As if they sat about her bed
Who see the Father's face;
For to his will she bent her head,
As bends to the rain the rose.
“We know not what is best,” she said;
“We only know He knows!”
Poor, crippled Faith! glad, happy Faith!
Even in affliction blest;
For she made the cross we thought so hard
A sweet support and rest.
Wise, trusting Faith! when she gave her hand
To One we could not see,
She told us all she was happier
Than we could ever be.
And we knew she thought how her feet, that ne'er
On the good, green earth had trod,
Would walk at last on the lily-beds
That bloom in the smile of God!
Even in affliction blest;
For she made the cross we thought so hard
A sweet support and rest.
Wise, trusting Faith! when she gave her hand
To One we could not see,
She told us all she was happier
Than we could ever be.
And we knew she thought how her feet, that ne'er
On the good, green earth had trod,
Would walk at last on the lily-beds
That bloom in the smile of God!
TO AN ELF ON A BUTTERCUP.
Cunning little fairy,
Where the breezes blow,
Rocking in a buttercup,
Lightly to and fro;
Little folks for nothing
Look not so demure;
You are planning mischief,
I am very sure!
Where the breezes blow,
Rocking in a buttercup,
Lightly to and fro;
Little folks for nothing
Look not so demure;
You are planning mischief,
I am very sure!
You will soon be dancing
Down beside the spring;
On the velvet meadow,
In a fairy ring;
Spoiling where the ewes feed
All the tender grass;
And making charmèd circles,
Mortals dare not pass.
Down beside the spring;
On the velvet meadow,
In a fairy ring;
Spoiling where the ewes feed
All the tender grass;
And making charmèd circles,
Mortals dare not pass.
Darkening light where lovers
Modest sit apart,
You will kiss the maiden,
With your wicked art;
Make her think her wooer
Woefully to blame;
Through her frowns and blushes
Crying out, “For shame!”
Modest sit apart,
You will kiss the maiden,
With your wicked art;
Make her think her wooer
Woefully to blame;
Through her frowns and blushes
Crying out, “For shame!”
Ah! my little fairy,
With your mystic charms,
You have slipped the infant
From its mother's arms;
And have left a changeling
In its place at night;
While you turned the mortal
To a tricksy sprite.
With your mystic charms,
You have slipped the infant
From its mother's arms;
And have left a changeling
In its place at night;
While you turned the mortal
To a tricksy sprite.
Thus you mix folks up so,
Wicked, willful elf;
Never one of us can know
If he be himself:
And sitting here and telling
Of the tricks you do;
I wonder whether I am I,
Or whether I am you!
Wicked, willful elf;
Never one of us can know
If he be himself:
And sitting here and telling
Of the tricks you do;
I wonder whether I am I,
Or whether I am you!
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PROVIDENCE.
“Ah! what will become of the lily,
When the summer-time is dead?
Must she lay her spotless robes away,
And hide in the dust her head?”
When the summer-time is dead?
Must she lay her spotless robes away,
And hide in the dust her head?”
“My child, the hand that bows her head
Can lift it up anew;
And weave another shining robe
Of sunshine and of dew.”
Can lift it up anew;
And weave another shining robe
Of sunshine and of dew.”
“But, father, what will the sparrows do?
Though they chirp so blithe and bold,
When the shelter of the leaves is gone
They must perish with the cold.”
Though they chirp so blithe and bold,
When the shelter of the leaves is gone
They must perish with the cold.”
“The sparrows are little things, my child,
And the cold is hard to bear;
Yet never one of these shall fall
Without our Father's care.”
And the cold is hard to bear;
Yet never one of these shall fall
Without our Father's care.”
“But how will the tender lambs be clothed?
For you know the shepherd said,
He must take their fleeces all away,
For us to wear instead.”
For you know the shepherd said,
He must take their fleeces all away,
For us to wear instead.”
“They are warm enough to-day, my child,
And so soon their fleeces grow,
They each will have another one
Before they feel the snow.”
And so soon their fleeces grow,
They each will have another one
Before they feel the snow.”
“I know you will keep me, father;
That I shall be clothed and fed;
But suppose that I were lost from home,
Oh, suppose that you were dead!”
That I shall be clothed and fed;
But suppose that I were lost from home,
Oh, suppose that you were dead!”
“My child, there is One who seeks you,
No matter where you roam:
And you may not stray so far away,
That He cannot bring you home.”
No matter where you roam:
And you may not stray so far away,
That He cannot bring you home.”
“For you have a better Father,
In a better home above;
And the very hairs of your precious head
Are numbered by His love!”
In a better home above;
And the very hairs of your precious head
Are numbered by His love!”
OLD PICTURES.
Old pictures, faded long, to-night
Come out revealed by memory's gleam;
And years of checkered dark and light
Vanish behind me like a dream.
Come out revealed by memory's gleam;
And years of checkered dark and light
Vanish behind me like a dream.
I see the cottage, brown and low,
The rustic porch, the roof-tree's shade,
And all the place where long ago
A group of happy children played.
