WIND-IN * W * / up by iKatharine^Tynan-Hinkson, Ste? UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. r , Class THE WIND IN THE TREES THE WIND IN THE TREES A BOOK OF COUNTRY VERSE BY KATHARINE TYNAN (MRS. HINKSON) LONDON GRANT RICHARDS 9 Henrietta Street 1898 To ALICE MEYNELL sweeter than summer CONTENTS PACK TURN 0* THE YEAR 1 ST. VALENTINE 3 DAFFODIL 5 PINK ALMOND 7 CUCKOO'S WAY 9 CHESTNUT IN APRIL 11 EASTER 14 GREEN SPRING v 17 LAMBS 19 LARKS 20 LEAVES 21 CHANTICLEER 23 THE GARDENER 26 SING, CUCKOO 30 THE LITTLE RED LARK 31 vii CONTENTS PAGE VITA NUOVA ....... 33 SPRING LONGING ...... 35 THE DAWNING OF THE DAY .... 3? SWEETS ........ 40 ' FAREWELL .42 CUCKOO ........ 44 OF AN ORCHARD 46 A LOST GARDEN 48 THE WOOD-DOVE ...... 50 DROUGHT 52 THE PRETTY GIRL MILKING HER COW . . 54 THE WIND THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY . . 57 \THE GREEN FIELDS TO AMERICA ... 59 MUSHROOMS 62 POPLAR v 65 THE GREY MORNINGS ..... 67 APPLES 69 1 THE FOGGY DEW . . . . . . 7l THE RED DEER . . . . . . 73 viii CONTENTS PAGE AN ANTHEM IN HEAT ..... 76 SPARROW ....... 79 OF THE APPLE ...... 81 MANY WATERS ...... 83 AUTUMN DAY ....... 85 THE TREE'S DOUBLE V 87 LOVE LIES BLEEDING . . .89 1 AUTUMN ' . . . . . . . . 91 FLOOD ... ..... 92 NOVEMBER . ...... 94 CRUEL WINTER ...... 96 MODEREEN RUE ...... 98 THE CHRISTMAS BIRD .... 102 IX OF THE UNIVERSITY ) TURN O' THE YEAR THIS is the time when bit by bit The days begin to lengthen sweet, And every minute gained is joy And love stirs in the heart of a boy. This is the time the sun, of late Content to lie abed till eight, Lifts up betimes his sleepy head And love stirs in the heart of a maid. This is the time we dock the night Of a whole hour of candlelight ; When song of linnet and thrush is heard- And love stirs in the heart of a bird. A I TURN O' THE YEAR This is the time when sword-blades green, With gold and purple damascene, * Pierce the brown crocus-bed a-roww-y And love stirs in. a heart I know. ST. VALENTIN THE West wind blew so sweet and cold, The country wind and dear, From fields and woods and gardens old In the morning of the year. The pleasant sparrows, rooks, and daws Drank up that wind like wine, And hailed the day with loud applause And chatterings gay and fine, Because It was St. Valentine. The larks were fleeting near the earth, And fluttering high and low ; The blackbird joined his golden mirth To Spring's triumphal show. 3 ST. VALENTINE The thrush was gathering twigs and straws All day in that sweet shine, And feathers from the briars and haws Some bed of love to line, Because It was St. Valentine. DAFFODIL WHO passes down the wintry street ? Hey, ho, daffodil ! A sudden flame of gold and sweet. With sword of emerald girt so meet, And golden gay from head to feet. How are you here this wintry day ? Hey, ho, daffodil ! Your radiant fellows yet delay. No windflower dances scarlet gay, Nor crocus-flame lights up the way. 5 DAFFODIL What land of cloth o* gold and green, Hey, ho, daffodil ! Cloth o' gold with the green between, Was that you left but yestere'en To light a gloomy world and mean ? King trumpeter to Flora queen, Hey, ho, daffodil ! Blow, and the golden jousts begin. UNIVERSITY 01 FOP- ALMOND So delicate, so airy, The almond on the tree, Pink stars that some good fairy Has made for you and me. A little cloud of roses, All in a world of gray, The almond-flower uncloses Upon the wild March day. A mist of roses blowing The way of fog and sleet, A dust of roses showing For gray dust in the street. 7 PINK ALMOND Pink snow upon the branches, Pink snowflakes falling down In rosy avalanches Upon the dreary town. A rain, a shower of roses, All in a roseless day; The almond-tree uncloses Her roses on the gray. CUCKOO'S WAY DOMESTIC birds to build the nest May toil through April month and May, And watch beside a brooding breast ; But that f s not Master Cuckoo's way He and his mistress, blithe as June, Roam like a gypsy pair at play, Grow gold and brown in sun and moon, For that is still the Cuckoo's way. ' Out on your nurseries ! ' cries his wife ; ' One egg 's enough for me to lay, To plague the sober sparrow's life ' ; For that is Mistress Cuckoo's way. 9 CUCKOO'S WAY She cares not for the helpless brood Whom her bold son evicts one day, Nor yellow beaks agape for food ; Oh, that 's not Mistress Cuckoo's way ! This faithless pair, to duty blind, Reproach still answering, blithe and gay, Free lovers in the sun and wind, For that is glad, the Cuckoo's way. Despite the moral saws you bring, ' Cuckoo ! ' 's their one excuse to say, Flung from the golden throat of spring, For that is sweet, the Cuckoo's way. CHESTNUT IN APRIL THE chestnut is a candlestick Of arching clusters, rosy and thick, And branches branching wide and high Toward the smiling sky. Closed are the sweet-lip buds that hide A flame of mother-o'-pearl inside. Open, open, O rosy mouth ! The wind is from the south. O wind, from Spring's own country blow, Till all the candles