 | Forest Notes |  |
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I. PART I
FOREST NOTES
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TO THE FOREST
O Forest, dim mysterious rustling Forest,
The shelter of uncounted generations;
Where Life and Death war ever, each triumphant;
The sun above, and underneath the twilight;
Wherein is wrought the alchemy of seasons,
The dream, the song, the cruelty of Nature:
The shelter of uncounted generations;
Where Life and Death war ever, each triumphant;
The sun above, and underneath the twilight;
Wherein is wrought the alchemy of seasons,
The dream, the song, the cruelty of Nature:
Where be the unremembered generations
That once were men, with pulses strong, triumphant,
But now are ghosts, conceived but in the twilight,
Who trod these woods, each for its few short seasons,
Singing its hymn to God or Gods of Nature,
And dropping like the leaves that strew the forest?
That once were men, with pulses strong, triumphant,
But now are ghosts, conceived but in the twilight,
Who trod these woods, each for its few short seasons,
Singing its hymn to God or Gods of Nature,
And dropping like the leaves that strew the forest?
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Lo, here Art never came, to stand triumphant,
To tell us of dead nations lost in twilight,
And teach their ended story of a season;
But in its wild monotonous life of Nature,
Like Ocean the unchangeable, the forest
Outlives, forgets, and hides the generations.
To tell us of dead nations lost in twilight,
And teach their ended story of a season;
But in its wild monotonous life of Nature,
Like Ocean the unchangeable, the forest
Outlives, forgets, and hides the generations.
I love to watch thee in the leafy twilight,
Working in silent patience at the Seasons,
With unseen unheard forces, old in Nature;
Or hear the living harp, O lyric Forest,
With which thou hast enchanted generations,
In tones now weird, now joyous and triumphant.
Working in silent patience at the Seasons,
With unseen unheard forces, old in Nature;
Or hear the living harp, O lyric Forest,
With which thou hast enchanted generations,
In tones now weird, now joyous and triumphant.
The Winds sweep by, blind Servants of the Seasons,
Caressing all the lightest things in Nature—
The heathers, ferns and hare-bells of the forest—
Felling the oak, the pride of generations,
The Monarch that defied the years, triumphant,
And sheltered its dumb children in the twilight.
Caressing all the lightest things in Nature—
The heathers, ferns and hare-bells of the forest—
Felling the oak, the pride of generations,
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And sheltered its dumb children in the twilight.
Oh there is nothing in eternal Nature,
Save Ocean, half so thrilling as the forest,
So full of charm to fleeting generations;
Outliving life, outliving death, triumphant;
Ineffable in sunshine and in twilight,
Inscrutable in all its wondrous seasons.
Save Ocean, half so thrilling as the forest,
So full of charm to fleeting generations;
Outliving life, outliving death, triumphant;
Ineffable in sunshine and in twilight,
Inscrutable in all its wondrous seasons.
ENVOY
So fill the forest, dreams of generations;Come, Mystery triumphant, born of twilight,
And Pleasure that Pain seasons through all Nature.
E.
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GREENWOOD MUSIC
O charmèd song that every greenwood sings,Sings low, sings high, sings ever faint yet strong;
Thy mystic echo through the forest rings,
O charmèd song.
What threads the strain the stars hymn all night long?
What undernote is heard from golden strings?
Longing and loving, agony and wrong;
The ravished nests, the robin's broken wings;
Defeated years that through the green aisles throng;
The tear that at thy poignant music springs,
O charmèd song.
A.
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LOVERS IN THE WOODS
To summer Woods, alembics of hot scent,
We wend by moss and bracken, where the floods
Of sun-light filter through a leafy tent;
To summer Woods.
We wend by moss and bracken, where the floods
Of sun-light filter through a leafy tent;
To summer Woods.
The wood-dove's coo goes forth from where she broods;
The insect hum drones ever on unspent;
The shadows alter with the long day's moods.
The insect hum drones ever on unspent;
The shadows alter with the long day's moods.
And all the elves that play at night have bent,
From where they lurk beneath their mushroom hoods,
Wee roguish eyes on us, whom Love has sent
To summer Woods.
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Wee roguish eyes on us, whom Love has sent
To summer Woods.
E.
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A HUSH
There is a listening silence where we are;Not calm of sleep, nor swoon of noonday heat;
But stillness like to that ere song of bird,
Or like to sharp pulsations of a star
Piercing night's silence though no sound be heard;
Or like to thrill of lovers' hands that meet.
A.
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SOUS LES TOITS DE VERDURE
Beneath the beechen bough
Come now, come now,
O love of happy days,
That we may sit in shadows
And watch the unmown meadows
Far from the bitter ways.
Come now, come now,
O love of happy days,
That we may sit in shadows
And watch the unmown meadows
Far from the bitter ways.
The breath of Summer passes
Across the seeded grasses
To whisper to the trees;
The boughs of Summer, bending,
Give out a sigh unending
Of pleasure to the breeze.
Across the seeded grasses
To whisper to the trees;
The boughs of Summer, bending,
Give out a sigh unending
Of pleasure to the breeze.
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Here tears mean dew, not sorrow;
Here there is no to-morrow,
No murmur but of bees.
The past, to-day, is far away,
And sighs are sighs of ease.
Here there is no to-morrow,
No murmur but of bees.
The past, to-day, is far away,
And sighs are sighs of ease.
E.
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UNDERNOTES
We lingered, strolling in the summer's prime,
Under the beech-roof of the greenwood lane;
And listened to the lute-strings of the rain
Thrummed to the mournful measures of old time.
Under the beech-roof of the greenwood lane;
And listened to the lute-strings of the rain
Thrummed to the mournful measures of old time.
“Nature is grave,” he said; “her harp sublime
Is tuned to keynotes of remembered pain;
The summer woods are sweet, but yet the strain
Of unforgotten winters threads the chime.”
Is tuned to keynotes of remembered pain;
The summer woods are sweet, but yet the strain
Of unforgotten winters threads the chime.”
“Sweetheart,” I said, “her moods are manifold,
And sad and bright and weird and bitter-sweet.
Her angel trump is all of sunset gold;
Her cythera with morning-rays is strung;
Her voice is jocund with the noonday heat,
And every silence is a song unsung.”
And sad and bright and weird and bitter-sweet.
Her angel trump is all of sunset gold;
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Her voice is jocund with the noonday heat,
And every silence is a song unsung.”
A.
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SONG
Under the Winter, dear,
Summer's note lieth:
If it be sweet to hear
Song never dieth.
Summer's note lieth:
If it be sweet to hear
Song never dieth.
Soon in the forest, love,
Breezes shall bear it;
There, in the bough above,
Lo, thou shalt hear it.
Breezes shall bear it;
There, in the bough above,
Lo, thou shalt hear it.
E.
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THE WOODS AT NOON
Sweet are the woods, where unseen blackbirds flute,
And sun-beams fleck the hollow chill and mute
Where the pool broods;
Where charmèd doves old lullabies still croon,
While silence lies within the arms of noon;
Sweet are the woods.
And sun-beams fleck the hollow chill and mute
Where the pool broods;
Where charmèd doves old lullabies still croon,
While silence lies within the arms of noon;
Sweet are the woods.
The summer's joy enwreathes the brow of day:
The quivering rays about his tresses lay
Their fingers coy;
And each hoar trunk breaks forth in jocund leaves,
For now the Sun is at his loom and weaves
The summer's joy.
The quivering rays about his tresses lay
Their fingers coy;
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For now the Sun is at his loom and weaves
The summer's joy.
A.
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ON TWO INTERWELDED TREES
I saw an oak and beech so intergrown
That root and trunk were one, and rind to rind
Was soldered; while their branches in the wind
Enclasped each other, each the other's own:
That root and trunk were one, and rind to rind
Was soldered; while their branches in the wind
Enclasped each other, each the other's own:
As if, of old, a wood-nymph and a faun
Had, in their wild embrace been stricken blind
By some strong god;—their living limbs confined
In knotty bonds, while round each other thrown.
Had, in their wild embrace been stricken blind
By some strong god;—their living limbs confined
In knotty bonds, while round each other thrown.
O Love, I think that when we two are dead,
Buried together in some wood like this,
Where giant boughs shall wail us in the breeze,
Some oak and beech shall o'er us interwed,
Welding their limbs in an unending kiss,
That we may love, O Sweetheart, still as trees.
Buried together in some wood like this,
Where giant boughs shall wail us in the breeze,
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Welding their limbs in an unending kiss,
That we may love, O Sweetheart, still as trees.
E.
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SUMMER'S LIFE
When buds are green, and June is won,
The Summer's life is just begun;
Her dimpling fingers press at will
The swelling breasts of mead and hill.
The Summer's life is just begun;
Her dimpling fingers press at will
The swelling breasts of mead and hill.
When flash the scythes, and grass is mown
The Summer comes into her own,
And roams the meadows free of care;
A maid with poppies in her hair.
The Summer comes into her own,
And roams the meadows free of care;
A maid with poppies in her hair.
When every copse for song is made
The Summer queens it through the glade,
With sceptre of the bulrush green,
And radiant challenge in her mien.
The Summer queens it through the glade,
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And radiant challenge in her mien.
When reapers sing and stooks arise,
The Summer in the cornfield lies,
And yields her body up to Death
Crowned with the Autumn's reddening wreath.
The Summer in the cornfield lies,
And yields her body up to Death
Crowned with the Autumn's reddening wreath.
A.
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OLD FOREST CHARMS
Upon her nest of twigs the wood-dove broods;
The cooing note rolls softly through young green;
A woodpecker is tapping on unseen;
The hum of insects fills the heated woods.
The cooing note rolls softly through young green;
A woodpecker is tapping on unseen;
The hum of insects fills the heated woods.
The cooing note rolls softly through young green;
The sun-discs dance where golden light intrudes;
The hum of insects fills the heated woods
As on the beech-tree's knotty roots we lean.
The sun-discs dance where golden light intrudes;
The hum of insects fills the heated woods
As on the beech-tree's knotty roots we lean.
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The sun-discs dance where golden light intrudes;
The moss weaves carpets for the Elfin Queen;
As on the beech-tree's knotty roots we lean,
We con the forest's old eternal moods.
The moss weaves carpets for the Elfin Queen;
As on the beech-tree's knotty roots we lean,
We con the forest's old eternal moods.
The moss weaves carpets for the Elfin Queen,
When tiny heads shall peep from fairy hoods;
We con the forest's old eternal moods—
Old things that are, that shall be, that have been.
When tiny heads shall peep from fairy hoods;
We con the forest's old eternal moods—
Old things that are, that shall be, that have been.
E.
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SUMMER SHADOWS
We spoke of winter through the summer noon;Of widowed boughs, the robin's lonely tune,
The silence of the wan December moon;
“On every tree,” I sighed, “Death brands his name.”
“True, child,” he said; “the green leaves die too soon,
We bind the faggots while the wood-doves croon,
But out of them shall rise a song of flame.”
And, wistful, in the wood with dead twigs strewn,
We spoke of winter through the summer noon.
A.
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DURABILITY
How many loves have met and passed away
Beneath these silent sempiternal trees,
None knows or ever will: we can but say,
“We too are loving 'neath the boughs today;
We too are kissing in the summer breeze
Beneath these silent sempiternal trees
Where many loves have met and passed away.”
Beneath these silent sempiternal trees,
None knows or ever will: we can but say,
“We too are loving 'neath the boughs today;
We too are kissing in the summer breeze
Beneath these silent sempiternal trees
Where many loves have met and passed away.”
Why naught is made for durability
Ask of the grasses waiting for the scythe,
Ask of the leaves that pause on Autumn's tree.
We know but this: Fate lets some moments be
When Time stands still, and souls may cease to writhe;
Nor ask the grasses waiting for the scythe
Why naught is made for durability.
Ask of the grasses waiting for the scythe,
Ask of the leaves that pause on Autumn's tree.
We know but this: Fate lets some moments be
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Nor ask the grasses waiting for the scythe
Why naught is made for durability.
The shadow of the great clouds sweeps the sward;
The wave of ears runs swift along the corn;
The breeze's kiss is hurrying o'er the ford.
All's change and motion, and the forest chord
Only vibrates to die as soon as born.
The wave of ears returns not through the corn,
Nor shadow of the clouds across the sward.
The wave of ears runs swift along the corn;
The breeze's kiss is hurrying o'er the ford.
All's change and motion, and the forest chord
Only vibrates to die as soon as born.
The wave of ears returns not through the corn,
Nor shadow of the clouds across the sward.
Beside the shadowy margin of the wood
Oh, let us sit, and dream that all endures;
That love and nature know no widowhood.
Here love would kiss for ever if it could:
So for one minute, love—my hand in yours—
Oh, let us sit, and dream that all endures,
Beside the shadowy margin of the wood.
Oh, let us sit, and dream that all endures;
That love and nature know no widowhood.
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So for one minute, love—my hand in yours—
Oh, let us sit, and dream that all endures,
Beside the shadowy margin of the wood.
E.
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UNKNOWN SONGSTERS
The song-bird drops; the bird-song never dies.
The black frost strikes; the throstles's wee heart stops;
But Spring brings back the song, and none surmise
The song-bird drops.
The black frost strikes; the throstles's wee heart stops;
But Spring brings back the song, and none surmise
The song-bird drops.
Songsters there be, who never reach the tops
Of Fame's high boughs, but whose low melodies
Blend with the deeper shadows of the copse.
They die; yet song endures: we hear it rise
From other unknown throats. Death reaps his crops,
But new notes wake, although without a prize
The song-bird drops.
Of Fame's high boughs, but whose low melodies
Blend with the deeper shadows of the copse.
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From other unknown throats. Death reaps his crops,
But new notes wake, although without a prize
The song-bird drops.
E.
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FOREST-MASS
Now Daylight seeks a shrine of sleep:
A young moon floats on silver wings;
The night-choir of the forest sings;
The nightingales their vigil keep.
A young moon floats on silver wings;
The night-choir of the forest sings;
The nightingales their vigil keep.
A young moon floats on silver wings;
Small dew-fonts now are filling deep;
The nightingales their vigil keep,
Where high the woodbine's censer swings.
Small dew-fonts now are filling deep;
The nightingales their vigil keep,
Where high the woodbine's censer swings.
Small dew-fonts now are filling deep;
The little hare-bell faintly rings;
Where high the woodbine's censer swings
About Night's altar white mists creep.
The little hare-bell faintly rings;
Where high the woodbine's censer swings
About Night's altar white mists creep.
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The little hare-bell faintly rings;
Moon-shadows through the forest sweep;
About Night's altar white mists creep;
Night celebrates her holy things.
Moon-shadows through the forest sweep;
About Night's altar white mists creep;
Night celebrates her holy things.
A.
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THE PASSING WING
Oh would that Time were one immense To-day,
That we might sit for ever where boughs sing,
Amid these ripe hot ferns that light winds sway,
Safe from the Morrow's and the Past's dark thing:
Oh would that Love could make the wood-dream stay,
And stop Time's broad inexorable wing!
That we might sit for ever where boughs sing,
Amid these ripe hot ferns that light winds sway,
Safe from the Morrow's and the Past's dark thing:
Oh would that Love could make the wood-dream stay,
And stop Time's broad inexorable wing!
But no: Time's broad inexorable wing
Sweeps on for all: thou shalt not bid it stay.
What brings thee woe, brings others life's sweet thing,
Sweeps pain and fear, with joy and hope, away:
Love may not cry, while high boughs round it sing,
“Oh would that Time were one immense Today!”
Sweeps on for all: thou shalt not bid it stay.
What brings thee woe, brings others life's sweet thing,
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Love may not cry, while high boughs round it sing,
“Oh would that Time were one immense Today!”
E.
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VOICES
We lie amid the green waves of the grass,
Lapped in the radiance of love's sunny dream,
Nor hear the distant murmur of the wood,
Echoes that through the forest branches moan,
Beyond these placid billows where the heart
Drifts on the grasses in the summer sun.
Lapped in the radiance of love's sunny dream,
Nor hear the distant murmur of the wood,
Echoes that through the forest branches moan,
Beyond these placid billows where the heart
Drifts on the grasses in the summer sun.
What reck we of the tempest, we who dream
And laugh beyond the voices of the wood,
Deaf to the sadness of the fitful moan?
Life gives an hour for joy to every heart;
One hour to feel the breezes, know the sun,
And watch the ripples rippling on the grass.
And laugh beyond the voices of the wood,
Deaf to the sadness of the fitful moan?
Life gives an hour for joy to every heart;
One hour to feel the breezes, know the sun,
And watch the ripples rippling on the grass.
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The grass-waves lap the margin of the wood;
We listen wistful to the branches' moan
That echoes from the forest's hollow heart,
And menaces the gladness of the sun;
It calls us from the sunny waves of grass
Into the shadow of a darker dream.
We listen wistful to the branches' moan
That echoes from the forest's hollow heart,
And menaces the gladness of the sun;
It calls us from the sunny waves of grass
Into the shadow of a darker dream.
The deepened voice of that compelling moan
Wakens the yearning of each human heart
Rejoicing in the gladness of the sun;
Tossed on the living ripple of the grass:
“Love, must we wake from love's triumphant dream
To heed the solemn moaning of the wood,—
Wakens the yearning of each human heart
Rejoicing in the gladness of the sun;
Tossed on the living ripple of the grass:
“Love, must we wake from love's triumphant dream
To heed the solemn moaning of the wood,—
“Though love endureth in the lover's heart?
Though it is good to see the summer sun?
Though July breathes across the blades of grass
And lifts their green waves, like a tide a-dream,
Up to the margin of the shadowy wood
Where the great caverns of the branches moan?”
Though it is good to see the summer sun?
Though July breathes across the blades of grass
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Up to the margin of the shadowy wood
Where the great caverns of the branches moan?”
No answer cometh from the joyous sun,
Nor any voice from sunlit seas of grass,
Nor any surety that love dreams no dream.
The grave, unsilenced voices of the wood
Pitched to eternity shall ever moan
Their troubled menace to the troubled heart.
Nor any voice from sunlit seas of grass,
Nor any surety that love dreams no dream.
The grave, unsilenced voices of the wood
Pitched to eternity shall ever moan
Their troubled menace to the troubled heart.
ENVOY
Though flesh be grass, love but a changeful dream,And in the wood Death makes his warning moan,
Be glad, oh heart! life lives in earth and sun.
A.
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WOOD HONEY
In the woods in summer weatherThere is honey for the bee;
In the woods we haunt together
There is honey too for me.
But the bee's is in the heather,
And I gather mine in thee.
E.
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CUPID IN THE WOODS
In the woods we went a-straying
Through the summer's golden hours;
Cupid too was there a-playing,
Gathering hearts as we the flowers—
While we lingered, sweet delaying,
Lo! he saw and gathered ours.
Through the summer's golden hours;
Cupid too was there a-playing,
Gathering hearts as we the flowers—
While we lingered, sweet delaying,
Lo! he saw and gathered ours.
Startled by this loss appalling,
When the hearts we first did miss,
“Cupid, Cupid,” we went calling,
“Hast thou had to do with this?”
Then, his answer swift forestalling,
Lo! we found them in a kiss!
When the hearts we first did miss,
“Cupid, Cupid,” we went calling,
“Hast thou had to do with this?”
Then, his answer swift forestalling,
Lo! we found them in a kiss!
A.
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SUMMER MURMURS
Breeze that art coming
Over the sea,
Bee that art humming
Over the lea,
What do ye murmur, murmur to me?
Over the sea,
Bee that art humming
Over the lea,
What do ye murmur, murmur to me?
“Ripe are the grasses
Summer's wing passes;
Warm is the sun;
Yet, oh remember
Frost and December,
Leaves that are fallen, leaves that are dun.”
Summer's wing passes;
Warm is the sun;
Yet, oh remember
Frost and December,
Leaves that are fallen, leaves that are dun.”
E.
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RIPENING HOLLY
All round us there is holly; and the lightMakes its leaves glitter with metallic sheen
Hard, prickly, bright.
The clustered berries, small as yet and green,
Are ripening slowly for the Christmas days,
And scarcely seen.
Ay, ripen, holly, in the August rays:
The mistletoe, thy partner, ripens fast
On distant ways;
The children in a thousand homes will cast
Their wistful eyes upon thee: grow for them,
Who have no Past.
For, many a Christmas guest whom cares condemn
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Thy prickly stem,
Sees in thy crimson berries drops of blood,
And in the mistletoe's the frozen tears
Of life's lost good.
But oh the children know no bygone years,
No grief to come: so, holly, grow apace
Till Christmas nears.
And they shall crowd about the high wreath'd base
Of each betinselled dazzling Christmas fir,
With wondering face,
While resinous scents from bough and taper stir
Awed visions round that pyramid of light
Like holiest myrrh.
The quivering wreath of flame, pale-blue and bright,
Shall round the pride of Christmas flicker up
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And still the carol sound, the wassail cup
Be filled, and with his holly diadem
King Christmas sup;
So, holly, ripen on thy prickly stem
And fill thy clusters which the dews now wet,
With glowing crimson on the forest's hem:
We need thee yet.
E.
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NOON'S DREAM-SONG
The day is long; the worn Noon dreams.
He shifts in vain, to ease his pain,
And, through what seems, he hears a song:
He shifts in vain, to ease his pain,
And, through what seems, he hears a song:
A forest song, whose high note seems
To tell of pain, endured in vain,
And fills his dreams with things lost long.
To tell of pain, endured in vain,
And fills his dreams with things lost long.
A dead love seems to thrill that song;
Hope nursed in vain, years passed in pain,
Leaves fallen long, a tide that dreams.
Hope nursed in vain, years passed in pain,
Leaves fallen long, a tide that dreams.
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Then, as he dreams, the shades grow long;
And, in his pain, he moans in vain
While fades the song of what but seems.
And, in his pain, he moans in vain
While fades the song of what but seems.
E.
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SPRING IN AUTUMN
The ghost of Spring is in this Autumn haze;
The scent of bloom beneath green orchard trees;
The sound of bleating lambs in grassy ways,
Of nesting birds, of songs in yellow leas.
The scent of bloom beneath green orchard trees;
The sound of bleating lambs in grassy ways,
Of nesting birds, of songs in yellow leas.
I find its fragrance in this storèd hay
That knows the secret of the July breeze,
And holds the music of the roundelay,
The creaking crickets sang, and humming bees.
That knows the secret of the July breeze,
And holds the music of the roundelay,
The creaking crickets sang, and humming bees.
The reapers' joy recalls the lark's shrill praise;
His song rose here where now the sickles sing;
And where the weighted ear to harvest sways
He poised, before he spread his skyward wing.
His song rose here where now the sickles sing;
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He poised, before he spread his skyward wing.
The noon of Autumn keeps the wistful gleam
Of April sun, and rain-besprinkled rays;
And the pale wings of falling petals seem
To dim the sunshine of September days.
Of April sun, and rain-besprinkled rays;
And the pale wings of falling petals seem
To dim the sunshine of September days.
A.
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THE SQUIRREL
Among the English oaks, where great boughs spread,
My wee friend wore a coat of foxy red,
And with his brush held high, from overhead
He watched us, peeping.
My wee friend wore a coat of foxy red,
And with his brush held high, from overhead
He watched us, peeping.
In Kansas Woods, a year ago to-day,
His little coat was unfamiliar grey,
And like a silver flash he crossed the way
Up maple leaping.
His little coat was unfamiliar grey,
And like a silver flash he crossed the way
Up maple leaping.
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And here amid these dark Bavarian firs
His coat is black; a mourning garb he wears;
Munching a fir-cone, from the boughs he peers,
While noon is creeping
His coat is black; a mourning garb he wears;
Munching a fir-cone, from the boughs he peers,
While noon is creeping
E.
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LOVE IN THE WOODS
Green moss, green fern, green sheen on beetle wings
In forest ways;
And in my heart young love that newly springs
Through summer days.
In forest ways;
And in my heart young love that newly springs
Through summer days.
Sweet love that over summer's heated rays
Its incense flings;
To mingle with the pinewood's scented haze
And all sweet things;
Its incense flings;
To mingle with the pinewood's scented haze
And all sweet things;
Freed love that fearless threads the sun's hot maze
On sapphire wings;
Bright love that glows more bright when day delays
And curfew rings;—
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Bright love that glows more bright when day delays
And curfew rings;—
Glad love, a fledgeling that its first song sings
Through noonday blaze;
Sweetheart, such love is here where star-moss springs
In forest ways.
Through noonday blaze;
Sweetheart, such love is here where star-moss springs
In forest ways.
A.
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WOOD SONG
When we are gone, love,
Gone as the breeze,
Woods will be sweet, love,
Even as these.
Gone as the breeze,
Woods will be sweet, love,
Even as these.
Sunflecks will dance, love,
Even as now,
Here on the moss, love,
Under the bough.
Even as now,
Here on the moss, love,
Under the bough.
Others unborn, love,
Maybe will sit
Here in the wood, love,
Leafily lit;
Maybe will sit
Here in the wood, love,
Leafily lit;
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Hearking as now, love,
Treble of birds;
Breathing as we, love,
Wondering words.
Treble of birds;
Breathing as we, love,
Wondering words.
Others will sigh, love,
Even as we:
“Only a day, love,
Murmurs the bee.”
Even as we:
“Only a day, love,
Murmurs the bee.”
E.
52
THE RAINBOW
Between the rain and the rainHope flashed, a gleam in the sky;
And the wistful world was fain
Of the wonder passing by,
And the setting sun was fain
Of the radiance soaring high;
He twined him a flowery chain,
And over the sea and the plain,
Set Hope, a bow in the sky.
A.
53
THE FOREST'S SOUL
My soul has mingled with the Forest's soul;Danced with its lights and shadows; laughed its laugh;
Caught every lightest whisper as it stole;
Drunk in each wood-bell what its fairies quaff;
Thrilled with its every rustle overhead;
Thrilled with its every rustle underfoot;
Breathed breath of bracken; heard what each tree said
To sun and wind and dew, and what each root
Said to the Earth, the dark eternal Mother;
What squirrel, mouse and hedgehog told each other
54
Whispered to tree-root gnomes, deep in his hole;
Yea, heard the tale the robin and the wren,
The thrush, the blackbird, told his tiny hen:
Oh! I have listened to the warning wail
Of groping winds, precursors of the gale,
Between the shuddering oak-trees that well know
The battle-song of Tempest, and the roll
Of forest thunder, distant still and low:
My soul has mingled with the Forest's soul.
E.
55
SUCCESSIVE GENERATIONS
Where sun-rays slant among green-tufted firs
The old dead forests moulder mound on mound;
Deaf to the music that the summer stirs,
Blind to the fluttering banners of the sky.
Death's antique mystery enwraps them round
Where underneath the newer roots they lie,
The older generations of the ground.
The old dead forests moulder mound on mound;
Deaf to the music that the summer stirs,
Blind to the fluttering banners of the sky.
Death's antique mystery enwraps them round
Where underneath the newer roots they lie,
The older generations of the ground.
Where flickering shade the noon's gay sunlight blurs,
Still ranks of fir-trees rise by death unbound,
And breathe out breath as sweet as eastern myrrhs.
Their linkèd lives the centuries defy;
Their heads the raindrop and the star have crowned,
Though underneath their newer roots now lie
The older generations of the ground.
Still ranks of fir-trees rise by death unbound,
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Their linkèd lives the centuries defy;
Their heads the raindrop and the star have crowned,
Though underneath their newer roots now lie
The older generations of the ground.
A.
57
AMONG THE FIRS
And what a charm is in the rich hot scent
Of old fir forests heated by the sun,
Where drops of resin down the rough bark run
And needle litter breathes its wonderment.
Of old fir forests heated by the sun,
Where drops of resin down the rough bark run
And needle litter breathes its wonderment.
The old fir forests heated by the sun,
Their thought shall linger like the lingering scent,
Their beauty haunt us, and a wonderment
Of moss, of fern, of cones, of rills that run.
Their thought shall linger like the lingering scent,
Their beauty haunt us, and a wonderment
Of moss, of fern, of cones, of rills that run.
The needle litter breathes a wonderment;
The crimson crans are sparkling in the sun
From tree to tree the scampering squirrels run;
The hum of insects blends with heat and scent.
The crimson crans are sparkling in the sun
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The hum of insects blends with heat and scent.
The drops of resin down the rough bark run:
And riper, ever riper, grows the scent:
But eve has come, to end the wonderment
And slowly up the tree trunk climbs the sun.
And riper, ever riper, grows the scent:
But eve has come, to end the wonderment
And slowly up the tree trunk climbs the sun.
E.
59
THE CHARGE OF THE WINGED STEEDS
The firs are ranged in endless dark battalions
On mountain-side and valley, line on line,
Waiting the Winds, that on their viewless stallions
Are bearing down, at Winter's sudden sign.
The mighty trees are grappling to the rock
With every root, preparing for the shock
Of that wild cavalry, and seem to hearken
Silent and sturdy, as the grey clouds darken,
For the first howl of war.
On mountain-side and valley, line on line,
Waiting the Winds, that on their viewless stallions
Are bearing down, at Winter's sudden sign.
The mighty trees are grappling to the rock
With every root, preparing for the shock
Of that wild cavalry, and seem to hearken
Silent and sturdy, as the grey clouds darken,
For the first howl of war.
From far away
Its echo comes; and like a moaning wave
It thrills each giant fir. The great boughs sway
And shower down dead needles. Dark and grave
The fir trunks wait. And, lo, a stronger sound,
A roar and rattle, shakes the very ground,
Louder and louder yet, from North to South,
And makes the forest shudder. Winter's mouth
Blows its great battle peal.
Its echo comes; and like a moaning wave
It thrills each giant fir. The great boughs sway
60
The fir trunks wait. And, lo, a stronger sound,
A roar and rattle, shakes the very ground,
Louder and louder yet, from North to South,
And makes the forest shudder. Winter's mouth
Blows its great battle peal.
And now they come
The shadowy squadrons, howling their wild song
Of death and devastation, from their home
In the dark North: and as they whirl along
Urging their tameless steeds with icy whip
The fir stems bend beneath them. Clench your grip,
Ye desperate roots! Again and yet again
The Winds renew the charge and break in vain
Against the serried trunks that creak and groan
Indomitably firm, and hold their own
Beneath a million scimitars. The roar
Shrills to a lyric horror.
The shadowy squadrons, howling their wild song
Of death and devastation, from their home
In the dark North: and as they whirl along
Urging their tameless steeds with icy whip
The fir stems bend beneath them. Clench your grip,
Ye desperate roots! Again and yet again
The Winds renew the charge and break in vain
Against the serried trunks that creak and groan
Indomitably firm, and hold their own
Beneath a million scimitars. The roar
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When the last
Of the winged stallions of the North has passed,
And all is dumb and motionless once more,
The Forest's face has altered: all that told
Of Summer's joy and Autumn's lingering sway
Has vanished in a moment, swept away
By Winter's ghostly steeds; and all is cold,
And colourless and bare, and nature old.
Of the winged stallions of the North has passed,
And all is dumb and motionless once more,
The Forest's face has altered: all that told
Of Summer's joy and Autumn's lingering sway
Has vanished in a moment, swept away
By Winter's ghostly steeds; and all is cold,
And colourless and bare, and nature old.
E.
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