Part 4 (1/2)

PART III.

1.

Now rests the season in forgetfulness, Careless in beauty of maturity; The ripened roses 'round brown temples, she Fulfils completion in a dreamy guess: Now Time grants night the more and day the less; The gray decides; and brown Dim golds and reds in dulling greens express Themselves and broaden as the year goes down.

Sadder the croft where, thrusting gray and high Their b.a.l.l.s of seeds, the h.o.a.ry onions die, Where, Falstaff-like, buff-bellied pumpkins lie: Deeper each wilderness; Sadder the blue of hills that lounge along The lonesome west; sadder the song Of the wild red-bird in the leaf.a.ge yellow, Deeper and dreamier, aye!

Than woods or waters, leans the languid sky Above lone orchards where the cider-press Drips and the russets mellow.

Nature grows liberal; under woodland leaves The beech-nuts' burs their little pockets poke, Plump with the copper of the nuts that choke; Above our bristling way the spider weaves A glittering web for which the Dawn designs Thrice twenty rows of sparkles. By the oak, That rolls old roots in many gnarly lines, The acorn thimble, smoothly broke, s.h.i.+nes by its saucer. On sonorous pines The far wind organs; but the forest here To no weak breeze hath woke; Far off the wind, but crumbling near and near,-- Each tingling twig expectant, and the gray Surmise of heaven pilots it the way, Rippling the leafy spines, Until the wildwood, one exultant sway, Booms, and the sunlight, arrowing through it, s.h.i.+nes Visible applause you hear.

How glows the garden! though the white mists keep The vagabond in flowers reminded of Decay that comes to slay in open love, When the full moon hangs cold and night is deep, Unheeding such their cardinal colors leap Gay in the crescent of the blade of death; s.p.a.ced innocents in swaths he weeps to reap, Waiting his scythe a breath, To gravely lay them dead with one last sweep.-- Long, long admire Their splendors manifold:-- The scarlet salvia showered with spurts of fire; Cascading lattices, dark vines that creep, Nightshade and cypress; there the marigold Burning--a shred of orange sunset caught And elfed in petals that eve's goblins brought From elfland; there, predominant red, The dahlia lifts its head By the white balsams' red-bruised horns of honey, In humming s.p.a.ces sunny.

The crickets singing dirges noon and night For morn-born flowers, at dusk already dead, For dusk-dead flowers weep; While tired Summer white, Where yonder aster whispering odor rocks,-- The withered poppies knotted in her locks,-- Sighs, 'mong her sleepy hollyhocks asleep.

2.

The hips were reddening on the rose, The haws hung slips of fire; We went the woodland way that goes Up hills of branch and briar.

The hooked thorn held her gown and seemed Imploring her be staying The sunlight of herself that beamed Beside it gently swaying.

Low bent the golden saxifrage; Its yellow bells like bangles The foxglove fluttered. Like a page-- From out the rail-fence angles-- With crimson plume the sumach, hosed In Lincoln green, attended My lady of the elder, posed In blue-black jewels splendid.

And as we mounted up the hill The rocky path that stumbled Spread smooth; and all the day was still And odorous with umbled Tops of wild-carrots drying gray; And there, soft-sunned before us, An orchard dwindling away With dappled boughs bent o'er us.

An orchard where the pippin fell Worm-bitten, bruised, and dusty; And hornet-stung, each like a bell, The Bartlett ripened rusty; The smell of tawny peach and plum, That offered luscious yellow; Of wasp and bee the hidden hum, Made all the warm air mellow.

And on we went where many-hued Hung wild the morning-glory, Their blue balloons in shadows, dewed With frost-white dew-drops h.o.a.ry; In bush and burgra.s.s far away Beneath us stretched the valley, Cleft by one creek that laughed with day And babbled musically.

The brown, the bronze, the gray, the red Of weed and briar ran riot Flush to dark woodland walls that led To nooks of whispering quiet.

Long, feathering bursts of golden-rod Ran golden woolly patches-- Bloom-sunsets of the withered sod The dying summer catches.

Then o'er the hills, loose-tumbling rolled-- O'erleaping expectation-- The sunset, flaming marigold, A system's conflagration: And homeward turning, she and I Went as one self in being-- G.o.d met us in the earth and sky And Love had purged our seeing.

3.

Say, my dear, O my dear, These are the eves for speaking; There is no wight will work us spite Beneath the sunset's streaking.

Yes, my dear, O my dear, These are the eves for telling; To walk together in starry weather Ere springs o' the moon are welling.

O my dear, yes, my dear, These are the dusks for staying; When twilight dreams of night who seems Among long-purples praying.

”No, my dear!”--”Yes, my dear!”

These are the nights to kiss it Times twice-a-twenty: they grow a-plenty On lips that will not miss it.

4.

To dream where silence sleeps A sorrow's sleep that sighs; Where all heaven's azure peeps Blue from one wildflower's eyes Where, in reflecting deeps,-- Of cloudier woods and skies,-- Another gray world lies.

Divining G.o.d from things Humble as weeds and bees; From songs the free bird sings Learn all are vain but these; In light-delighted springs, Wise, star-familiar trees, Seek love's philosophies.

5.