The rustic porch, the roof-tree's shade,
And all the place where long ago
A group of happy children played.
I see the brother, bravest, best,
The prompt to act, the bold to speak;
The baby, dear and honored guest!
The timid sister, shy and meek.
The prompt to act, the bold to speak;
The baby, dear and honored guest!
The timid sister, shy and meek.
I see her loving face who oft
Watched, that their slumbers might be sweet;
And his whose dear hand made so soft
The path for all their tender feet.
Watched, that their slumbers might be sweet;
And his whose dear hand made so soft
The path for all their tender feet.
I see, far off, the woods whose screen
Bounded the little world we knew;
And near, in fairy rings of green,
The grass that round the door-stones grew.
Bounded the little world we knew;
And near, in fairy rings of green,
The grass that round the door-stones grew.
I watch at morn the oxen come,
And bow their meek necks to the yoke;
Or stand at noontide, patient, dumb,
In the great shadow of the oak.
And bow their meek necks to the yoke;
Or stand at noontide, patient, dumb,
In the great shadow of the oak.
The barn with crowded mows of hay,
And roof upheld by golden sheaves;
Its rows of doves, at close of day,
Cooing together on the eaves.
And roof upheld by golden sheaves;
Its rows of doves, at close of day,
Cooing together on the eaves.
I see, above the garden-beds,
The bee at work with laden wing;
The dandelions' yellow heads
Crowding about the orchard spring;
The bee at work with laden wing;
The dandelions' yellow heads
Crowding about the orchard spring;
The little, sweet-voiced, homely thrush;
The field-lark, with her speckled breast;
The finches in the currant-bush;
And where the bluebirds hid their nest.
The field-lark, with her speckled breast;
The finches in the currant-bush;
And where the bluebirds hid their nest.
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I see the comely apple-trees,
In spring, a-blush with blossoms sweet;
Or, bending with the autumn breeze,
Shake down their ripe fruits at our feet.
In spring, a-blush with blossoms sweet;
Or, bending with the autumn breeze,
Shake down their ripe fruits at our feet.
I see, when hurtling through the air
The arrows of the winter fly,
And all the frozen earth lies bare,
A group about the hearth draw nigh,
The arrows of the winter fly,
And all the frozen earth lies bare,
A group about the hearth draw nigh,
Of little ones that never tire
Of stories told and told again;
I see the pictures in the fire,
The firelight pictures in the pane.
Of stories told and told again;
I see the pictures in the fire,
The firelight pictures in the pane.
I almost feel the stir and buzz
Of day; the evening's holy calm;
Yea, all that made me what I was,
And helped to make me what I am.
Of day; the evening's holy calm;
Yea, all that made me what I was,
And helped to make me what I am.
Then lo! it dies, as died our youth;
And things so strange about me seem,
I know not what should be the truth,
Nor whether I would wake or dream.
And things so strange about me seem,
I know not what should be the truth,
Nor whether I would wake or dream.
I have not found to-day so vain,
Nor yesterday so fair and good,
That I would have my life again,
And live it over if I could.
Nor yesterday so fair and good,
That I would have my life again,
And live it over if I could.
Not every hope for me has proved
A house on weak foundation built;
I have not seen the feet I loved
Caught in the awful snares of guilt.
A house on weak foundation built;
I have not seen the feet I loved
Caught in the awful snares of guilt.
But when I see the paths so hard
Kept soft and smooth in days gone by;
The lives that years have made or marred,
Out of my loneliness I cry:
Kept soft and smooth in days gone by;
The lives that years have made or marred,
Out of my loneliness I cry:
Oh, for the friends that made so bright
The days, alas! too soon to wane!
Oh, but to be one hour to-night
Set in their midst, a child again!
The days, alas! too soon to wane!
Oh, but to be one hour to-night
Set in their midst, a child again!
THE PLAYMATES.
Two careless, happy children,
Up when the east was red,
And never tired and never still
Till the sun had gone to bed;
Helping the winds in winter
To toss the snows about;
Gathering the early flowers,
When spring-time called them out;
Playing among the windrows
Where the mowers mowed the hay;
Finding the place where the skylark
Had hidden her nest away;
Treading the cool, damp furrows
Behind the shining plough;
Up in the barn with the swallows,
And sliding over the mow;
Pleased with the same old stories,
Heard a thousand times;
Believing all the wonders
Written in tales or rhymes;
Counting the hours in summer
When even a day seemed long;
Counting the hours in winter
Till the time of leaves and song.
Thinking it took forever
For little children to grow,
And that seventy years of a life-time
Never could come and go.
Oh, I know they were happier children
Than the world again may see,
For one was my little playmate,
And one, ah! one was me!
Up when the east was red,
And never tired and never still
Till the sun had gone to bed;
Helping the winds in winter
To toss the snows about;
Gathering the early flowers,
When spring-time called them out;
Playing among the windrows
Where the mowers mowed the hay;
Finding the place where the skylark
Had hidden her nest away;
Treading the cool, damp furrows
Behind the shining plough;
Up in the barn with the swallows,
And sliding over the mow;
Pleased with the same old stories,
Heard a thousand times;
Believing all the wonders
Written in tales or rhymes;
Counting the hours in summer
When even a day seemed long;
Counting the hours in winter
Till the time of leaves and song.
Thinking it took forever
For little children to grow,
And that seventy years of a life-time
Never could come and go.
Oh, I know they were happier children
Than the world again may see,
For one was my little playmate,
And one, ah! one was me!
A sad-faced man and woman,
Leagues and leagues apart,
Doing their work as best they may
With weary hand and heart;
Shrinking from winter's tempests,
And summer's burning heat;
Thinking that skies were brighter
And flowers were once more sweet;
Wondering why the skylark
So early tries his wings;
And if green fields are hidden
Beyond the gate where he sings!
Feeling that time is slipping
Faster and faster away;
That a day is but as a moment,
And the years of life as a day;
Seeing the heights and places
Others have reached and won;
Sighing o'er things accomplished,
And things that are left undone;
And yet still trusting, somehow,
In his own good time to become
Again as little children,
In their Heavenly Father's home;
One crowding memories backward,
In the busy, restless mart.
One pondering on them ever.
And keeping them in her heart;
Going on by their separate pathways
To the same eternity—
And one of these is my playmate,
And one, alas! is me!
Leagues and leagues apart,
Doing their work as best they may
With weary hand and heart;
Shrinking from winter's tempests,
And summer's burning heat;
Thinking that skies were brighter
And flowers were once more sweet;
Wondering why the skylark
So early tries his wings;
And if green fields are hidden
Beyond the gate where he sings!
Feeling that time is slipping
Faster and faster away;
That a day is but as a moment,
And the years of life as a day;
Seeing the heights and places
Others have reached and won;
Sighing o'er things accomplished,
And things that are left undone;
And yet still trusting, somehow,
In his own good time to become
Again as little children,
In their Heavenly Father's home;
One crowding memories backward,
In the busy, restless mart.
One pondering on them ever.
And keeping them in her heart;
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To the same eternity—
And one of these is my playmate,
And one, alas! is me!
“THE BAREFOOT BOY.”
Ah! “Barefoot Boy!” you have led me back
O'er the waste of years profound,
To the still, sweet spots, which memory
Hath kept as haunted ground.
You have led me back to the western hills,
Where I played through the summer hours;
And called my little playmate up,
To stand among the flowers.
O'er the waste of years profound,
To the still, sweet spots, which memory
Hath kept as haunted ground.
You have led me back to the western hills,
Where I played through the summer hours;
And called my little playmate up,
To stand among the flowers.
We are hand in hand in the fields again,
We are treading through the dew!
And not the poet's “barefoot boy,”
Nor him the artist drew,
Is half so brave and bold and good,
Though bright their colors glow,
As the darling playmate that I had
And lost, so long ago!
We are treading through the dew!
And not the poet's “barefoot boy,”
Nor him the artist drew,
Is half so brave and bold and good,
Though bright their colors glow,
As the darling playmate that I had
And lost, so long ago!
I touch the spring-time's tender grass,
I find the daisy buds;
I feel the shadows deep and cool,
In the heart of the summer woods;
I see the ripened autumn nuts,
Like thick hail strew the earth;
I catch the fall of the winter snow,
And the glow of the cheerful hearth!
I find the daisy buds;
I feel the shadows deep and cool,
In the heart of the summer woods;
I see the ripened autumn nuts,
Like thick hail strew the earth;
I catch the fall of the winter snow,
And the glow of the cheerful hearth!
But alas! my playmate, loved and lost,
My heart is full of tears,
For the dead and buried hopes, that are more
Than our dead and buried years:
And I cannot see the poet's rhymes,
Nor the lines the artist drew.
But only the boy that held my hand,
And led my feet through the dew!
My heart is full of tears,
For the dead and buried hopes, that are more
Than our dead and buried years:
And I cannot see the poet's rhymes,
Nor the lines the artist drew.
But only the boy that held my hand,
And led my feet through the dew!
WINTER FLOWERS.
Though Nature's lonesome, leafless bowers,
With winter's awful snows are white,
The tender smell of leaves and flowers
Makes May-time in my room to-night:
With winter's awful snows are white,
The tender smell of leaves and flowers
Makes May-time in my room to-night:
While some, in homeless poverty,
Shrink moaning from the bitter blast;
What am I, that my lines should be
In good and pleasant places cast?
Shrink moaning from the bitter blast;
What am I, that my lines should be
In good and pleasant places cast?
When other souls despairing stand,
And plead with famished lips to-day,
Why is it that a loving hand
Should scatter blossoms in my way?
And plead with famished lips to-day,
Why is it that a loving hand
Should scatter blossoms in my way?
O flowers, with soft and dewy eyes,
To God my gratitude reveal;
Send up your incense to the skies,
And utter, for me, what I feel!
To God my gratitude reveal;
Send up your incense to the skies,
And utter, for me, what I feel!
O innocent roses, in your buds
Hiding for very modesty;
O violets, smelling of the woods,
Thank Him, with all your sweets for me!
Hiding for very modesty;
O violets, smelling of the woods,
Thank Him, with all your sweets for me!
And tell him, I would give this hour
All that is mine of good beside,
To have the pure heart of a flower,
That has no stain of sin to hide.
All that is mine of good beside,
To have the pure heart of a flower,
That has no stain of sin to hide.
MARCH CROCUSES.
O fickle and uncertain March,
How could you have the heart,
To make the tender crocuses
From their beds untimely start?
How could you have the heart,
To make the tender crocuses
From their beds untimely start?
Those foolish, unsuspecting flowers,
Too credulous to see
That the sweetest promises of March
Are not May's certainty.
Too credulous to see
That the sweetest promises of March
Are not May's certainty.
When you smiled a few short hours ago,
What said your whisper, light,
That made them lift their pretty heads
So hopeful and so bright?
What said your whisper, light,
That made them lift their pretty heads
So hopeful and so bright?
I could not catch a single word,
But I saw your light caress;
And heard your rough voice softened down
To a lover's tenderness.
But I saw your light caress;
And heard your rough voice softened down
To a lover's tenderness.
O cruel and perfidious month,
It makes me sick and sad,
To think how yesterday your smile
Made all the blossoms glad!
It makes me sick and sad,
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Made all the blossoms glad!
O trustful, unsuspecting flowers,
It breaks my heart to know,
That all your golden heads to-day
Are underneath the snow!
It breaks my heart to know,
That all your golden heads to-day
Are underneath the snow!
HOMESICK.
Comfort me with apples!
I am sick unto death, I am sad to despair;
My trouble is more than my strength is to bear;
Back again to the green hills that first met my sight
I come, as a child to its mother, to-night;—
Comfort me with apples!
I am sick unto death, I am sad to despair;
My trouble is more than my strength is to bear;
Back again to the green hills that first met my sight
I come, as a child to its mother, to-night;—
Comfort me with apples!
Comfort me with apples!
Bring the ripe mellow fruit from the early “sweet bough,”—
(Is the tree that we used to climb growing there now?)
And “russets,” whose cheeks are as freckled and dun
As the cheeks of the children that play in the sun;—
Comfort me with apples!
Bring the ripe mellow fruit from the early “sweet bough,”—
(Is the tree that we used to climb growing there now?)
And “russets,” whose cheeks are as freckled and dun
As the cheeks of the children that play in the sun;—
Comfort me with apples!
Comfort me with apples!
Gather those streaked with red, that we named “morning-light.”
Our good father set, when his hair had grown white,
The tree, though he said when he planted the root.
“The hands of another shall gather the fruit;”—
Comfort me with apples!
Gather those streaked with red, that we named “morning-light.”
Our good father set, when his hair had grown white,
The tree, though he said when he planted the root.
“The hands of another shall gather the fruit;”—
Comfort me with apples!
Comfort me with apples!
Go down to the end of the orchard, and bring
The fair “lady-fingers” that grew by the spring;
Pale “bell-flowers,” and “pippins,” all burnished with gold.
Like the fruit the Hesperides guarded of old;—
Comfort me with apples!
Go down to the end of the orchard, and bring
The fair “lady-fingers” that grew by the spring;
Pale “bell-flowers,” and “pippins,” all burnished with gold.
Like the fruit the Hesperides guarded of old;—
Comfort me with apples!
Comfort me with apples!
Get the sweet “junietta,” so loved by the bees,
And the “pearmain,” that grew on the queen of the trees;
And close by the brook, where they hang ripe and lush;
Go and shake down the best of them all,—“maiden's-blush;”—
Comfort me with apples!
Get the sweet “junietta,” so loved by the bees,
And the “pearmain,” that grew on the queen of the trees;
And close by the brook, where they hang ripe and lush;
Go and shake down the best of them all,—“maiden's-blush;”—
Comfort me with apples!
Comfort me with apples!
For lo! I am sick; I am sad and opprest;
I come back to the place where, a child, I was blest.
Hope is false, love is vain, for the old things I sigh;
And if these cannot comfort me, then I must die!
Comfort me with apples!
For lo! I am sick; I am sad and opprest;
I come back to the place where, a child, I was blest.
Hope is false, love is vain, for the old things I sigh;
And if these cannot comfort me, then I must die!
Comfort me with apples!
“FIELD PREACHING.”
I have been out to-day in field and wood,
Listening to praises sweet and counsel good
Such as a little child had understood,
That, in its tender youth,
Discerns the simple eloquence of truth.
Listening to praises sweet and counsel good
Such as a little child had understood,
That, in its tender youth,
Discerns the simple eloquence of truth.
The modest blossoms, crowding round my way,
Though they had nothing great or grand to say,
Gave out their fragrance to the wind all day;
Because his loving breath,
With soft persistence, won them back from death.
Though they had nothing great or grand to say,
Gave out their fragrance to the wind all day;
Because his loving breath,
With soft persistence, won them back from death.
