GIFT OF 
 MICHAEL REE&E 
 
 ft * 
 
 

?heir Answers to the Question, 1 
 
 Hasina Coolbrith Done ?" 
 
 i 
 
 \ ERRY JOKES AT WRITERS WHO 
 : DARED TO COMMEND HER WORK. 
 
 *>cunrt Trustees Who Might Be Amused 
 1 at Opinions of Ambrose Bierce and 
 !-j Joaquln Miller and Charlen Warren 
 I Stoddard and Henry W arts worth Long 
 fellow and John Greonleaf Whittler. 
 
 What has Ina Coolbrith done? 
 
 She has written some verses. Of course, 
 jery one who reads knows that. She has 
 , nearly twenty years selected the books 
 
 *nt Oakland people the people who can- 
 
 t buy books have been reading. Some 
 
 j Ople know about that, too, but they do 
 Jit always remember it. The books are on 
 
 .9 shelves of the Free Library and people 
 Uke them out and bring them back. 
 
 They have not thought much about the 
 
 who selected them, the one who has 
 
 jfeti the master mind in the Oakland Public 
 
 brary from the time that it was a small 
 
 jvate library until it became a large pub- 
 ic institution of which 5,000 people make 
 
 ) every month, until now and now be- 
 ause the library is to loe Ina Coolbrith. 
 
 The library is to lose her services because 
 
 Qfi five trustees ask her resignation from 
 
 >sition she has held for eighteen years. 
 
 |* What has Miss Ina Coolbrith done?" 
 
 feed a Trustee, one of the five. " We do 
 
 care for a poet in the library. We 
 
 jut a librarian. Of course, we expect her 
 
 erary friends will be angry at our action, 
 
 t we cannot help that." 
 
 " literary friends " of Ina Coolbrith 
 to be a fine joke to the Trustees, who 
 
 enjoy a jest at the writers who commend i 
 Miss Coolbrith s work, the writers who can j 
 answer the question of the Trustee, " What 
 has Ina Coolbrith done?" 
 
 The Trustees may have a good laugh at 
 Longfellow Longfellow is dead, you know 
 -who said to Charles H. Phelps : " I know 
 that California has at least one poet. Her 
 publisher sent me a book of Ina Coolbrith s 
 poems, and I have been reading them with 
 delight." 
 
 i 
 
 JAMES F. BOWMAN S ANSWER. 
 James F. Bowman left his answer to the ! 
 question. About the time of the publication ; 
 of Miss Coolbrith s book of verse he wrote ; 
 
 It has long been a matter of surprise among 
 persons of literary taste that the poems of Ina 
 D. Coolbrith contributed during the last twelve 
 years to various California and Eastern period 
 icals have never been presented to the public in 
 a permanent form. Their rare intrinsic merit 
 and their marked individuality greatlv distin 
 guish them from the flood of ephemeral verse of 
 the average magazine standard and justifv the 
 desire which has been widely felt and frequently 
 expressed to see them collected in a volume 
 Those who are endowed with the taste and feel 
 ing requsite for the full appreciation of such 
 rare poetic genius as "A Perfect Day " "A 
 Prayer for Strength," "Beside the Dead " "In 
 Blossom Time," Meadow Larks" and "The 
 Mother s Grief," could not willingly see them 
 consigned to the oblivion which is tho 
 natural lot of the great bulk of fugitive 
 poetry. For it has been deeply felt by thousands 
 or thoughtful readers that these exquisite 
 fragments of song " are broadly discriminated 
 from that class of agreeable and polished met- 
 trlcal productions which, after affording a mo 
 mentary pleasure in the perusal, are laid by 
 and forgotten without a regret, having stirred 
 no emotion and awakened no thought vital 
 enough to g : ve birth to the wish to make thoin 
 a gart of our permanent household treasures 
 They are not like the greater portion of con 
 temporary magazine verse, the product of mere 
 culture and poetic feeling, stimulated by literary 
 aspiration. 
 
 Many of Miss Coolbrith s poems have been 
 extensively copied in various American and 
 English publications, obtaining for their author 
 a wider recognition than has been won by any 
 other California poet, with but a single excep 
 tion. It has been said that Miss Coolbrith s 
 reputation has become national, and if by this 
 it IH meant that her poems have met with a 
 warm and loving appreciation by a large class 
 of cultivated minds in every part of the country 
 the declaration is not exaggerated. They are 
 too thoughtful, though, and too strongly 
 imbued with that autumnal pensiveness 
 engendered in contemplative minds by the ex 
 
been one in which 
 
 mo .ajoo, , 
 been more of] 
 
 shadow than of sunshine to touch the chord of 
 superficial feelinz. But there ia no trace of 
 morbidness in this pensive quality of Miss Cool- 
 brith s verse a quality whioa is not sadness, 
 though it has been characterized as such by an 
 Eastern critic, and which 
 
 "Is not akin to pain, 
 But resembles sorrow only 
 As the mist resembles rain." 
 Her mus-e has all the wholesome sweetness as 
 well as the austere reserve of Wordsworth, or 
 even of George Herbert, whose very spirit 
 breathes in th<> exquisi e little poem, "A Per 
 fect Day." Indeed, the peculiar charm of these 
 poems is ono that, while it will make them pre 
 cious to the lovers of the "high and tender 
 muses" invoked by Wordsworth, is not likely 
 to be felt by those who relish the more popular 
 | literature of the day. 
 
 WOMAN COMRADES. 
 
 A little answer was given by Miliicent W. 
 Shinn, when, ten years ago, for the Cali- 
 /ornian, she wrote this paragraph : 
 
 Among the writers who have attracted atten 
 tion upon this Coast for the real merit of their 
 productions, none has enjoyed a larger degree 
 of appreciation than Miss Ina Coolbrith, whose 
 poems have been copied and rad wherever the 
 English language is spoken. Miss Coolbrith is 
 i fortunate in being almost a pioneer in one re- 
 i spect. She has felt the life of a new land and 
 ! given it utterance with the grace and finish of 
 an older literature. There are a few crudities 
 in her work. There is no distressing effort to 
 be new or madly original in expression as well 
 as in thousrht. There is better art than that. 
 Miss Coolbrit.h has seen new things, has felt 
 new things, lias been part of a new social de 
 velopment, and in giving these " a local habita 
 tion and a name," ah*.- has yet been able to pre- ; 
 serve that conservatism to which her poems 
 owe their exquisite finish. 
 
 The merry wags of Trustees may have 
 rollicking fun at the Boston Transcript, 
 which declared that " California has at least 
 one true poet, Ina Coolbrith," and at the 
 comment in the Boston Saturday Evening 
 Gazette that Miss Coolbrlth s verses "have 
 the genuine poetic ring." They may enjoy 
 the following words of Flora Haines Ap- 
 ponyi (Mrs. Loughead), printed in the San 
 Franciscan: 
 
 Ina D. Coolbrith ranks first among California 
 poets She was one of thy writers tor the old 
 Overland, and in the days when that magazine 
 was at its height of prosperity all looked to 
 her as one to take rank among the recognized 
 lUerary workers of the country. Other duties 
 havo stepped between her and the work which 
 would liuve been most cong nial, retarding, but 
 I we trust not forever imped);;/?, the fulfillment 
 
 feeling and elevation of thought. Miss Coc 
 brith is tall and stately, with a dignity whic 
 approaches austerity toward strangers, bt 
 which in the company of her friends unbent 
 into a peculiarly gentle and winning mamie 
 She has never realized trie full measure of he 
 powers, but those who know her recognizr 1 
 her rare critical power and a keen analysis < 
 character, together with a fine vein of satli 
 and delicate touch of humor. 
 
 Mrs. Ella Sterling Cummings gave th 
 for her answer to the question, "Wh; 
 has Ina Coolbrith done? " 
 
 The only woman of these early writers 
 acquire popular celebrity and fame that shov 
 no signs of diminishing with the years is It 
 D. Coolbrith, and no one has yet appear* 
 among California women to wrest the laure 
 from her or even to share them. In this ear 
 time her verses are thoughtful and finishe 
 which make them stand out like cameos in tl 
 sand. 
 
 The jovial jokers might accept this cha 
 
what others have written in prose, in tne 
 September number of the Overland Monthl. 
 was this verse : 
 
 TO INA D. COOLBRITH. 
 
 The soft tones of thy lute 
 Have all too long been mute; 
 Ah, take it once again, 
 And thrill us now as then I 
 
 Breathe its sweet lips apart, 
 And wake that silent heart; 
 Too long has it been dumb, 
 Waiting for spring to come. 
 
 It ma jibe sweet to lie 
 Sealed with God s mystery; 
 But with so much to Rive 
 How sweeter far to live ! 
 
 Who hears the skylark s song 
 But does remember long 
 How that soft throbbing fire 
 Gave voice his own desire? 
 
 istory^ tff ine* larger- sy urea Ji,ast ol our 
 ountry has a good record in this respect, 
 "he energies of pioneers are devoted to 
 he acquisition of wealth and the subjection 
 f the territory into which they have en 
 ured. In their mad haste for material 
 irosperity the higher ideals of life are over- 
 ooked and somewhat disregarded, and it is 
 ot until society has crystallized into more 
 f a permanent form and accumulated 
 wealth gives leisure, that the thoughts of 
 lan turn to the fostering of the fine arts. 
 Another evidence that this period of archi- 
 ictural transition is favorably going on 
 ill be the installation of German Savings 
 nd Loan Society in its new building at No. 
 26 California street. This structure was 
 esigned and erected solely for bank pur- 
 oses. The building is of the modern 
 enaissance style. It presents an imposing 
 ront of stone and marble, a fitting counter- 
 art to the grand interior. While the front 
 richly designed, there is not too much, 
 rnamentation. The entrance is bold, 
 notable among its features 
 are the square columns of pol- 
 hed red beach Maine granite. All 
 ne other granite of which there is a 
 beral use is from Raymond, Fresno county, 
 V M. Italian marble is used for the capitals 
 l sculpture work. Much of the exposed 
 of us all the time chattering and crv- 
 
 ing out to be neara lying like Satan about our- 
 selvesshooting rockets, red lights, blue lights 
 yellow lights-all in the vain hope to be heard 
 and seen for a second above all others. till life 
 Lord * b re * an abomlnatl a unto the 
 
 Let us thank our stars that here Is a beauti 
 ful woman, beautiful almost beyond compari 
 son, inspired beyond all comparison in her pe 
 culiarly pure, sweet way of work who refill 
 positively to be heard from, save silently to ?ay 
 her little hand in your hand and sav, " Good 
 day, sir. A rare woman! Bear witness I am 
 ot even able to get a photograph of her beau- 
 
 Charley Stoddard first took me to see her 
 
 Ther e BrTttf t 8tl V """^ * flrat met *ulS3 
 there, Bret Harte also. She was the center of 
 
 a little world the San Francisco world Stod 
 
 dard once told me that she had never had any 
 
 n , er work returned to her. This seems re 
 
 markable. I know that I never, even to this 
 
 day> , wlt , h u m y experience, send off a piece of 
 
 work with any great confidence that it will be 
 
 accepted. But I can well believe that Stoddard 
 
 knew what, he was saying. 
 
 One fact or incident I intend to tell at the risk 
 
 inXSS* 8a ? a t nd n rf Ck Miss Coolbrith is the 
 American who tore down tne dilapidated old 
 church at Hucknall Torkard where Lord Byron 
 i.s buneJ and rebuilt it at a cost of many thou 
 sands. And she did it in this way At the 
 time of that most cruel insult to the mtehtv 
 poet s memory she made a wreath of laurel and 
 sent It by one on a pilgrimage to Bv- 
 ron s tomb. But the vicar protested against 
 It. The bitter abuse, however, in America 
 had aroused the lion in the Briton and a bitter 
 clerical battle was fought in tho old Norman 
 church that had stood there for nearly ?3S 
 years. And the matter was finally appealed to 
 the Bishop of Norwich. The BishSp of Nor 
 wich sent to the King of Greece for another 
 lauret wreath, and so had the two hung side bv 
 side above the dust of Byron, who. had he lived 
 would have been King of the land he died to - 
 liberate from the Turk. But the King of > 
 Greece did more than this, so did the Bishop of 
 money P ur ed in and the church 
 
 . 
 
 When Whittier brought out his " Sonjrs of 
 Three Centuries," made up of the venerable 
 Quaker poet s scrapbook of more than half a 
 century, the critics, us a rule, from one end of 
 
 wh W r th ^ the aK th ,?>, a PP laud ed the lines. 
 
 When the Grass Shall Cover Me." published 
 
 n the book as anonymous, and pronounced 
 
 CenSiri-s 1U hlS " S n * 3 f Thr 
 
 The lines were written by Miss Coolbrith for 
 
 Bret Harte when editing the Overland But 
 
 TOM. D ^ em roam the wido worid ovr er, loose 
 n Whittier s work, or do as they would till 
 he finally tied them up in a wreath she was 
 reaving to be laid on the grave of her mother 
 
 Stoddard told me that when Whittier found 
 ut whom the lines belonged to he wrote Miss 
 
 Coolbrith moL- cordially, and with the rest of 
 
the world, so far as it knew her, became ner 
 ardent friend. 
 
 The Pope of Rome, quite on the other side 
 of the globe, sent to California for a poet 
 [Charles Warren Stoddard] to train his stu 
 dents in the refinement of letters when the 
 great Catholic University at Washington was 
 opened. Brot Harte is feasted and feted in all 
 Europe. Yet tnese men. these two poets, will 
 euch earnestly say that Miss Coolbrith is their 
 master iu the finer and higher walks of litera- 
 
 Arid must she be left tied down in that dusty, 
 musty atmosphere of cheap novel?, dealinsr out 
 books to children till she goes to her grave in 
 tbe Oakland Library? I reckon so, and it won t 
 be long now, either. And when she lies dead, 
 my masters of the University, the people will 
 point u linger and say: "You, you strong 
 men, took the best that brave, lone 
 woman had to give and gave nothing 
 in return." I say when this happens as it will 
 happen don t excuse yourselves by saying you 
 didn t think of it in time or you would have 
 done better. You have thought of it in time. 
 You have heard something like this before, and 
 you may hear much that is like it again. That 
 is all. Except that I should line to say all this 
 is said without her knowledge, much less her 
 consent, and I take the risk here, not only of 
 tbe enmity of evary man in the ereat club that 
 has made her a life member and named her its 
 patron saint, but I take the risk especially of 
 her great displeasure, though I am right, and 
 that ends it. 
 
 In conclusion, the only criticism I care to 
 offer on her work is tbe same that Lord Byron 
 made on Campbell s, -There is too little of it." 
 This is perhaps because of her hard life of toil 
 In the library. 
 
 WHAT INA COOLBKITH CANNOT DO. 
 
 Joaquin Miller refers to the friendship of 
 Whittier for Miss Coolbrith. Whittier 
 might be amusing to the Trustees; he is 
 dead, too. His friendly letters of appre 
 ciation of the work of a writing comrade 
 are kept under lock and key by the lady to 
 whom they were written, because she is re 
 pardful of the request that his private let 
 ters should not be given for all to read 
 
 The Trustees might have a holiday of laugh 
 if they knew that when Ina Coolbrith 
 visited the venerable poet in his home he 
 greeted her by reciting one of her owa 
 poems her "California" which he re 
 membered even better than she. 
 
 The jokers might have enjoyed the Whit 
 tier evening, at which recently Miss Cool- 
 brith s poem upon her deai "literary 
 friend" was read. When the verses had 
 been said the Rev. Charles W. Wendte 
 showed a sprig of yew he had plucked, 
 from the grave of Wordsworth during his 
 trip abroad. He said he had promised to 
 himself he would give that sprig to the 
 first poet he should meet in America, and 
 then he handed it to Miss Coolbrith. 
 
 Ana Ina Coolbrith is not to be "left tied 
 down in that dusty, musty atmosphere" of 
 the library, where for eighteen years she 
 has earned daily bread for herself and 
 others in that " hard life of toil." 
 
 Bowman, Cumminsrs. Apponyi, Shinn, 
 Miller, Stoddard, Bierce, Whittier, Long 
 fellow they say what Ina Coolbrith has 
 done. An Osgood, a McKinnon, a Rabe, a 
 Melvin and a Tyrrell, one of whom asked 
 "What has Ina Coolbrith done?" have 
 elected what she shall not do. 
 
 Suppose Ina Coolbrith, because of this 
 reward fore ghteen years of service, should 
 take herself from Oakland and from Cali 
 fornia altogether ! 
 
 Who would be the loser? 
 
PERFECT DAY, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 INA D. COOLBRITH. 
 
 AUTHOR S SPECIAL SUBSCRIPTION EDITION. 
 
 THB 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 1881. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1881, 
 BY INA D. COOLBRITH, 
 
 /*?;v 
 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 John H. Carmany & Co., Printers, 
 San Francisco. Cal. 
 

 I [If 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF 
 
 MY MOTHER: 
 
 IN WHOSE LIVING HANDS I ONCE HOPED TO PLACE 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUME, I NOW DEDICATE WHAT 
 EVER OF WORTH IT MAY CONTAIN, WITH 
 ALL REVERENCE AND LOVE. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 A PERFECT DAY 9 
 
 IN BLOSSOM TIME " 12 
 
 A HOPE 7 . . ! 4 
 
 AN ANSWER r 6 
 
 LONGING * . .18 
 
 Two . . .^ ..... 21 
 
 IN TIME OF FALLING LEAVES .... 22 
 
 MY "CLOTH OF GOLD" . . . . 25 
 
 WHEN THE GRASS SHALL COVER ME . . 30 
 
 THE MOTHER S GRIEF 32 
 
 AT SET OF SUN 34 
 
 "To- MORROW is TOO FAR AWAY" . . 36 
 
 THE YEARS 38 
 
 IF ONLY 40 
 
 SAILED 42 
 
 NOT YET 44 
 
 "WHILE LILIES BUD AND BLOW" ... 46 
 
yi CONTENTS. 
 
 CALIFORNIA ... 49 
 
 How LOOKED THE EARTH ? .... 60 
 
 LOVE IN LITTLE 63 
 
 No MORE 65 
 
 WITHHELD 67 
 
 A SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND .... 70 
 
 A FANCY .... 75 
 CUPID KISSED ME -77 
 
 SUMMER PAST 81 
 
 WITH A WREATH OF LAUREL . . 84 
 
 OWNERSHIP 
 
 IN THE POUTS 90 
 
 SIESTA 92 
 
 IN MEMORIAM Hon. B. P. Avery . 94 
 
 Two PICTURES 96 
 
 LONELINESS .... .100 
 
 BESIDE THE DEAD .... 101 
 
 THE ROAD TO SCHOOL 102 
 
 WHO KNOWETH ? 107 
 
 MARAH ......... 108 
 
 THE COMING . . . . . . 1 1 1 
 
 REBUKE . . . . . . . .114 
 
 DISCIPLINE 116 
 
CONTENTS. vii 
 
 AT PEACE ny 
 
 UNGATHERED no 
 
 LA FLOR DEL SALVADOR 122 
 
 AFTER THE WINTER RAIN . . . . 124. 
 
 OBLIVION I2 6 
 
 QUESTION AND ANSWER ^o 
 
 To DAY S SINGING 132 
 
 FRUITIONLESS I35 
 
 THE FADED FLOWER ^ 
 
 DAISIES . . . . . . _ j^ 
 
 "ONE TOUCH OF NATURE" .... 140 
 
 MEADOW -LARKS I42 
 
 I CAX NOT COUNT MY LIFE A Loss . . .144 
 
 FROM LIVING WATERS . . . . 146 
 
 IN ADVERSITY l ^ 
 
 SUMMONS l ~y 
 
 SUFFICIENT j-^ 
 
 A PRAYER r 6 2 
 
 THE BROOK ^4 
 
 AN EMBLEM ^ 
 
 FORGOTTEN jgo 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE . . . ... 170 
 
 FULFILLMENT . . 
 
Though the dear tasks whicli once I knew 
 I know no more, it ijet is mine, 
 
 Ere I am lain where tliou art laid, 
 To place this wreath of rose and rue 
 Upon thy memory s sacred shrine, 
 0, thou beloved Shade! 
 
OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 A PERFECT DAY. 
 
 I WILL be glad to - day : the sun 
 
 Smiles all adown the land ; 
 The lilies lean along the way ; 
 
 Serene on either hand, 
 The full - blown roses, red and 
 
 white, 
 In perfect beauty stand. 
 
 The mourning - dove within the woods 
 
 Forgets, nor longer grieves ; 
 A light wind lifts the bladed corn, 
 
 And ripples the ripe sheaves; 
 2 
 
10 A PERFECT DAY. 
 
 High overhead some happy bird 
 Sings softly in the leaves. 
 
 The butterflies flit by, and bees ; 
 
 A peach falls to the ground ; 
 The tinkle of a bell is heard 
 
 From some far pasture - mound ; 
 The crickets in the warm, green grass 
 
 Chirp with a softened sound. 
 
 The sky looks down upon the sea, 
 
 Blue, with not anywhere 
 The shadow of a passing cloud ; 
 
 The sea looks up as fair 
 So bright a picture on its breast 
 
 As if it smiled to wear. 
 
 A day too glad for laughter nay, 
 
A PERFECT DAY. 11 
 
 Too glad for happy tears ! 
 The fair earth seems as in a dream 
 
 Of immemorial years : 
 Perhaps of that far morn when she 
 
 Sang with her sister spheres. 
 
 It may be that she holds to day 
 
 Some sacred Sabbath feast : 
 It may be that some patient soul 
 
 Has entered to God s rest, 
 For whose dear sake He smiles on us. 
 
 And all the day is blest. 
 
1/2 IN BLOSSOM TIME. 
 
 IN BLOSSOM TIME. 
 
 T T S O my heart, my heart, 
 
 To be out in the sun and sing ! 
 To sine 1 and shout in the fields about, 
 
 In the balm and the blossoming. 
 
 Sing loud, bird in the tree ; 
 
 bird, sing loud in the sky, 
 And honey - bees, blacken the clover beds 
 
 There are none of you glad as I. 
 
 The leaves laugh low in the wind, 
 Laugh low, with the wind at play ; 
 
 And the odorous call of the flowers all 
 Entices my soul away ! 
 
IX BLOSSOM TIME. 13 
 
 For O but the world is fair, is fair 
 
 And O but the world is sweet ! 
 I will out in the gold of the blossoming mold, 
 
 And sit at the Master s feet. 
 
 And the love my heart would speak, 
 
 I will fold in the lily s rim, 
 That th lips of the blossom, more pure and 
 meek, 
 
 May offer it up to Him. 
 
 Then sing in the hedgerow green, O thrush, 
 
 O skylark, sing in the blue : 
 Sing loud, sing clear, that the King may hear, 
 
 And my soul shall sing with you ! 
 
A HOPE. 
 
 A HOPE. 
 
 TT befell me on a day 
 
 Long ago ; ah, long ago ! 
 When my life was in its May, 
 In the May -month of the year. 
 
 All the orchards were like snow 
 With pink - flushes there and here ; 
 And a bird sang, building near, 
 And a bird sang far away, 
 Where the early twilight Iny. 
 
 Long ago ! ah. long ago ! 
 Youth s sweet May passed quite away 
 May that never more is May ! 
 
 Yet I hear the nightingale 
 
A HOPE. 
 
 Singing far adown the vale 
 Where the early twilight lies, 
 
 Singing sad, and sweet, and strong : 
 
 And I wonder if the song 
 Mav be heard in Paradise ! 
 
 15 
 
1() AN ANSWER. 
 
 AN ANSWER. 
 
 rilHE wind was very sad among the branches, 
 
 The moon had hid its light ; 
 I threw 7 my window open to the darkness, 
 And looked out 011 the night ; 
 
 And thought of all the dear old times together, 
 
 Days sweet for her sweet sake, 
 And all I lost in losing her ; till, thinking, 
 
 My heart seemed like to break. 
 
 And O, I said, if I might have some token 
 She is, and yet is mine, 
 
AN ANSWER. 
 
 17 
 
 Though but a wind -tossed leaf, rny soul would 
 
 take it. 
 And bless it, for the sign. 
 
 And lo! a little wind sighed through the branches, 
 
 The moon shone on the land, 
 And cool and moist with the iiight dew, a leaflet 
 
 Fluttered against my hand ! 
 
18 
 
 LONGING. 
 
 LONGING. 
 
 S~\ FOOLISH wisdom sought in books ! 
 O aimless fret of household tasks ! 
 O chains that bind the hand and mind - 
 A fuller life my spirit asks ! 
 
 For there the grand hills, summer -crowned, 
 Slope greenly downward to the seas ; 
 
 One hour of rest upon their breast 
 Were worth a year of days like these. 
 
 Their cool, soft green to ease the pain 
 Of eyes that ache o er printed words ; 
 
 This weary voice the city s voice, 
 
 Lulled in the sound of bees and birds. 
 
LONGING. 19 
 
 For Eden s life within me stirs, 
 
 And scorns the shackles that I wear ; 
 
 The man -life grand: pure soul, strong hand, 
 The limb of steel, the heart of air ! 
 
 And I could kiss, with longing wild, 
 
 Earth s dear brown bosom, loved so much, 
 
 A grass -blade fanned across my hand, 
 Would thrill me like a lover s touch. 
 
 The trees would talk with me ; the flowers 
 Their hidden meanings each make known 
 
 The olden lore revived once more, 
 
 When man s and nature s heart were one ! 
 
 And as the pardoned pair might come 
 Back to the garden God first framed, 
 
20 LONGING. 
 
 And hear Him call at even - fall, 
 And answer, "Here am I," unshamed 
 
 So I, from out these toils, wherein 
 
 The Eden -faith grows stained and dim, 
 
 Would walk, a child, through nature s wild, 
 And hear His voice and answer Him. 
 
TWO. 21 
 
 TWO. 
 
 /~\NE sang all day, more merry than the lark 
 
 That mounts the morning skies : 
 One silent sat, and lifted patient eyes. 
 
 One heart kept happy time, from dawn to dark, 
 
 With all glad things that be : 
 One, listless, throbbed alone to memory. 
 
 To one all blessed knowledge was revealed, 
 
 And love made clear the way : 
 One thirsted, asked, and still was answered nay. 
 
 To one, a glad, brief day, that slumber sealed 
 
 And kept inviolate : 
 To one, long years, that only knew to wait. 
 
22 IN TIME OF FALLING LEAVES. 
 
 IN TIME OF FALLING LEAVES. 
 
 T 
 
 I HE summer rose is dead ; 
 The sad leaves, withered, 
 
 Strew ankle - deep the pathways to our tread : 
 Dry grasses mat the plain, 
 And drifts of blossom slain ; 
 And day and night the wind is like a pain. 
 
 No nightingale to sing 
 
 In green boughs listening, 
 Through balmy twilight hushes of the spring 
 
 No thrush, no oriole 
 
 In music to out -roll 
 The little golden raptures of his soul. 
 
IN TIME OF FALLING LEAVES. 23 
 
 O royal summer - reign ! 
 
 When will you come again, 
 Bringing the happy birds across the main ? 
 
 O blossoms ! when renew 
 
 Your pretty garbs, and woo 
 Your waiting, wild bee lovers back to you? 
 
 For lo, my heart is numb ; 
 
 For lo, my heart is dumb, 
 Is silent till the birds and blossoms come ! 
 
 A flower, that lieth cold 
 
 Under the wintry mold, 
 Waiting the warm spring - breathing to unfold. 
 
 O swallow ! all too slow 
 Over the waves you go, 
 Dipping your light wings in their sparkling flow. 
 
24 IN TIME OF FALLING LEAVES. 
 
 Over the golden sea, 
 O swallow, flying free, 
 Fly swiftly with the summer back to me ! 
 
MY "CLOTH OF GOLD." 25 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 MY "CLOTH OF GOLD." 
 
 r\ BUT the wind is keen, 
 
 And the sky is dull as lead ! 
 If only leaves were brown, 
 
 Were only withered and dead, 
 Perhaps I might not frown, 
 
 However the storm might beat; 
 But to see their delicate green 
 
 Tossing in wind and rain, 
 
 Whirling in lane and street, 
 Trampled in mud and dirt 
 
 Alive to the winter pain, 
 To the sting: and the hurt ! 
 
MY "CLOTH OF GOLD. 
 
 I wish they all were hid 
 In a fleecy coverlid ; 
 I wish I could bury the rose 
 Under the northern snows, 
 And make the land take off 
 The purple and red and buff, 
 
 And flamy tints that please 
 Her tropical Spanish taste, 
 
 And mantle her shapeliness, 
 
 Just once, in the delicate dress 
 Of her sisters, fairer faced, 
 
 Over the seas. 
 
 If but for a single day 
 
 This vivid, incessant green 
 
 Might vanish quite away, 
 And never a leaf be seen ; 
 
MY "CLOTH OF GOLD." 27 
 
 And woods be brown and sere, 
 And flowers disappear : 
 If only I might not see 
 Forever the fruit on the tree, 
 
 The rose on its stem ! 
 For spring is sweet, and summer 
 Ever a blithe new-comer 
 
 But one tires even of them ! 
 
 You were pleasant to behold, 
 
 "When days were warm and bland, 
 My beautiful "Cloth of Gold," 
 
 My rose of roses, nursed 
 
 With careful, patient hand; 
 
 So sunny and content, 
 "With butterflies about you, 
 
 And bees that came and went, 
 
28 MY "CLOTH or GOLD. 
 
 And could not do without you : 
 
 But better to die at first, 
 With the earliest blossom born, 
 Than to live so crumpled and torn. 
 So dripping and forlorn. 
 
 Better that you should be 
 Safe housed and asleep 
 
 Under the tough brown bark, 
 
 Like your kindred over the sea ; 
 Nor know if the day be drear, 
 Nor heed if the sky be dark, 
 
 If it rain or snow. 
 
 But ah ! to be captive here, 
 
 The live -long, dragging year, 
 
 To the skies that smile and weep ;; 
 
MY "CLOTH OF GOLD." 29 
 
 The skies that thrill and woo you, 
 
 That torture and undo you, 
 That lure and hold you so 
 And will not let you go ! 
 
30 WHEN THE GRASS SHALL COVER ME. 
 
 WHEN THE GEASS SHALL COVEE ME. 
 
 "\TTHEN the grass shall cover me, 
 
 Head to foot where I am lying; 
 When not any wind that blows, 
 Summer -blooms nor winter -snows,. 
 Shall awake me to your sighing : 
 Close above me as you pass, 
 You will say, "How kind she was, 3> 
 You will say, "How true she was," 
 When the grass grows over me. 
 
 When the grass shall cover me, 
 Holdeu close to earth s warm bosom ; 
 While I laugh, or weep, or sing, 
 Nevermore, for anything, 
 
WHEN THE GRASS SHALL COVER ME. 31 
 
 You will find in blade and blossom, 
 Sweet small voices, odorous, 
 Tender pleaders in my cause, 
 That shall speak me as I was 
 When the grass grows over me. 
 
 When the grass shall cover me ! 
 Ah, beloved, in my sorrow 
 Very patient, I can wait, 
 Knowing that, or soon or late, 
 There will dawn a clearer morrow : 
 
 When your heart will moan: "Alas! 
 Now I know how true she was; 
 Now I know how dear she was " 
 When the grass grows over me ! 
 
32 THE MOTHER S GRIEF. 
 
 THE MOTHEE S GBIEF. 
 
 OO fair the sun rose jester -morn, 
 
 The mountain cliffs adorning : 
 The golden tassels of the corn 
 
 Danced in the breath of morning ; 
 The cool, clear stream that runs before, 
 
 Such happy words was saying, 
 And in the open cottage door 
 
 My pretty babe was playing. 
 Aslant the sill a sunbeam lay : 
 
 I laughed in careless pleasure, 
 To see his little hand essay 
 
 To grasp the shining treasure. 
 
THE MOTHER S GRIEF. 
 
 To-d?iy no shafts of golden name 
 
 Across the sill are lying ; 
 To-day I call my baby s name, 
 
 And hear no lisped replying ; 
 To-day ah, baby mine, to-day 
 
 God holds thee in His keeping ! 
 And yet I weep, as one pale ray 
 
 Breaks in upon thy sleeping 
 I weep to see its shining bands 
 
 Reach, with a fond endeavor, 
 To where the little restless hands 
 
 Are crossed in rest forever ! 
 
34 AT SET OF SUN. 
 
 AT SET OF SUN, 
 
 A LONG you purple rim of hills, 
 
 How bright the sunset glory lies ! 
 Its radiance spans the western skies, 
 And all the slumbrous valley fills. 
 
 Broad shafts of lucid crimson, blent 
 With lustrous pearl in massed white, 
 And one great spear of amber light 
 
 That flames o er half the firmament. 
 
 Vague, murmurous sounds the breezes bear; 
 A thousand subtle breaths of balm, 
 
AT SET OF SUN. 35 
 
 Blown shoreward from the isles of calm, 
 Float in upon the tranced air. 
 
 And, muffling all its giant roar, 
 The restless waste of waters, rolled 
 To one broad sea of liquid gold, 
 
 Moves singing up the shining shore ! 
 
36 "TO-MORROW is TOO FAR AWAY." 
 
 TO-MORROW IS TOO FAE AWAY." 
 
 mO -MORROW is too far away ! 
 A bed of spice the garden is, 
 
 Nor bud nor blossom that we miss ; 
 The roses tremble on the stem, 
 
 The violets and anemones : 
 Why should we wait to gather them? 
 Their bloom and balm are ours to-day, 
 To - morrow who can say ? 
 
 To -morrow is too far away. 
 
 Why should we slight the joy complete, 
 The flower open at our feet? 
 
"TO-MORROW is TOO FAR AWAY." 37 
 
 For us to-day the robin sings, 
 
 His curved flight the swallow wings, 
 For us the happy moments stay. 
 
 Stay yet, nor leave us all too fleet ! 
 
 For life is sweet, and youth is sweet, 
 And love ah, love is sweet to-day, 
 To-morrow who can say? 
 
-38 THE YEARS. 
 
 THE YEARS. 
 
 TTTHAT do I owe the years, that I should bring* 
 Green leaves to crown them King? 
 
 Blown, barren sands, the thistle, and the brier, 
 Dead hope, and mocked desire, 
 
 And sorrow, vast and pitiless as the sea : 
 These are their gifts to me. 
 
 What do I owe the years, that I should love 
 
 And sing the praise thereof? 
 Perhaps, the lark s clear carol wakes with morn, 
 
 And winds, amid the corn, 
 Clash fairy cymbals ; but I miss the joys, 
 
 Missing the tender voice 
 
THE YEAKS. 39 
 
 Sweet as a throstle s after April rain 
 That may not sing again. 
 
 "What do I owe the years, that I should greet 
 
 Their bitter, and not sweet, 
 With wine, and wit, and laughter? Rather thrust 
 
 The wine - cup to the dust ! 
 What have they brought to me, these many years? 
 
 Silence, and bitter tears. 
 
40 IF ONLY. 
 
 IF ONLY. 
 
 TF only in my dreams I once might see 
 Thy face ! though thou shouldst stand 
 With cold, unreaching hand, 
 Nor vex thy lips to break 
 
 The silence, with a word for my love s sake 
 Nor turn to mine thine eyes, 
 
 Serene with the long peace of Paradise, 
 Yet, henceforth, life would be 
 
 Made sweet, not wholly bitter unto me. 
 
 If only I might know for verity, 
 That when the light is done 
 Of this world s sun, 
 And that unknown, long -sealed 
 
IF ONLY. 41 
 
 To sound and sight, is suddenly revealed, 
 That thine should be the first dear voice thereof, 
 And thy dear face the first O love, my love! 
 
 Then coming death would be 
 Sweet, ah, most sweet, not bitter unto me ! 
 4 
 
42 SAILED. 
 
 SAILED. 
 
 / ^ SHINING, sapphire sea ! 
 
 From thy bosom put away 
 Every vexing thought to - day ; 
 Smile through all thy dimpling spray 
 All that earth contains for me, 
 Of love, and truth, and purity, 
 Trust I unto thee ! 
 
 O foam -necked, azure sea! 
 Let thy calm, untroubled waves, 
 
 By the softest gales caressed, 
 Rise and fall like love -beats in 
 
 Her timid maiden breast ; 
 
SAILED. 43 
 
 Let thy dreamiest melodies 
 Cradle her to rest. 
 
 O wild, white, mystic sea ! 
 Let thy strong upholding arm 
 
 Tender as a lover s be ; 
 Let no breath of rude alarm 
 
 Mar her heart s tranquillity; 
 Through the sunshine, past the storm, 
 Bear her safe from every harm, 
 
 Once again to me ! 
 
44 NOT YET. 
 
 NOT YET. 
 
 "VTOT yet from the yellow west, 
 
 Fade, light of the autumn day 
 Ear lies my haven of rest, 
 
 And rough the way. 
 She has waited long, my own ! 
 And the night is dark and drear 
 
 To meet alone. 
 
 Not yet, with the leaves that fall, 
 Eall, rose of the wayside thorn, 
 
 Eair and most sweet of all 
 The summer -born. 
 
NOT YET. 45 
 
 But O, for my rose that stands, 
 And waits, through the lessening year, 
 My gathering hands ! 
 
 Fail not, O my life, so fast 
 Fail not till we shall have met : 
 
 Soon, soon will thy pulse be past, 
 But oh, not yet ! 
 
 Till her fond eyes on me shine, 
 
 And the heart so dear, so dear, 
 Beats close to mine. 
 
46 "WHILE LILIES BUD AND BLOW. 
 
 "WHILE LILIES BUD AND BLOW." 
 
 "TTTHILE lilies bud and blow, 
 
 While roses grow, 
 And trees wave greenly in the sun 
 
 Wave greenly to and fro ; 
 
 And ring-doves coo and coo, 
 
 And skies drop dew, 
 And th throstle pipes above the nest 
 
 His wee mate broods upon, 
 
 How can one choose but sing 
 
 Of joy, love every thing! 
 
 While the north wind sobs and grieves, 
 While the trees drop leaves, 
 
"WHILE LILIES BUD AND BLOW." 47 
 
 And scentless, budless meadows lie 
 Bare to the beating rain ; 
 And the birds are grown and flown, 
 
 And the nests are lone, 
 And love, like closing day, 
 Grows cold, grows old and gray 
 How can one help but sigh, 
 
 While night draws nigh, 
 And darkly runs the river to the main ! 
 
