Later Poems Part 10

We looked on life and nature With the eager eyes of youth, And all we asked or cared for Was beauty, joy, and truth.

We found no other wisdom, We learned no other way, Than the gladness of the morning, The glory of the day.

So all our earthly treasure Shall go with us, my dears, Aboard the Shadow Liner, Across the sea of years.

Spring's Saraband

Over the hills of April With soft winds hand in hand, Impa.s.sionate and dreamy-eyed, Spring leads her saraband.

Her garments float and gather And swirl along the plain, Her headgear is the golden sun, Her cloak the silver rain.

With color and with music, With perfumes and with pomp, By meadowland and upland, Through pasture, wood, and swamp, With promise and enchantment Leading her mystic mime, She comes to lure the world anew With joy as old as time.

Quick lifts the marshy chorus To transport, trill on trill; There's not a rod of stony ground Unanswering on the hill.

The brooks and little rivers Dance down their wild ravines, And children in the city squares Keep time, to tambourines.

The bluebird in the orchard Is lyrical for her, The blackbird with his meadow pipe Sets all the wood astir, The hooded white spring-beauties Are curtsying in the breeze, The blue hepaticas are out Under the chestnut trees.

The maple buds make glamor, Viburnum waves its bloom, The daffodils and tulips Are risen from the tomb.

The lances of Narcissus Have pierced the wintry mold; The commonplace seems paradise Through veils of greening gold.

O heart, hear thou the summons, Put every grief away, When all the motley masques of earth Are glad upon a day.

Alack, that any mortal Should less than gladness bring Into the choral joy that sounds The saraband of spring!

Triumphalis

Soul, art thou sad again With the old sadness?

Thou shalt be glad again With a new gladness, When April sun and rain Mount to the teeming brain With the earth madness.

When from the mould again, Spurning disaster, Spring shoots unfold again, Follow thou faster Out of the drear domain Of dark, defeat, and pain, Praising the Master.

Hope for thy guide again, Ample and splendid; Love at thy side again, All doubting ended; (Ah, by the dragon slain, For nothing small or vain Michael contended!)

Thou shalt take heart again, No more despairing; Play thy great part again, Loving and caring.

Hark, how the gold refrain Runs through the iron strain, Splendidly daring!

Thou shalt grow strong again, Confident, tender,-- Battle with wrong again, Be truth's defender,-- Of the immortal train, Born to attempt, attain, Never surrender!

"Now the Lengthening Twilights Hold"

Now the lengthening twilights hold Tints of lavender and gold, And the marshy places ring With the pipers of the spring.

Now the solitary star Lays a path on meadow streams, And I know it is not far To the open door of dreams.

Lord of April, in my hour May the dogwood be in flower, And my angel through the dome Of spring twilight lead me home.

The Soul of April

Over the wintry threshold Who comes with joy to-day, So frail, yet so enduring, To triumph o'er dismay?

Ah, quick her tears are springing, And quickly they are dried, For sorrow walks before her, But gladness walks beside.

She comes with gusts of laughter,-- The music as of rills; With tenderness and sweetness,-- The wisdom of the hills.

Her hands are strong to comfort, Her heart is quick to heed.

She knows the signs of sadness, She knows the voice of need.

There is no living creature, However poor or small, But she will know its trouble, And hasten to its call.

Oh, well they fare forever, By mighty dreams possessed, Whose hearts have lain a moment On that eternal breast.

An April Morning

Once more in misted April The world is growing green.

Along the winding river The plumey willows lean.

Beyond the sweeping meadows The looming mountains rise, Like battlements of dreamland Against the brooding skies.

In every wooded valley The buds are breaking through, As though the heart of all things No languor ever knew.

The golden-wings and bluebirds Call to their heavenly choirs.

The pines are blued and drifted With smoke of brushwood fires.

And in my sister's garden Where little breezes run, The golden daffodillies Are blowing in the sun.

Earth Voices

I

I heard the spring wind whisper Above the brushwood fire, "The world is made forever Of transport and desire.