And the right royal lily, putting on
Her robes, more rich than those of Solomon,
Opened her gorgeous missal in the sun,
And thanked Him, soft and low,
Whose gracious, liberal hand had clothed her so.
Her robes, more rich than those of Solomon,
Opened her gorgeous missal in the sun,
And thanked Him, soft and low,
Whose gracious, liberal hand had clothed her so.
When wearied, on the meadow-grass I sank;
So narrow was the rill from which I drank,
An infant might have stepped from bank to bank;
And the tall rushes near
Lapping together, hid its waters clear.
So narrow was the rill from which I drank,
An infant might have stepped from bank to bank;
And the tall rushes near
Lapping together, hid its waters clear.
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Yet to the ocean joyously it went;
And rippling in the fullness of content,
Watered the pretty flowers that o'er it leant;
For all the banks were spread
With delicate flowers that on its bounty fed.
And rippling in the fullness of content,
Watered the pretty flowers that o'er it leant;
For all the banks were spread
With delicate flowers that on its bounty fed.
The stately maize, a fair and goodly sight,
With serried spear-points bristling sharp and bright,
Shook out his yellow tresses, for delight,
To all their tawny length,
Like Samson, glorying in his lusty strength.
With serried spear-points bristling sharp and bright,
Shook out his yellow tresses, for delight,
To all their tawny length,
Like Samson, glorying in his lusty strength.
And every little bird upon the tree,
Ruffling his plumage bright, for ecstasy,
Sang in the wild insanity of glee;
And seemed, in the same lays,
Calling his mate and uttering songs of praise.
Ruffling his plumage bright, for ecstasy,
Sang in the wild insanity of glee;
And seemed, in the same lays,
Calling his mate and uttering songs of praise.
The golden grasshopper did chirp and sing;
The plain bee, busy with her housekeeping,
Kept humming cheerfully upon the wing,
As if she understood
That, with contentment, labor was a good.
The plain bee, busy with her housekeeping,
Kept humming cheerfully upon the wing,
As if she understood
That, with contentment, labor was a good.
I saw each creature, in his own best place,
To the Creator lift a smiling face,
Praising continually his wondrous grace;
As if the best of all
Life's countless blessings was to live at all!
To the Creator lift a smiling face,
Praising continually his wondrous grace;
As if the best of all
Life's countless blessings was to live at all!
So with a book of sermons, plain and true,
Hid in my heart, where I might turn them through,
I went home softly, through the falling dew,
Still listening, rapt and calm,
To Nature giving out her evening psalm.
Hid in my heart, where I might turn them through,
I went home softly, through the falling dew,
Still listening, rapt and calm,
To Nature giving out her evening psalm.
While, far along the west, mine eyes discerned,
Where, lit by God, the fires of sunset burned,
The tree-tops, unconsumed, to flame were turned;
And I, in that great hush,
Talked with his angels in each burning bush!
Where, lit by God, the fires of sunset burned,
The tree-tops, unconsumed, to flame were turned;
And I, in that great hush,
Talked with his angels in each burning bush!
GATHERING BLACKBERRIES.
Little Daisy smiling wakes
From her sleep as morning breaks,
Why, she knoweth well;
Yet if you should ask her, surely
She would answer you demurely,
That she cannot tell.
From her sleep as morning breaks,
Why, she knoweth well;
Yet if you should ask her, surely
She would answer you demurely,
That she cannot tell.
Careful Daisy, with no sound,
Slips her white feet to the ground,
Saying, very low,
She must rise and help her mother,
And be ready, if her brother
Needs her aid, to go!
Slips her white feet to the ground,
Saying, very low,
She must rise and help her mother,
And be ready, if her brother
Needs her aid, to go!
Foolish Daisy, o'er her lips
Only that poor falsehood slips,
Truth is in her cheeks;
Her own words cannot deceive her,
Her own heart will not believe her
In a blush it speaks.
Only that poor falsehood slips,
Truth is in her cheeks;
Her own words cannot deceive her,
Her own heart will not believe her
In a blush it speaks.
Daisy knows that, when the heat
Dries the dew upon the wheat,
She will be away;
She and Ernest, just another
Who, she says, is like a brother,
Making holiday.
Dries the dew upon the wheat,
She will be away;
She and Ernest, just another
Who, she says, is like a brother,
Making holiday.
For the blackberries to-day
Will be ripe, the reapers say,
Ripe as they can be:
And not wholly for the pleasure,
But lest others find the treasure,
She must go and see.
Will be ripe, the reapers say,
Ripe as they can be:
And not wholly for the pleasure,
But lest others find the treasure,
She must go and see.
Eager Daisy, at the gate
Meeting Ernest, scarce can wait,
But she checks her heart;
And she says, her soft eyes beaming
With an innocent, grave seeming;
“Is it time to start?”
Meeting Ernest, scarce can wait,
But she checks her heart;
And she says, her soft eyes beaming
With an innocent, grave seeming;
“Is it time to start?”