lit a-row, And all the candles lit a-ring, Make Christmas trees for Spring, ii CHESTNUT IN APRIL The little candle-cups are made Of silver, rosy pearl, and jade. Each cup shall hold its light aloft, Moon-pale in wood and croft. Not finer in the sky above The heavenly candlestick,, whereof The candles are the stars that keep Light while the sun 's asleep. O chestnut, light your million lamps In fairy camps, in dew and damps, And draw the moths at eve to play Around their glimmering ray. O chestnut, light your lamps all pale, The nights are for the nightingale. Amid your lamps Love's bower is made: Love's litanies are prayed. CHESTNUT IN APRIL Too soon, too soon on hill and lawn, Like him who quenches lamps at dawn, Shall one blow out your lights and leave The woods to dusky eve. EASTER BRING flowers to strew His way, Yea, sing, make holiday; Bid young lambs leap, And earth laugh after sleep. For now He cometh forth Winter flies to the north, Folds wings and cries Amid the bergs and ice. Bring no sad palms like those That led Him to His foes, Bring windflower, daffodil, From many a vernal hill. EASTER Let there be nought but bloom To light Him from the tomb Who late hath slain Death, and his glory ta'en. Yea, Death, great Death is dead, And Life reigns in his stead ; Cometh the Athlete New from dead Death's defeat. Cometh the Wrestler, But Death he makes no stir, Utterly spent and done, And all his kingdom gone. Bring flowers, make holiday, In His triumphal way. Salve ye with kisses His hurts that make your blisses. 15 EASTER Bring flowers, make holiday, For His triumphal way : Yea, fling before Him Hearts of men that adore Him. 16 GREEN SPRING As I walked out on May-day E'en, The land was like a girl in green, With bloom of pear and bloom of plum, Like lilies new in bloom. When I walked out the First o' May, The land a living emerald lay ; Soft flames of green the trees stood up Out of an emerald cup. O rain that raineth every day, And clothes the sward and clothes the spray With dew of diamond, veil of green, And silver set between ! B 17 GREEN SPRING rain that rained the whole year through, 1 heard the green things praising you, The sap was flowing fast as rain In many an emerald vein. Are some will choose the golden Spring With golden sky and golden wing, And golden swallows faring home Across the golden foam. I praise the green Spring, silver and green, Her skies that wash the grey world clean, Then clothe it in the grass-green silk With wimple white as milk. 18 LAMBS HE sleeps as a lamb sleeps, Beside his mother. Somewhere in yon blue deeps His tender brother Sleeps like a lamb and leaps. He feeds as a lamb might, Beside his mother. Somewhere in fields of light A lamb, his brother, Feeds, and is clothed in white. LARKS ALL day in exquisite air The song clomb an invisible stair, Flight on flight, story on story. Into the dazzling glory. There was no bird, only a singing, Up in the glory, climbing and ringing, Like a small golden cloud at even, Trembling 'twixt earth and heaven. I saw no staircase winding, winding, Up in the dazzle, sapphire and blinding, Yet round by round, in exquisite air, The song went up the stair. 20 LEAVES MYRIADS and myriads plumed their glistening wings, As fine as any bird that soars and sings, As bright as fireflies or the dragon-flies, Or birds of paradise. Myriads and myriads waved their sheeny fans, Soft as the dove's breast, or the pelican's ; And some were gold, and some were green, and some Pink-lipped, like apple-bloom. A low wind tossed the plumage all one way, Rippled the gold feathers, and green and gray, A low wind that in moving sang one song All day and all night long. LEAVES Sweet honey in the leafage, and cool dew, A roof of stars, a tent of gold and blue ; Silence and sound at once, and dim green light, To turn the gold day night. Some trees hung lanterns out, and some had stars, Silver as Hesper, and rose-red as Mars ; A low wind flung the lanterns low and high, A low wind like a sigh. Myriads and myriads, more in number than The sea's sands, or its drops of water wan, Sang one Name in the rapture that is May ; With faces turned one way. 22 CHANTICLEER OF all the birds from East to West, That tuneful are and dear, I love that farmyard bird the best, They call him Chanticleer. Gold plume and copper plume, Comb of scarlet gay ; ' Tis he that scatters night and gloom, And whistles back the day ! He is the sun's brave herald That, ringing his blithe horn, Calls round a world dew-pearled The heavenly airs of morn. 23 CHANTICLEER O clear gold, shrill and bold, He calls through creeping mist The mountains from the night and cold To rose and amethyst. He sets the birds to singing, And calls the flowers to rise ; The morning cometh, bringing Sweet sleep to heavy eyes. Gold plume and silver plume. Comb of coral gay ; 'Tis he packs off the night and gloom. And summons home the day ! Black fear he sends it flying, Black care he drives afar ; And creeping shadows sighing Before the morning star. 24 CHANTICLEER (Tis O, and woe, the lone ghost That glides before his call, And huddles in its grave, so lost, Below the churchyard wall !) The birds of all the forest Have dear and pleasant cheer, But yet I hold the rarest The farmyard Chanticleer. Red cock or black cock, Gold cock or white, The flower of all the feathered flock, He whistles back the light ! THE GARDENER FOR the light heart or heavy heart Medicine. Set thou a time apart, And to thy garden thee betake With hoe and spade and pot and rake. Mark thou thy garden, and not spare Thyself as honest labourer. Break thou the earth and turn withal, So the live airs thereon shall fall. Then set thy little seeds in rows, With the kind earth for swaddling-clothes. 26 THE GARDENER And these shall presently awake, And into life and praise shall break. Hoe, thin, and water then, that these May spread their growing limbs at ease ; And prune the vaulting boughs lest they Should dwindle for the warmth of day. Soon shall the sweet Spring trumpets ring, And all the world sing songs for Spring ; Then from the wormy bed shall rise Creatures that wear the peacock's eyes. No man shall childless go who hath Raised these sweet babies out of death. O peachy cheeks and goldilocks, And maids in rose and scarlet frocks ! 27 THE GARDENER Here shall resort the butterfly, The birds set up their loves hereby. The mealy-mouthed bee shall come For honey for his queen at home. Brown shall the man grow, being wooed With the sun's kisses, brave and good, Shall be an-hungered, and being fed, Shall find his bed a golden bed. Squirrels and hares and gamesome things, And all sweet folk that go on wings, Shall sit with him when he shall eat, And ask a blessing on his meat. The wonders of the skies for him Shall open, nor his eyes be dim ; And seeing the first leaf unfold, He shall praise God an hundredfold. 28 THE GARDENER Yea, he shall learn from his employ How God turns mourning into joy, And from earth's graves calls up at last His flowers when all the Winter 's past. 29 SING, CUCKOO CUCKOO calls in the heavenly weather Cuckoo ! I, my Love, and the Spring together. Soft are dreams of clear waters falling, Cuckoo ! Softer yet is the Cuckoo calling. Veils of distance cover and hide him, Cuckoo ! Cuckoo comes and the Spring beside him. Cuckoo utters the one call only, Cuckoo ! Lacking Cuckoo the Spring were lonely. 30 THE LITTLE RED LARK THE little red lark is shaking his wings, Straight from the breast of his love he springs ; Listen the lilt of the song he sings, All in the morning early, O. The sea is rocking a cradle, hark ! To a hushing-song, and the fields are dark, And would I were there with the little red lark, All in the morning early, O. The beard of barley is old-man* s-gray, All green and silver the new-mown hay, The dew from his wings he has shaken away, All in the morning early, O. THE LITTLE RED LARK The little red lark is high in the sky,, No eagle soars where the lark may fly. Where are you going to, high, so high ? All in the morning early , O. His wings and feathers are sunrise red, He hails the sun and his golden head : Good-morrow, sun, you are long abed. All in the morning early, O. I would I were where the little red lark Up in the dawn like a rose-red spark, Sheds the day on the fields so dark, All in the morning early, O. VITA NUOVA THE miracle of the new leaf Tempers my joy, and stills my grief, Renews my hope, my trust, That late were bowed even to the dust. I see in the young blades of grass God's face as in a looking-glass, And read His meanings plain In the spring scents and the young grain. Or by an amber woodland brook I scan God's thought as in a book, Since the late-frozen spring Begins to leap, begins to sing, c 33 VITA NUOVA O flower that only came to go, Red as a rose and white as snow, Will you not come again After the winter and the rain ? 34 SPRING LONGING OFTEN I wish that I might be This gay and golden weather Among my father's fields, ah, me ! And he and I together. Below the mountains, fair and dim, My father's fields are spreading. I 'd rather tread the sward with him Than I would dance at a wedding. O green and fresh your English sod With daisies sprinkled over ; But greener far were the fields I trod, And the honeyed Irish clover. 35 SPRING LONGING O, well your skylark cleaves the blue To bid the sun good-morrow ; He has not the bonny song I knew High over an Irish furrow. And often^ often,, I 'm longing still This gay and golden weather, For my father's face by an Irish hill, And he and I together. THE DAWNING OF THE DAY As I roamed out one morning, The stars were in the sky ; But Chanticleer his warning Had flung it low and high. The little birds were talking, The mountains yet were gray, When Colleen Dhas came walking At dawning of the day. Her feet outvied the daisies, Her hair outshone the sun ; Her beauty, like the Graces, Did join all sweets in one. 37 THE DAWNING OF THE DAY Her eyes like twin-stars married, Her breath of new-mown hay ; A milking-pail she carried At dawning of the day. Now, are you tender Hebe ? Or may be Juno bright ? Your name it might be Phoebe, That robs the sun of light. Or are you lovely Venus That close beside me stray ? With the milking-pail between us At dawning of the day. Young man, she said, don't flatter, Your glance is bold and free ; No stranger's praise will matter To virtuous maids like me. 38 THE DAWNING OF THE DAY Pray go where you were going, I take the other way ; And I hear my Crummy lowing At dawning of the day. Upon a bench of rushes Alone I sat and heard Her voice outsing the thrushes And every wakening bird. I heard the sweet milk spirting, The hedge between us lay, And I longed that we were courting At dawning of the day. 39 SWEETS SYRINGA and pink may, Roses, And breath of new-mown hay. Syringa and white may, Lilies, The censer swings all day. All night the censer fumes ; Moonlight Heavy with dim perfumes. Such sweets syringa shed, Honey, That May when we were wed. 40 SWEETS Such sweets syringa poured, Silver, And love was prince and lord. Syringa and sweet may, Roses, Lilies, for Love's own day. FAREWELL NOT soon shall I forget a sheet Of golden water, cold and sweet, The young moon with her head in veils Of silver, and the nightingales. A wain of hay came up the lane fields I shall not walk again, And trees I shall not see, so still Against a sky of daffodil ! Fields where my happy heart had rest, And where my heart was heaviest, 1 shall remember them at peace Drenched in moon-silver like a fleece. 42 FAREWELL The golden water sweet and cold, The moon of silver and of gold, The dew upon the grey grass-spears, I shall remember them with tears. 43 CUCKOO His voice runs before me ; I follow, it flies : It is now in the meadow, and now 'mid the skies ; So blithesome, so lightsome, now distant, now here, And when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is near. He calls back the roses, red roses that went At the first blast of winter, so sad and forspent, With the dew in their bosoms, young roses and dear, And when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is near. I would twine him a gold cage, but what would he do For his world of the emerald, his bath in the blue, 44 CUCKOO And his wee feathered comrades to make him good cheer ? And when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is near. Now, blackbird, give over your harping of gold ! Brown thrush and green linnet, your music withhold ! The flutes of the forest are silver and clear, But when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is here. 45 OF AN ORCHARD GOOD is an Orchard,, the Saint saith, To meditate on life and death, With a cool well, a hive of bees, A hermit's grot below the trees. Good is an Orchard : very good. Though one should wear no monkish hood Right good, when Spring awakes her flute, And good in yellowing time of fruit. Very good in the grass to lie And see the network 'gainst the sky, A living lace of blue and green, And boughs that let the gold between. OF AN ORCHARD The bees are types of souls that dwell With honey in a quiet cell ; The ripe fruit figures goldenly The soul's perfection in God's eye. Prayer and praise in a country home, Honey and fruit : a man might come, Fed on such meats, to walk abroad, And in his Orchard talk with God. 47 A LOST GARDEN THE cuckoo's note is nearly over, The jocund voice and dear, I shall not hear him call, bright rover, Next year. The little lilies, gold and sunny, And flecked with scarlet stain, I shall not smell their musk and honey Again. Gold roses in the garden growing, Red roses, damask, dear, I shall not watch the roses blowing Next year. A LOST GARDEN I shall not hear the birds outpouring Love's rapture and its pain, Nor see the singing lark and soaring, Again. O garden of my dreams, keep ever My sacred dreams and dear, But I shall come again, ah, never, Next year. 49 THE WOOD-DOVE THE first sound that I hear at morn In the low house where I was born Is plaint of the wood-dove forlorn, Leaning her breast upon a thorn. All day in orchard coppices The love-moan of the wood-dove is. Song-birds all singing, give less bliss Than she who mourns Love's little ease. Crickets in sunny grass a- whir, And many a bronze-winged trumpeter, All the blithe country shine and stir, And from all these I turn to her. 5 THE WOOD-DOVE All noon, in the gold shade and sun, Love's litany she doth intone, Joining two lovers' names in one, That shall not join till time be done. All the gold afternoon again She makes sweet music of her pain Love's captive, that yet hugs her chain And of Love's whip and scourge is fain. At night, when all the linnets keep Silence, and bats and owlets creep, Ere ever I fall to honeyed sleep, I hear the wood-dove weep and weep. DROUGHT THE sky is greyer than doves, Hardly a zephyr moves, Little voices complain, The leaves rustle before the rain. No thrush is singing now, All is still in the heart o' the bough ; Only the trembling cry Of young leaves murmuring thirstily. Only the moan and stir Of little hands in the boughs I hear, Beckoning the rain to come Out of the evening, out of the gloom. 52 DROUGHT The wind's wings are still, Nothing stirs but the singing rill And hearts that complain. The leaves rustle before the rain. 53 THE PRETTY GIRL MILKING HER COW (COLLEEN DHAS CRUIDTHE-NA-Mo) THE dewdrops were grey on the clover, The grey mists of night were withdrawn, The blackbird sang clear from the cover, The hills wore the rose of the dawn. But sweeter than blackbirds and thrushes, Her song, whom the Graces endow, And pinker than dawn her soft blushes, The pretty girl milking her cow. She sang, and the milk, sweet and scented, Spirted white as the breast of my dear. She sang, and the cow, grown contented, Gave over her kicking to hear. 54 THE PRETTY GIRL MILKING HER COW wildest of little black Kerries, You will come at her call, I know how, Since my heart at her voice leaps and scurries, The pretty girl milking her cow. As she sang I drew nearer each minute, A captive in Love's rosy chain, And my heart every second was in it Grew fuller of joy and of pain, Till I cried out behind her : My storeen, Pray guess who is holding you now ? And I felt the heart-beats of my Noreen, The pretty girl milking her cow. 1 kissed her sweet eyelids to blind her, I kissed her black head like the silk, The cow who was going to bind her ? With one kick kicked over the milk. 55 THE PRETTY GIRL MILKING HER COW And then, growing bolder and bolder, I kissed from the chin to the brow ; She was mine ere the day was much older, The pretty girl milking her cow. THE WIND THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY THERE 's music in my heart all day, I hear it late and early, It comes from fields are far away, The wind that shakes the barley. Ochone ! Above the uplands drenched with dew, The sky hangs soft and pearly, An emerald world is listening to The wind that shakes the barley. Ochone ! 57 THE WIND THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY Above the bluest mountain crest The lark is singing rarely, It rocks the singer into rest, The wind that shakes the barley. Ochone ! Oh, still through summers and through springs It calls me late and early. Come home, come home, come home, it sings, The wind that shakes the barley. Ochone ! THE GREEN FIELDS TO AMERICA THE green fields to America make my heart sore, The green fields to America that I have travelled o'er; Oh, many and many a mile they stretch so wide and free, The green fields to America betwixt my love and me ! There's a pretty bird, a birdeen grey, he swings on high, Nor fears at all the pathless main, the trackless sky; 59 THE GREEN FIELDS TO AMERICA Oh, if I had that birdeen's wings, 'tis I would take The green fields from America, for my love's sake. Oh, what to me were wastes of storm and miles of sea, The compass in my heart points straight to my countree, To where my love sits quietly beside the sands Of the green fields to America with his head in his hands. The little fields we once did roam were gold and green, And here are but the washing waves and white foam between ; Above the little fields at home the hills are blue : God bless the kindly fields at home, the fond love I knew. 60 THE GREEN FIELDS TO AMERICA Now God and Mary strengthen me to take that way, The green fields from America some lucky day, And God and Mary bring me safe, to stray no more From the little fields I knew of old and kind love of yore ! 61 MUSHROOMS THESE be the mushroom days, and lo ! The mushroom rings so darkly grow, Round as a wedding-ring, and set With pearls as sweet as violet. > Who made the rings so fine and round Twined in and out by hollow and mound ? And who hath summoned mushrooms hither, Here where the fairies dance together ? Here are the tracks of feet that went Before the day, in dew and scent, Before the dew was dried, and trod The mushroom-strewn and emerald sod. 62 MUSHROOMS Who were the early risers who That in the grey dusk and the dew Brushed with their cloaks the gossamer, And set the shivering grass astir ? The owl his counsel well doth keep, The wood-dove she was fast asleep, The lark was up too late to see The mushrooms gather on hill and lea. The earth-bound corncrake, she might know, But that she went a month ago To Egypt, where she lieth hid Sand-deep beside a pyramid, Nursing her honey-voice ; well then The mystery, mystery must remain Since eyes of birds nor human eyes No fairy secret shall surprise 63 MUSHROOMS Of who in dew and dawn did fashion The fairy rings in sweet rotation, And set the mushrooms in the ring, And who came hither mushrooming. 64 POPLAR THE blinding sky 's unkind, The day has dust and glare, The poplar keeps the wind In her cage of light and air, Makes of her leaves a snare To keep the wind confined ; All in the breathless glare The poplar holds the wind. O cool and beautiful Her leaves of silver-gray Hang in the wind so cool In the blind and breathless day ' E 65 POPLAR Turn in the wind at play, Fresh as a little pool That in the forest gray Holds silver fins and cool. All other trees are still, The oak, the elm, and the beech, But the poplar hath her fill Of soft and gracious speech. The winds are out of reach Beyond the sea and the hill For the oak, and elm, and beech, But the poplar hath her fill. 66 THE GREY MORNINGS THE grey mornings I well remember, The grey mountains new-waked from slumber, The grey dews on the trees and hedges, And in grey distance the grey sea's edges. Cool it was, sweet beyond telling, The grey-green hay in the pastures smelling, The grey meadows wet as a river, The grey dew where the grass-blades quiver. Grey gulls and the sea-grey swallow Take the track that my heart would follow, Home from the heat and the cruel weather, That I and my heart might fare together ! THE GREY MORNINGS Purple-grey are the wild hills showing, Silver-grey is the west wind blowing. O grey fields and grey hills behind you, Would my feet might follow and find you ! 68 APPLES ALL day in a green bower I sit, Ripe apples drop about my feet, Ripe apples drop about my head, And in my very lap are shed. Hither is blown no city chime, The falling apples mark the time, For every minute one falls down. Thud / there 's another minute flown. The rosy, smiling, sunburnt faces, They have their bed in the sweet grasses, Like children's heads that sisterly Upon the same soft pillow lie. APPLES Here are Heartsease and Honesty, And Honeysuckle for the bee, And Love-in-idleness to stand And keep the gates on either hand. The air is rich with apple-scent, Yet since no mortal lot 's content, The apple-loving wasp is given To trouble my terrestrial heaven. 70 THE FOGGY DEW A SPLENDID place is London, with golden store For them that have the heart and hope and youth galore ; But mournful are its streets to me, I tell you true, For I 'm longing sore for Ireland in the foggy dew. The sun he shines all day here, so fierce and fine, With never a wisp of mist at all to dim his shine ; The sun he shines all day here from skies of blue, He hides his face in Ireland in the foggy dew. The maids go out to milking in the pastures gray, The sky is green and golden at dawn of the day ; THE FOGGY DEW And in the deep-drenched meadows the hay lies new, And the corn is turning yellow in the foggy dew. Mavrone ! if I might feel now the dew on my face, And the wind from the mountains in that re- membered place, I 'd give the wealth of London, if mine it were to do, And I J d travel home to Ireland and the foggy dew. 72 THE RED DEER (AT KILLARNEY) THERE are lords of the forest, And lords of the glen, And lords of the waters, And lords over men. The birds of the blue air, The fish of the mere, All, all have their masters Except the red deer. From the heights of the mountain Where no man shall tread, Where in furze and in bracken The deer hath his bed, 73 THE RED DEER He will swim the fair waters, From heaven to heaven, He is this man's at morning, And that man's at even. No ! free as the west wind That comes from the ocean And tosses the bright woods And waves to commotion, No ! free as the stars are, The sun 's not more free : He is free as the waters Escaped to the sea. Ah, ye who would claim him, Be silent at last, Ye are gone like the bright leaves Blown high on the blast. 74 THE RED DEER With your castles and abbeys, Through time he remaineth The red deer of freedom Whom no man enchaineth. 75 AN ANTHEM IN HEAT Now praise the Lord, both moon and sun. And praise Him, all ye nights and days, And golden harvests every one, And all ye hidden waterways. With cattle standing to the knees Safe from the bitter gadfly's sting ; But praise Him most, O little breeze That walks abroad at evening. O praise Him, all ye orchards now, And all ye gardens deep in green. Ripe apples on the yellowing bough, And golden plum and nectarine, AN ANTHEM IN HEAT And peaches ruddier than the rose, And pears against the southern wall ; But most the little wind that blows, The blessed wind at evenfall. O praise Him, hoary dews again, Drenching the meadows 'neath the moon, And praise Him hidden founts of rain, And amber brooks singing a tune, And icy deeps of well-water, And each pellucid stream and spring ; But praise Him most, O wind astir, O blessed wind at evening. O praise Him now, ye burning days Of golden summer, hot and spent ; Planets and stars, see that His praise Be blown about the firmament. 77 AN ANTHEM IN HEAT Yet praise Him best, O little wind That out of heaven will blow and call, Because, because our God is kind And bids us live at evenfall. SPARROW WHEN August hangs the bough with plums, The dusty city sparrow comes For sojourn in the country sweet, To taste the barley and the wheat. Like any country bird he walks Down the gold aisles of bearded stalks, Pecks juicy grains in ear, and takes His pleasure in the barley-brakes. He bathes in dew at morn, and preens His sooty coat to mock the sheens Of swallow, fieldfare, finch, and wren That hate the dusty ways of men. 79 SPARROW His cynic wit, his mocking eye, The innocent country ways decry ; Though dews may wash his feathers clean He hath the urchin's heart within. The gossip his of chimney-stacks, Wherefore the pleasant country lacks Something, his ear the silence tires Who nests amid the city spires. To the perpetual green and gold In dusk and dew his eyes are cold ; For his untravelled heart yet turns Home where the smoky city burns. A little while for health he stays Where Flora paints the country ways, But holds that still the town is best For men and birds of wit and taste. 80 OF THE APPLE THE apples in the garden bed, Turned ripe and rosy to the south, The youngest novice shook her head, And eyed them with a watering mouth. She said : ' Our Mother Eve wrought woe Once with the deadly apple's bite, God keep mine eyes from following so After my evil appetite/ Down came the saint, and gathered then Of all the ripest, sweetest one, Clear amber-cheeked, with ruddy stain, From the hot kisses of the 'sun. F 81 OF THE APPLE She ate, and praised God as she ate, That He made apples very good, ' He might/ she said, ' have given the date, The fig, the orange, for our food ; ' Nor yet made apples, to delight The eye, the smell, the palate fine : For these my grateful appetite Praises the Giver kind, divine. ' Sister/ she said : * Come, pluck and eat, And thank with me the Lord, who made For us such flavours, cool and sweet ; Wherewith the world abounds/ she said. 82 MANY WATERS THERE were live waters racing down, The air was full of exquisite sound, Rainbows of spray wove them a crown, For pools wherein the sun lay drowned. Streams from the heights of Mangerton, And from the crest of Tore, sweet streams, Golden and brown, came singing on : I hear the music in my dreams. Drip, drip, from every rock there fell A fringe of golden water fine, Sweet as dew in the lily-bell, Golden as honey, clear as wine. 83 MANY WATERS The streams ran in the roads, the streams Danced through the bracken and the fern, Played hide-and-seek till there were gleams Of gold water at every turn. The mountains they were still in the sky, The red deer never stirred in the woods, The eagle kept his eyrie high : These were the loveliest solitudes. The roar of the Tore Waterfall Was dreamy, all the lakes lay still ; There was no bird singing at all : My heart of music had her fill. AUTUMN DAY THE day goeth in gray Like a gray nun ; There's a bird on the highest spray Singing that summer 's done : Singing so sad and gay Of summers over and gone. The day's wimple of gray Round her cheeks drawn Hides what her eyes say ; A wimple finer than lawn Hides the eyes of the day Since the gray flower of dawn. 85 AUTUMN DAY She counteth her rosaries Of the minutes and hours. Dewy gray are her eyes Gray eyes, sweeter than flowers. She keepeth her mysteries Holy in her gray bowers. The day goeth so slow, Like a gray nun, Whispering sweet and low Orison, benison. And only to see her go The stars come one by one. 86 THE TREE'S DOUBLE How beautiful the tree-shadows lie on The paler green o' the grasses ! October wind stirs them a little and passes, Cloud-shadows sail above them and are gone. The trees are like a golden fountain's spray, Like golden waters raining. When the October skies and ways are waning, The trees alone have the heart to be gay. %- Yet there 's a blue sky, and the sun is gold, A gold tree and a bird in it, A Jenny Wren or a belated linnet, Singing away though all the nests are cold. 87 THE TREE'S DOUBLE The tree upon the grass has a bird's shadow, As the live tree its bird, Shadow and substance joyfully praise the Lord As well as when the world was all a meadow. And when the living tree rocks at its pleasure Its bird in frolic glee, The shadow-bird within the shadow-tree Dances upon the grass to the same measure. LOVE LIES BLEEDING IN my heart's else barren ground Love-lies-bleeding, Love lies all one bitter wound. Heart's-ease, she is done and over ; Roses, lilies, Drifted leaves of autumn cover. Ah, poor Love, so full of blisses, And so lately Love-in-a-mist of love and kisses. LOVE LIES BLEEDING Ah, poor Love, who built so high ! Who shall build us Nests whence never a bird shall fly ? In my heart's plot, winter-gray, Love-lies-bleeding For the bird that 's flown away. 90 AUTUMN THE things the Autumn took away With no returning Spring shall come, Never with leaf upon the spray, Never with bud nor bloom, Nor lambs that make high holiday. April will come again and May, And the green world forget her gloom, And roses in the garden gray Yield up their full perfume ; And blackbirds sing the livelong day. O dancing leaves and winds at play, For Spring shall bring the swallows home, And nightingales and scent of hay. But there shall never come That which the Autumn took away. 9' FLOOD ACROSS the vale the floods are out, The floods are out with rush and rout, Across the world the floods are out, The land is in the sea. And round the oak-tree that displays The bronze-bright head in wintry days, The roaring current swings and sways, Shouting his song of glee. And landsmen now are watermen, The robin as the water-hen, That makes her nest in reed and fen, The robin 's gone afloat. 92 l FLOOD The wind that rocks him to and fro With a soft cradle- song and slow, Pleases him in the ebb and flow. Rocking him in a boat. Flotsam and jetsam whirling by The bridge where lovers meet and sigh, The whirling crows flap wings and cry. And praise themselves that they Have built their homes, one story each, In the tall masts of elm and beech, And them no swelling flood can reach Till all the world be grey. 93 NOVEMBER GREEN and gold and gold and gray, Willows by the waterway Shake their gray-green locks and shiver At their faces in the river. But the emerald fields and bright Sleep out in the rain all night ; And all day the rain and shine Swell the emerald veins like wine. Gold and gray and green and gold, Every spreading oak behold ; Like the rosy, burning bush Whence God spoke 'mid awe and hush. 94 NOVEMBER Green and gold and gold and gray, Sunset smiles from far away, Palest gold, and gray clouds cover The pale golden head all over. 95 CRUEL WINTER THE dear song-thrush is dead, The valley hath instead Only the silence. The silence aches all day In hills and valleys gray, Islands and highlands. Song-thrush, asthore, where went Your singing-voice unspent, Into what shadows ? What vales of honey dew Listen and long with you, What woods, what meadows ? CRUEL WINTER O Spring that came so late, O Winter desolate, Lingering, doleful ! The dear song-thrush that 's cold In lands of summer gold Singeth his soul full. 97 MODEREEN RUE (i.e. THE LITTLE RED ROGUE THE Fox) OCH, Modereen Rue, you little red rover, By the glint of the moon you stole out of your cover, And now there is never an egg to be got, Nor a handsome fat chicken to put in the pot. Och, Modereen Rue ! With your nose to the earth and your ear on the listen, You slunk through the stubble with frost-drops a-glisten, MODEREEN RUE With my lovely fat drake in your teeth as you went, That your red roguish children should breakfast content. Och, Modereen Rue! Och, Modereen Rue, hear the horn for a warning, They are looking for red roguish foxes this morning ; But let them come my way, you little red rogue, 'Tis I will betray you to huntsman and dog. Och, Modereen Rue ! The little red rogue, he 's the colour of bracken, O'er mountains, o'er valleys, his pace will not slacken. 99 MODEREEN RUE Tantara ! tantara ! he is off now, and, faith ! 'Tis a race 'twixt the little red rogue and his death. Och, Modereen Rue ! Och, Modereen Rue, I 've no cause to be grieving For little red rogues with their tricks and their thieving. The hounds they give tongue, and the quarry 's in sight, The hens on the roost may sleep easy to-night. Och, Modereen Rue ! But my blessing be on him. He made the hounds follow Through the woods, through the dales, over hill, over hollow, 100 MODEREEN RUE It was Modereen Rue led them fast, led them far, From the glint of the morning till eve's silver star. Och, Modereen Rue ! And he saved his red brush for his own future wearing, He slipped into a drain, and he left the hounds swearing. Good luck, my fine fellow, and long may you show Such a clean pair of heels to the hounds as they go. Och, Modereen Rue ! 101 THE CHRISTMAS BIRD BELOW the stable eaves that saw The blessed Baby laid in straw, A little wren had built her nest. She, honoured as the harmless beast, Beheld the holy Birth with awe. Sweet, sweet! she sang, and still Sweet, sweet! sweetest Babe from head to feet ! And sweet, sweet Mother ! To and fro She fluttered ; her small heart aglow Enraptured her with holy heat. happy I ! she said, who stayed When every Jenny Wren, afraid 102 THE CHRISTMAS BIRD At the first frost, fled to the South. I would I had the blackbird's mouth To praise this Babe and Mother-Maid I I would I might strip off, she said, Gold feathers from my breast and head, Enough to warm and shield withal This comfortless small Babe in stall, And would my feathers were His bed ! Then by the manger perched that bird With Gloria, gloria to the Lord ! Who would have thought so small a throat Had room for such a piercing note ? The singing stars and angels heard. Therefore they call the little wren Ever the Blessed Mary's hen. 103 THE CHRISTMAS BIRD Therefore no boy shall cast a stone When Jenny Wren, sitting her lone, Sings how God came on earth for men. Therefore her eggs be safe in tree And all her merry brood go free. 104 Acknowledgments to the Pall Mall Gazette, which sheltered, when new-born, some forty of these fledglings. Also to the New Review, the Westminster Gazette, the Illustrated London News, and the Chicago Chap-Book. Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press HE WIND-I I'TREES