Of spirit and of passion born;
In words as lucent as the morn
He prisoned it, and now it gleams
A jewel shining through the ages.
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Let us put awhile away
For a golden time forget,Task and worry, toil and fret,Let us take a day to dreamIn the meadow by the stream.We may lie in grasses coolFringing a pellucid pool,We may learn the gay brook-runesSung on amber afternoons,And the keen wind-rhyme that fillsMossy hollows of the hills.Where the wild-wood whisper stirsWe may talk with lisping firs,We…
Let those who will of friendship sing,
But I a lyric garland bringTo crown thee, O, mine enemy!Thanks, endless thanks, to thee I oweFor that my lifelong journey throughThine honest hate has done for meWhat love perchance had failed to do.I had not scaled such weary heightsBut that I held thy scorn in fear,And never keenest lure might matchThe subtle goading of…
Now on the hill
That never a wimpling mist uplifts,Nor a trembling leaf drop-laden stirs;From the ancient firsAroma of balsam drifts,And the silent places are filledWith elusive odors distilledBy the rain from asters empearled and frilled,And a wild wet savor that dwellsFar adown in tawny fallows and bracken dells.Then with a rush,Breaking the beautiful hushWhere the only sound was…
Over the fields we go, through the sweets of the purple clover,
Before us the dells are abloom, and a leaping brook calls after,Feeling its kinship with us in lore of dreams and laughter.Out of the valleys of moonlight elfin voices are calling;Down from the misty hills faint, far greetings are falling;Whisper the grasses to us, murmuring gleeful and airy,Knowing us pixy-led, seeking the haunts of faery.The…
My Claudia, it is long since we have met,
I thought to greet thee as a conqueror comes,Bearing the trophies of his prowess home,But Jove hath willed it should be otherwiseJove, say I? Nay, some mightier stranger-godWho thus hath laid his heavy hand on me,No victor, Claudia, but a broken manWho seeks to hide his weakness in thy love.How beautiful thou art! The years…
Here let us linger at will and delightsomely hearken
Timbrel of falling waters, sounds all soft and sonorous,Worshipful litanies sung at a bannered shrine.Deep let us breathe the ripeness and savor of balsam,Tears that the pines have wept in sorrow sweet,With its aroma comes beguilement of things forgotten,Long-past hopes of the years on tip-toeing feet.Far in the boskiest glen of this wood is a…