Cunning Daisy tries to go
Very womanly and slow,
And to act so well
That, if any one had seen them,
With the dusty road between them,
What was there to tell?
Very womanly and slow,
And to act so well
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With the dusty road between them,
What was there to tell?
Happy Daisy, when they gain
The green windings of the lane,
Where the hedge is thick;
For they find, beneath its shadow,
Wild sweet roses in the meadow,
More than they can pick.
The green windings of the lane,
Where the hedge is thick;
For they find, beneath its shadow,
Wild sweet roses in the meadow,
More than they can pick.
Bending low, and rising higher,
Scarlet pinks their lamps of fire
Lightly swing about;
And the wind that blows them over
Out of sight among the clover,
Seems to blow them out!
Scarlet pinks their lamps of fire
Lightly swing about;
And the wind that blows them over
Out of sight among the clover,
Seems to blow them out!
Doubting Daisy, as she hies
Toward the field of berries, cries:
“What if they be red?”
Black and ripe they find them rather,
Black and ripe enough to gather,
As the reapers said.
Toward the field of berries, cries:
“What if they be red?”
Black and ripe they find them rather,
Black and ripe enough to gather,
As the reapers said.
Lucky Daisy, Ernest finds
Berries for her in the vines,
Hidden where she stands;
And with fearless arm he pushes
Back the cruel, briery bushes,
That would hurt her hands.
Berries for her in the vines,
Hidden where she stands;
And with fearless arm he pushes
Back the cruel, briery bushes,
That would hurt her hands.
He would have her hold her cup
Just for him to fill it up,
But away she trips:
Picking daintily, she lingers
Till she dyes her pretty fingers
Redder than her lips.
Just for him to fill it up,
But away she trips:
Picking daintily, she lingers
Till she dyes her pretty fingers
Redder than her lips.
Thoughtful Daisy, what she hears,
What she hopes, or what she fears,
Who of us can tell?
For if, going home, she carries
Richer treasure than her berries,
She will guard it well!
What she hopes, or what she fears,
Who of us can tell?
For if, going home, she carries
Richer treasure than her berries,
She will guard it well!
Puzzled Daisy does not know
Why the sun, who rises slow,
Hurries overhead:
He, that lingered at the morning,
Drops at night with scarce a warning
On his cloudy bed.
Why the sun, who rises slow,
Hurries overhead:
He, that lingered at the morning,
Drops at night with scarce a warning
On his cloudy bed.
All too narrow at the start
Seemed the path, they kept apart,
Though the way was rough;
Now the path, that through the hollow
Closely side by side they follow,
Seemeth wide enough.
Seemed the path, they kept apart,
Though the way was rough;
Now the path, that through the hollow
Closely side by side they follow,
Seemeth wide enough.
Hopeful Daisy, will the days
That are brightening to her gaze
Brighter grow than this?
Will she, mornings without number,
Wake up restless from her slumber,
Just for happiness?
That are brightening to her gaze
Brighter grow than this?
Will she, mornings without number,
Wake up restless from her slumber,
Just for happiness?
Will the friend so kind to-day,
Always push the thorns away,
With which earth is rife?
Will he be her true, true lover,
Will he make her cup run over
With the wine of life?
Always push the thorns away,
With which earth is rife?
Will he be her true, true lover,
Will he make her cup run over
With the wine of life?
Blessèd Daisy, will she be,
If above mortality
Thus she stands apart;
Cursèd, if the hand, unsparing,
Let the thorns fly backward, tearing
All her bleeding heart!
If above mortality
Thus she stands apart;
Cursèd, if the hand, unsparing,
Let the thorns fly backward, tearing
All her bleeding heart!
Periled Daisy, none can know
What the future has to show:
There must come what must;
But, if blessings be forbidden,
Let the truth awhile be hidden—
Let her hope and trust.
What the future has to show:
There must come what must;
But, if blessings be forbidden,
Let the truth awhile be hidden—
Let her hope and trust.
Let all women born to weep,
Their heart's breaking—all who keep
Hearts still young and whole,
Pray, as fearing no denying,
Pray with me, as for the dying,
For this maiden's soul!
Their heart's breaking—all who keep
Hearts still young and whole,
Pray, as fearing no denying,
Pray with me, as for the dying,
For this maiden's soul!
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SPRING AFTER THE WAR.
Come, loveliest season of the year,
And every quickened pulse shall beat,
Your footsteps in the grass to hear,
And feel your kisses, soft and sweet!
And every quickened pulse shall beat,
Your footsteps in the grass to hear,
And feel your kisses, soft and sweet!
Come, and bestow new happiness
Upon the heart that hopeful thrills;
Sing with the lips that sing for bliss,
And laugh with children on the hills.
Upon the heart that hopeful thrills;
Sing with the lips that sing for bliss,
And laugh with children on the hills.
Lead dancing streams through meadows green,
And in the deep, deserted dells
Where poets love to walk unseen,
Plant flowers, with all delicious smells.
