 | Along the way by Mary Mapes Dodge |  |
9
IN THE CAÑON.
Intent the conscious mountains stood,
The friendly blossoms nodded,
As through the cañon's lonely wood
We two in silence plodded.
A something owned our presence good;
The very breeze that stirred our hair
Whispered a gentle greeting;
A grand, free courtesy was there,
A welcome, from the summit bare
Down to the brook's entreating.
The friendly blossoms nodded,
As through the cañon's lonely wood
We two in silence plodded.
A something owned our presence good;
The very breeze that stirred our hair
Whispered a gentle greeting;
A grand, free courtesy was there,
A welcome, from the summit bare
Down to the brook's entreating.
Stray warblers in the branches dark
Shot through the leafy passes,
While the long note of meadow-lark
Rose from the neighboring grasses;
The yellow lupines, spark on spark,
From the more open woodland way,
Flashed through the sunlight faintly;
A wind-blown little flower, once gay,
Looked up between its petals gray
And smiled a message saintly.
Shot through the leafy passes,
While the long note of meadow-lark
Rose from the neighboring grasses;
The yellow lupines, spark on spark,
10
Flashed through the sunlight faintly;
A wind-blown little flower, once gay,
Looked up between its petals gray
And smiled a message saintly.
The giant ledges, red and seamed,
The clear, blue sky, tree-fretted;
The mottled light that round us streamed,
The brooklet, vexed and petted;
The bees that buzzed, the gnats that dreamed,
The flitting, gauzy things of June;
The plain, far-off, like misty ocean,
Or, cloud-land bound, a fair lagoon,—
They sang within us like a tune,
They swayed us like a dream of motion.
The clear, blue sky, tree-fretted;
The mottled light that round us streamed,
The brooklet, vexed and petted;
The bees that buzzed, the gnats that dreamed,
The flitting, gauzy things of June;
The plain, far-off, like misty ocean,
Or, cloud-land bound, a fair lagoon,—
They sang within us like a tune,
They swayed us like a dream of motion.
The hours went loitering to the West,
The shadows lengthened slowly;
The radiant snow on mountain crest
Made all the distance holy.
Near by, the earth lay full of rest,
The sleepy foot-hills, one by one,
Dimpled their way to twilight;
And ere the perfect day was done
There came long gleams of tinted sun,
Through heaven's crimson sky-light.
The shadows lengthened slowly;
The radiant snow on mountain crest
Made all the distance holy.
Near by, the earth lay full of rest,
11
Dimpled their way to twilight;
And ere the perfect day was done
There came long gleams of tinted sun,
Through heaven's crimson sky-light.
Slowly crept on the listening night,
The sinking moon shone pale and slender;
We hailed the cotton-woods, in sight,
The home-roof gleaming near and tender,
Guiding our quickened steps aright.
Soon darkened all the mighty hills,
The gods were sitting there in shadow;
Lulled were the noisy woodland rills,
Silent the silvery woodland trills,—
'T was starlight over Colorado!
The sinking moon shone pale and slender;
We hailed the cotton-woods, in sight,
The home-roof gleaming near and tender,
Guiding our quickened steps aright.
Soon darkened all the mighty hills,
The gods were sitting there in shadow;
Lulled were the noisy woodland rills,
Silent the silvery woodland trills,—
'T was starlight over Colorado!
84
THE MISTAKE.
Little Rosy Redcheek said unto a clover:
“Flower, why were you made?
I was made for mother,
She has n't any other,
But you were made for no one, I'm afraid.”
“Flower, why were you made?
I was made for mother,
She has n't any other,
But you were made for no one, I'm afraid.”
Then the clover softly unto Redcheek whispered:
“Pluck me, ere you go.”
Redcheek, little dreaming,
Pulled, and ran off screaming,
“Oh, naughty, naughty flower to sting me so!”
“Pluck me, ere you go.”
Redcheek, little dreaming,
Pulled, and ran off screaming,
“Oh, naughty, naughty flower to sting me so!”
“Foolish one!” the startled bee buzzed crossly,
“Foolish not to see
That I make my honey,
While the day is sunny;
That the pretty little clover lives for me.”
“Foolish not to see
That I make my honey,
While the day is sunny;
That the pretty little clover lives for me.”
97
CALLING THE FLOWERS.
The wind is shaking the old dried leaves
That would not quit their hold;
The sun slips under the stiffened grass,
And drives away the cold.
That would not quit their hold;
The sun slips under the stiffened grass,
And drives away the cold.
Child Franca carries the dinner-horn
To summon home the men;
She raises it high for a ringing blast,
But silent it falls again:
To summon home the men;
She raises it high for a ringing blast,
But silent it falls again:
“The men on the hill are hungry, I know,
They 've been working for hours and hours;
But first I will blow just as kind as I can
To call out the sweet little flowers,—
They 've been working for hours and hours;
But first I will blow just as kind as I can
To call out the sweet little flowers,—
“Blow loud for the blossoms that live in the trees,
And low for the daisies and clover;
But as soft as I can for the violets shy,
Yes, softly—and over and over.”
And low for the daisies and clover;
But as soft as I can for the violets shy,
Yes, softly—and over and over.”
126
AFTER TEA.
Yes, somewhere far off on the ocean,
A lover is sailing to me—
A beautiful lover! Nurse found him
To-night in my cup, after tea.
A lover is sailing to me—
A beautiful lover! Nurse found him
To-night in my cup, after tea.
Whenever the cruel wind whistles,
I'll think of that ship on the sea,
And tremble with terror lest something
May happen quite dreadful to me.
I'll think of that ship on the sea,
And tremble with terror lest something
May happen quite dreadful to me.
And then, when the moon rises softly,
I hardly can sleep in my glee,
For I'll know that its beautiful splendor
Is lighting my lover to me.
I hardly can sleep in my glee,
For I'll know that its beautiful splendor
Is lighting my lover to me.
But oh, if he should come! Why, Nursey,
I'd hide like a mouse. Deary me!
What nonsense it is! But you should n't
Be finding such things in my tea.
I'd hide like a mouse. Deary me!
What nonsense it is! But you should n't
Be finding such things in my tea.
| Along the way by Mary Mapes Dodge | |