 | [Poems by Larcom in] The ladies' wreath and Parlor Annual |  |
38
2. [Part II.]
EXPOSTULATION.
Why do we sigh in June,
“The roses will not stay;
The summer winds too soon
Will bear their bloom away.”
Why let the thought of death
Creep, worm-like, through the flower?
Far better in its breath
Embalm the passing hour.
“The roses will not stay;
The summer winds too soon
Will bear their bloom away.”
Why let the thought of death
Creep, worm-like, through the flower?
Far better in its breath
Embalm the passing hour.
Why chide the sultry days
That bring us mist and heat?
Why groan, when dusty ways
Do chafe our aching feet?
The orchards ripen fast
Beneath the dogday rain,
And August beams at last
To gold will turn the grain.
That bring us mist and heat?
Why groan, when dusty ways
Do chafe our aching feet?
The orchards ripen fast
Beneath the dogday rain,
And August beams at last
To gold will turn the grain.
Why, thinking of the dead,
Should earth seem drear as night?
What gardener, sowing seed,
Would mourn it, out of sight?
Why, looking onward, see
Our years o'ergrown with ills?
Faith conquers destiny;
It is despair that kills.
Should earth seem drear as night?
What gardener, sowing seed,
Would mourn it, out of sight?
Why, looking onward, see
Our years o'ergrown with ills?
Faith conquers destiny;
It is despair that kills.
Why weakly dread to live?
Why darkly fear to die?
Each hour to truth we give,
Writes our eternity.
If love inspire our song,
And duty strike the tune,
Life cannot be too long;
Death cannot come too soon.
Why darkly fear to die?
Each hour to truth we give,
Writes our eternity.
If love inspire our song,
And duty strike the tune,
Life cannot be too long;
Death cannot come too soon.
76
TO MY THOUGHTS.
Come, groping thoughts, come home!
Why burrow 'neath the loam
Like moles, with lowest toil of lower things?
Leave grovelling unto brutes unblest with wings!
Ye, made to soar and shine among the stars,
The dust of sense your golden plumage mars;
And ye are stifling with the heavy clod
Your songs that grew from the dear name of God.
Why burrow 'neath the loam
Like moles, with lowest toil of lower things?
Leave grovelling unto brutes unblest with wings!
Ye, made to soar and shine among the stars,
The dust of sense your golden plumage mars;
And ye are stifling with the heavy clod
Your songs that grew from the dear name of God.
Come home, vain thoughts, come home!
The wild waves' beaded foam
Makes the sea beautiful in its unrest;
But 'mid the billows ye can weave no nest.
Light waifs of Fancy will ye ever be,
Borne here and there across a gleaming sea?
The ark is open; let the weary dove
Alight upon the outstretched hand of Love.
The wild waves' beaded foam
Makes the sea beautiful in its unrest;
But 'mid the billows ye can weave no nest.
Light waifs of Fancy will ye ever be,
Borne here and there across a gleaming sea?
The ark is open; let the weary dove
Alight upon the outstretched hand of Love.
Come, dizzy thoughts, come home!
Beyond the sky's great dome,
Vaster than vision, save the Rearer's eye,
It is in vain for motes like you to fly.
Bring home this message from your flight once more,
That there are heights to which ye cannot soar.
Faint with your wanderings through the lonely sphere,
Take humbly Life's neglected crumbs for cheer.
Beyond the sky's great dome,
Vaster than vision, save the Rearer's eye,
It is in vain for motes like you to fly.
Bring home this message from your flight once more,
That there are heights to which ye cannot soar.
Faint with your wanderings through the lonely sphere,
Take humbly Life's neglected crumbs for cheer.
Come home, tired thoughts, come home!
Ye need no longer roam.
Your flutterings in one shelter may be stilled,—
See, by the Cross there's room enough to build.
The Cross—firm root, upspreading to a Tree,
With boughs that overarch eternity.
Oh, vagrant thoughts! deceived, bewildered long,
Rest in this shade, and sing your grateful song!
Ye need no longer roam.
Your flutterings in one shelter may be stilled,—
See, by the Cross there's room enough to build.
The Cross—firm root, upspreading to a Tree,
With boughs that overarch eternity.
Oh, vagrant thoughts! deceived, bewildered long,
Rest in this shade, and sing your grateful song!
217
THE MULLEN.
I cannot understand,
Rough plant of Yankee-land,
Why voices sullen
Always should speak of thee
Slighting and scornfully
Though they no beauty see
In the low Mullen.
Rough plant of Yankee-land,
Why voices sullen
Always should speak of thee
Slighting and scornfully
Though they no beauty see
In the low Mullen.
Truly, thy chance is small,
Coming when blossoms all—
Harebells and roses—
Dance in the summer air,
Spreading sweet odors there!
Who'd for the Mullen care,
'Mong brighter posies?
Coming when blossoms all—
Harebells and roses—
Dance in the summer air,
Spreading sweet odors there!
Who'd for the Mullen care,
'Mong brighter posies?
Yet why should we expect
To see each blossom decked
Like a king's daughter?
Thou art a patient one
Whose daily work is done
Faithfully, seeking none,
Since none have sought her.
To see each blossom decked
Like a king's daughter?
Thou art a patient one
Whose daily work is done
Faithfully, seeking none,
Since none have sought her.
218
In some old, stubborn field,
That will no harvest yield,
Tak'st thou thy dwelling—
Or to a slope of land
Where no weak weed may stand
Cling'st, of a mighty Hand
Cheerfully telling.
That will no harvest yield,
Tak'st thou thy dwelling—
Or to a slope of land
Where no weak weed may stand
Cling'st, of a mighty Hand
Cheerfully telling.
Flirts have thy symbol told,
As of a beldame old
Wrapped up in flannels,
Peering with jaundiced eye
Into June's rosy sky;
O'erlooking, stiff and dry,
August's bare channels.
As of a beldame old
Wrapped up in flannels,
Peering with jaundiced eye
Into June's rosy sky;
O'erlooking, stiff and dry,
August's bare channels.
Yet hast thou sturdier worth
Than a frail May-day birth,
Dying in Summer;
Thy leaves in snow we find,
As a testator kind
Leaveth warm clothes behind
For the next comer.
Than a frail May-day birth,
Dying in Summer;
Thy leaves in snow we find,
As a testator kind
Leaveth warm clothes behind
For the next comer.
And though unprized at home,
If o'er the sea thou roam,
Hence torn asunder;
Florists European
Thee with due honor scan,
“Velvet American,”
Shown for a wonder.
If o'er the sea thou roam,
Hence torn asunder;
Florists European
Thee with due honor scan,
“Velvet American,”
Shown for a wonder.
Well, 'tis the same old law
Hinted in many a saw
All the world over;
Prophets at home denied;
Plain truth at beauty's side
Men evermore deride;
Leave her no lover.
Hinted in many a saw
All the world over;
Prophets at home denied;
Plain truth at beauty's side
Men evermore deride;
Leave her no lover.
Still the straight Mullen-stalk,
Priest of our daily walk,
Gives us plain preaching:—
“Live not for passing eyes
While earth a beggar lies,
And light is in the skies!”
Steadily teaching.
Priest of our daily walk,
Gives us plain preaching:—
“Live not for passing eyes
While earth a beggar lies,
And light is in the skies!”
Steadily teaching.
| [Poems by Larcom in] The ladies' wreath and Parlor Annual | |