 | Poems |  |
69
Of Fancy and Imagination.
73
CHERRIES AND GRAPES.
Not the cherries' nerveless flesh,
However fair, however fresh,
May ever hope my love to win
For Ethiop blood and satin skin.
However fair, however fresh,
May ever hope my love to win
For Ethiop blood and satin skin.
Their luster rich and deep their dye;
Yet under all their splendors lie—
That which I cannot tribute grant—
Their hateful hearts of adamant.
Yet under all their splendors lie—
That which I cannot tribute grant—
Their hateful hearts of adamant.
I love the amber globes that hold
That dead-delicious wine of gold;
A thousand torrid suns distill
Such liquors as these flagons fill.
That dead-delicious wine of gold;
A thousand torrid suns distill
Such liquors as these flagons fill.
Yet tropic gales with souls of musk
Should steep my grapes in steams of dusk:
And orient Eden nothing lacks
To spice their purple silken sacks.
Should steep my grapes in steams of dusk:
And orient Eden nothing lacks
To spice their purple silken sacks.
74
THE WOODPECKER.
A busy woodpecker! What would you call
This monk of a fellow, tapping a tree
With little cells like a catacombed hall,
To bury his acorns in—what would you call
Such a curious monk as he?
This monk of a fellow, tapping a tree
With little cells like a catacombed hall,
To bury his acorns in—what would you call
Such a curious monk as he?
Tucking his acorns away in their tomb
To feed upon, by and by, at his will—
Does he ever think of the hidden bloom
In the acorn's heart? Though shut in a tomb
There is life cherished there still.
To feed upon, by and by, at his will—
Does he ever think of the hidden bloom
In the acorn's heart? Though shut in a tomb
There is life cherished there still.
Time is a woodpecker, crowding the cells
Of the catacombed earth with holy dead;
But there 's a bud of life that swells
In the oak tree's might and it shatters the cells
As the soul when the life has fled.
Of the catacombed earth with holy dead;
But there 's a bud of life that swells
In the oak tree's might and it shatters the cells
As the soul when the life has fled.
75
NIGHT SONG.
Was it a corse embalmed in state?
Was it a princess pale in death,
White in her bridal vail?
All of the roses held their breath
And the dews fell very early and late,
I thought that they never would fail—
While the night went out and the morn came in,
And the drowsy world awoke with a din,
And the fading stars fled with a wail.
Was it a princess pale in death,
White in her bridal vail?
All of the roses held their breath
And the dews fell very early and late,
I thought that they never would fail—
While the night went out and the morn came in,
And the drowsy world awoke with a din,
And the fading stars fled with a wail.
Never a corse in its bleachen shroud,
Never the daughter of a queen
Under sarcophagus bars;
But the fairest face that ever was seen,
Hid i' the misty hem of a cloud—
Softly the night wind jars
The nebulous texture asunder, and soon
The angel of midnight bore the moon
Over a flood of stars.
Never the daughter of a queen
Under sarcophagus bars;
But the fairest face that ever was seen,
Hid i' the misty hem of a cloud—
Softly the night wind jars
The nebulous texture asunder, and soon
The angel of midnight bore the moon
Over a flood of stars.
76
MARS.
Now Mars steals over the water;
He is marching down from the sky—
Great Mars with his golden helmet
And the golden flame in his eye.
He is marching down from the sky—
Great Mars with his golden helmet
And the golden flame in his eye.
The sea is still, for the ripples
Are hushed at the god's slow tread;
And a line of light is trailing
The wave like a burning thread.
Are hushed at the god's slow tread;
And a line of light is trailing
The wave like a burning thread.
Sad Mars! he is wearied with marching,
And wandering off is he,
While he nods his yellow helmet
And thrusts his lance in the sea.
And wandering off is he,
While he nods his yellow helmet
And thrusts his lance in the sea.
Faltering Mars! with his marching
Wearied he seems to be;
While he tips his helmet and merges
His golden lance in the sea.
Wearied he seems to be;
While he tips his helmet and merges
His golden lance in the sea.
77
THE COMET.
Was it a star,
Or was it a pearl,
Loosed with a jar
From its setting
I' the coronet moon,
And begetting,
As it fell with a whirl—
Whirling far—
A splendor that faded too soon?
Or was it a pearl,
Loosed with a jar
From its setting
I' the coronet moon,
And begetting,
As it fell with a whirl—
Whirling far—
A splendor that faded too soon?
Was it a dream
Of some splendid star born,
That glowed with a gleam
And a quiver
That startled the night?
Like a river
That flowed to the morn
It did seem,
In its luminous, lustrous light.
Of some splendid star born,
That glowed with a gleam
And a quiver
That startled the night?
Like a river
That flowed to the morn
It did seem,
In its luminous, lustrous light.
78
Was it a gem
Transfixed with a ray
From the burning, bright hem
Of the wondrous,
Terrible sun, or the moon?
Over us, under us,
Nor night, no, nor day
Hath its equal, bright gem
Fair feather of light, flown too soon.
Transfixed with a ray
From the burning, bright hem
Of the wondrous,
Terrible sun, or the moon?
Over us, under us,
Nor night, no, nor day
Hath its equal, bright gem
Fair feather of light, flown too soon.
79
THE ANGEL, THE WINE, AND PEARLS.
AN ALLEGORY OF THE YEAR.
I.
I saw a tiny flask of wine
An Angel held, 'twas rare and fine.
An Angel held, 'twas rare and fine.
A little golden round of light,
With every dainty picture dight.
With every dainty picture dight.
Upon its sculptured sides I found
Both joy and woe, close linked around.
Both joy and woe, close linked around.
I wondered at the goblet fine,
The gleaming gold, the little wine.
The gleaming gold, the little wine.
The Angel said; “This flask I hold
Is more to man than simple gold,
Is more to man than simple gold,
80
“Or rosy nectar; here are found—
Within its fair and golden round—
Within its fair and golden round—
“Great drops of blood that yield a life
With every dainty pleasure rife;
With every dainty pleasure rife;
“Nor lacks it woe at times; and here
Are stored the secrets of a year.
Are stored the secrets of a year.
II.
“These pearls”—the Angel's delicate hand
A dozen radiant pearls it spanned—
A dozen radiant pearls it spanned—
“Are months, that will the goblet load
Until the rim is overflowed:
Until the rim is overflowed:
“The crimson flood is crowded up
Until the year's end fills the cup.”
Until the year's end fills the cup.”
And having said, the Angel spilled
A single pearl, the inner gild
A single pearl, the inner gild
81
Was deeper buried in the hue
Of crimson. Said the Angel: “View!
Of crimson. Said the Angel: “View!
“A pearl is dropped, a time has flown,
The secret of a month is known.”
The secret of a month is known.”
Then fell another; others still
Close followed this, and this, until
Close followed this, and this, until
The crimson flood rose bubbling up—
Each pearl-drop deeper filled the cup—
Each pearl-drop deeper filled the cup—
And rosily just brimmed the top.
But one more pearl was left to drop.
But one more pearl was left to drop.
III.
I looked. Her fingers loosed, it falls—
The round of golden-gleaming walls
The round of golden-gleaming walls
Are sunk below the crimson line—
The buried pearl has spilled the wine.
The buried pearl has spilled the wine.
82
The Angel set the cup aside;
I asked: “Why this?” and quick replied
I asked: “Why this?” and quick replied
The radiant spirit, reaching up
To clasp another ready cup:
To clasp another ready cup:
“Each pearl-month i' the goblet falls,
The life-blood climbs the golden walls
The life-blood climbs the golden walls
“Until the rim is reached, and here
Is broke the bubble of the year.
Is broke the bubble of the year.
“The gems have run the goblet o'er,
The wine is richer for the store:
The wine is richer for the store:
“The pearls are spilled, the months have flown,
The secrets of a year are known.”
The secrets of a year are known.”
| Poems | |