 | The Unknown Madonna and Other Poems |  |
11
THE WANDERER'S SONG.
Day is dead, and blent in shadow
Lies the ridge that crowns his tomb,
Mists are rising from the meadow,
And the woods are massed in gloom.
Homeward bells of lowing cattle
Sound along the village street,
And the gossips' shrilling prattle,
And the children's running feet.
Lies the ridge that crowns his tomb,
Mists are rising from the meadow,
And the woods are massed in gloom.
Homeward bells of lowing cattle
Sound along the village street,
And the gossips' shrilling prattle,
And the children's running feet.
Cool the fountain water splashes,
And the lights show one by one,
While the first star faintly flashes
In the gold wake of the sun.
Silent groups return from reaping
With a reverence past the shrine—
Hold you God in His good keeping,
Give you lighter hearts than mine!
And the lights show one by one,
While the first star faintly flashes
In the gold wake of the sun.
Silent groups return from reaping
With a reverence past the shrine—
Hold you God in His good keeping,
Give you lighter hearts than mine!
12
Out beyond the hills that bound you
Deeds are done and thoughts are thought—
Such a battle rages round you,
But it vexes you in naught:
Evening air a-scent with clover,
And the peat-smoke softly curled
Up the dark hill-side and over—
This is all your little world!
Deeds are done and thoughts are thought—
Such a battle rages round you,
But it vexes you in naught:
Evening air a-scent with clover,
And the peat-smoke softly curled
Up the dark hill-side and over—
This is all your little world!
Have ye other lives to travel,
Quiet dwellers in the trees,
Deeper problems to unravel
Than the darkest drift of these?
Loftier aims in other ages,
Wider orbits, keener fears?
Rest you now! for labour's wage is
Dreamless sleep and quick-dried tears.
Quiet dwellers in the trees,
Deeper problems to unravel
Than the darkest drift of these?
Loftier aims in other ages,
Wider orbits, keener fears?
Rest you now! for labour's wage is
Dreamless sleep and quick-dried tears.
Here men change not, men desire not,
Here men wander not away;
Here they fail not who aspire not,
Here are still content to pray,
Such a rest from all the riot!
Fairest valley that thou art,
This contagion of thy quiet
Spreads its twillight on my heart.
Here men wander not away;
Here they fail not who aspire not,
Here are still content to pray,
13
Fairest valley that thou art,
This contagion of thy quiet
Spreads its twillight on my heart.
Now the mountains lie in trances,
All the forests sway in dreams,
And the moon with silver lances
Strikes the ever-waking streams:
Waking stream, we race together,
Rush and swirl and even flow,
Breasting crags or skirting heather
To a sea we neither know.
All the forests sway in dreams,
And the moon with silver lances
Strikes the ever-waking streams:
Waking stream, we race together,
Rush and swirl and even flow,
Breasting crags or skirting heather
To a sea we neither know.
Your swift eddies envy surely,
As they near the rocky leap,
Yonder lake that lies so purely
Hardly rippled in its sleep;
So, half-envious, I too linger,
Pace the village to and fro,
While yon peak gleams like a finger
Pointing skyward through the snow;
As they near the rocky leap,
Yonder lake that lies so purely
Hardly rippled in its sleep;
So, half-envious, I too linger,
Pace the village to and fro,
While yon peak gleams like a finger
Pointing skyward through the snow;
14
Then away—and no returning!
Whirls the eddy down the gorge,
Where, night through, the fires are burning,
And the sparks fly from the forge.
On, till these blue stars are setting,
And the dawn unrobes the sky!
Such an Eden of forgetting
I would ask for when I die!
Whirls the eddy down the gorge,
Where, night through, the fires are burning,
And the sparks fly from the forge.
On, till these blue stars are setting,
And the dawn unrobes the sky!
Such an Eden of forgetting
I would ask for when I die!
Tyrol.
| The Unknown Madonna and Other Poems | |