 | The Poet and Nature and The Morning Road |  |
THE LOST GARDEN.
At close of day,
As once in childhood, through the meadows gray,
I took my way.
As once in childhood, through the meadows gray,
I took my way.
Faint scents of myrrh,
And twilight gleams of glimmering lavender,
Led me to her,
And twilight gleams of glimmering lavender,
Led me to her,
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That fairy child,
Who, to her garden, with its beauty wild,
My soul beguiled.
Who, to her garden, with its beauty wild,
My soul beguiled.
I seemed to see
Her eyes again, like fireflies, 'neath a tree,
Regarding me.
Her eyes again, like fireflies, 'neath a tree,
Regarding me.
She seemed to stand
Fluttering the moon-moths with a dewy hand
Across the land.
Fluttering the moon-moths with a dewy hand
Across the land.
And, following slow,
I came into a place I used to know
Long years ago.
I came into a place I used to know
Long years ago.
A place of peace,
Guarded about by many stately trees,
The home of bees.
Guarded about by many stately trees,
The home of bees.
A garden place
Of flowers and fruits, through which I oft would pace
In childhood's days.
Of flowers and fruits, through which I oft would pace
In childhood's days.
And, following soft,
An elfin voice, that murmured oft and oft,
Far in the croft,
An elfin voice, that murmured oft and oft,
Far in the croft,
All suddenly
I saw her there, beneath a cedar tree,
Pale, beckoning me.
I saw her there, beneath a cedar tree,
Pale, beckoning me.
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And with a smile
She took my hand and led my soul a while
Down many an aisle
She took my hand and led my soul a while
Down many an aisle
Of flowers; and told
Of many dreams of beauty, known of old,
That now are mold.
Of many dreams of beauty, known of old,
That now are mold.
And, as we walked
Along the paths the moonbeams whitely chalked,
The flowers talked.
Along the paths the moonbeams whitely chalked,
The flowers talked.
A rose-bloom said:
“He is returned, who thought this garden dead—
It lives, instead.”
“He is returned, who thought this garden dead—
It lives, instead.”
Another sighed:
“He is come back to her, who was his guide,
He dreamed had died.”
“He is come back to her, who was his guide,
He dreamed had died.”
One said, “'Tis plain
She holds him still with all her elfin train
Through heart and brain.”
She holds him still with all her elfin train
Through heart and brain.”
And all around
There grew a whisper, like a twinkling sound,
From air and ground.
There grew a whisper, like a twinkling sound,
From air and ground.
It sang, “We've grown
Into the garden, making it our own
With dreams here known.
Into the garden, making it our own
With dreams here known.
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“With dreams, behold,
That, dancing, changed the darkness of its mold
To fairy gold.
That, dancing, changed the darkness of its mold
To fairy gold.
“Making it sweet
With mental messages of spirit feet,
That here still meet.
With mental messages of spirit feet,
That here still meet.
“For still they weave
Their spells within here. He, too, may perceive—
We give him leave.”
Their spells within here. He, too, may perceive—
We give him leave.”
And I, at that,
Beheld a secret place, a violet mat,
On which one sat.
Beheld a secret place, a violet mat,
On which one sat.
A little lad,
Who seemed to have the face that once I had,
In days long glad.
Who seemed to have the face that once I had,
In days long glad.
And then a star
Fell, trailing heaven with a fiery scar.
And, from afar,
Fell, trailing heaven with a fiery scar.
And, from afar,
Glints of the moon
Showed where the elfins tripped it to a rune—
A cricket tune.
Showed where the elfins tripped it to a rune—
A cricket tune.
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And, as they passed,
Around the boy their spirit spells were cast,
And held him fast.
Around the boy their spirit spells were cast,
And held him fast.
Then they were gone,
Somewhere into the region of the dawn;
And night grew wan.
Somewhere into the region of the dawn;
And night grew wan.
And in my ear
I heard a voice cry, “Wake! the dawn is near!
Be gone from here!”
I heard a voice cry, “Wake! the dawn is near!
Be gone from here!”
And cold, afraid,
In that lost garden where, a child, I played,
I woke dismayed.
In that lost garden where, a child, I played,
I woke dismayed.
| The Poet and Nature and The Morning Road | |