 A little plot where showers 
 
 May bring forth flowers 
 Poppies, rnandragora, and all sweet balm ! 
 Ah me ! who can but smile ? 
 Only a little while, 
 And hearts forget to ache, 
 
 And eyes to w r ake ; 
 
48 "WHILE LILIES BUD AND BLOW." 
 
 The grass clasps softly velvet palm with palm 
 
 Above the quiet breast, 
 And hope, and God s w T hite angels, know the rest! 
 
CALIFORNIA. 4 ( J 
 
 CALIFOENIA. 
 
 COMMENCEMENT POEM, WEITTEN FOE THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFOENIA, JULY, 1871. 
 
 ~T"\TAS it the sigh and shiver of the leaves? 
 
 Was it the murmur of the meadow brook, 
 That in and out the reeds and water -weeds 
 Slipped silverly, and on their tremulous keys 
 Uttered her many melodies? Or voice 
 Of the far sea, red with the sunset gold, 
 That sang within her shining shores, and sang 
 Within the Gate, that in the sunset shone 
 A gate of fire against the outer vvorld[? 
 
 , For ever as I turned the magic page 
 Of that old song the old, blind singer sang- 
 
50 CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Unto the world, when it and song were young 
 
 The ripple of the reeds, or odorous, 
 
 Soft sigh of leaves, or voice of the far sea 
 
 A mystical, low murmur, tremulous 
 
 Upon the wind, came in with musk of rose, 
 
 The salt breath of the waves, and far, faint smell 
 
 Of laurel up the slopes of Tamalpais 
 
 "Am. I less fair, am I Jess fair than these, 
 
 Daughters of far-off seas? 
 
 Daughters of far-off shores bleak, over -blown 
 With foam of fretful tides, with Avail and moan 
 Of waves, that toss wild hands, that clasp and beat 
 "Wild, desolate hands above the lonely sands, 
 Printed no more with pressure of their feet : 
 That chase no more the light feet flying swift 
 
CALIFORNIA. 51 
 
 Up golden sands, nor lift 
 Foam fingers white unto their garment hem, 
 And flowing hair of them. 
 
 "For these are dead: the fair, great queens are 
 
 dead ! 
 The long hair s gold a dust the wind bloweth 
 
 "Wherever it may list ; 
 
 The curved lips, that kissed 
 Heroes and kings of men, a dust that breath, 
 Nor speech, nor laughter, ever quickeneth ; 
 
 And all the glory sped 
 
 From the large, marvelous eyes, the light whereof 
 Wrought wonder in their hearts desire, and love! 
 
 And wrought not any good : 
 But strife, and curses of the gods, and flood, 
 
 And lire and battle - death ! 
 
52 CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Am I less fair, less fair, 
 Because that my hands bear 
 Neither a sword, nor any flaming brand 
 To blacken and make desolate my land, 
 But on my brows are leaves of olive boughs, 
 And in mine arms a dove ! 
 
 "Sea-born and goddess, blossom of the foam,. 
 Pale Aphrodite, shadowy as a mist 
 
 Not any sun hath kissed ! 
 
 Tawny of limb / roam, 
 The dusks of forests dark within my hair; 
 
 The far Yosemite, 
 For garment and for covering of me, 
 
 Wove the white foam and mist, 
 The amber and the rose and amethyst 
 Of her wild fountains, shaken loose in air. 
 
CALIFORNIA. 53 
 
 And I am of the hills and of the sea : 
 
 Strong with the strength of my great hills, and 
 
 calm 
 
 With calm of the fair sea, whose billowy gold 
 Girdles the land whose queen and love I am ! 
 
 Lo ! am I less than thou, 
 That with a sound of lyres, and harp -playing, 
 
 Not any voice doth sing 
 The beauty of mine eyelids and my brow? 
 Nor Irymn in all my fair and gracious ways, 
 
 And lengths of golden days, 
 The measure and the music of my praise? 
 
 "Ah, what indeed is this 
 
 Old land beyond the seas, that ye should miss 
 For her the grace and majesty of mine? 
 
 Are not the fruit and vine 
 
54 CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Fair on my hills, and in my vales the rose? 
 
 The palm-tree and the pine 
 Strike hands together under the same skies 
 
 In every wind that blows. 
 
 What clearer heavens can shine 
 Above the land whereon the shadow lies 
 Of her dead glory, and her slaughtered kings. 
 
 And lost, evanished gods? 
 
 Upon my fresh green sods 
 No king has walked to curse and desolate : , 
 But in the valleys Freedom sits and sings, 
 
 And on the heights above; 
 Upon her brows the leaves of olive boughs, 
 
 And in her arms a dove ; 
 And the great hills are pure, undesecrate, 
 
 "White with their snows untrod, 
 And mighty with the presence of their God ! 
 
CALIFORNIA. 55 
 
 "Hearken, how many years 
 I sat alone, I sat alone and heard 
 
 Only the silence stirred 
 
 By wind and leaf, by clash of grassy spears, 
 And singing bird that called to singing bird. 
 
 Heard but the savage tongue 
 Of my brown savage children, that among 
 The hills and valleys chased the buck and doe, 
 
 And round the wigwam fires 
 Chanted wild songs of their wild savage sires, 
 And danced their wild, weird dances to and fro. 
 And wrought their beaded robes of buffalo. 
 
 Day following upon day, 
 Saw but the panther crouched upon the limb, 
 
 Smooth serpents, swift and slim, 
 Slip through the reeds and grasses, and the bear 
 
 Crush through his tangled lair 
 
56 CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Of chapparal, upon the startled prey ! 
 
 "Listen, how I have seen 
 
 Flash of strange fires in gorge and black ravine ; 
 Heard the sharp clang of steel, that came to drain 
 
 The mountain s golden vein 
 And laughed and sang, and sang and laughed 
 
 again, 
 Because that now, I said, I shall be known! 
 
 I shall not sit alone ; 
 But reach my hands unto my sister lands ! 
 
 And they? Will they not tarn 
 Old, wondering dim eyes to me, and yearn - 
 
 Aye, they will yearn, in sooth, 
 To my glad beauty, and my glad fresh youth ! 
 
 "What matters though the morn 
 
CALIFORNIA. 57 
 
 Redden upon my singing fields of corn ! 
 "What matters though the wind s unresting feet 
 
 Ripple the gold of wheat, 
 
 And my vales run with wine, 
 
 And on these hills of mine 
 The orchard boughs droop heavy with ripe fruit? 
 
 When with nor sound of lute 
 Nor lyre, doth any singer chant and sing 
 
 Me, in my life s fair spring : 
 The matin song of me in my young day? 
 But all my lays and legends fade away 
 From lake and mountain to the farther hem 
 Of sea, and there be none to gather them. 
 
 " Lo ! I have waited long! 
 How longer yet must my strung harp be dumb, 
 
 Ere its great master come? 
 5 
 
58 CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Till the fair singer comes to wake the strong,. 
 Rapt chords of it unto the new, glad song ! 
 
 Him a diviner speech 
 
 My song-birds wait to teach : 
 
 The secrets of the field 
 
 My blossoms will not yield 
 
 To other hands than his ; 
 
 And, lingering for this, 
 My laurels lend the glory of their boughs 
 
 To crown no narrower brows. 
 For on his lips must wisdom sit with youth ;. 
 And in his eyes, and on the lids thereof, 
 
 The light of a great love 
 
 And on his forehead, truth !" 
 
 Was it the wind, or the soft sigh of leaves,. 
 Or sound of singing waters? Lo, I looked,. 
 
CALIFORNIA. 59 
 
 And saw the silvery ripples of the brook, 
 The fruit upon the hills, the waving trees, 
 And mellow fields of harvest ; saw the Gate 
 Burn in the sunset : the thin thread of mist 
 Creep white across the Saucelito hills ; 
 Till the day darkened down the ocean rim, 
 The sunset purple slipped from Tamalpais, 
 And bay and sky were bright with sudden stars ! 
 
60 
 
 HOW LOOKED THE EARTH? 
 
 TTQW looked the eartli unto His eyes, 
 
 So lately closed on Paradise? 
 Clad all in purity 
 Of snowy raiment, as a bride 
 That waiteth for her lord to see 
 That waiteth in her love and pride? 
 
 Was the snow white on fields and rocks, 
 Whereon the shepherds watched their flocks 
 
 In the mid -winter night? 
 
 And saw the angel, clothed in white, 
 The heavenly gates that opened wide, 
 
 In midst whereof was One 
 
HOW LOOKED THE EARTH? 61 
 
 They dared not gaze upon ! 
 Snow hither, thither, and afar, 
 Beneath the new, mysterious star? 
 
 Snow upon Lebanon, 
 Whose cedars stood, a crystal net 
 Of frost-work, beautiful to see? 
 
 Snow upon Olivet 
 Snow upon awful Calvary? 
 
 Found He it fair to look upon, 
 Beneath the wooing of the sun ? 
 
 The turf whereon He trod, 
 Did he not bend His glance to greet? 
 The daisy glancing from the sod, 
 
 The lily slim and tall ; 
 The ferny banks of sheltered nooks, 
 The singing voice within the brooks, 
 
62 HOW LOOKED THE EARTH? 
 
 Eacli slender blade of grass that sprang, 
 The tender shade of leafy ways, 
 Each little bird that sang 
 Its wee heart out in praise 
 I think He found them sweet, 
 He knew and loved them all. 
 
LOVE IN LITTLE. 63 
 
 OF THE ~ f A 
 
 ((UNIVERSITY 
 
 <N PA 
 
 LOVE IN LITTLE. 
 
 T)ECAUSE the rose the bloom of blossoms is, 
 
 And queenliest in beauty and in grace, 
 The violet s tender blue w r e love no less, 
 Or daisy, glancing up with shy, sweet face. 
 
 For all the music which the forest has, 
 
 The ocean waves, that crash upon the beach, 
 
 Still would we miss the whisper of the grass; 
 The hum of bees ; the brooklet s silver speech. 
 
 We would not have the timid wood -thrush mute 
 Because the bul-bul more divinely sings, 
 
64 LOVE IN LITTLE. 
 
 Nor lose the scarlet of dear robin s throat, 
 For all the tropics flash of golden wings. 
 
 So do I think, though weak we be, and small, 
 Yet is there One whose care is none the less : 
 
 Who finds, perchance, some grain of worth in all, 
 Or loves us for our very humbleness ! 
 
NO MOKE. 
 
 NO MORE. 
 
 "VTAY, then, what can be done 
 When love is flown, 
 
 When love has passed away? 
 
 Sit in the twilight gray, 
 Thinking how near he was, 
 Thinking how dear he was, 
 
 That is no more, to-day! 
 
 How can the day be fair 
 Love may not share? 
 
 How day go by, 
 Hearing no fond words said, 
 
NO MORE. 
 
 With no dear kisses shed- 
 O, liow can love "be dead, 
 And yet not I! 
 
WITHHELD. 67 
 
 WITHHELD. 
 
 f M HEREIN is sunlight, and sweet sound : 
 
 Cool flow of waters, musical ; 
 Soft stir of insect -wings, and fall 
 Of blossom -snow upon the ground. 
 
 The birds flit in and out the trees, 
 
 Their bright, sweet throats strained full with 
 song. 
 
 The flower-beds, the summer long, 
 Are black and murmurous with bees. 
 
 Th unrippled leaves hang faint with dew 
 In hushes of the breezeless morn 
 
68 
 
 WITHHELD. 
 
 At eventide the stars, new born, 
 And the white moonlight, glimmer through. 
 
 Therein are all glad things whereof 
 
 Life holdeth need through changing years 
 Therein sweet rest, sweet end of tears ; 
 
 Therein sweet labors, born of love. 
 
 This is my heritage, mine own, 
 
 That alien hands from me withhold. 
 From barred windows, dark and cold, 
 
 I view, with heart that maketh moan. 
 
 They fetter feet and hands; they give 
 Me bitter, thankless tasks to do; 
 And, cruel wise, still feed anew 
 
 My one small hope, that I may live. 
 
WITHHELD. (59 
 
 And, that no single pang- I miss, 
 Lo ! this one little window -space 
 Is left, where through my eyes may trace 
 
 How sweeter than all sweet it is ! 
 
 
70 A SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND. 
 
 A SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND, 
 
 -QALMILY, balmily, summer wind, 
 
 Sigh through the mountain passes ; 
 Over the sleep of the beautiful deep, 
 
 Over the woods green masses 
 Hippie the grain of valley and plain, 
 
 And the reeds and the river grasses. 
 
 How many songs, O summer wind, 
 
 How many songs you know 
 Of fair, sweet things in your wanderings, 
 
 As over the earth you go, 
 To the Norland bare and bleak, from where 
 
 The red south roses blow. 
 

 A SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND. 71 
 
 Where the red south blossoms blow, O wind, 
 
 (Sing low to me, low and stilly!) 
 And the golden green of the citrons lean 
 
 To the white of the saintly lily; 
 Where the sun -rays drowse in the orange boughs. 
 
