Idyllic Monologues Part 8

Content

When I behold how some pursue Fame, that is care's embodiment, Or fortune, whose false face looks true,-- A humble home with sweet content Is all I ask for me and you.

A humble home, where pigeons coo, Whose path leads under breezy lines Of frosty-berried cedars to A gate, one ma.s.s of trumpet-vines, Is all I ask for me and you.

A garden, which, all summer through, The roses old make redolent, And morning-glories, gay of hue, And tansy, with its homely scent, Is all I ask for me and you.

An orchard, that the pippins strew, From whose bruised gold the juices spring; A vineyard, where the grapes hang blue, Wine-big and ripe for vintaging, Is all I ask for me and you.

A lane, that leads to some far view Of forest and of fallow-land, Bloomed o'er with rose and meadow-rue, Each with a bee in its hot hand, Is all I ask for me and you.

At morn, a pathway deep with dew, And birds to vary time and tune; At eve, a sunset avenue, And whippoorwills that haunt the moon, Is all I ask for me and you.

Dear heart, with wants so small and few, And faith, that's better far than gold, A lowly friend, a child or two, To care for us when we are old, Is all I ask for me and you.

Berrying

I.

My love went berrying Where brooks were merrying And wild wings ferrying Heaven's amethyst; The wildflowers blessed her, My dearest Hester, The winds caressed her, The sunbeams kissed.

II.

I followed, carrying Her basket; varying Fond hopes of marrying With hopes denied; Both late and early She deemed me surly, And bowed her curly Fair head and sighed:

III.

"The skies look lowery; It will he showery; No longer flowery The way I find.

No use in going.

'T will soon be snowing If you keep growing Much more unkind."

IV.

Then looked up tearfully.

And I, all fearfully, Replied, "My dear, fully Will I explain: I love you dearly, But look not cheerly Since all says clearly I love in vain."

V.

Then smiled she airily; And answered merrily With words that--verily Made me decide: And drawing tow'rd her, I there implored her-- I who adored her-- To be my bride.

VI.

O sweet simplicity Of young rusticity, Without duplicity, Whom love made know, That hearts in meter Make earth completer; And kisses, sweeter Than--berries grow.

To a Pansy-Violet

Found Solitary Among the Hills.

I.

O pansy-violet, With early April wet, How frail and pure you look Lost in this glow-worm nook Of heaven-holding hills: Down which the hurrying rills Fling scrolls of melodies: O'er which the birds and bees Weave gossamers of song, Invisible, but strong: Sweet music webs they spin To snare the spirit in.

II.

O pansy-violet, Unto your face I set My lips, and--do you speak?

Or is it but some freak Of fancy, love imparts Through you unto the heart's Desire? whispering low A secret none may know, But such as sit and dream By forest-side and stream.

III.

O pansy-violet, O darling floweret, Hued like the timid gem That stars the diadem Of Fay or Sylvan Sprite, Who, in the woods, all night Is busy with the blooms, Young leaves and wild perfumes, Through you I seem t' have seen All that such dreams may mean.

IV.

O pansy-violet, Long, long ago we met-- 'T was in a Fairy-tale: Two children in a vale Sat underneath glad stars, Far from the world of wars; Each loved the other well: Her eyes were like the spell Of dusk and dawning skies-- The purple dark that dyes The midnight: his were blue As heaven the day s.h.i.+nes through.

V.

O pansy-violet, What is this vague regret, This yearning, so like tears, That touches through the years Long past, when Myth and Fable In all strange things were able To beautify the Earth, Things of immortal worth?-- This longing, that to me Is like a memory Lived long ago, of those Fair children who, it knows, Loved with no mortal love; Whom smiling heaven above Fostered, and when they died Laid side by loving side.

VI.

O pansy-violet, I dream, remembering yet A wood-G.o.d-guarded tomb, Out of whose moss a bloom Sprang, with three petals wan As are the eyes of dawn; And two as darkly deep As are the eyes of sleep.-- O flower,--that seems to hold Some memory of old, A hope, a happiness, At which I can but guess,-- You are a sign to me Of immortality: Through you my spirit sees The deathless purposes Of death, that still evolves The beauty it resolves; The change that aye fulfills Life's meaning as G.o.d wills.

Heart of my Heart