 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
303
A MOUNTAIN BRIDAL.
TARN TO BROOKLET.
I was a tarn on the mountain-side.
Misty and chill,
Over the hill,
Over and under the pine-woods wide,
Heard I the wandering wind
Moaning, as one who could never find
A place where he might abide.
Misty and chill,
Over the hill,
Over and under the pine-woods wide,
Heard I the wandering wind
Moaning, as one who could never find
A place where he might abide.
I was alone in my hollow glen;
Sunset's red gleam,
The moon's pallid beam,
The cry of the beast from his unknown den,—
They haunted the lonesome wood,
Only to deepen its solitude:
Was I alive, love, then?
Sunset's red gleam,
The moon's pallid beam,
The cry of the beast from his unknown den,—
They haunted the lonesome wood,
Only to deepen its solitude:
Was I alive, love, then?
Once, in a darkling dream, I heard—
Oh, to know where!—
High in the air,
Something that sang to me, thrilled in me, stirred
Life that I knew not was mine;
A ripple of melody, dim and divine,
A far-off, familiar word.
Oh, to know where!—
High in the air,
Something that sang to me, thrilled in me, stirred
Life that I knew not was mine;
A ripple of melody, dim and divine,
A far-off, familiar word.
Once, in a noonday trance, I saw
A glimmer of white,
A wonder of light,
A radiance of crystal without a flaw,
Shining through moss and fern,
Glimpsing and hiding, with many a turn,
Yet coming, by some sweet law;
A glimmer of white,
A wonder of light,
A radiance of crystal without a flaw,
Shining through moss and fern,
Glimpsing and hiding, with many a turn,
Yet coming, by some sweet law;
Coming to me, O my brooklet-bride!
Yes, it was thou,
Life of me now!
Coming, with grace of a sunbeam, to glide
Into my soul's shadow deep:
Waked by thy laughter from sloth and from sleep,
Thee must I follow, my guide!
Yes, it was thou,
Life of me now!
Coming, with grace of a sunbeam, to glide
Into my soul's shadow deep:
Waked by thy laughter from sloth and from sleep,
Thee must I follow, my guide!
Mine, O my blessing, my mountain-born!
Out of the glen,
Down among men,
Winsomely leading me forth, like the morn;
Heaven on thy musical lip,
Fresh from the wells where the holy stars dip,
Rousing me up from self-scorn.
Out of the glen,
Down among men,
Winsomely leading me forth, like the morn;
Heaven on thy musical lip,
Fresh from the wells where the holy stars dip,
Rousing me up from self-scorn.
304
Still, at our tryst on the mountain-side,
Something we keep
Hidden too deep
Ever to whisper through earth so wide;
Love that we dimly know
Leaves the world fresher wherever we go,
One to the end, O my bride!
Something we keep
Hidden too deep
Ever to whisper through earth so wide;
Love that we dimly know
Leaves the world fresher wherever we go,
One to the end, O my bride!
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |