Volume Ii Part 5 (1/2)

To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen.

And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again.

O blessed bird! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, fairy place: That is fit home for thee!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

A GREEN CORNFIELD.

”And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.”

The earth was green, the sky was blue: I saw and heard one sunny morn A skylark hang between the two, A singing speck above the corn;

A stage below, in gay accord, White b.u.t.terflies danced on the wing, And still the singing skylark soared And silent sank, and soared to sing.

The cornfield stretched a tender green To right and left beside my walks; I knew he had a nest unseen Somewhere among the million stalks:

And as I paused to hear his song While swift the sunny moments slid, Perhaps his mate sat listening long, And listened longer than I did.

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

MARCH.

The stormy March is come at last With wind, and cloud, and changing skies; I hear the rus.h.i.+ng of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies.

Ah, pa.s.sing few are those who speak, Wild, stormy month! in praise of thee; Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me.

For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of spring.

And, in thy reign of blast and storm, Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, When the changed winds are soft and warm, And Heaven puts on the blue of May.

Then sing aloud the gus.h.i.+ng rills In joy that they again are free, And, brightly leaping down the hills, Begin their journey to the sea.

The year's departing beauty hides Of wintry storms the sullen threat; But in thy sternest frown abides A look of kindly promise yet.

Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies, And that soft time of sunny showers, When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, Seems of a brighter world than ours.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

THE INCHCAPE ROCK.