Later Poems Part 18

When gray twilight with her star Makes a heaven that is not far, Touched with shadows and with dreams, Thou shalt hear the woodland streams Singing through the starry night Holy anthems of delight.

So the ecstasy of earth Shall refresh thee as at birth, And thou shalt arise each morn Radiant with a soul reborn.

And this wisdom of a day None shall ever take away.

What the secret, what the clew The wayfarer must pursue?

Only one thing he must have Who would share these transports brave.

Love within his heart must dwell Like a bubbling roadside well, For a spring to quicken thought, Else my counsel comes to naught.

For without that quickening trust We are less than roadside dust.

This, O traveller, is my creed,-- All the wisdom of the weed!

_Then the traveller set his pack Once more on his dusty back, And trudged on for many a mile Fronting fortune with a smile._

The Blue Heron

I see the great blue heron Rising among the reeds And floating down the wind, Like a gliding sail With the set of the stream.

I hear the two-horse mower Clacking among the hay, In the heat of a July noon, And the driver's voice As he turns his team.

I see the meadow lilies Flecked with their darker tan, The elms, and the great white clouds; And all the world Is a pa.s.sing dream.

Woodland Rain

s.h.i.+ning, s.h.i.+ning children Of the summer rain, Racing down the valley, Sweeping o'er the plain!

Rus.h.i.+ng through the forest, Pelting on the leaves, Drenching down the meadow With its standing sheaves;

Robed in royal silver, Girt with jewels gay, With a gust of gladness You pa.s.s upon your way.

Fresh, ah, fresh behind you, Sunlit and impearled, As it was in Eden, Lies the lovely world!

Summer Storm

The hilltop trees are bowing Under the coming of storm.

The low, gray clouds are trailing Like squadrons that sweep and form, With their ammunition of rain.

Then the trumpeter wind gives signal To unlimber the viewless guns; The cattle huddle together; Indoors the farmer runs; And the first shot lashes the pane.

They charge through the quiet orchard; One pear tree is snapped like a wand; As they sweep from the shattered hillside, Ruffling the blackened pond, Ere the sun takes the field again.

Dance of the Sunbeams

When morning is high o'er the hilltops, On river and stream and lake, Wherever a young breeze whispers, The sun-clad dancers wake.

One after one up-springing, They flash from their dim retreat.

Merry as running laughter Is the news of their twinkling feet.

Over the floors of azure Wherever the wind-flaws run, Sparkling, leaping, and racing, Their antics scatter the sun.

As long as water ripples And weather is clear and glad, Day after day they are dancing, Never a moment sad.

But when through the field of heaven The wings of storm take flight, At a touch of the flying shadows They falter and slip from sight.

Until at the gray day's ending, As the squadrons of cloud retire, They pa.s.s in the triumph of sunset With banners of crimson fire.

The Campfire of the Sun

Lo, now, the journeying sun, Another day's march done, Kindles his campfire at the edge of night!

And in the twilight pale Above his crimson trail, The stars move out their cordons still and bright.

Now in the darkening hush A solitary thrush Sings on in silvery rapture to the deep; While brooding on her best, The wandering soul has rest, And earth receives her sacred gift of sleep.

Summer Streams

All day long beneath the sun s.h.i.+ning through the fields they run,

Singing in a cadence known To the seraphs round the throne.

And the traveller drawing near Through the meadow, halts to hear

Anthems of a natural joy No disaster can destroy.

All night long from set of sun Through the starry woods they run,

Singing through the purple dark Songs to make a traveller hark.

All night long, when winds are low, Underneath my window go

The immortal happy streams, Making music through my dreams.