Volume Iii Part 2 (1/2)

The call-note of a redbird from the cedars in the dusk Woke his happy mate within me to an answer free and fine; And a sudden angel beckoned from a column of blue smoke-- Lord, who am I that they should stoop--these holy folk of thine?

Karle Wilson Baker [1878-

”HERE IS THE PLACE WHERE LOVELINESS KEEPS HOUSE”

Here is the place where Loveliness keeps house, Between the river and the wooded hills, Within a valley where the Springtime spills Her firstling wind-flowers under blossoming boughs: Where Summer sits braiding her warm, white brows With bramble-roses; and where Autumn fills Her lap with asters; and old Winter frills With crimson haw and hip his snowy blouse.

Here you may meet with Beauty. Here she sits Gazing upon the moon, or all the day Tuning a wood-thrush flute, remote, unseen; Or when the storm is out, 'tis she who flits From rock to rock, a form of flying spray, Shouting, beneath the leaves' tumultuous green.

Madison Cawein [1865-1914]

G.o.d'S WORLD

O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!

Thy winds, thy wide gray skies!

Thy mists, that roll and rise!

Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag And all but cry with color! That gaunt crag To crus.h.!.+ To lift the lean of that black bluff!

World, world, I cannot get thee close enough!

Long have I known a glory in it all But never knew I this.

Here such a pa.s.sion is As stretcheth me apart. Lord, I do fear Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.

My soul is all but out of me--let fall No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

Edna St. Vincent Millay [1892-

WILD HONEY

Where hints of racy sap and gum Out of the old dark forest come; Where birds their beaks like hammers wield, And pith is pierced and bark is peeled; Where the green walnut's outer rind Gives precious bitterness to the wind; There lurks the sweet creative power, As lurks the honey in the flower.

In winter's bud that bursts in spring, In nut of autumn's ripening, In acrid bulb beneath the mold, Sleeps the elixir, strong and old, That Rosicrucians sought in vain,-- Life that renews itself again!

What bottled perfume is so good As fragrance of split tulip-wood?

What fabled drink of G.o.d or muse Was rich as purple mulberry juice?

And what school-polished gem of thought Is like the rune from Nature caught?

He is a poet strong and true Who loves wild thyme and honey-dew; And like a brown bee works and sings With morning freshness on his wings, And a golden burden on his thighs,-- The pollen-dust of centuries!

Maurice Thompson [1844-1901]

PATMOS