 | The Ballad of Babie Bell And Other Poems |  |
45
IN THE WOODS.
The summer birds are in the summer sky:
I hear the music of the woods again,
The wild wind-symphonies that moan and die
On hemlock harps with such a sad refrain.
I hear the music of the woods again,
The wild wind-symphonies that moan and die
On hemlock harps with such a sad refrain.
I long for him who knew so well these tones;
He loved this greening world of scented vines,
This slumberous air that stirs the chestnut cones,
And wafts an odor from the gummy pines.
He loved this greening world of scented vines,
This slumberous air that stirs the chestnut cones,
And wafts an odor from the gummy pines.
Here do the slim imperial tulips blow,
And those ground-flowers that seem like clots of blood
On the green grass: and here do lilies grow—
The pale-faced Dryads of the summer wood!
And those ground-flowers that seem like clots of blood
On the green grass: and here do lilies grow—
The pale-faced Dryads of the summer wood!
All pleasant noises, all delicious smells,
All things whereof our poets' songs are born—
Alas! that painful Autumn through these dells
Should moaning come, and make the place forlorn.
All things whereof our poets' songs are born—
Alas! that painful Autumn through these dells
Should moaning come, and make the place forlorn.
46
Autumn will come; the fretful winds will blow;
The rain will weep for summer in the grave;
Then Winter—building palaces of snow
With crystal vestibule and architrave.
The rain will weep for summer in the grave;
Then Winter—building palaces of snow
With crystal vestibule and architrave.
Shadow of sorrow, brood upon the place!
Here did I part with one who nevermore
Shall hunt for Spring's first violet, nor chase
The hungry fox when woods and fields are hoar.
Here did I part with one who nevermore
Shall hunt for Spring's first violet, nor chase
The hungry fox when woods and fields are hoar.
| The Ballad of Babie Bell And Other Poems | |