 | The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill |  |
193
THE WONDERFUL THOUGHT
It comes upon me in the woods,
Of all the days, this day in May:
When wind and rain can never think
Whose turn 't is now to have its way.
Of all the days, this day in May:
When wind and rain can never think
Whose turn 't is now to have its way.
It finds me as I lie along,
Blinking up through the swaying trees,
Half wondering if a man who reads
“Blue sky” in books that color sees,—
Blinking up through the swaying trees,
Half wondering if a man who reads
“Blue sky” in books that color sees,—
So fathomless and pure: as if
All loveliest azure things have gone
To heaven that way,—the flowers, the sea,—
And left their color there alone.
All loveliest azure things have gone
To heaven that way,—the flowers, the sea,—
And left their color there alone.
Hark! leaning on each other's arms,
The pines are whispering in the breeze,
Whispering,—then hushing, half in awe
Their legends of primeval seas.
The pines are whispering in the breeze,
Whispering,—then hushing, half in awe
Their legends of primeval seas.
The wild things of the wood come out,
And stir or hide, as wild things will,
Like thoughts that may not be pursued,
But come if one is calm and still.
And stir or hide, as wild things will,
Like thoughts that may not be pursued,
But come if one is calm and still.
194
Deep hemlocks down the gorge shut in
Their caves with hollow shadow filled,
Where little feathered anchorites
Behind a sunlit lattice build.
Their caves with hollow shadow filled,
Where little feathered anchorites
Behind a sunlit lattice build.
And glimmering through that lace of boughs,
Dancing, while they hang darker still,
Along the restful river shines
The restless light's incessant thrill:
Dancing, while they hang darker still,
Along the restful river shines
The restless light's incessant thrill:
As in some sober, silent soul,
Whose life appears a tranquil stream,
Through some unguarded rift you catch
The wildest wishes, all agleam.
Whose life appears a tranquil stream,
Through some unguarded rift you catch
The wildest wishes, all agleam.
But to my thought—so wonderful!
I know if once 't were told, all men
Would feel it warm at heart, and life
Be more than it had ever been.
I know if once 't were told, all men
Would feel it warm at heart, and life
Be more than it had ever been.
'T would make these flowerless woods laugh out
With every garden-color bright,
Where only, now, the dogwood hangs
Its scattered cloud of ghostly white.
With every garden-color bright,
Where only, now, the dogwood hangs
Its scattered cloud of ghostly white.
Those birds would hold no more aloof:—
How know they I am here, so well?
'T is yon woodpecker's warning note;
He is their seer and sentinel.
How know they I am here, so well?
'T is yon woodpecker's warning note;
He is their seer and sentinel.
195
They use him, but his faithfulness
Perchance in human fashion pay,—
Laugh in their feathers at his voice,
And ridicule his stumbling way.
Perchance in human fashion pay,—
Laugh in their feathers at his voice,
And ridicule his stumbling way.
That far-off flute-note—hours in vain
I 've followed it, so shy and fleet;
But if I found him, well I know
His song would seem not half so sweet.
I 've followed it, so shy and fleet;
But if I found him, well I know
His song would seem not half so sweet.
The swift, soft creatures,—how I wish
They 'd trust me, and come perch upon
My shoulders! Do they guess that then
Their charm would be forever gone?
They 'd trust me, and come perch upon
My shoulders! Do they guess that then
Their charm would be forever gone?
But still I prate of sight and sound;
Ah, well, 't is always so in rhyme;
The idle fancies find a voice,
The wise thought waits—another time.
Ah, well, 't is always so in rhyme;
The idle fancies find a voice,
The wise thought waits—another time.
| The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill | |