 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
383
THE DOVES AT MENDON
“Coo! coo! coo!” says Arné,
Calling the doves at Mendon!
Calling the doves at Mendon!
Under the vine-clad porch she stands,
A gentle maiden with willing hands,
Dropping the grains of yellow corn.
Low and soft, like a mellow horn,
While the sunshine over her falls,
Over and over she calls and calls
“Coo! coo! coo!” to the doves—
The happy doves at Mendon.
A gentle maiden with willing hands,
Dropping the grains of yellow corn.
Low and soft, like a mellow horn,
While the sunshine over her falls,
Over and over she calls and calls
“Coo! coo! coo!” to the doves—
The happy doves at Mendon.
“Coo! coo! coo!” says Arné,
Calling the doves at Mendon!
Calling the doves at Mendon!
Down they flutter with timid grace,
Lured by the voice and the tender face,
Till the evening air is all astir
With the happy strife and the eager whir.
One by one, and two by two,
And then a rush through the ether blue;
While Arné scatters the yellow corn
For the gentle doves at Mendon.
Lured by the voice and the tender face,
Till the evening air is all astir
With the happy strife and the eager whir.
One by one, and two by two,
And then a rush through the ether blue;
While Arné scatters the yellow corn
For the gentle doves at Mendon.
“Coo! coo! coo!” says Arné,
Calling the doves at Mendon!
Calling the doves at Mendon!
384
They hop on the porch where the baby sits,
They come and go as a shadow flits,
Now here, now there, while in and out
They crowd and jostle each other about;
Till one, grown bolder than all the rest—
A snow-white dove with an arching breast—
Softly lights on her outstretched hand
Under the vines at Mendon.
They come and go as a shadow flits,
Now here, now there, while in and out
They crowd and jostle each other about;
Till one, grown bolder than all the rest—
A snow-white dove with an arching breast—
Softly lights on her outstretched hand
Under the vines at Mendon.
“Coo! coo! coo!” says Arné,
Calling the doves at Mendon!
Calling the doves at Mendon!
With a rush and a whir of shining wings,
They hear and obey—the dainty things!
Dun and purple and snowy white,
Clouded gray, like the soft twilight,
Straight as an arrow shot from a bow,
Wheeling and circling high and low,
Down they fly from the slanting roof
Of the old red barn at Mendon.
They hear and obey—the dainty things!
Dun and purple and snowy white,
Clouded gray, like the soft twilight,
Straight as an arrow shot from a bow,
Wheeling and circling high and low,
Down they fly from the slanting roof
Of the old red barn at Mendon.
“Coo! coo! coo!” says Arné,
Calling the doves at Mendon!
Calling the doves at Mendon!
Baby Alice with wide blue eyes
Watches them ever with new surprise,
While she and Wag on the mat together
Joy in the soft midsummer weather.
Hither and thither she sees them fly,
Gray and white on the azure sky,
Light and shadow against the green
Of the maple grove at Mendon.
Watches them ever with new surprise,
While she and Wag on the mat together
Joy in the soft midsummer weather.
Hither and thither she sees them fly,
Gray and white on the azure sky,
Light and shadow against the green
Of the maple grove at Mendon.
“Coo! coo! coo!” says Arné,
Calling the doves at Mendon!
Calling the doves at Mendon!
385
A sound, a motion, a flash of wings—
They are gone—like a dream of heavenly things.
The doves have flown and the porch is still,
And the shadows gather on vale and hill.
Then sinks the sun, and the mountain breeze
Stirs in the tremulous maple-trees;
While Love and Peace, as the night comes down,
Brood over quiet Mendon!
They are gone—like a dream of heavenly things.
The doves have flown and the porch is still,
And the shadows gather on vale and hill.
Then sinks the sun, and the mountain breeze
Stirs in the tremulous maple-trees;
While Love and Peace, as the night comes down,
Brood over quiet Mendon!
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |