 | Poems of home and travel |  |
95
THE TULIP-TREE.
Now my blood, with long-forgotten fleetness,
Bounds again to Boyhood's blithest tune,
While I drink a life of brimming sweetness
From the glory of the breezy June.
Far above, the fields of ether brighten;
Forest leaves are twinkling in their glee;
And the daisy's snows around me whiten,
Drifted down the sloping lea!
Bounds again to Boyhood's blithest tune,
While I drink a life of brimming sweetness
From the glory of the breezy June.
Far above, the fields of ether brighten;
Forest leaves are twinkling in their glee;
And the daisy's snows around me whiten,
Drifted down the sloping lea!
On the hills he standeth as a tower,
Shining in the morn,—the Tulip-Tree!
On his rounded turrets beats the shower,
While his emerald flags are flapping free:
But when Summer, 'mid her harvests standing,
Pours to him the sun's unmingled wine,
O'er his branches, all at once expanding,
How the starry blossoms shine!
Shining in the morn,—the Tulip-Tree!
On his rounded turrets beats the shower,
While his emerald flags are flapping free:
But when Summer, 'mid her harvests standing,
Pours to him the sun's unmingled wine,
O'er his branches, all at once expanding,
How the starry blossoms shine!
96
Through the glossy leaves they burn, unfolded,
Like the fiery-breasted oriole,—
Filled with sweetness, as a thought new moulded
Into being by a poet's soul!
Violet hills, against the sunrise lying,
See them kindle when the stars grow pale,
And their lips, unclosed in balmy sighing,
Sweeten all the morning gale.
Like the fiery-breasted oriole,—
Filled with sweetness, as a thought new moulded
Into being by a poet's soul!
Violet hills, against the sunrise lying,
See them kindle when the stars grow pale,
And their lips, unclosed in balmy sighing,
Sweeten all the morning gale.
Then all day, in every opening chalice,
Drains their honey-drops the revelling bee,
Till the dove-winged Sleep makes thee her palace,
Filled with song-like murmurs, Tulip-Tree!
In thine arms are rocked the dreams enchanted
Which in Childhood's heart their dwelling made;
Dreams, whose glory to my brain is granted,
When I lie amid thy shade.
Drains their honey-drops the revelling bee,
Till the dove-winged Sleep makes thee her palace,
Filled with song-like murmurs, Tulip-Tree!
In thine arms are rocked the dreams enchanted
Which in Childhood's heart their dwelling made;
Dreams, whose glory to my brain is granted,
When I lie amid thy shade.
Now, while Earth's full heart is throbbing over
With its wealth of light and life and joy,
Who can feel how later years shall cover
With their blight the visions of the boy?
Who can see the shadows downward darken,
While the splendid morning bids aspire,
Or the turf upon his coffin hearken,
When his pulses leap with fire!
With its wealth of light and life and joy,
Who can feel how later years shall cover
With their blight the visions of the boy?
Who can see the shadows downward darken,
While the splendid morning bids aspire,
Or the turf upon his coffin hearken,
When his pulses leap with fire!
97
Wind of June, that sweep'st the rolling meadow,
Thou shalt wail in branches rough and bare,
While the tree, o'erhung with storm and shadow,
Writhes and creaks amid the gusty air.
All his leaves, like shields of fairies scattered,
Then shall drop before the North-wind's spears,
And his limbs, by hail and tempest battered,
Feel the weight of wintry years.
Thou shalt wail in branches rough and bare,
While the tree, o'erhung with storm and shadow,
Writhes and creaks amid the gusty air.
All his leaves, like shields of fairies scattered,
Then shall drop before the North-wind's spears,
And his limbs, by hail and tempest battered,
Feel the weight of wintry years.
Yet, why cloud the rapture and the glory
Of the Beautiful, bequeathed us now?
Why relinquish all the Summer's story,
Calling up the bleak autumnal bough?
Let thy blossoms in the morning brighten,
Happy heart, as doth the Tulip-Tree,
While the daisy's snows around us whiten,
Drifted down the sloping lea!
Of the Beautiful, bequeathed us now?
Why relinquish all the Summer's story,
Calling up the bleak autumnal bough?
Let thy blossoms in the morning brighten,
Happy heart, as doth the Tulip-Tree,
While the daisy's snows around us whiten,
Drifted down the sloping lea!
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