The Melody of Earth Part 17

THE PASTURE

I'm going out to clean the pasture spring; I'll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): I sha'n't be gone long.--You come too.

I'm going out to fetch the little calf That's standing by the mother. It's so young, It totters when she licks it with her tongue.

I sha'n't be gone long.--You come too.

ROBERT FROST

THE THISTLE

Ha, p.r.i.c.kle-armed knight, How oft the world hath cursed thee, Thou pestilence of Earth, The beldame who hath nursed thee!

Hath h.e.l.lish Proserpine Her needs lent to arm thee That mischief-loving G.o.ds, p.r.i.c.ked sorely, may not harm thee?

Or hath the mirthful Love Presented thee his pinions To dress thy tiny seeds, The curse of man's dominions!

Thou like a maiden art Who best can find protection Employed at needlework From idleness' infection.

And like a prude thou art When he who loves embraces; Thou dost repel with thorns And she with sharper phrases.

And like the wraith thou art Wherewith my heart is haunted; Ye both take most delight Where ye the least are wanted.

MILES M. DAWSON

CLOVER

Little masters, hat in hand, Let me in your presence stand, Till your silence solve for me This your threefold mystery.

Tell me--for I long to know-- How, in darkness there below, Was your fairy fabric spun, Spread and fas.h.i.+oned, three in one.

Did your gossips gold and blue, Sky and Suns.h.i.+ne, choose for you, Ere your triple forms were seen, Suited liveries of green?

Can ye--if ye dwelt indeed Captives of a prison seed-- Like the Genie, once again Get you back into the grain?

Little masters, may I stand In your presence, hat in hand, Waiting till you solve for me This your threefold mystery?

JOHN B. TABB

WILD GARDENS

On the ripened gra.s.s is a bloomy mist Of silver and rose and amethyst Where the long June wave has run.

There are glints of copper and tarnished bra.s.s, And hyacinthine flames that pa.s.s From the green fires of the sun.

This web of a thousand gleams and glows Was woven silently out of the snows And the patient s.h.i.+ne and rain.

It was fas.h.i.+oned cunningly day by day From the silken spear to the pollened spray With its folded sheaths of grain.

Oh, garden of gra.s.ses deep and wild, So dear to the vagrant and the child And the singer of an hour.

To the wayworn soul you give your balm, Your cup of peace, your stringed psalm, Your grace of bud and flower.

ADA FOSTER MURRAY

THE DANDELION

O dandelion, rich and haughty, King of village flowers!

Each day is coronation time, You have no humble hours.

I like to see you bring a troop To beat the blue-gra.s.s spears, To scorn the lawn-mower that would be Like fate's triumphant shears.

Your yellow heads are cut away, It seems your reign is o'er.

By noon you raise a sea of stars More golden than before.

VACHEL LINDSAY

JOE-PYEWEED

And the name brings back those kindly hills And the drowsing life so new to me; And the welcome that those purple blossoms With their tiny trumpets blew to me.

Stout and tall, they raised their cl.u.s.tered heads, Leaping, as a l.u.s.ty fellow would, Through the lowlands, down the twisting cow-paths; Running past the green and yellow wood.

How they come again--those rambling roads; And the weeds' wild jewels glowing there.

Richer than a Paradise of flowers Was that bit of pasture growing there.

Weeds--the very names call up those faint Half-forgotten smells and cries again ...

Weeds--like some old charm, I say them over, And the rolling Berks.h.i.+res rise again:

_Basil, Boneset, Toadflax, Tansy, Weeds of every form and fancy; Milk-weed, Mullein, Loose-strife, Jewel-weed, Mustard, Thimble-weed, Tear-thumb (a cruel weed).

Clovers in all sorts--Nonesuch, Melilot; Staring b.u.t.tercups, a bold and yellow lot.

Daisies rioting about the place With Black-eyed Susan and Queen Anne's Lace...._

Names--they blossom into colored hills; Hills whose rousing beauty flows to me ...

And with all its soundless, purple trumpets, Lo, the Joe-Pyeweed still blows to me!

LOUIS UNTERMEYER

TO A DAISY

Slight as thou art, thou art enough to hide Like all created things, secrets from me, And stand a barrier to eternity.

And I, how can I praise thee well and wide

From where I dwell--upon the hither side?