Volume Ii Part 18 (1/2)

Tell the gra.s.sy hollow that holds the bubbling well-spring, Tell it to forget the source that keeps it filled.

Stepping down the hill with her fair companions, Arm in arm, all against the raying West, Boldly she sings, to the merry tune she marches; Brave in her shape, and sweeter unpossessed.

Sweeter, for she is what my heart first awaking Whispered the world was; morning light is she.

Love that so desires would fain keep her changeless; Fain would fling the net, and fain have her free.

Happy happy time, when the white star hovers Low over dim fields fresh with bloomy dew, Near the face of dawn, that draws athwart the darkness, Threading it with color, like yewberries the yew.

Thicker crowd the shades as the grave East deepens Glowing, and with crimson a long cloud swells.

Maiden still the morn is; and strange she is, and secret; Strange her eyes; her cheeks are cold as cold sea-sh.e.l.ls.

Sunrays, leaning on our southern hills and lighting Wild cloud-mountains that drag the hills along, Oft ends the day of your s.h.i.+fting brilliant laughter Chill as a dull face frowning on a song.

Ay, but shows the South-west a ripple-feathered bosom Blown to silver while the clouds are shaken and ascend Scaling the mid-heavens as they stream, there comes a sunset Rich, deep like love in beauty without end.

When at dawn she sighs, and like an infant to the window Turns grave eyes craving light, released from dreams, Beautiful she looks, like a white water-lily Bursting out of bud in havens of the streams.

When from bed she rises clothed from neck to ankle In her long nightgown sweet as boughs of May, Beautiful she looks, like a tall garden-lily Pure from the night, and splendid for the day.

Mother of the dews, dark eye-lashed twilight, Low-lidded twilight, o'er the valley's brim, Rounding on thy breast sings the dew-delighted skylark, Clear as though the dewdrops had their voice in him.

Hidden where the rose-flush drinks the rayless planet, Fountain-full he pours the spraying fountain-showers.

Let me hear her laughter, I would have her ever Cool as dew in twilight, the lark above the flowers.

All the girls are out with their baskets for the primrose; Up lanes, woods through, they troop in joyful bands.

My sweet leads: she knows not why, but now she loiters, Eyes the bent anemones, and hangs her hands.

Such a look will tell that the violets are peeping, Coming the rose: and unaware a cry Springs in her bosom for odors and for color, Covert and the nightingale; she knows not why.

Kerchiefed head and chin she darts between her tulips, Streaming like a willow gray in arrowy rain: Some bend beaten cheek to gravel, and their angel She will be; she lifts them, and on she speeds again.

Black the driving rain cloud b.r.e.a.s.t.s the iron gateway: She is forth to cheer a neighbor lacking mirth.

So when sky and gra.s.s met rolling dumb for thunder Saw I once a white dove, sole light of earth.

Prim little scholars are the flowers of her garden, Trained to stand in rows, and asking if they please.

I might love them well but for loving more the wild ones: O my wild ones! they tell me more than these.

You, my wild one, you tell of honied field-rose, Violet, blus.h.i.+ng eglantine in life; and even as they, They by the wayside are earnest of your goodness, You are of life's, on the banks that line the way.

Peering at her chamber the white crowns the red rose, Jasmine winds the porch with stars two and three.

Parted is the window; she sleeps; the starry jasmine Breathes a falling breath that carries thoughts of me.

Sweeter unpossessed, have I said of her my sweetest?

Not while she sleeps: while she sleeps the jasmine breathes, Luring her to love: she sleeps; the starry jasmine Bears me to her pillow under white rose-wreaths.

Yellow with birdfoot-trefoil are the gra.s.s-glades; Yellow with cinquefoil of the dew-gray leaf; Yellow with stonecrop; the moss-mounds are yellow; Blue-necked the wheat sways, yellowing to the sheaf.

Green-yellow bursts from the copse the laughing yaffle; Sharp as a sickle is the edge of shade and s.h.i.+ne: Earth in her heart laughs looking at the heavens, Thinking of the harvest: I look and think of mine.

This I may know: her dressing and undressing Such a change of light shows as when the skies in sport s.h.i.+ft from cloud to moonlight; or edging over thunder Slips a ray of sun; or sweeping into port White sails furl; or on the ocean borders White sails lean along the waves leaping green.

Visions of her shower before me, but from eyesight Guarded she would be like the sun were she seen.

Front door and back of the mossed old farmhouse Open with the morn, and in a breezy link Freshly sparkles garden to stripe-shadowed orchard, Green across a rill where on sand the minnows wink.

Busy in the gra.s.s the early sun of summer Swarms, and the blackbird's mellow fluting notes Call my darling up with round and roguish challenge: Quaintest, richest carol of all the singing throats!

Cool was the woodside; cool as her white dairy Keeping sweet the cream-pan; and there the boys from school, Cricketing below, rushed brown and red with suns.h.i.+ne; O the dark translucence of the deep-eyed cool!

Spying from the farm, herself she fetched a pitcher Full of milk, and tilted for each in turn the beak.

Then a little fellow, mouth up and on tiptoe, Said, ”I will kiss you”: she laughed and leaned her cheek.