 | The hill of stones and other poems |  |
40
A TALE UNTOLD.
Swiftly over purple clover,
Through and under swaying leaves,
Past the brookside's dipping willows,
In among the upland sheaves,
Through and under swaying leaves,
Past the brookside's dipping willows,
In among the upland sheaves,
Where the tumbled grasses sparkle,
Comes the wholesome northern breeze,
Shaking, breaking, mending shadows,
'Neath the thin leaved orchard trees.
Comes the wholesome northern breeze,
Shaking, breaking, mending shadows,
'Neath the thin leaved orchard trees.
Shut your eyes, dear love, I whispered,
While your own heart sings a song,
Something the wind shall tell, but haste—
Hide me not those sweet eyes long.
While your own heart sings a song,
Something the wind shall tell, but haste—
Hide me not those sweet eyes long.
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A song will come as your birds at call;
Fill it full of the mystic power
That climbs the sun-warmed trunks, and brings
Yearning dreams to bird and flower.
Fill it full of the mystic power
That climbs the sun-warmed trunks, and brings
Yearning dreams to bird and flower.
And so she lay with brown eyes shut,
Eyes more sweet than any be,
And murmured faint: The ships of thought
Come swift across a fairy sea.
Eyes more sweet than any be,
And murmured faint: The ships of thought
Come swift across a fairy sea.
Royal gifts thy galleons bring thee,
Ventures strange of sunset gold,—
Poet songs in love dreams murmured,
Cargoes rare of stories old.
Ventures strange of sunset gold,—
Poet songs in love dreams murmured,
Cargoes rare of stories old.
Then passed her merry mood away;—
Love, she cried, not mine the tale,
By thought's swift stream I sit to hear
Its waters, that laugh or wail.
Love, she cried, not mine the tale,
By thought's swift stream I sit to hear
Its waters, that laugh or wail.
42
And love, I quake to hear how wild,
And sorrow to hear how sweet,
The murmured songs I cannot keep,
The thoughts that die at my feet.
And sorrow to hear how sweet,
The murmured songs I cannot keep,
The thoughts that die at my feet.
Yet one quaint song I hold in thrall,
To tell ere the lordly freight
Shall perish with the fairy ships
Your fancy launched but of late.
To tell ere the lordly freight
Shall perish with the fairy ships
Your fancy launched but of late.
An easy flow of warbled words,
Quaint as the antique tongue of birds,
Akin to theirs in likeness sweet,
Full thronged with meanings incomplete;
For she had shared, I think, with these,
Of nature's woodland mysteries;
Because, to hear her speech aright,
The booming bee would check his flight,
And, like to one in foreign lands,
Who hears a tongue he understands,
The startled swallow dipped so near
He almost touched my lady's ear.
Love-treason were it I should tell
The charm-words of that dainty spell;
As lief would I, if well I knew
The secret of each forest bower,
Their virgin whispers tell to you,
To while away a common hour.
Or could I learn what gracious words
Wake up betimes the drowsy birds,
When in the first-born morning breeze
Take exercise the stately trees,
With great limbs swinging full of strength,
As when a giant's easy length
Doth take delight on buoyant seas.
'T were vain to ask with me to share
The thoughts of earth, or sea, or air,
Because their voice to understand
You must have been sea, air, or land.
But if the riddle sound untrue,
Some woman witch will read it you.
So is it I would only share
With woodland folk her song of prayer,—
With these plumed citizens of June,
Her echoes of their joyous tune;
With them alone the graver chants
That roused their choir in orchard haunts,
And answered with a loving grace
The challenge of my yearning face.
Quaint as the antique tongue of birds,
Akin to theirs in likeness sweet,
Full thronged with meanings incomplete;
For she had shared, I think, with these,
Of nature's woodland mysteries;
Because, to hear her speech aright,
The booming bee would check his flight,
And, like to one in foreign lands,
Who hears a tongue he understands,
43
He almost touched my lady's ear.
Love-treason were it I should tell
The charm-words of that dainty spell;
As lief would I, if well I knew
The secret of each forest bower,
Their virgin whispers tell to you,
To while away a common hour.
Or could I learn what gracious words
Wake up betimes the drowsy birds,
When in the first-born morning breeze
Take exercise the stately trees,
With great limbs swinging full of strength,
As when a giant's easy length
Doth take delight on buoyant seas.
'T were vain to ask with me to share
The thoughts of earth, or sea, or air,
Because their voice to understand
You must have been sea, air, or land.
But if the riddle sound untrue,
44
So is it I would only share
With woodland folk her song of prayer,—
With these plumed citizens of June,
Her echoes of their joyous tune;
With them alone the graver chants
That roused their choir in orchard haunts,
And answered with a loving grace
The challenge of my yearning face.
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