And in the deep, deserted dells
Where poets love to walk unseen,
Plant flowers, with all delicious smells.
To humble cabins kindly go,
And train your shady vines, to creep
About the porches, cool and low,
Where mothers rock their babes to sleep.
And train your shady vines, to creep
About the porches, cool and low,
Where mothers rock their babes to sleep.
But come with hushed and reverent tread,
And bring your gifts, most pure and sweet,
To hallowed places where our dead
Are sleeping underneath your feet.
And bring your gifts, most pure and sweet,
To hallowed places where our dead
Are sleeping underneath your feet.
There let the turf be lightly pressed,
And be your tears that softly flow
The sweetest, and the sacredest,
That ever pity shed for woe!
And be your tears that softly flow
The sweetest, and the sacredest,
That ever pity shed for woe!
Scatter your holiest drop of dew,
Sing hymns of sacred melody;
And keep your choicest flowers to strew
The places where our heroes lie.
Sing hymns of sacred melody;
And keep your choicest flowers to strew
The places where our heroes lie.
But most of all, go watch about
The unknown beds of such as sleep,
Where love can never find them out,
Nor faithful friendship come to weep.
The unknown beds of such as sleep,
Where love can never find them out,
Nor faithful friendship come to weep.
Go where the ocean moans and cries,
For those her waters hide from sight;
And where the billows heave and rise,
Scatter the flowery foam-wreaths, white.
For those her waters hide from sight;
And where the billows heave and rise,
Scatter the flowery foam-wreaths, white.
Aye, all your dearest treasures keep;
We shall not miss them, but instead
Will give them joyfully, to heap
The holy altars of our dead!
We shall not miss them, but instead
Will give them joyfully, to heap
The holy altars of our dead!
The poet from his wood-paths wild,
I know will take his sweetest flower,
The mother, singing to her child,
Will strip the green vines from her bower;
I know will take his sweetest flower,
The mother, singing to her child,
Will strip the green vines from her bower;
The poor man from his garden bed
The unpretending blooms will spare;
The lover give the roses red
He gathered for his darling's hair.
The unpretending blooms will spare;
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He gathered for his darling's hair.
Yea, all thy gifts we love and prize
We ask thee reverently to bring,
And lay them on the darkened eyes,
That wait their everlasting spring!
We ask thee reverently to bring,
And lay them on the darkened eyes,
That wait their everlasting spring!
THE BOOK OF NATURE.
We scarce could doubt our Father's power,
Though his greatness were untold
In the sacred record made for us
By the prophet-bards of old.
Though his greatness were untold
In the sacred record made for us
By the prophet-bards of old.
We must have felt his watchfulness
About us everywhere;
Though we had not learned, in the Holy Word,
How He keeps us in his care.
About us everywhere;
Though we had not learned, in the Holy Word,
How He keeps us in his care.
I almost think we should know his love,
And dream of his pardoning grace,
If we never had read how the Saviour came,
To die for a sinful race.
And dream of his pardoning grace,
If we never had read how the Saviour came,
To die for a sinful race.
For the sweetest parables of truth
In our daily pathway lie,
And we read, without interpreter,
The writing on the sky.
In our daily pathway lie,
And we read, without interpreter,
The writing on the sky.
The ravens, fed when they clamor, teach
The human heart to trust;
And the rain of goodness speaks, as it falls
On the unjust and the just.
The human heart to trust;
And the rain of goodness speaks, as it falls
On the unjust and the just.
The sunshine drops, like a leaf of gold,
From the book of light above;
And the lily's missal is written full
Of the words of a Father's love.
From the book of light above;
And the lily's missal is written full
Of the words of a Father's love.
So, when we turn from the sacred page
Where the holy record lies,
And its gracious plans and promises
Are hidden from our eyes;
Where the holy record lies,
And its gracious plans and promises
Are hidden from our eyes;
One open volume still is ours,
To read and understand;
And its living characters are writ
By our Father's loving hand!
To read and understand;
And its living characters are writ
By our Father's loving hand!
SUGAR-MAKING.
The crocus rose from her snowy bed
As she felt the spring's caresses,
And the willow from her graceful head
Shook out her yellow tresses.
As she felt the spring's caresses,
And the willow from her graceful head
Shook out her yellow tresses.
Through the crumbling walls of his icy cell
Stole the brook, a happy rover;
And he made a noise like a silver bell
In running under and over.
Stole the brook, a happy rover;
And he made a noise like a silver bell
In running under and over.
The earth was pushing the old dead grass
With lily hand from her bosom,
And the sweet brown buds of the sassafras
Could scarcely hide the blossom.
With lily hand from her bosom,
And the sweet brown buds of the sassafras
Could scarcely hide the blossom.
And breaking nature's solitude
Came the axe strokes clearly ringing,
For the chopper was busy in the wood
Ere the early birds were singing.
Came the axe strokes clearly ringing,
For the chopper was busy in the wood
Ere the early birds were singing.
All day the hardy settler now
At his tasks was toiling steady;
His fields were cleared, and his shining plow
Was set by the furrow ready.