 (Sing, sing, for the heart grows chilly!) 
 And the belted bee hangs heavily 
 
 In rose and daffodilly. 
 
 I know a song, O summer wind, 
 
 A song of a willow -tree : 
 Soft as the sweep of its fringes deep 
 In languorous swoons of tropic noons, 
 
 But sad as sad can be ! 
 Yet I would you might sing it, summer wind, 
 
 I would you might sing it me. 
 
 (0 tremulous, musical murmur of leaves! 
 
72 A SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND. 
 
 O mystical melancholy 
 Of waves, that call from the far sea-wall! 
 
 Shall I render your meaning wholly, 
 Ere the day shall wane to the night again, 
 
 And the stars come, slowly, slowly?) 
 
 I would you might sing me, summer wind, 
 
 A song of a little chamber: 
 Sing soft, sing low, how the roses grow, 
 
 And the starry jasmines clamber; 
 Through the emerald rifts how the moonlight 
 drifts, 
 
 And the sunlight s mellow amber. 
 
 Sing of a hand in the fluttering leaves, 
 
 Like a wee white bird in its nest : 
 Of a white hand twined in the leaves to find 
 
A SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND. 73 
 
 A bloom for the fair young breast ; 
 Sing of my love, my little love, 
 
 My snow-white dove in her nest, 
 As she looks through the fragrant jasmine leaves 
 
 Into the wasting west. 
 
 Tenderly, tenderly, summer wind, 
 
 With murmurous word -caresses, 
 O, wind of the south, to her beautiful mouth 
 
 Did you cling with your balmy kisses? 
 Flutter and float o er the white, white throat, 
 
 And ripple the golden tresses? 
 
 " The long year groweth from green to gold, 
 
 Saith the song of the willow -tree: 
 "My tresses cover, my roots enfold," 
 
 O, summer wind, sing it me ! 
 6 
 
7d A SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND. 
 
 Lorn and dreary, sad and weary, 
 
 As lovers that parted be 
 But sweet as the grace of a fair young face 
 
 I never a-ain may see ! 
 
A FANCY. 75 
 
 i 
 
 
 A FANCY. 
 
 THINK I would not be 
 
 A stately tree, 
 Broad -boughed, with haughty crest that seeks 
 
 the sky! 
 
 Too many sorrows lie 
 
 In years, too much of bitter for the sweet ! 
 Frost-bite, and blast, and heat, 
 Blind drought, cold rains, must all grow weari 
 some, 
 
 Ere one could put away, 
 Their leafy garb for aye, 
 And let death come. 
 
76 A FANCY. 
 
 Rather this wayside flower ! 
 
 To live its happy hour 
 Of balmy air, of sunshine, and of dew. 
 A sinless face held upward to the blue; 
 
 A bird -song sung to it, 
 
 A butterfly to flit 
 
 On dazzling wings above it, hither, thither 
 A sweet surprise of life and then exhale 
 A little fragrant soul on the soft gale, 
 
 To float ah, whither! 
 
CUPID KISSED ME. 77 
 
 CUPID KISSED ME. 
 
 T OVE and I, one summer day, 
 
 Took a walk together; 
 O, how beautiful the way 
 
 Through the blooming- heather ! 
 Far-off bells rang matin -chimes, 
 
 Birds sang, silver -voicing, 
 And our happy hearts beat time 
 
 To the earth s rejoicing. 
 Well- a- day! ah, well-a-day! 
 
 Then pale grief had missed me, 
 And mirth and I kept company 
 
 Ere Cupid kissed me ! 
 
78 CUPID KISSED ME. 
 
 Love ran idly where he would, 
 
 Child -like, all unheeding; 
 I as carelessly pursued 
 
 The pathway he was leading : 
 Till upon the shadowed side 
 
 Of a cool, swift river, 
 Where the sunbeams smote the tide, 
 
 Goldenly a - quiver 
 Well - a - day ! ah , well - a - day ! 
 
 "Love," I cried, "come rest thee." 
 Ah, but heart and I were gay 
 
 Ere Cupid kissed rue ! 
 
 Shadows of a summer cloud 
 Fell on near and far land ; 
 
 Fragrantly the branches bowed 
 Every leafy garland ; 
 
CUPID KISSED ME. 79 
 
 While with shining head at rest, 
 
 Next my heart reclining, 
 Love s white arms, with soft caress, 
 
 Koimd my neck were twining. 
 Well - a - day ! ah , well - a - day ! 
 
 Love who can resist thee? 
 On the river -banks that day 
 
 Cupid .kissed me ! 
 
 Woe is me ! in cheerless plight, 
 
 By the cold, sad river, 
 Seek I Love, who taken flight, 
 
 Comes no more forever : 
 Love from whom more pain than bliss 
 
 Every heart obtaineth, 
 For the joy soon vanished is 
 
 While the pang remaineth. 
 
80 CUPID KISSED ME. 
 
 Well - a - day ! ah , well - a - day ! 
 
 Would, Love, I had missed thee, 
 Peace and I are twain for aye, 
 
 Since Cupid kissed me. 
 
SUMMER PAST. 81 
 
 
 SUMMER PAST. 
 
 the summer all is over! 
 We heave wandered through the clover, 
 We have plucked in wood and lea 
 Blue -bell and anemone. 
 
 We were children of the sun, 
 
 Yery brown to look upon : 
 
 We were stained, hands and lips, 
 With the berries juicy tips. 
 
 And I think that we may know 
 Where the rankest nettles grow, 
 
 And where oak and ivy weave 
 
 Crimson glories to deceive. 
 
82 SUMMER PAST. 
 
 Now the merry days are over ! 
 
 Woodland - tenants seek their cover, 
 And the swallow leaves again 
 For his castle -nests in Spain. 
 
 Shut the door, and close the blind : 
 We shall have the bitter wind, 
 
 We shall have the dreary rain 
 Striving, driving at the pane. 
 
 Send the ruddy fire - light higher ; 
 
 Draw your easy chair up iiigher ; 
 
 Through the winter, bleak and chill, 
 We may have our summer still. 
 
 Here are poems we may read, 
 Pleasant fancies to our need : 
 
SUMMER PAST. 83 
 
 All, eternal summer-time, 
 Dwells within the poet s rhyme ! 
 
 All the birds sweet melodies 
 
 Linger in these songs of his ; 
 
 And the blossoms of all ages 
 
 Waft their fragrance from his pages. 
 
8-4 WITH A WREATH OF LAUREL. 
 
 WITH A WREATH OF LAUREL. 
 
 WINDS, that ripple the long grass ! 
 O winds, that kiss the jeweled sea ! 
 Grow still and lingering as you pass 
 About this laurel tree. 
 
 Great Shasta knew you in the cloud 
 
 That turbans his white brow ; the sweet, 
 
 Cool rivers ; and the woods that bowed 
 Before your pinions fleet. 
 
 With meadow scents your breath is rife ; 
 
 With red -wood odors, and with pine: 
 Now pause and thrill with twofold life, 
 
 Each spicy leaf I twine. 
 
WITH A WREATH OF LAUREL. 85 
 
 The laurel grows upon the hill 
 
 That looks across the western sea. 
 O winds, within the boughs be still, 
 
 sun, shine tenderly, 
 
 And birds, sing soft about 3-0111- no.sts : 
 
 1 twine a wreath for other lands ; 
 
 A grave ! nor wife nor child has blest 
 With touch of loving hands. 
 
 Where eyes are closed, divine and young, 
 Dusked in a night no morn may break, 
 
 And hushed the poet lips that sung, 
 The songs none else may wake : 
 
 Unfelt the venomed arrow- thrust, 
 Unheard the lips that hiss disgrace, 
 
86 WITH A WKEATH OF LAUREL. 
 
 While the sad heart is dust, and dust 
 The beautiful, sad face ! 
 
 For him I pluck the laurel crown ! 
 
 It ripened in the western breeze, 
 Where Saucelito s hills look down 
 
 Upon the golden seas ; 
 
 And sunlight lingered in -its leaves 
 
 From dawn, until the scarce dimmed sky 
 
 Changed to the light of stars; and waves 
 Sang to it constantly. 
 
 I weave, and strive to weave a tone, 
 A touch, that, somehow, w T heii it lies 
 
 Upon his sacred dust, alone, 
 Beneath the English skies, 
 
WITH A WhEATH OF LAUREL. 87 
 
 The sunshine of the arch it knew, 
 The calm that wrapt its native hill, 
 
 The love that wreathed its glossy hue, 
 Mav breathe around it still ! 
 
 
88 OWNERSHIP. 
 
 OWNERSHIP. 
 
 TN a garden that I know, 
 
 Only palest blossoms blow 
 
 There the lily, purest mm, 
 
 Hides her white face from the sun, 
 
 And the maiden rose-bud stirs 
 In a garment fair as hers. 
 
 One shy bird, with folded wings, 
 Bits within the leaves and sings; 
 
 Sits and sings the daylight long, 
 Just a patient plaintive song. 
 
OWNERSHIP. 89 
 
 Other gardens greet the spring 
 With a blaze of blossoming ; 
 
 Other song-birds, piping clear, 
 Chorus from the branches near : 
 
 But my blossoms, palest known, 
 Bloom for me and me alone ; 
 
 And my bird, though sad and lonely, 
 
 Sings for me, and for me only. 
 
 7 
 
90 IN THE POUTS. 
 
 IN THE POUTS. 
 
 /"CHEEKS of an ominous crimson, 
 Eye -brows arched to a frown, 
 Pretty red lips a -quiver 
 
 With holding their sweetness down ; 
 
 Glance that is never lifted 
 
 From the hands that, in cruel play, 
 Are tearing the white -rose petals, 
 
 And tossing their hearts away. 
 
 Only to think that a whisper, 
 
 An idle, meaningless jest, 
 Should stir such a world of passion 
 
 In a dear, little, loving breast ! 
 
IN THE POUTS. 91 
 
 Yet ever for such light trifles 
 
 Will lover and lass fall out, 
 And the humblest lad grow haughty, 
 
 And the gentlest maiden pout. 
 
 Of course, I must sue for pardon ; 
 
 For what I can hardly say ! 
 But, deaf to opposing reason, 
 
 A woman will have her way. 
 
 And when, in despite her frowning, 
 The scorn, the grief, and the rue, 
 
 .She looks so bewitchingly pretty, 
 Why, what can a fellow do? 
 
92 SIESTA. 
 
 SIESTA. 
 
 TF I lie at ease in the cradling trees, 
 
 Till the day drops down in the golden seas, 
 Till the light shall die from the warm, wide sky, 
 And the cool night cover me what care I? 
 
 All as one when the day is done, 
 The woven woof or the web unspun : 
 In my leafy nest I will lie at rest, 
 A careless dreamer, and that is best. 
 
 Does a brown eye wake for a trouble s sake, 
 Ye little tenants of wood and brake ? 
 What deeper woe does a wild -bee know 
 Than to vex the heart of a honey -blow? 
 
SIESTA. 93 
 
 Bonny birds, sing to me ; butterflies, wing to me ; 
 Slender convolvulus, flutter and cling to me ; 
 Dim spice -odors and meadow -musk, 
 Blow about me, from dawn to dusk ! 
 
 Though the city frown from her hill - tops brown, 
 And the weary toilers go up and down, 
 I will lie at rest in my leafy nest, 
 A careless dreamer, and that is best. 
 
94 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 HON. B. P. AVERT DIED IN PEKING, CHINA, NOV. 8, 1875. 
 
 |^ OD rest thy soul ! 
 
 O, kind and pure, 
 
 Tender of heart, yet strong to wield control, 
 And to endure ! 
 
 Close the clear eyes ! 
 No greater woe 
 
 Earth s patient heart, than when a good man dies, 
 Can ever know. 
 
 With us is night, 
 Toil without rest ; 
 
IN MEMORIA.M. 95 
 
 But where thy gentle spirit walks in light, 
 The ways are blest. 
 
 God s peace be thine ! 
 (rod s perfect peace ! 
 Thy meed of faithful service, until time 
 And death shall cease. 
 
 
96 
 
 TWO PICTURES . 
 
 TWO PICTUEES. 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 A 3 in a quiet dream, 
 
 The mighty waters seem 
 Scarcely a ripple shows 
 Upon their blue repose. 
 
 The sea-gulls smoothly ride 
 Upon the drowsy tide, 
 And a white sail doth sleep 
 Far out upon the deep. 
 
 A dreamy purple fills 
 The hollows of the hills ; 
 

 TWO PICTURES. 97 
 
 A single cloud floats through 
 The sky s serenest blue ; 
 
 And far beyond the Gate, 
 The massed vapors wait 
 White as the walls that ring 
 The City of the King. 
 
 There is no sound, no word : 
 Only a happy bird 
 Trills to her nestling young, 
 A little, sleepy song. 
 
 This is the holy calm ; 
 The heavens dropping balm ; 
 The Love made manifest, 
 And near ; the perfect rest. 
 
98 TWO PICTURES. 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 The day grows wan and cold : 
 In through the Gate of Gold 
 The restless vapors glide, 
 Like ghosts upon the tide. 
 
 The brown bird folds her wing, 
 Sad, with no song to sing. 
 Along the streets the dust 
 Blows sharp, with sudden gust. 
 
 The night comes, chill and gray ; 
 Over the sullen bay, 
 What mournful echoes pass 
 From lonely Alcatraz ! 
 
 O bell, with solemn toll, 
 
TWO PICTURES. 99 
 
 As for a passing soul ! 
 As for a soul that waits, 
 In vain, at heaven s gates ! 
 
 This is the utter blight ; 
 The sorrow infinite 
 Of earth ; the closing wave ; 
 The parting, and the grave. 
 
 
100 LONELINESS. 
 
 LONELINESS. 
 
 nPHE waning moon was up ; the stars 
 
 Were faint, and very few ; 
 The vines about the window - sill 
 Were wet with falling dew ; 
 
 A little cloud before the wind 
 Was drifting down the west ; 
 
 I heard the moaning of the sea 
 In its unquiet rest : 
 
 Until, I know not from what grief, 
 
 Or thought of other years, 
 The hand I leaned upon was cold, 
 
 And wet with falling tears. 
 
BESIDE THE DEAD. 101 
 
 BESIDE THE DEAD. 
 
 TT must be sweet, O thou, my dead, to lie 
 
 With hands that folded are from every task ; 
 Sealed with the seal of the great mystery - 
 The lips that nothing answer, nothing ask. 
 The life -long struggle ended; ended quite 
 The weariness of patience, and of pain ; 
 And the eyes closed to open not again 
 On desolate dawn or dreariness of night. 
 It must be sweet to slumber and forget ; 
 To have the poor tired heart so still at last : 
 Done with all yearning, done with all regret, 
 Doubt, fear, hope, sorrow, all forever past : 
 Past all the hours, or slow of wing or fleet 
 It must be sweet, it must be very sweet ! 
 
102 THE 11OAD TO SCHOOL. 
 
 THE KOAD TO SCHOOL. 
 
 A MEADOW greenly carpeted; 
 
 A strip of woodland, brown and cool, 
 Through which the wandering pathway led 
 Unto the village school : 
 
 The little pathway he and I, 
 Across the happy summer -land, 
 
 In happy summer times gone by, 
 Trod, daily, hand in hand. 
 
 The mountain stream, far off, that drew 
 Its glittering length across the farm, 
 
 Reached softly down the vale, and threw 
 The path one cool, white arm ; 
 
THE ROAD TO SCHOOL. 103 
 
 And careless as the truant tide 
 
 That flashed its crystal in the sun, 
 
 Or slipped along the woodland side, 
 Our wayward feet would run. 
 
 Through tangled ferns, up furzy slopes, 
 Where the broad forest shadows fell, 
 
 Through golden seas of buttercups, 
 Wind -rippled, down the dell; 
 
 We plashed the foamy water -brink, 
 We followed on the rabbit s track, 
 
 And rang the merry bobolink 
 His saucy challenge back. 
 
 How tenderly, from stone to stone, 
 
 Where the deep stream ran swift and clear, 
 
104 THE KOAD TO SCHOOL. 
 
 He led my timid footsteps on 
 My gay, young cavalier ! 
 
 He knew each haunt of bird and bee ; 
 
 The secret of each nestling brood ; 
 He mimicked every melody 
 
 That thrilled the listening wood ; 
 
 With many a carved and quaint design, 
 Would fashion acorns into beads, 
 
 Chains of the needles of the pine, 
 And whistleS out of reeds. 
 
 Ah ! many a time the brave voice spake, 
 An earnest pleader in my cause ; 
 
 The tanned, round hand went out to take 
 Dire strokes for broken laws ; 
 
THE ROAD TO SCHOOL. 105 
 
 And many a prompting, timely said, 
 The master s dreaded anger turned 
 
 From the small, idle, flaxen head 
 Whose tasks were yet unlearned ! 
 
 What quaint, sweet summer gifts he brought ! 
 
 A white pond -lily, filled to th brim 
 With scarlet berries ; buds, half shut ; 
 
 Gold fruits on leaf and limb ; 
 
 Some wide - blown flower with tawny dyes ; 
 
 A butterfly with jeweled wing, 
 Or captive bird, with frighted eyes 
 
 And wee heart, fluttering. 
 
 Dear playmate ! in those golden ways 
 
 Your heart found rest ; my heart endures : 
 
106 THE ROAD TO SCHOOL. 
 
 But, through the weary days and days, 
 Life gives no love like yours ! 
 
 Life gives no faith ! Ah, child -mate, dear, 
 When the appointed years shall fall 
 
 
 
 From off me, as a cloud, and near 
 And clear I hear the call 
 
 And the new way is strange to me, 
 
 Reach thou, and lead me, hand -in -hand, 
 
 As clown the path of old, till we 
 Before the Master stand ! 
 
 There yet once more thy brave voice raise, 
 O playmate ! in thy truant s cause, 
 
 For tasks unlearned, for wasted days, 
 For all His broken laws ! 
 
WHO KNOWETH? 107 
 
 WHO KNOWETH? 
 
 TTTHO knoweth the hope that was born to me, 
 When the spring-time came with its greenery! 
 With orchard blossoming, fair to see, 
 With drone of beetle, and buzz of bee, 
 And robin a trill on his apple-tree, 
 Cheerily, cheerily ! 
 
 Who knoweth the hope that was dead ah me! 
 That was dead and never again to be, 
 When the winter came, all dismally, 
 With desolate rain on desolate sea ; 
 With cold snow -blossoms for wood and lea, 
 And the wind a -moan in the apple-tree, 
 Drearily, drearily ! 
 
108 MAKAH. 
 
 MAKAH. 
 
 song were sweeter and better 
 If only the thought were glad." 
 Be hidden the chafe of the fetter, 
 
 The scars of the wounds you have had ; 
 Be silent of stiife and endeavor, 
 But shout of the victory won ! 
 You may sit in the shadow forever, 
 If only you ll sing of the sun. 
 
 There are hearts, you must know, over tender 
 With the wine of the joy -cup of years; 
 
 One might dim for a moment the splendor 
 Of eyes unaccustomed to tears : 
 
MARAH. 109 
 
 So sing, if you must, with the gladness 
 That brimmed the lost heart of your youth, 
 
 Lest you breathe, in the song and its sadness, 
 The secret of life at its truth. 
 
 O, violets, born of the valley, 
 
 You are sweet in the suu and the dew, 
 But your sisters, in yonder dim alley, 
 
 Are sweeter and paler than you! 
 O, birds, you are blithe in the meadow, 
 
 But your mates of the forest I love; 
 And sweeter their songs in its shadow, 
 
 Though sadder the singing thereof! 
 
 To the wear} r in life s wildernesses 
 The soul of the singer belongs : 
 Small need, in your green, sunny places, 
 
110 MAR AH. 
 
 Glad dwellers, have you of my songs. 
 For you the blithe birds of the meadow 
 
 Trill silverly sweet, every one, 
 But I can not sit in the shadow 
 
 Forever, and sing of the sun. 
 
Ill 
 
 
 THE COMING. 
 
 r GATHERED flowers the summer long ; 
 
 I dozed tbe days on sunny leas, 
 And wove my fancies into song, 
 Or dreamed in aimless ease. 
 
 Or watched, from jutting cliffs, the dyes 
 Of changeful waters under me, 
 
 The lazy gulls just dip and rise, 
 White specks upon the sea 
 
 And far away, where blue to blue 
 
 Was wed, the ships that came and went; 
 
 And thought, O happy world ! and drew 
 Therefrom a full content. 
 
112 THE COMING. 
 
 My mates toiled in the ripening field, 
 Nor paused for rest in cool or beat ; 
 
 The yellow grain made haste to yield 
 Its harvesting complete : 
 
 % 
 
 My mates toiled in their pleasant homes, 
 They plucked the fruit from laden boughs, 
 
 And sang "For if the Master comes 
 And find no ready house!" 
 
 And far and strange their singing seemed, 
 Aud harsh the voices every one, 
 
 That woke the pleasant dream I dreamed 
 To thought of tasks undone. 
 
 Yet still I waited, lingered still, 
 Won by a cloud, a soaring lark ; 
 
THE COMING. 113 
 
 Till, by -and -by, the land was chill, 
 And all the sky was dark. 
 
 And lo, the Master! Through the night 
 My mates come forth to welcome Him : 
 
 Their labor done, their garments white, 
 While mine are stained and dim. 
 
 They bring to Him their golden sheaves, 
 To Him their finished toil belongs, 
 
 While I have but these withered leaves, 
 And these poor, foolish songs ! 
 
114 REBUKE. 
 
 REBUKE. 
 
 ^ TflHE world is old and the world is cold, 
 
 And never a day is fair," I said. 
 Out of the heavens the sunlight rolled, 
 
 The green leaves rustled above my head, 
 And the sea was a sea of gold. 
 
 "The world is cruel," I said again, 
 
 "Her voice is harsh to my shrinking ear, 
 
 And the nights are dreary and full of pain." 
 Out of the darkness, sweet and clear, 
 
 There rippled a tender strain : 
 
 Rippled the song of a bird asleep. 
 
 That sang in a dream of the budding wood ; 
 
REBUKE. 115 
 
 Of shining fields where the reapers reap, 
 
 Of a wee brown mate and a nestling brood, 
 And the grass where the berries peep. 
 
 "The world is false, though the world be fair, 
 And never a heart is pure," I said. 
 
 And lo ! the clinging of white arms bare, 
 The innocent gold of my baby s head, 
 
 And the lisp of a childish prayer ! 
 
110 DISCIPLINE. 
 
 DISCIPLINE. 
 
 TTPON the patient earth 
 
 A thousand tempests beat, 
 To call to life the flowers 
 
 That make her glad and sweet. 
 
 So, o er the human heart, 
 
 The countless griefs that roll, 
 
 But wake immortal joy 
 To bloom within the soul. 
 
AT PEACE. 117 
 
 
 AT PEACE. 
 
 O HUT close the wearied eyes, O Sleep ! 
 So close no dreams may come between, 
 Of all the sorrows they have seen ; 
 Too long, too sad, their watch hath been. 
 
 Be faithful, Sleep : 
 
 Lest they should wake remembering; 
 Lest they should wake, and waking weep, 
 O Sleep, sweet Sleep ! 
 
 Clasp close the wearied hands, O Rest ! 
 Poor hands, so thin and feeble grown 
 With all the tasks which they have done ; 
 Now they are finished eveiy one. 
 O happy Rest, 
 
AT PEACE. 
 
 Fold tliem at last from laboring, 
 In quiet on the quiet breast, 
 
 O Best, sweet Kest ! 
 
 Press close unto her heart, O Death ! 
 So close, not any pulse may stir 
 The garments of her sepulchre : 
 Lo, life hath been so sad to her ! 
 
 O kindest Death, 
 Within thy safest sheltering 
 Nor pain nor sorrow entereth 
 
 O Death, sweet Death ! 
 
UNGATHERED. H9 
 
 UNGATHEKED. 
 
 l^TEVER a leaf is shorn 
 
 But the vine surely misses ; 
 From ministering night -dews torn. 
 From the sun s kisses. 
 
 Dozing the warm light in, 
 
 In cool winds rustling greenly - 
 
 A leaflet with its leafy kin 
 Dwelling serenely. 
 
 Not ever bud doth fall 
 
 With blighted leaves yet folden 
 Never to wear its coronal 
 
 Or white or golden 
 
120 UNGATHERED. 
 
 But from the mother - stem 
 Flutters a far, faint sighing- : 
 
 Is it a tender requiem 
 Above the dying? 
 
 Who knows what dear regrets 
 Cling to the blossom broken? 
 
 Who knows what voiceless longing frets, 
 What love unspoken. 
 
 So through the summer - shine, 
 Your frail, brief lives securely 
 
 Keep, all ye tender blossoms mine, 
 Looking up purely. 
 
 Enough to breathe the air 
 
 Made sweet with your perfuming ; 
 
UNGATHERED. 
 
 To see through golden days your fair 
 And perfect blooming : 
 
 The bees that round you hum, 
 
 The butterflies that woo you 
 And happy, happy birds that come 
 
 And sing unto you. 
 9 
 
122 LA FLOR DEL SALVADOR. 
 
 T 
 
 LA FLOR DEL SALVADOR. 
 
 |HE Daffodil sang : Darling of the sun 
 Am I, am I, that wear 
 His colors everywhere." 
 
 The Violet pleaded soft, in undertone : 
 "Am I less perfect made, 
 Or hidden in the shade 
 
 So close and deep, that heaven may not see 
 Its own fair hue in me?" 
 
 The Rose stood up, full-blown, 
 Right royal as a Queen upon her throne : 
 
 "Nay, but I reign alone," 
 She said, "with all hearts for my very own. 
 
LA FLOR DEL SALVADOR. 123 
 
 One whispered, with faint flush, not far away : 
 
 "I am the eye of day, 
 
 And all men love me;" and, with drowsy sighs, 
 A Lotus, from the still pond where she lay, 
 Breathed, -I am precious balm for weary eyes." 
 
 Only the fair field Lily, slim and tall, 
 
 Spake not, for all ; 
 
 Spake not and did not stir, 
 Lapsed in some far and tender memory. 
 
 Softly I questioned her, 
 
 "And what of thee?" 
 
 And winds were lulled about the bended head, 
 And the warm sunlight swathed her as in a flame, 
 
 While the awed answer came, 
 
 " Hath HE not said?" 
 
124 AFTER THE WINTER RAIN, 
 
 AFTER THE WINTER RAIN. 
 
 A FTER the winter rain, 
 
 Sing, robin! sing, swallow I 
 Grasses are in the lane, 
 
 Buds and flowers will follow. 
 
 Woods shall ring, blithe and gay, 
 With bird -trill and twitter, 
 
 Though the skies weep to-day, 
 And the winds are bitter. 
 
 Though deep call unto deep 
 
 As calls the thunder, 
 And white the billows leap 
 
 The tempest under; 
 
AFTER THE WINTER RAIN. 125 
 
 Softly the waves shall come 
 
 Up the long-, bright beaches, 
 "With dainty flowers of foam 
 
 And tenderest speeches 
 
 After the wintry pain, 
 
 And the long, long sorrow, 
 Sing, heart! for thee again 
 Joy comes with the morrow. 
 
126 OBLIVION. 
 
 OBLIVION. 
 
 T>EYOND the flight of hours, 
 Beneath the rooted flowers, 
 
 Where winter rain, nor showers 
 Of April, fall ; 
 
 Where days that say "Alas!" 
 
 Forget to come, to pass; 
 
 And joy or grief that was, 
 Is ended all. 
 
 There never sunlight gleams ; 
 There sleep begets not dreams; 
 Therein no voice of streams, 
 
 Nor voice of trees. 
 From shadow into sun, 
 
OBLIVION. . 127 
 
 From light to shadow won, 
 No shining rivers run 
 To shining seas. 
 
 No birds of morning throat 
 Their joy from skies remote ; 
 From the still leaves no note 
 
 On either hand ; 
 No love-lorn nightingale, 
 That sings while stars wax pale, 
 And moonlight, as a veil, 
 
 Is 011 the land. 
 
 Many the dwellers are 
 Within that valley far, 
 Lit by nor sun nor star, 
 Where no dawn is ; 
 
128 OBLIVION. 
 
 Where sleep broods as a dove ; 
 And love forgot of love, 
 The dead delights thereof 
 Can never miss. 
 
 Wherein is spoken word, 
 Nor any laughter heard ; 
 The eyelids are not stirred 
 
 By touch of tears ; 
 Wherein the poet s brain 
 The rapture and the pain 
 Of song knows not again, 
 
 Through all the years. 
 
 Pale leaves of poppies shed 
 About the brows and head. 
 From whence the laurel, dead, 
 
OBLIVION. 129 
 
 Is dropped to dust. 
 Strength laid in armor down 
 To mold, and on the gown 
 The mold, and on the crown 
 
 The mold and rust. 
 
 So evermore they lie : 
 The ages pass them by, 
 Them doth the Earth deny, 
 
 And Time forget ; 
 Toid in the years, the ways, 
 As a star loosed from space, 
 Upon whose vacant place 
 
 The sun is set. 
 
130 QUESTION AND ANSWER. 
 
 QUESTION AND ANSWEE. 
 
 "TTTHAT gift hast thou for Me, 
 The Crucified for thee?" 
 
 No worthy thing : 
 Nor song, nor praise, nor tears, 
 From all these many years, 
 Jesus, my King. 
 
 "In ways thy feet have sought, 
 In that thy hands have wrought, 
 
 Whatso for Me?" 
 Ah, in those dreary walks, 
 Behold the flowerless stalks, 
 
 The fruitless tree ! 
 
 "Thy heart hath love, at least 
 I crave thy love." O Priest, 
 
QUESTION AND ANSWER. 131 
 
 It were not meet 
 From bitter wells to slake 
 Thy thirst. Touch thou, and make 
 
 Its waters sweet. 
 
 "Thy soul that it may live!" 
 Is it then mine to give? 
 
 O Saviour, cease ! 
 Like to a troubled sea, 
 My spirit is in me : 
 
 Lord, speak it peace. 
 
 "Unto thy Friend, thy King, 
 Hast then no offering, 
 
 No gift to give?" 
 For all Thy love, Thy care, 
 Only one little prayer : 
 
 Saviour, forgive ! 
 
132 TO-DAY S SINGING 
 
 TO-DAY S SINGING. 
 
 "TTTEAYE me a rhyme to - day : 
 
 No pleasant roundelay, 
 But some vague, restless yearning of the heart 
 
 Shaped with but little art 
 To broken numbers, that shall flow 
 
 Most dreamily and slow. 
 I think no merry fancy should belong 
 
 To this day s song. 
 
 Look how the maple stands, 
 
 Waving its bleeding hands 
 With such weird gestures ; and the petals fall 
 From the dry roses pale, nor longer sweet: 
 
TO-DAY S SINGING. 133 
 
 And by the garden -wall 
 The unclasped vines, and all 
 These sad dead leaves, a -rustle at our feet. 
 
 Dear bodies of the flowers, 
 From which the little fragrant souls are fled, 
 
 Beside you, lying dead, 
 We say, "Another summer shall be ours 
 When all these naked boughs shall flush and flame 
 With fresh, young blossoms." Aye, but not the 
 
 same ! 
 
 And that is saddest. By the living bloom, 
 Who cares for last year s beauty in the tomb? 
 
 Spring, blossom, and decay. 
 Ah, poet, sing thy day 
 So brief a day, alas ! . . . . 
 
134 TO-DAY S SINGING. _ 
 
 Beloved, and shall we pass 
 
 Beneath the living grass, 
 
 Out from the glad, warm splendor of the sun? 
 A little dust about some old tree s root, 
 
 With all our voices mute, 
 
 And all our singing done? 
 
FRUITIONLESS. 135 
 
 FEUITIONLESS. 
 
 A H! little flower, up - springing, azure -eyed, 
 The meadow -brook beside, 
 Dropping delicious balms 
 Into the tender palms 
 Of lover -winds, that woo with light caress : 
 
 In still contentedness, 
 Living and blooming thy brief summer -day. 
 
 So wiser far than I, 
 . That only dream and sigh, 
 And sighing, dream my listless life away ! 
 
 Ah, sweet -heart birds, a -building your wee house, 
 In the broad - leaved boughs ! 
 Pausing Avith merry trill 
 To praise each other s skill, 
 
136 FRUITIONLESS. 
 
 And nod your pretty heads with pretty pride; 
 Serenely satisfied 
 
 To trill and twitter love s sweet roundelay. 
 So happier than I, 
 That, lonely, dream and sigh, 
 
 And sighing, dream my lonely life away ! 
 
 Brown -bodied bees, that scent with nostrils fine 
 The odorous blossom -wine ; 
 
 Sipping, with heads half thrust 
 
 Into the pollen dust 
 Of rose and hyacinth and daffodil : 
 
 To hive, in amber cell, 
 A honey feasting for the winter -day. 
 
 So better far than I, 
 
 Self -wrapt, that dream and sigh, 
 And sighing, dream my useless life away ! 
 
THE FADED FLOWER. 187 
 
 THE FADED FLOWER. 
 
 TTTE watched in the dear Home garden 
 
 Our tenderest flower that grew : 
 Never a budling rarer 
 
 The sun of the ages knew ! 
 
 And we said, "When our leaves shall wither, 
 
 Our petals shall drop away, 
 The grace of this perfect blossom 
 
 Shall brighten our own decay." 
 
 Never the dews shall nourish, 
 
 Never the tender rain; 
 Never the sun s warm kisses 
 
 Shall crimson thy lips again ! 
 10 
 
138 THE FADED FLOWER. 
 
 O heart of our hearts, May -blossom, 
 
 Hope of our lessening day, 
 The bloom and the grace and the fragrance, 
 
 Are passed with thy breath away ! 
 
DAISIES. 139 
 
 DAISIES. 
 
 TT7HEKEFOKE is it, as I pass 
 
 Through the fragrant meadow-grass, 
 
 That the daisies, nestling shyly in sweet places, 
 Lifting crispy, curly heads 
 From their wee, warm clover -beds, 
 
 Seem to my imagining, little elfin faces. 
 
 Can it be the daisies speak? 
 
 Leaning rosy cheek to cheek, 
 In a merry gossiping, lightly nodding after? 
 
 Or a y, that I heard 
 
 Just the faintest whispered word, 
 And a silver -echoing ripple of soft laughter? 
 
140 "ONE TOUCH OF NATURE/ 
 
 "ONE TOUCH OF NATURE." 
 
 A LARK S song dropped from heaven, 
 
 A rose s breath at noon; 
 A still, sweet stream that flows and flows 
 Beneath a still, sweet moon : 
 
 A little way -side flower 
 
 Plucked from the grasses, thus ! 
 
 A sound, a breath, a glance and yet 
 What is t they bring to us? 
 
 For the world grows far too wise, 
 
 And wisdom is but grief : 
 Much thought makes but a weary way, 
 
 And question, unbelief. 
 
" ONE TOUCH OF NATURE." 14J[ 
 
 Thank God for the bird s song, 
 
 And for the flower s breath ! 
 Thank God for any voice to wake 
 
 The old sweet hymn of faith ! 
 
 For a world grown all too wise, 
 
 ( Or is t not wise enough ) ? 
 Thank God for anything that makes 
 
 The path less dark and rough ! 
 
142 MEADOW - LARKS. 
 
 MEADOW -LARKS. 
 
 , sweet, sweet ! O happy that I am ! 
 (Listen to the meadow - larks, across the 
 
 fields that sing), 
 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet ! O subtle breath of balm ! 
 O winds that blow, O buds that grow, O rap 
 ture of the spring. 
 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet ! O skies, serene and blue, 
 That shut the velvet pastures in ; that fold the 
 
 mountain s crest ! 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet ! What of the clouds ye 
 
 knew? 
 
 The vessels ride a golden tide, upon a sea at 
 rest. 
 
MEADOW - LARKS. 143 
 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet ! Who prates of care and 
 
 pain? 
 Who says that life is sorrowful ? O life so 
 
 glad, so fleet ! 
 Ah ! he who lives the noblest life finds life the 
 
 noblest gain, 
 
 The tears of pain a tender rain to make its 
 waters sweet. 
 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet ! O happy world that is ! 
 Dear heart, I hear across the fields my mate- 
 ling pipe and call. 
 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet ! O world so full of bliss ! 
 For life is love, the world is love, and love is 
 over all ! 
 
144 I CAN NOT COUNT MY LIFE A LOSS. 
 
 I CAN NOT COUNT MY LIFE A LOSS. 
 
 T CAN not count my life a loss, 
 With all its length of evil days. 
 
 I hold them only as the dross 
 
 About its gold, whose worth outweighs ; 
 For each and all I give Him praise. 
 
 For, drawing nearer to the brink 
 That leadeth down to final rest, 
 
 I see with clearer eyes, I think; 
 
 And much that vexed me and oppressed, 
 Have learned was right, and just, and best. 
 
 So, though I may but dimly guess 
 
I CAN NOT COUNT MY LIFE A LOSS. 145 
 
 Its far intent, this gift of His 
 I honor; nor would know the less 
 One sorrow, or in pain or bliss 
 Have other than it was and is. 
 
146 FROM LIVING WATERS. 
 
 FROM LIVING WATERS. 
 
 COMMENCEMENT POEM, WRITTEN FOR THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA, JUNE, 1876. 
 
 "JNTO the balm of the clover, 
 Into the dawn and the dew, 
 Come, O my poet, my lover, 
 Single of spirit and true ! 
 
 " Sweeter the song of the throstle 
 
 Shall ring from its nest in the vine, 
 And the lark, my beloved apostle, 
 Shall chant thee a gospel divine. 
 
 11 Ah! not to the dullard, the schemer, 
 I of my fullness may give, 
 
FROM LIVING WATERS. 147 
 
 But thou, whom the ivorld calleth dreamer, 
 Drink of my fountains and live!" 
 
 Q, and golden in the sun did the river waters run, 
 
 O, and golden in its shining all the mellow land 
 scape lay ; 
 
 And the poet s simple rhyme blended softly with 
 the chime 
 
 Of the bells that rang the noontide, in the city, 
 far away. 
 
 And the gold and amethyst of the thin, trans 
 parent mist, 
 
 Lifted, drifted from the ocean to the far hori 
 zon s rim, 
 
 Where the white, transfigured ghost of some ves 
 sel, long since lost, 
 
148 
 
 FKOM LIVING WATERS. 
 
 Half in cloud and half in billow, trembled on 
 its utmost brim. 
 
 And I said, "Most beautiful, in thy noontide 
 dream and lull, 
 
 Art thou, Nature, sweetest mother, in thy sum 
 mer raiment drest ; 
 
 Aye, in all thy moods and phases, lovingly I 
 name thy praises, 
 
 Yet through all my love and longing chafeth 
 still the old unrest." 
 
 "Art thou a- worn and a- weary, 
 
 Sick with the doubts that perplex, 
 Come from thy wisdom most dreary, 
 
 Less fair than the faith which it wrecks ? 
 
FHOM LIVING WATERS. 149 
 
 Not in the tomes of the sagex 
 Lieth the word to thy need ; 
 Truer my blossomy pages, 
 Sweeter their lessons to read. 
 
 "Aye," I said, "but con it duly, who may read 
 
 the lesson truly ; 
 Who may grasp the mighty meaning, hidden 
 
 past our finding out? 
 From the weary search unsleeping, what is yielded 
 
 to our keeping? 
 All our knowledge, peradventure ; all our wisdom 
 
 merely doubt ! 
 
 "O my Earth, to know thee fully! I that love 
 thee, singly, wholly ! 
 
150 FROM JLIVING WATERS. 
 
 In thy beauty thou art veiled ; in thy melody 
 
 art dumb. 
 Once, unto my perfect seeing give this mystery 
 
 of being ; 
 Once, thy silence breaking, tell me, whither go 
 
 we? whence we come?" 
 
 And I heard the rustling leaves, and the sheaves 
 against the sheaves 
 
 Clashing lightly, clashing brightly, as they rip 
 ened in the sun ; 
 
 And tlfe gracious air astir with the insect hum 
 and whirr, 
 
 And the merry plash and ripple where the river 
 waters run : . 
 
 Heard the anthem of the sea that most mighty 
 melody 
 
FROM LIVING WATERS. 151 
 
 Only these; yet something deeper than to own 
 
 my spirit willed. 
 Like a holy calm descending, with my inmost 
 
 being blending 
 Like the "Peace" to troubled waters, that are 
 
 pacified and stilled. 
 
 And I said: "Ah, what are we? Children at the 
 Master s knee 
 
 Little higher than these grasses glancing upward 
 from the sods ! 
 
 Just the few first pages turning in His mighty 
 book of learning 
 
 We, mere atoms of beginning, that would wres 
 tle with the gods ! " 
 
 " In the least one of my daisies 
 
152 FROM LIVING WATERS. 
 
 Deeper a meaning is set, 
 Than the seers ye crown ivith your praises, 
 Have wrung from the centuries yet. 
 
 "Leave them their doubt and derision; 
 
 Lo, to the knowledge I bring, 
 Glingeth no dimness of vision ! 
 Come, my chosen, my king ! 
 
 " Out from the clouds that cover, 
 
 The night that ivould blind and betray, 
 Gome, my poet, my lover, 
 Into the golden day!" 
 
 O, and deeper through the calm rolled the cease 
 less ocean psalm ; 
 
FROM LIVING WATERS. 153 
 
 O, and brighter in the sunshine all the meadows 
 
 stretched away; 
 And a little lark sang clear from the willow 
 
 branches near, 
 And the glory and the gladness closed about me 
 
 where I lay. 
 
 And I said : "Aye, verily, waiteth yet the mas 
 ter key, 
 
 All these mysteries that shall open, though to 
 surer hand than mine ; 
 
 All these doubts of our discerning, to the peace 
 of knowledge turning, 
 
 All our darkness, which is human, to the light, 
 
 which is divine ! " 
 11 
 
154 IN ADVERSITY. 
 
 IN ADVERSITY. 
 
 TJ1RIENDS whom I feasted in my luxury, 
 In sorrow turned from me. 
 
 A hundred servitors, that once did wait 
 Upon my high estate, 
 
 Me desolate, forsaken, old, and poor 
 Thrust from my own house -door. 
 
 Only that One whom I in joy forgot, 
 My fault remembered not, 
 
 And in my tears of late -born penitence 
 Drove me not, scorning-, hence. 
 
IN ADVERSITY. 155 
 
 His strong arm raised me where I prostrate fell ; 
 He made my bruised heart well ; 
 
 My thirst He quenched; my hunger gave He bread; 
 And my weak steps He led 
 
 Through the blind dark of desert sands, to where 
 His fresh, green pastures were. 
 
 O, calm and fair the days, and all delights 
 Make beautiful the nights ! 
 
 O, fair the nights, and beautiful the days, 
 Within these quiet ways ! 
 
 What need is there which He may not supply? 
 Familiar steps go by, 
 
156 IN ADVERSITY. 
 
 And well-known voices die upon niy ear 
 But He is ever near ! 
 
 The vision of all beauty and all grace 
 Is in His perfect face. 
 
 Sweeter His voice is than the melodies 
 Wherewith I lulled my ease. 
 
 Wisdom and truth, and measures of sweet song, 
 Unto His words belong ; 
 
 And to my lowly roof His presence brings 
 Splendor exceeding kings ! 
 
SUMMONS. 157 
 
 SUMMONS. 
 
 /~\ LONG, swinging bells of pomegranate ! 
 
 O orange -buds, falling as snow! 
 O singing of lark and of linnet 
 
 Singing high in the leaves, singing low 
 Can you sing to my heart, can you win it 
 
 One moment to these, ere I go? 
 
 What flowers shall be sweeter than these are? 
 
 What sky shall be blue as this sky? 
 As a fair, fringed girdle the trees are, 
 
 About the green place where I lie ; 
 And the swarms of the brown honey-bees are 
 
 As clouds over clover and rye. 
 
158 SUMMONS. 
 
 But ah ! for the singing of swallows 
 
 What thought, though the singing be sweet ! 
 
 What ease, though the grass of the hollows 
 And hills be as down to my feet ! 
 
 Love beckons, the ready heart follows, 
 How fleet to the summons, how fleet ! 
 
 And unto the dove, as she cooeth, 
 It s O, for the wings of the dove ! 
 
 And unto the wind, as it bloweth, 
 
 For the pinions and fleetness thereof 
 
 That the feet unto where the heart goeth 
 May be swift, may be swift, to my love ! 
 
SUFFICIENT. 159 
 
 SUFFICIENT. 
 
 /^ITEON, pomegranate, 
 
 Apricot and peach ; 
 Flutter of apple - blows 
 
 Whiter than the snow ; 
 Filling the silence 
 
 With their leafy speech. 
 
 Budding and blooming 
 
 Down row after row. 
 
 Breaths of blown spices, 
 Which the meadows yield 
 
 Blossoms broad -petaled, 
 Starry buds and small : 
 
160 SUFFICIENT. 
 
 Gold of the hill -sides, 
 Purple of the field, 
 
 Waft to my nostrils 
 
 Their fragrance, one and all, 
 
 Birds in the tree -tops, 
 Birds that fill the air, 
 
 Trilling, piping, singing, 
 
 
 
 In their merry moods : 
 Gold wing and brown wing, 
 
 Flitting here and there, 
 To the coo and chirrup 
 
 Of their downy broods. 
 
 What grace has summer 
 
 Better that can suit? 
 What gift can autumn 
 
SUFFICIENT. 161 
 
 Bring us more to please ? 
 Bed of blown roses, 
 
 Mellow tints of fruit, 
 Never can be fairer, 
 
 Sweeter than are these. 
 
162 A PRAYER. 
 
 A PBAYER. 
 
 / \ SOUL ! however sweet 
 The goal to which I hasten with swift feet 
 
 If, just within my grasp, 
 
 I reach, and joy to clasp, 
 And find there one whose body I must make 
 
 A footstool for that sake, 
 Though ever and forevermore denied, 
 
 Grant me to turn aside ! 
 
 O, howsoever dear 
 
 The love I long for, seek, and find anear 
 So near, so dear, the bliss 
 Sweetest of all that is, 
 
A PRAYER. 163 
 
 If I must win by treachery or art, 
 
 Or wrong one other heart, 
 Though it should bring me death, my soul, that day 
 
 Grant me to turn away ! 
 
 That in the life so far 
 And yet so near, I be without a scar 
 Of wounds dealt others ! Greet with lifted eyes 
 
 The pure of Paradise ! 
 
 So I may never know 
 The agony of tears I caused to flow ! 
 
164 THE BROOK. 
 
 THE BROOK. 
 
 npHKOUGH the dreary winter, 
 
 Ice -locked, white, and chill ! 
 All its laughter sleeping, 
 
 All its music still ; 
 Not a flower to love it 
 From the bank above it ; 
 
 Not a bird to trill, 
 In its ripples laving 
 
 Yellow wing and bill ; 
 No green, shadowy silence, 
 
 Where one may go at will, 
 
 And dream and dream one s fill. 
 
 Without voice or color, 
 
THE BROOK. 165 
 
 In a barren land : 
 Dripping skies bent over, 
 Dripping skies that stand, 
 Forlorn, on either hand. 
 
 But a little sunshine 
 
 How its voice shall wake ! 
 Over sand and pebble 
 Ring the silver treble, 
 
 Glad for summer s sake ! 
 Fairy boats shall ride it, 
 Lovers walk beside it, 
 
 Birds build in the brake; 
 Flowers and flowering sedges 
 Laugh along its edges 
 
 Glad, for summer s sake ! 
 
166 THE BROOK. 
 
 Just a little sunshine, 
 
 And the clouds will part ; 
 All its fettered beauty 
 
 Into life will start. 
 Be glad, thou shining rover, 
 With bird, and bee, and clover : 
 Sing summer through and over, 
 
 Ah, happy that thou art ! . . 
 Just a little sunshine 
 
 O my heart, my heart ! 
 
AN EMBLEM. 167 
 
 AN EMBLEM. 
 
 T WAITED for a single flower to blow, 
 
 While all about me flowers were running wild : 
 Gold -hearted kingcups, sunnily that smiled, 
 
 And daisies like fresh -fallen flakes of snow, 
 
 And rarest violets, sweet whole colonies 
 Nestled in shady grasses by the brooks, 
 That sang, for love of them and their sweet 
 looks, 
 
 Delicious melodies. 
 
 Now they are perished, all the fragile throng, 
 That held their sweetness up to me in vain. 
 Only this single blossom doth remain, 
 
 For whose unfolding I have waited long, 
 
168 AN EMBLEM. 
 
 Thinking, " How rare a bloom these petals clasp!" 
 And lo ! a sickly, dwarfed, and scentless thing, 
 Mocking my love and its close nourishing, 
 
 And withering in my grasp. 
 
 O dream ! O hope ! O promise of long years : 
 Art thou a flower that I have nurtured so, 
 Missing the every -day sweet joys that grow 
 
 By common pathways ; moistened with my tears, 
 
 Watched through the dreary day and sleepless 
 
 night, 
 
 And all about thy slender rootlets cast 
 My life like wa.ter, but to find at last 
 
 A bitterness and blight? 
 
FORGOTTEN. 169 
 
 FORGOTTEN. 
 
 /^VH, my heart, when life is done, 
 
 How happy will the hour be ! 
 All its restless errands run : 
 Noontide past, and set of sun, 
 And the long, long night begun ; 
 How happy will the hour be ! 
 
 Sunlight, like a butterfly, 
 
 Drop down and kiss the roses ; 
 
 Starlight, softly come and lie 
 Where dreamful slumber closes ; 
 
 But Death, sweet Death, be nigh, be nigh, 
 
 Where love in peace reposes ! 
 12 
 
170 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 OEACE in thy snowy breast, 
 
 O cloud, from storms at rest ! 
 Peace in the winds that sleep 
 Upon the deep. 
 
 Peace in the starry height : 
 Peace infinite, 
 
 Through all the worlds that mo\ 
 
 Within His love. 
 
 (), all sad hearts, that be 
 On land or on the sea, 
 
 God s peace with you rest light 
 
 This Christinas night ! 
 
CHBISTMAS EVE. 171 
 
 And with the souls that stand 
 In that dear land 
 
 Where pain and all tears cease, 
 
 Most perfect peace ! 
 
172 FULFILLMENT. 
 
 FULFILLMENT. 
 
 TjlOR the fledgeling bird- life stilled, 
 
 Its wings untaught, 
 Its music all untrilled ; 
 For the poet s voiceless thought, 
 
 The song unsung; 
 For the loving heart unsought ; 
 Hope, fair and sweet and young, 
 
 Dead nor forgot ; 
 For the seed that is not sown, 
 And the bud that falls unblown, 
 
 What shall atone? 
 
 Somewhere the seed must spring, 
 The song be sung ; 
 
FULFILLMENT. 173 
 
 Somewhere, green boughs among, 
 
 The bird must sing, 
 
 Must brood and build ; 
 Somewhere the heart be wooed ; 
 Somewhere, far out of pain, 
 Hope, fair and strong, again 
 
 Rise from the tomb. 
 Somewhere, for God is good, 
 Life s blossoms, unfulfilled, 
 Must spring from dust and gloom 
 
 To perfect bloom. 
 
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