Golden Histories, etc :: :: University of Virginia Library

I leapt from my couch, and went forth with the day;
I challenged the brooks, and raced fleetly as they;
I praised the round sun when I saw him unfold
His banner, embroidered with purple and gold;
I waded for king-cups in grass to my knees,
With garlanded forehead I climbed the tall trees,
And I rock'd when they rock'd, shouting loud to the breeze.

I wandered with one whom I loved through a wood,
With her golden hair loosed o'er her little red hood:
Oh! her face, like a rose, was so full and so glad,
And her eyes were the sweetest that face ever had:
Her fingers were playing like flashes of light,
And I caught them, and kiss'd them; but fingers so white,
Blushing red on the lips, must bewilder the sight.

I read by the marge of a river that flow'd
Through the wood to the mill on the side of the road;
And I knew that grave men and fair women must pass,
But the boy lay concealed by the trees and the grass;
And still, as I read, I could hear them go by,
I was glad that we all were beneath the same sky,
That they could not behold me and yet were so nigh.

169

I wandered one morning when Summer was young—
I sang like a bird to the birds as they sung.
The large lilac flowers waved princely and proud,
And the larks were all choiring above the grey cloud;
Delicious and wild was the blossomy smell,
And I fancied that angels were singing, as well
As the birds in the clouds, to the birds in the dell.

I stood on the rocks, with the stars overhead;
There are stars, there are suns underneath me, I said;
And I thought in a moment the earth rolled away,
But the sky still was there, tho' in shadow it lay.
All the black-blue abysses were swarming with light,
And beneath, as above me, pavilioned in night,
The firmament domed, and I wept at the sight.

O beauty and gladness, like sorrow and dread,
Track the children of wisdom, wherever they tread;
And I know that the soul that eternally weaves
The garments of worlds, never fails or deceives.
Still the stars climb and fall, still the provident Hours
Bring the babe to the mother, the bird to the bowers,
Crown the autumn with fruit and the summer with flowers.