The Gentian weaves her fringes — The Maple's loom is red — My departing blossoms Obviate parade. A brief, but patient illness — An hour to prepare, And one below this morning Is where the angels are — It was a short procession, The Bobolink was there — An aged Bee addressed us — And then we knelt in prayer — We trust that she was willing — We ask that we may be. Summer — Sister — Seraph! Let us go with thee! In the name of the Bee — And of the Butterfly — And of the Breeze — Amen!
Frequently the woods are pink — Frequently, are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town — Oft a head is crested I was wont to see — And as oft a cranny Where it used to be — And the Earth — they tell me On it's axis turned! Wonderful rotation — By but twelve performed!
A sepal, petal, and a thorn Upon a common summer's morn — A flask of Dew — A Bee or two — A Breeze — a caper in the trees — And I'm a Rose!
Distrustful of the Gentian — And just to turn away, The fluttering of her fringes Child my perfidy — Weary for my ————— I will singing go — I shall not feel the sleet — then — I shall not fear the snow. Flees so the phantom meadow Before the breathless Bee — So bubble brooks in deserts On Ears that dying lie — Burn so the Evening Spires To Eyes that Closing go — Hangs so distant Heaven — To a hand below.
We lose — because we win — Gamblers — recollecting which Toss their dice again!
All these my banners be. I sow my pageantry In May — It rises train by train — Then sleeps in state again — My chancel — all the plain Today. To lose — if one can find again — To miss — if one shall meet — The Burglar cannot rob — then — The Broker cannot cheat. So build the hillocks gaily Thou little spade of mine Leaving nooks for Daisy And for Columbine — You and I the secret Of the Crocus know — Let us chant it softly — "There is no more snow!" To him who keeps an Orchis' heart — The swamps are pink with June.
I had a guinea golden - I lost it in the sand - And tho' the sum was simple And pounds were in the land - Still, had it such a value Unto my frugal eye - That when I could not find it- I sat me down to sigh. I had a crimson Robin - Who sang full many a day But when the woods were painted - He - too - did fly away - Time brought me other Robins - Their ballads were the same - Still, for my missing Troubadour I kept the "house at hame". I had a star in heaven - One "Pleiad" was it's name - And when I was not heeding, It wandered from the same - And tho' the skies are crowded - And all the night ashine - I do not care about it - Since none of them are mine - My story has a moral - I have a missing friend - "Pleiad" it's name - and Robin - And guinea in the sand - And when this mournful ditty Accompanied with tear - Shall meet the eye of traitor In country far from here - Grant that repentance solemn May seize opon his mind - And he no consolation Beneath the sun may find.
There is a morn by men unseen - Whose maids opon remoter green Keep their seraphic May - And all day long, with dance and game, And gambo! I may never name - Employ their holiday. Here to light measure, move the feet Which walk no more the village street - Nor by the wood are found - Here are the birds that sought the sun When last year's distaff idle hung And summer's brows were bound. Ne'er saw I such a wondrous scene - Ne'er such a ring on such a green - Nor so serene array - As if the stars some summer night Should swing their cups of Chrysolite - And revel till the day - Like thee to dance - like thee to sing - People opon that mystic green - I ask, each new May morn. I wait thy far - fantastic bells - Announcing me in other dells - Unto the different dawn!
As if I asked a common alms - And in my wondering hand, A stranger pressed a kingdom - And I - bewildered stand - As if I asked the Orient Had it for me a morn? And it sh'd lift it's purple dikes And flood me with the Dawn!
She slept beneath a tree — Remembered but by me. I touched her Cradle mute — She recognized the foot — Put on her carmine suit And see!
The feet of people walking home With gayer sandals go - The crocus - till she rises - The vassal of the snow - The lips at Hallelujah Long years of practise bore - Till bye and bye, these Bargemen Walked - singing - on the shore Pearls are the Diver's farthings Extorted form the sea - Pinions - the Seraph's wagon - Pedestrian once - as we - Night is the morning's canvas - Larcey - legacy - Death - but our rapt attention To immortality. My figures fail to tell me How far the village lies - Whose peasants are the angels - Whose cantons dot the skies - My Classics vail their faces - My faith that Dark adores - Which from it's solemn abbeys - Such resurrection pours!
It's all I have to bring today — This, and my heart beside — This, and my heart, and all the fields — And all the meadows wide — Be sure you count — should I forget Some one the sum could tell — This, and my heart, and all the Bees Which in the Clover dwell.
Morns like these - we parted Noons like these - she rose! Fluttering first - then firmer To her fair repose - Never did she lisp it And 'twas not for me - She was mute for transport I, for agony! Till the evening nearing One the shutters drew - Quick! a sharper rustling! And this linnet flew!
So has a Daisy vanished From the fields today - So tiptoed many a slipper To Paradise away - Oozed so, in crimson bubbles Day's departing tide - Blooming - tripping - flowing - Are ye then with God?
If those I loved were lost, the crier's voice would tell me - If those I loved were found, the bells of Ghent would ring, Did those I loved repose, the Daisy would impel me - Philip when bewildered - bore his riddle in -
Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town? So Sailors say — on yesterday — Just as the dusk was brown One little boat gave up its strife And gurgled down and down. So angels say — on yesterday — Just as the dawn was red One little boat — o'erspent with gales — Retrimmed its masts — redecked its sails — And shot — exultant on!
Summer for thee, grant I may be When Summer days are flown! Thy music still, when Whippowil And Oriole - are done! For thee to bloom, I'll skip the tomb And row my blossoms o'er! Pray gather me - Anemone - Thy flower - forevermore!
When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, And Violets are done — When Bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the Sun — The hand that paused to gather Upon this Summer's day Will idle lie — in Auburn — Then take my flowers — pray!
Oh if remembering were forgetting - Then I remember not! And if forgetting - recollecting - How near I had forgot! And if to miss - were merry - And to mourn were gay, How very blithe the maiden Who gathered these today!
Write! Comrade, write! On this wondrous sea Sailing silently, Ho! Pilot, ho! Knowest thou the shore Where no breakers roar - Where the storm is o'er? In the peaceful west Many the sails at rest - The anchors fast - Thither I pilot thee - Land Ho! Eternity! Ashore at last!
Garlands for Queens, may be - Laurels - for rare degree Of soul or sword - Ah - but remembering me - Ah - but remembering thee - Nature in chivalry - Nature in charity - Nature in equity - The Rose ordained!
Nobody knows this little rose; It might a pilgrim be, Did I not take it from the ways, And lift it up to thee! Only a bee will miss it; Only a butterfly, Hastening from far journey, On it's breast to lie. Only a bird will wonder; Only a breeze will sigh; Ah! little rose, how easy For such as thee to die!