 | Flower and thorn |  |
74
I.
Spring in New England
ACROSS THE STREET.
With lash on cheek, she comes and goes;
I watch her when she little knows:
I wonder if she dreams of it.
Sitting and working at my rhymes,
I weave into my verse at times
Her sunny hair, or gleams of it.
I watch her when she little knows:
I wonder if she dreams of it.
Sitting and working at my rhymes,
I weave into my verse at times
Her sunny hair, or gleams of it.
Upon her window-ledge is set
A box of flowering mignonette;
Morning and eve she tends to them—
The senseless flowers, that do not care
About that loosened strand of hair,
As prettily she bends to them.
A box of flowering mignonette;
Morning and eve she tends to them—
The senseless flowers, that do not care
About that loosened strand of hair,
As prettily she bends to them.
If I could once contrive to get
Into that box of mignonette
Some morning when she tends to them—
She comes! I see the rich blood rise
From throat to cheek!—down go the eyes,
Demurely, as she bends to them!
Into that box of mignonette
75
She comes! I see the rich blood rise
From throat to cheek!—down go the eyes,
Demurely, as she bends to them!
85
AMONG THE PINES.
Faint murmurs from the pine-tops reach my ear,As if a harpstring—touched in some far sphere—
Vibrating in the lucid atmosphere,
Let the soft south-wind waft its music here.
88
THE IRON AGE.
The big-lipped Sphinx, with bent perplexéd brow,Crouches in desert sand, inert and pale,
Hearing the engine's raucous scream, that now
Sends Echo flying through the Memphian vale.
90
THE PARCÆ.
In their dark House of CloudThe three weird sisters toil till time be sped:
One unwinds life; one ever weaves the shroud;
One waits to cut the thread.
91
FABLE.
A certain bird in a certain wood,
Feeling the spring-time warm and good,
Sang to it, in melodious mood.
On other neighboring branches stood
Other birds who heard his song:
Loudly he sang, and clear and strong;
Sweetly he sang, and it stirred their gall
There should be a voice so musical.
They said to themselves: “We must stop that bird,
He 's the sweetest voice was ever heard.
That rich, deep chest-note, crystal-clear,
Is a mortifying thing to hear.
We have sharper beaks and hardier wings,
Yet we but croak: this fellow sings!”
So they planned and planned, and killed the bird
With the sweetest voice was ever heard.
Feeling the spring-time warm and good,
Sang to it, in melodious mood.
On other neighboring branches stood
Other birds who heard his song:
Loudly he sang, and clear and strong;
Sweetly he sang, and it stirred their gall
There should be a voice so musical.
They said to themselves: “We must stop that bird,
He 's the sweetest voice was ever heard.
That rich, deep chest-note, crystal-clear,
Is a mortifying thing to hear.
We have sharper beaks and hardier wings,
Yet we but croak: this fellow sings!”
92
With the sweetest voice was ever heard.
Passing his grave one happy May,
I brought this English daisy away.
I brought this English daisy away.
Rome, 1875.
134
THORWALDSEN.
We often fail by searching far and wideFor what lies close at hand. To serve our turn
We ask fair wind and favorable tide.
From the dead Danish sculptor let us learn
To make Occasion, not to be denied:
Against the sheer, precipitous mountain-side
Thorwaldsen carved his Lion at Lucerne.
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