Part 6 (1/2)

”I went down to tease the brook, With her fishes, there below; She comes dancing, thou must know, And the bushes arch above her; But the seeking sunbeams look, Dodging through the wind-blown cover, Find and kiss her into stars.

Silvery veins entwine and crook Where a stone her tripping bars; There be smooth, clear sweeps, and swirls Bubbling up crisp drops like pearls.

There I lie, along the rocks Thick with greenest slippery moss, And I have in hand a strip Of gray, pliant, dappled bark; And I comb her liquid locks Till her tangling currents cross; And I have delight to hark To the chiding of her lip, Taking on the talking stone With each turn another tone.

Oh, to set her wavelets bickering!

Oh, to hear her laughter simple, See her fret and flash and dimple!

Ha, ha, ha!” The woodland rang With the rippling through the flickering.

At the birch the herd-boy sprang.

On a sudden something wound Vine-like round his throbbing throat; On a sudden something smote Sharply on his longing lips, Stung him as the birch bough whips: Was it kiss or was it blow?

Never after could he know; She was gone without a sound.

Never after could he see In the wood or in the mead, Or in any company Of the rustic mortal maids, Her with acorn-colored braids; Never came she to his need.

Never more the lad was merry, Strayed apart, and learned to dream, Feeding on the tart wild berry; Murmuring words none understood,-- Words with music of the wood, And with music of the stream.

SUMMER HOURS

Hours aimless-drifting as the milkweed's down In seeming, still a seed of joy ye bear That steals into the soul when unaware, And springs up Memory in the stony town.

LOVE UNSUNG

Seven jewelled rays has the Sun fast bound In his arrow of blinding sheen; But he quickens the breast of the fruitful ground With a subtlest ray unseen.

And the rainbow moods of this love of ours I may blend in the song I bring; But the magic that makes life laugh with flowers Is the love that I cannot sing.

THE WISH FOR A CHAPLET

Vineleaf and rose I would my chaplet make: I would my word were wine for all men's sake.

Pure from the pressing of the stainless feet Of unblamed Hours, and for an altar meet.

Vineleaf and rose: I would, had I the art, Distil, to lasting sweet, Joy's rosy heart, That no sere autumn should its fragrance wrong, Closed in the crystal gla.s.s of slender song.

SONNETS

THE TORCH-RACE