Part 7 (2/2)

I wonder if the tides of Spring Will always bring me back again Mute rapture at the simple thing Of lilacs blowing in the rain.

If so, my heart will ever be Above all fear, for I shall know There is a greater mystery Beyond the time when lilacs blow.

THOMAS S. JONES, JR.

JUNE

I knew that you were coming, June, I knew that you were coming!

Among the alders by the stream I heard a partridge drumming; I heard a partridge drumming, June, a welcome with his wings, And felt a softness in the air half Summer's and half Spring's.

I knew that you were nearing, June, I knew that you were nearing-- I saw it in the bursting buds of roses in the clearing; The roses in the clearing, June, were blus.h.i.+ng pink and red, For they had heard upon the hills the echo of your tread.

I knew that you were coming, June, I knew that you were coming, For ev'ry warbler in the wood a song of joy was humming.

I know that you are here, June, I know that you are here-- The fairy month, the merry month, the laughter of the year!

DOUGLAS MALLOCH

JUNE RAPTURE

Green! What a world of green! My startled soul Panting for beauty long denied, Leaps in a pa.s.sion of high grat.i.tude To meet the wild embraces of the wood; Rushes and flings itself upon the whole Mad miracle of green, with senses wide, Clings to the glory, hugs and holds it fast, As one who finds a long-lost love at last.

Billows of green that break upon the sight In bounteous crescendos of delight, Wind-hurried verdure hastening up the hills To where the sun its highest rapture spills; Cascades of color tumbling down the height In golden gushes of delicious light-- G.o.d! Can I bear the beauty of this day, Or shall I be swept utterly away?

Hush--here are deeps of green, where rapture stills, Sheathing itself in veils of amber dusk; Breathing a silence suffocating, sweet, Wherein a million hidden pulses beat.

Look! How the very air takes fire and thrills With hint of heaven pus.h.i.+ng through her husk.

Ah, joy's not stopped! 'Tis only more intense, Here where Creation's ardors all condense; Here where I crush me to the radiant sod, Close-folded to the very nerves of G.o.d.

See now--I hold my heart against this tree.

The life that thrills its trembling leaves thrills me.

There's not a pleasure pulsing through its veins That does not sting me with ecstatic pains.

No twig or tracery, however fine, Can bear a tale of joy exceeding mine.

Praised be the G.o.ds that made my spirit mad; Kept me aflame and raw to beauty's touch.

Lashed me and scourged me with the whip of fate; Gave me so often agony for mate; Tore from my heart the things that make men glad-- Praised be the G.o.ds! If I at last, by such Relentless means may know the sacred bliss, The anguished rapture of an hour like this.

Smite me, O Life, and bruise me if thou must; Mock me and starve me with thy bitter crust, But keep me thus aquiver and awake, Enamoured of my life for living's sake!

_This were the tragedy_--that I should pa.s.s, Dull and indifferent through the glowing gra.s.s.

And this the reason I was born, I say-- That I might know the pa.s.sion of this day!

ANGELA MORGAN

<script>