Part 6 (1/2)
It's _got_ to be! And again I say,-- When his old scythe circles high, I'll laugh--of course, in the kindest way,-- As I say ”Good-by!--Good-by!”
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”OUT OF REACH?”
You think them ”out of reach,” your dead?
Nay, by my own dead, I deny Your ”out of reach.”--Be comforted: 'Tis not so far to die.
O by their dear remembered smiles And outheld hands and welcoming speech, They wait for us, thousands of miles This side of ”out-of-reach.”
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”A BRAVE REFRAIN”
When snow is here, and the trees look weird, And the knuckled twigs are gloved with frost; When the breath congeals in the drover's beard, And the old pathway to the barn is lost; When the rooster's crow is sad to hear, And the stamp of the stabled horse is vain, And the tone of the cow-bell grieves the ear-- O then is the time for a brave refrain!
When the gears hang stiff on the harness-peg, And the tallow gleams in frozen streaks; And the old hen stands on a lonesome leg, And the pump sounds hoa.r.s.e and the handle squeaks; When the woodpile lies in a shrouded heap, And the frost is scratched from the window-pane And anxious eyes from the inside peep-- O then is the time for a brave refrain!
When the ax-helve warms at the chimney-jamb, And hob-nailed shoes on the hearth below, And the house-cat curls in a slumber calm, And the eight-day clock ticks loud and slow; When the harsh broom-handle jabs the ceil 'Neath the kitchen-loft, and the drowsy brain Sniffs the breath of the morning meal-- O then is the time for a brave refrain!
ENVOI
When the skillet seethes, and a blubbering hot Tilts the lid of the coffee-pot, And the scent of the buckwheat cake grows plain-- O then is the time for a brave refrain!
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IN THE EVENING
I
In the evening of our days, When the first far stars above Glimmer dimmer, through the haze, Than the dewy eyes of love, Shall we mournfully revert To the vanished morns and Mays Of our youth, with hearts that hurt,-- In the evening of our days?
II
Shall the hand that holds your own Till the twain are thrilled as now, Be withheld, or colder grown?
Shall my kiss upon your brow Falter from its high estate?
And, in all forgetful ways, Shall we sit apart and wait-- In the evening of our days?
III
Nay, my wife--my life!--the gloom Shall enfold us velvetwise, And my smile shall be the groom Of the gladness of your eyes: Gently, gently as the dew Mingles with the darkening maze, I shall fall asleep with you-- In the evening of our days.
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