Part 5 (1/2)

But we must draw the curtain And fasten bolts and bars And talk here in the firelight Of him beneath the stars.

THE GOLDFINCH

Down from the sky on a sudden he drops Into the mullein and juniper tops, Flushed from his bath in the midsummer s.h.i.+ne Flooding the meadowland, drunk with the wine Spilled from the urns of the blue, like a bold Sky-buccaneer in his sable and gold.

Lightly he sways on the pendulous stem, Vividly restless, a fluttering gem, Then with a flash of bewildering wings Dazzles away up and down, and he sings Clear as a bell at each dip as he flies Bounding along on the wave of the skies.

Sunlight and laughter, a winged desire, Motion and melody married to fire, Lighter than thistle-tuft borne on the wind, Frailer than violets, how shall we find Words that will match him, discover a name Meet for this marvel, this lyrical flame?

How shall we fas.h.i.+on a rhythm to wing with him, Find us a wonderful music to sing with him Fine as his rapture is, free as the rollicking Song that the harlequin drops in his frolicking Dance through the summer sky, singing so merrily High in the burning blue, winging so airily?

(_ Mount Vernon, New Hamps.h.i.+re_)

ORIOLES

Wings in a blur of gold High in the elm trees, Looping like tawny flame Through the green shadows, Now at an airy height Pausing a heart beat Quite at the twig's tip, Pendulous, bending.

Golden against the blue, Gold in an azure cup, Golden wine bubbling Out of blue goblets...

Cool, smooth and reedy notes Fly low across the noon While through the drowsy heat Drums the cicada.

Tropical wing and song Bound from Bolivia...

All the blue Amazon Sings to New England....

Flute-noted orioles, Flame-coated orioles, Gold-throated orioles, Spirits of summer.

BY A MOUNTAIN STREAM

Where the rivulet swept by a sycamore root With a turbulent voice and a hurrying foot, I bent by the water and spoke in my dream To the wavering, restless, unlingering stream: ”Oh, turbulent rivulet hastening past, For what wonderful goal do you hope at the last That never you pause in the s.h.i.+mmering green Of the undulant shade where the sycamores lean Or rest in the moss-curtained, cool dripping halls Hidden under the veils of your musical falls Or loiter at peace by the tremulous fern-- White wandering waters that never return?”

And I dreamed by the rivulet's wavering side That a myriad ripple of voices replied: ”Aloft on the mountain, afar on the steep, A voice that we knew cried aloud in our sleep, 'Come, hasten ye down to the vale and to me, Your begetter, destroyer, preserver, the Sea!'

We must carry our feebleness down to the Strong, We must mingle us deep in the Whole, and ere long All the numberless host of the heaven shall ride With the pale Lady Moon on our slumbering tide.”

The voices swept out and away through the door Of the canyon, and on to the infinite sh.o.r.e.

Oh, vast in thy destiny, slender of span, Wild rivulet, how thou art like to a man!

(_Cold Brook, California_, 1912)

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