 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
WHITE EVERLASTING FLOWERS.
That morning on the mountain-top!
Could the day's chariot wheel but stop,
And leave us in this trance of light
Upon our autumn-crimsoned height—
Summit of lifted solitudes,
Where but the hermit breeze intrudes;
With one blue river glimpsed in sheen
Along the valley's perfect green;
With lakes that open limpid eyes
Unto the old heavens' new surprise;
And over all, a purple range
Of hills, that glow and pale, and change
To pearl and turquoise, rose and snow,
As cloud processions past them go,
On unknown errands of the air.
Could the day's chariot wheel but stop,
And leave us in this trance of light
Upon our autumn-crimsoned height—
Summit of lifted solitudes,
Where but the hermit breeze intrudes;
With one blue river glimpsed in sheen
Along the valley's perfect green;
With lakes that open limpid eyes
Unto the old heavens' new surprise;
And over all, a purple range
Of hills, that glow and pale, and change
To pearl and turquoise, rose and snow,
As cloud processions past them go,
On unknown errands of the air.
“Yes! earth to-day in heaven hath share!”
We told each other in our thought,
Though in that high hush lips moved not.
If that were only Bearcamp stream
That lit the vale with sinuous gleam;
If mountains that in opal shone
By common, rustic names were known,—
Old Israel, Hunchback, and the rest,—
In floods of beauty they lay blest;
And bathed in the same bliss were we
On the pine-crest of Ossipee.
We told each other in our thought,
Though in that high hush lips moved not.
If that were only Bearcamp stream
That lit the vale with sinuous gleam;
If mountains that in opal shone
By common, rustic names were known,—
Old Israel, Hunchback, and the rest,—
In floods of beauty they lay blest;
And bathed in the same bliss were we
On the pine-crest of Ossipee.
“Earth is not mere hard earth,” we said,
“A place of toil for daily bread,
A clod to cover us at last,
When struggle and defeat are past;
But heaven is hid therein alway—
The gem's clear essence in dull clay;
And by celestial visionings
Alone we read the truth of things.
Since life puts off her rough disguise
As into purer air we rise,
Why should we leave our hard-won peak,
The lowland commonplace to seek?
Here, with transfiguring rapture thrilled,
Here let us tabernacles build!”
“A place of toil for daily bread,
A clod to cover us at last,
When struggle and defeat are past;
241
The gem's clear essence in dull clay;
And by celestial visionings
Alone we read the truth of things.
Since life puts off her rough disguise
As into purer air we rise,
Why should we leave our hard-won peak,
The lowland commonplace to seek?
Here, with transfiguring rapture thrilled,
Here let us tabernacles build!”
What was it stopped our musing talk?
White blossoms scattered on a rock;
White everlasting flowers, that grow
Where bleakest north winds beat and blow,—
New England's amaranth. Some tired hand
Had dropped them, or, in visions grand
As ours, had let them slip, forgot,
The text of our bewildered thought
Left to illumine and explain;
Pathetic flowers, that might have lain
Days, months, in their torn raiment white—
Undying children of the light—
By strangers gathered, and thrown by,
Rapt with these mountain splendors high.
White blossoms scattered on a rock;
White everlasting flowers, that grow
Where bleakest north winds beat and blow,—
New England's amaranth. Some tired hand
Had dropped them, or, in visions grand
As ours, had let them slip, forgot,
The text of our bewildered thought
Left to illumine and explain;
Pathetic flowers, that might have lain
Days, months, in their torn raiment white—
Undying children of the light—
By strangers gathered, and thrown by,
Rapt with these mountain splendors high.
Climb for the white flower of thy dream,
O pilgrim! let the vision gleam
As hope and possibility,
Down the low level that must be
Thy usual path; but do not stay,
Enamored of supernal day,
While thy benighted comrades grope
In shadows on the dangerous slope!
Its light in eye and heart shall be
A signal betwixt them and thee
Of joy to wait for and desire,
While faith can glow, or souls aspire.
O pilgrim! let the vision gleam
As hope and possibility,
Down the low level that must be
Thy usual path; but do not stay,
Enamored of supernal day,
While thy benighted comrades grope
In shadows on the dangerous slope!
Its light in eye and heart shall be
A signal betwixt them and thee
Of joy to wait for and desire,
While faith can glow, or souls aspire.
Yet hold fast something to recall
The glory that envelops all
The meanest dust that round us lies,—
Some glimpse of near eternities,—
Though but one everlasting flower,
Or memory of one deathless hour:
For waif more saddening none may find
Than amaranth plucked, and left behind.
The glory that envelops all
The meanest dust that round us lies,—
Some glimpse of near eternities,—
Though but one everlasting flower,
Or memory of one deathless hour:
For waif more saddening none may find
Than amaranth plucked, and left behind.
West Ossipee, N. H., September, 1875.
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |