Flower Pieces and other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Within a budding grove,
In April's ear sang every bird his best,
But not a song to pleasure my unrest,
Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love.
Some spake, methought, with pity, some as if in jest.
To every word
Of every bird
I listen'd, and replied as it behove.

Scream'd Chaffinch, ‘Sweet, sweet, sweet!
Pretty lovey, come and meet me here!’
‘Chaffinch,’ quoth I, ‘be dumb awhile, in fear
Thy darling prove no better than a cheat,
And never come, or fly when wintry days appear.’
Yet from a twig
With voice so big,
The little fowl his utterance did repeat.

Then I, ‘The man forlorn
Hears Earth send up a foolish noise aloft.’
‘And what'll he do? what'll he do?’ scoff'd
The Blackbird, standing in an ancient thorn,
Then spread his sooty wings and flitted to the croft
With cackling laugh:
Whom I, being half
Enraged, call'd after, giving back his scorn

Worse mock'd the Thrush, ‘Die! die!
Oh, could he do it? could he do it? Nay!
Be quick! be quick! Here, here, here!’ (went his lay)
‘Take heed! take heed!’ then, ‘Why? why? why? why? why?
See—ee now! see—ee now!’ (he drawl'd). ‘Back! back! back! R-r-r-run away!’
O Thrush, be still!
Or, at thy will,
Seek some less sad interpreter than I.

‘Air, air! blue air and white!
Whither I flee, whither, O whither, O whither I flee!’
(Thus the Lark hurried, mounting from the lea)
‘Hills, countries, many waters glittering bright,
Whither I see, whither I see! deeper, deeper, deeper, whither I see, see, see!’
‘Gay Lark,’ I said,
‘The song that's bred
In happy nest may well to heaven make flight.’

‘There's something, something sad,
I half remember’—piped a broken strain.
Well sung, sweet Robin! Robin sung again,
‘Spring's opening cheerily, cheerily! be we glad!’
Which moved, I wist not why, me melancholy mad,
Till now, grown meek,
With wetted cheek,
Most comforting and gentle thoughts I had.

A HOLIDAY.

Out of the city, far away
With Spring to-day!
Where copses tufted with primrose
Give me repose,
Wood-sorrel and wild violet
Soothe my soul's fret,
The pure delicious vernal air
Blows away care,
The birds' reiterated songs
Heal fancied wrongs.

Down the rejoicing brook my grief
Drifts like a leaf,
And on its gently murmuring flow
Doth glide and go;
The bud-besprinkled boughs and hedges,
The sprouting sedges
Waving beside the water's brink,
Come like cool drink
To fever'd lips, like fresh soft mead
To kine that feed.

Much happier than the kine, I bed
My dreaming head
In grass; I see far mountains blue,
Like heaven in view,
Green world and sunny sky above
Alive with love;
All, all, however came they there,
Divinely fair.

Is this the better oracle,
Or what streets tell?
O base confusion, falsehood, strife,
Man puts in life!
Sink, thou Life-Measurer!—I can say
‘I've lived a day;’
And Memory holds it now in keeping,
Awake or sleeping.

IN A SPRING GROVE.

Here the white-ray'd anemone is born,
Wood-sorrel, and the varnish'd buttercup;
And primrose in its purfled green swathed up,
Pallid and sweet round every budding thorn,
Gray ash, and beech with rusty leaves outworn.
Here, too, the darting linnet has her nest
In the blue-lustred holly, never shorn,
Whose partner cheers her little brooding breast,
Piping from some near bough. O simple song!
O cistern deep of that harmonious rillet,
And these fair juicy stems that climb and throng
The vernal world, and unexhausted seas
Of flowing life, and soul that asks to fill it,
Each and all these,—and more, and more than these!

THE LITTLE DELL.

Doleful was the land,
Dull on every side,
Neither soft nor grand,
Barren, bleak, and wide;
Nothing look'd with love;
All was dingy brown;
The very skies above
Seem'd to sulk and frown.

Plodding sick and sad,
Weary day on day;
Searching, never glad,
Many a miry way;
Poor existence lagg'd
In this barren place;
While the seasons dragg'd
Slowly o'er its face.

Spring, to sky and ground,
Came before I guess'd:
Then one day I found
A valley, like a nest!
Guarded with a spell
Sure it must have been,
This little fairy dell
Which I had never seen.

Open to the blue,
Green banks hemm'd it round;
A rillet wander'd through
With a tinkling sound;
Briars among the rocks
Tangled arbours made;
Primroses in flocks
Grew beneath their shade.

Merry birds a few,
Creatures wildly tame,
Perch'd and sung and flew;
Timid field-mice came;
Beetles in the moss
Journey'd here and there;
Butterflies across
Danced through sunlit air.

There I often redd,
Sung alone, or dream'd;
Blossoms overhead,
Where the west wind stream'd;
Small horizon-line,
Smoothly lifted up,
Held this world of mine
In a grassy cup.

The barren land to-day
Hears my last adieu:
Not an hour I stay;
Earth is wide and new.
Yet, farewell, farewell!
May the sun and show'rs
Bless that Little Dell
Of safe and tranquil hours!

A SEED.

See how a Seed, which Autumn flung down,
And through the Winter neglected lay,
Uncoils two little green leaves and two brown,
With tiny root taking hold on the clay,
As, lifting and strengthening day by day,
It pushes red branchlets, sprouts new leaves,
And cell after cell the Power in it weaves
Out of the storehouse of soil and clime,
To fashion a Tree in due course of time;
Tree with rough bark and boughs' expansion,
Where the Crow can build his mansion,
Or a Man, in some new May,
Lie under whispering leaves and say,
‘Are the ills of one's life so very bad
When a Green Tree makes me deliciously glad?’
As I do now. But where shall I be
When this little Seed is a tall green Tree?

A VERNAL VOLUNTARY.

Come again, delightful Spring,
Hasten, if you love us;
Let your woodbine-garland swing,
Vault the blue above us!
Nay, already she is here:
Stealthy laughters quiver
Through the ground, the atmosphere,
Wood, and bubbling river.

Sweet the herald west wind blows,
Green peeps out from melting snows;
Snowdrop-flow'r, and crocus, dawn
With daffodil around the lawn;
Their bushy rods the sallows gild;
The clamorous rooks begin to build,
Watch the farmer dig and sow
In his miry fields below,
Gravely follow in the furrows
Picking where his plough unburrows.
Pearl-white lambkins frisk and bleat
Or kneeling tug the kindly teat;
The roguish rat is creeping nigh
His darksome cavern; low and high,
Through sun-gleam or soft rainy gloom,
Like children coursing every room
Of a new house, the swallows glance,
Wafted over Spain and France
From the sultry solemn Nile's
Mysterious lakes of crocodiles,
And the desert-lion's roar,
To a greener gentler shore.
Native lark from stair to stair
Of brilliant cloud and azure air

Mounts to the morning's top, and sings
His merry hymns on trembling wings,
Tireless, till the cressets high
Twinkle down from cooler sky.
What beholds he on this earth?
A rising tide of love and mirth.
—And was it I who lately said,
‘Mirth is fled, and Love is dead,’
For chill and darkness on the day,
As on my weak and weary spirit lay?

Welcome, every breeze and show'r;
Sun that courts the blossom;
Every new delicious flow'r
Heap'd for Maia's bosom!

Every bird!—no bird alone,
Always two together;
Spring inspiring every tone,
Flushing every feather.

Verdure's tufted on the briar
Like crockets of a minster-spire;
Free sprouts the youngling corn; a light
Is on the hills; dim nooks grow bright
In blossom; now with scent and sight
And song, the childhood of the year
Renews our own; we see and hear,
We drink the fragrance, as of yore,—
A gleam, a thrill, a breath, no more.
Away, dull musing! who are these
Under the fresh-leaved linden trees?
Three favourite Children of the Spring,
Who lightly run, as half on wing,
Dorothy, Alicia, Mary;
Over moorlands wide and airy,

Deep in dells of early flow'rs,
They have been abroad for hours,
Flow'rs themselves, and fairer yet
Than primrose, windflow'r, violet,
Or even June's wild-rose to come.
Frost never touch their opening bloom
The tender fearless life to check!
—Alicia's hat is on her neck,
With flying curls and glowing face
And ringing laugh, she wins the race;
Her eyes were made for sorrow's cure,
And doubts of Heav'n to reassure.
Veils of fresh and fragrant rain
Sinking over the green plain,
Founts of sunny beams that lie
Scatter'd through the vernal sky,
The million-fold expanding woods,
Are less delightful than these children's moods.

'Tis not life, to pine and cloy;
Sickness utters treason;
Best they live, who best enjoy
Every good in season.

Glad, with moisten'd eyes, I learn
April's own caressing:
Children, every month in turn
Bring you three a blessing!

BY THE MORNING SEA.

The wind shakes up the sleepy clouds
To kiss the ruddied Morn,
And from their awful misty shrouds
The Mountains are new-born:
The Sea lies fresh with open eyes;
Night-fears and moaning dreams
Brooding like clouds on nether skies,
Have sunk below, and beams
Dance on the floor like golden flies,
Or strike with joyful gleams
Some white-wing'd ship, a wandering star
Of Ocean, piloting afar.

In brakes, in woods, in cottage eaves,
The early birds are rife,
Quick voices thrill the sprinkled leaves
In ecstasy of life;
With silent gratitude of flow'rs
The morning's breath is sweet,
And cool with dew, that freshly show'rs
Round wild things' hasty feet;
But heavenly guests of tranquil hours
To inner skies retreat,
From human thoughts of lower birth
That stir upon the waking earth.

Across a thousand leagues of land
The mighty Sun looks free,
And in their fringe of rock and sand
A thousand leagues of sea.
Lo! I, in this majestic room,
Real as the mighty Sun,
Inherit this day and its doom
Eternally begun.
A world of men the rays illume,
God's men, and I am one.
But life that is not pure and bold
Doth tarnish every morning's gold.

[Four ducks on a pond]

Four ducks on a pond,
A grass-bank beyond,
A blue sky of spring,
White clouds on the wing;
What a little thing
To remember for years—
To remember with tears!

WINDLASS SONG.

Heave at the windlass!—Heave O, cheerly, men!
Heave all at once, with a will!
The tide quickly making,
Our cordage a-creaking,
The water has put on a frill,
Heave O!

Fare you well, sweethearts!—Heave O, cheerly, men!
Fare you well, frolic and sport!
The good ship all ready,
Each dog-vane is steady,
The wind blowing dead out of port,
Heave O!

Once in blue water—Heave O, cheerly, men!
Blow it from north or from south;
She'll stand to it tightly,
And curtsey politely,
And carry a bone in her mouth,
Heave O!

Short cruise or long cruise—Heave O, cheerly, men!
Jolly Jack Tar thinks it one.
No latitude dreads he
Of White, Black, or Red Sea,
Great icebergs, or tropical sun,
Heave O!

One other turn, and Heave O, cheerly, men!
Heave, and good-bye to the shore!
Our money, how went it?
We shared it and spent it;
Next year we'll come back with some more,
Heave O!

THE FIELDS IN MAY.

What can better please,
When your mind is well at ease,
Than a walk among the green fields in May?
To see the verdure new,
And to hear the loud cuckoo,
While sunshine makes the whole world gay:

When the butterfly so brightly
On his journey dances lightly,
And the bee goes by with business-like hum;
When the fragrant breeze and soft
Stirs the shining clouds aloft,
And the children's hair, as laughingly they come:

When the grass is full of flowers,
And the hedge is full of bowers,
And the finch and the linnet piping clear,
Where the branches throw their shadows
On a footway through the meadows,
With a brook among the cresses winding near.

Any pair of lovers walking
On this footway in sweet talking,
Sweeter silence, often linger and delay,
For the path, not very wide,
Brings them closer, side by side,
Moving gently through the happy fields of May:

Till they rest themselves awhile
At the elm-o'ershaded stile,
When stars begin to tremble in the blue,
Just to hear a nightingale,
Near our village in the vale,
To his sweetheart singing carols fond and true:

Evening wind, and brooklet's flow,
Softly whisper as they go,
Every star throbs with tenderness above;
Tender lips are sure to meet,
Heart to heart must warmly beat,
When the earth is full and heaven is full of love.

Oh, I would the song I sing
Might to me a sweetheart bring,
For companion through the green fields of May!
She should nestle in my heart,
And we never more should part,
While the summers and the winters roll'd away.

SPRING IS COME.

Ye coax the timid verdure,
Along the hills of Spring,
Blue skies and gentle breezes,
And soft clouds wandering!
The quire of birds on budding spray,
Loud larks in ether sing;
A fresher pulse, a wider day,
Give joy to everything.

The gay translucent morning
Lies glittering on the sea,
The noonday sprinkles shadows
Athwart the daisied lea;
The round sun's falling scarlet rim
In vapour hideth he;
The darkling hours are cool and dim,
As vernal night should be.

Our Earth has not grown aged,
With all her countless years;
She works, and never wearies,
Is glad, and nothing fears:
The glow of air, broad land and wave,
In season re-appears;
And shall, when vanish in the grave
These human smiles and tears.

Oh, rich in songs and colours,
Thou joy-reviving Spring!
Some hopes are chill'd with winter
Whose term thou canst not bring,
Some voices answer not thy call
When sky and woodland ring,
Some faces come not back at all
With primrose-blossoming.

The distant-flying swallow,
The upward-yearning seed,
Find Nature's promise faithful,
Attain their humble meed.
Great Parent! Thou hast also form'd
These hearts which throb and bleed;
With love, truth, hope, their life hast warm'd,
And what is best, decreed.

A RAINBOW.

Cloud rolls up from the west,
Blotting the sun in the sky;
Rain pours down from its breast,
Stone nor leaf is dry.

Cloud rolls off to the east,
Sun shines out afresh;
All things, greatest and least,
Laugh in a diamond mesh.

Vast arch springs from the plain,
Lovely, of seven-fold hue,
Built by the sun and rain;
Melting swiftly from view.

Sol, that painter of pow'r,
Shows on his palette there
The colours of every flow'r,
Of earth, of sea, and of air.

It is not seen of the birds
That hop and flutter and trill,
Or the placidly grazing herds,
Or the flock of sheep on the hill.

Storm, shadow, and ray
Triumph and disappear;
Hour melts into day,
Day melts into year.

Force changes and flows;
Nothing is lost or spilt.
Soul, who art watching these shows,
Rate thyself as thou wilt,

Curve and colours are thine,
Thine are the eyes to see:
Natural, human, divine,
This is of Heaven and of Thee.

ACROSS THE SEA.

I walk'd in the lonesome evening,
And who so sad as I,
When I saw the young men and maidens
Merrily passing by.
To thee, my Love, to thee—
So fain would I come to thee!
While the ripples fold upon sands of gold,
And I look across the sea.

I stretch out my hands; who will clasp them?
I call,—thou repliest no word:
Oh, why should heart-longing be weaker
Than the waving wings of a bird!
To thee, my Love, to thee—
So fain would I come to thee!
For the tide's at rest from east to west,
And I look across the sea.

There's joy in the hopeful morning,
There's peace in the parting day,
There's sorrow with every lover
Whose true-love is far away.
To thee, my Love, to thee—
So fain would I come to thee!
And the water's bright in a still moonlight,
As I look across the sea.