At his tasks was toiling steady;
His fields were cleared, and his shining plow
Was set by the furrow ready.
And down in the woods, where the sun appeared
Through the naked branches breaking,
His rustic cabin had been reared
For the time of sugar-making.
Through the naked branches breaking,
His rustic cabin had been reared
For the time of sugar-making.
And now, as about it he came and went,
Cheerfully planning and toiling,
His good child sat there, with eyes intent
On the fire and the kettles boiling.
Cheerfully planning and toiling,
His good child sat there, with eyes intent
On the fire and the kettles boiling.
With the beauty Nature gave as her dower,
And the artless grace she taught her,
The woods could boast no fairer flower,
Than Rose, the settler's daughter.
And the artless grace she taught her,
The woods could boast no fairer flower,
Than Rose, the settler's daughter.
She watched the pleasant fire anear,
And her father coming and going,
And her thoughts were all as sweet and clear
As the drops his pail o'erflowing.
And her father coming and going,
And her thoughts were all as sweet and clear
As the drops his pail o'erflowing.
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For she scarce had dreamed of earthly ills,
And love had never found her;
She lived shut in by the pleasant hills
That stood as a guard around her;
And love had never found her;
She lived shut in by the pleasant hills
That stood as a guard around her;
And she might have lived the self-same way
Through all the springs to follow,
But for a youth, who came one day
Across her in the hollow.
Through all the springs to follow,
But for a youth, who came one day
Across her in the hollow.
He did not look like a wicked man,
And yet, when he saw that blossom,
He said, “I will steal this Rose if I can,
And hide it in my bosom.”
And yet, when he saw that blossom,
He said, “I will steal this Rose if I can,
And hide it in my bosom.”
That he could be tired you had not guessed
Had you seen him lightly walking;
But he must have been, for he stopped to rest
So long that they fell to talking.
Had you seen him lightly walking;
But he must have been, for he stopped to rest
So long that they fell to talking.
Alas! he was athirst, he said,
Yet he feared there was no slaking
The deep and quenchless thirst he had
For a draught beyond his taking.
Yet he feared there was no slaking
The deep and quenchless thirst he had
For a draught beyond his taking.
Then she filled the cup and gave to him.
The settler's blushing daughter,
And he looked at her across the brim
As he slowly drank the water.
The settler's blushing daughter,
And he looked at her across the brim
As he slowly drank the water.
And he sighed as he put the cup away,
For lips and soul were drinking;
But what he drew from her eyes that day
Was the sweetest, to his thinking.
For lips and soul were drinking;
But what he drew from her eyes that day
Was the sweetest, to his thinking.
I do not know if her love awoke
Before his words awoke it;
If she guessed at his before he spoke,
Or not until he spoke it.
Before his words awoke it;
If she guessed at his before he spoke,
Or not until he spoke it.
But howsoe'er she made it known,
And howsoe'er he told her,
Each unto each the heart had shown
When the year was little older.
And howsoe'er he told her,
Each unto each the heart had shown
When the year was little older.
For oft he came her voice to hear,
And to taste of the sugar-water;
And she was a settler's wife next year
Who had been a settler's daughter.
And to taste of the sugar-water;
And she was a settler's wife next year
Who had been a settler's daughter.
And now their days are fair and fleet
As the days of sugar weather,
While they drink the water, clear and sweet,
Of the cup of life together.
As the days of sugar weather,
While they drink the water, clear and sweet,
Of the cup of life together.
SPRING FLOWERS.
O sweet and charitable friend,
Your gift of fragrant bloom
Has brought the spring-time and the woods,
To cheer my lonesome room.
Your gift of fragrant bloom
Has brought the spring-time and the woods,
To cheer my lonesome room.
It rests my weary, aching eyes,
And soothes my heart and brain;
To see the tender green of the leaves,
And the blossoms wet with rain.
And soothes my heart and brain;
To see the tender green of the leaves,
And the blossoms wet with rain.
I know not which I love the most,
Nor which the comeliest shows,
The timid, bashful violet,
Or the royal-hearted rose:
Nor which the comeliest shows,
The timid, bashful violet,
Or the royal-hearted rose:
The pansy in her purple dress,
The pink with cheek of red,
Or the faint, fair heliotrope, who hangs,
Like a bashful maid, her head.
The pink with cheek of red,
Or the faint, fair heliotrope, who hangs,
Like a bashful maid, her head.
For I love and prize you one and all,
From the least low bloom of spring
To the lily fair, whose clothes outshine
The raiment of a king.
From the least low bloom of spring
To the lily fair, whose clothes outshine
The raiment of a king.
And when my soul considers these,
The sweet, the grand, the gay,
I marvel how we shall be clothed
With fairer robes than they;
The sweet, the grand, the gay,
I marvel how we shall be clothed
With fairer robes than they;
And almost long to sleep, and rise
And gain that fadeless shore,
And put immortal splendor on,
And live, to die no more.
And gain that fadeless shore,
And put immortal splendor on,
And live, to die no more.
| [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |