Classic Poem

The bud on the bough,
The song of the bird,
The blue river-reaches
By soft breezes stirred;
Oh, soul, and hast thou found again thy treasure?
Oh, world, and art thou once more filled with pleasure?

Oh, world, hast thou passed
Thy sad winter again?
Oh, soul, hast thou cast
Thy dull vesture of pain?
Oh! winter, sad wert thou and full of sorrow;
Oh, soul, oh world, the summer comes to-morrow!

Oh, soul! 'tis love quickens
Time's languorous feet;
Oh, world! 'tis Spring wakens
Thy fair blossoms sweet;
Fair world, fair soul, that lie so close together,
Each with sad wintry days and fair Spring weather!

I have found her!
At last, after long wanderings, dull delays,
I have found her;
And all my life is tuned to joy and praise.
I have found her!

A myriad-myriad times
In man's long history this thing has been;
All ages, climes,
This daily, hourly miracle have seen
A myriad-myriad times;

Yet it is new to-day
I have found her, and a new Spring glads my eyes.
World, fair and gay
As when Eve woke in dewy Paradise,
Fade not away!

Fade not, oh light,
Lighting the eyes of yet another pair,
But let my sight
Find her as I have found her, pure and fair!
Shine, mystic light!

Oh, vermeil rose and sweet,
Rose with the golden heart of hidden fire,
Bear thou my yearning soul to him I love
Bear thou my longing and desire.

Glide safe, oh sweet, sweet rose,
By fairy-fall and cliff and mimic strand,
To where he muses by the sleeping stream,
Then eddy to his hand.

Drown not, oh vermeil rose,
But from thy dewy petals let a tear
Fall soft for joy when thou shalt know the touch
And presence of my dear.

Tell him, oh sweet, sweet rose,
That I grow fixed no more, nor flourish now
In the sweet maiden garden-ground of old,
But severed even as thou.

Say from thy golden heart,
From virgin folded leaf and odorous breath,
That I am his to wear or cast away,
His own in life or death.

Fair star that on the shoulder of yon hill
Peepest, a little eye of tranquil night,
Come forth. Nor sun nor moon there is to kill
Thy ray with broader light
Shine, star of eve that art so bright and clear;
Shine, little star, and bring my lover here!

My lover! oh, fair word for maid to hear!
My lover who was yesterday my friend!
Oh, strange we did not know before how near
Our stream of life smoothed to its fated end!
Shine, star of eve, as Love's self, bright and clear;
Shine, little star, and bring my lover here!

He comes! I hear the echo of his feet.
He comes! I fear to stay, I cannot go.
Oh, Love, that thou art shame-fast, bitter-sweet,
Mixed with all pain, and conversant with woe!
Shine, star of eve, more bright as night draws near;
Shine, little star, and bring my lover here!

What shall I do for my love,
Who is so tender
And dear and true,
Loving and true and tender,
My strength and my defender —
What shall I do?
I will cleave unto my love,
Who am too lowly
For him to take.
With a self-surrender holy
I will cleave unto him solely;
I will give my being wholly
For his dear sake.

Forget me not, dear soul! Yet wherefore speak
The words of freedom, where the thing is not?
Forget me not! And yet how poor and weak
My prayer, who know that nothing is forgot!
Low voice, or kindling eye, or glowing cheek,
Forget them not!

Forget me only if forgetting prove
Oblivion of low aims and earthy thought;
Forget the blinder appetites which move
Through secret ways, by lower nature taught;
Forget them, love!

Remember only, with fond memory,
The exaltation, the awakened soul,
Swift moments strong to bind my heart to thee,
Strong tides of passionate faith which scorn control —
In these remember me!

Oh, happy days so lately done,
And yet removed so far away
Before our passion-tide begun
And life's young May!
Shy early days of sun and showers,
When all the paths were hidden in flowers.
Tender and sweet,
And on the mountain-side the year,
With girlish change of smile and tear,
Tripped with light feet;
And by the melting snows the violet came,
And on the wolds the crocus like a saffron flame!

Daily some song of lonely bird,
By tufted field or tasselled grove,
From the clear dawn to solemn eve was heard,
But few of love.
Nay, rather virginal flutings pure and clear,
Passionless preludes, ah, how dear!
Nor yet upon the nest,
The bright-eyed fearless mother sate,
Nor yet high in mid-heaven her soaring mate
Thrilled his full breast,
Nor yet within the white domain of song
Love burst with eyes aglow the maiden choir among.

But when the fuller summer shone,
Soon as the perfumed rose had come,
Lo, all the reign of song was done,
The birds all dumb;
And for the choir which did before rejoice,
Low, tuneless accents of an anxious voice
Weighed down with care,
And dim forebodings marring the high note
Which once resounded from the joyous throat
So full and fair
I would not lose the love which is so dear,
But 'tis oh for the vanished Spring and the lost imperfect year!

Oh, soft dove gently cooing
To thy mate upon her nest,
And hast thou known undoing
And deep unrest?
Hath any pain of wooing
Pierced thy soft breast?

Oh, pale flower ever turning
To thy great lord the Sun,
And dost thou know a yearning
Which is never done,
For cloudless days returning
And June begun?

Ah, heart! there is no pleasure
As thine, nor grief.
Time Future holds the treasure;
Time Past, the thief.
What power brings this one, measure,
Or that, relief?

Ah! 'tis not very long
Since I was light and free,
And of all the burden of pain and wrong
No whisper troubled me;
But day by day, upon this breeze-swept hill,
Far from the too great load of human ill,
I dwelt within the sober walls of home,
Safe-set, nor heard a sound of outward evil come.

It is not that I know,
By word or any deed,
What depths of misery lie below,
What hearts that bleed;
But, since I have felt the music of my soul
Touched by another's mastering hand,
I seem to hear unfathomed oceans roll,
As when a child I saw the Atlantic lash the strand.

Oh, mother, who art dead
So long beneath the grass,
Lift up once more, lift thy beloved head
When we two pass,
And tell me — tell me if this passionate pain,
This longing, this invincible desire
For one I know so lately, be the gain
To which young maids aspire.
Is this to love, to kiss my chain and feel
A dominant will to which 'tis joy to kneel?

Oh, mother, I am a maid;
I am young, I know not men.
My great joy makes me shrink and be afraid.
It is not now as then
When first we walked together on the hill.
I take no longer, thought for any soul
Of those I loved before and cherish still;
I care not for the poor, the blind, the lame;
I care not for the organ's solemn roll,
Or sabbath prayers and hymns, who am seared as by a flame.

Nay, love! how can I doubt thee
Who art so dear,
Though I pine away without thee
In the fading year?
The ash flings down its leaf, the heather
Is bloomless in the autumn weather;

The mountain paths are wet with rime
Where we together eve by eve
Would wander in the joyous time,
Fair hours when thy returning strength
Came with the days' increasing length
I pace alone the dear familiar road
Where first we met. I walk alone;
I have no aim nor purpose, none —
Only to think of those soft days and still believe.

Yester eve, on a distant hill,
A wreath of cloud-mist dealing sleet
Compassed my homeward steps, as still
I toiled with weary feet.
Oh, what if the snow, like a winding-sheet,
Had stayed the steps of my life and my troubled will,
And closed on me for ever, concluding there
My little hopes and joys, and maybe my despair!

Nay, I will not doubt him nor be afraid;
He is all that is good, I know it, tender and true
But I fear he is higher in rank than he said;
For one day, I remember it well, as he lay
Very weak on his bed, a letter came
Coronet-blazoned, and half in shame
I lifted my eyes, and he saw I knew,
And his face grew troubled and never more
Was his gaze as frank as it was before.
Tender it was, indeed, and ardent and true,
But not as frank as before.

But I count the days till he comes again;
I long for him with a dull deep pain.
I will do whatever thing my love commands;
I will go or stay; I am caught as a bird in his hands.
Oh, love, my love! tarry not long;
I am not happy nor strong.

Delay not, love; the sun has lost his fire
Stay not; the cold earth loses warmth and light
Summer is dead, and Winter comes to blight
The waiting world's desire.

Come back, and coming bring back Spring with thee,
Spring for my heart though all the world lie dead;
My life will burst in blossom at thy tread —
Oh, love, come back to me!

I did not know,
When I walked careless on the hills,
The hopeless load of human ills;
But neither could I know
To what full height our happiness can grow.

Sing, caged bird, sing!
Is this your constant strain?
" I would, I would that I were free;
I would, I would, I would that I were once again
Sitting alone within a leafy tree;
I would that I might be
Breathing free air far from this gilded pain "

Ah, bird! I would be free
As you, for I weary here.
And yet, my bird, I have one so dear, so dear,
That, if he might only bide with me,
I should no longer care
To change this stifling, fettered air
For the free mountain-breathings fresh and fair.

Cold east and drear,
Thy chill breath veils the world in cheerless gray
Sad east, while thou art here,
Life creeps with halting feet its weary way
I feel you pierce my heart, oh, cold east wind!
Sad east! that leavest lifeless plains behind.

The dull earth, watching, sleeps
Within her leafless bowers,
Until the west wind coming weeps
Soft tears that turn to flowers
Oh, cruel east! that dost delay the world,
Withering the leaf of hope while yet unfurled.

O'er this gray cheerless town
The stifling smoke-mist hangs, a squalid pall,
And night, too swift for springtide, settles down
Before the shades of mountain-evenings fall,
I sicken here alone, dull day by day,
To watch the turmoil wake and fade away.

Why does my dear not come,
Or write or send some little loving word?
It is not here as 'twas at home.
I have no companion but this prisoned bird;
No friend in all the throng to hear my sighs;
No glance, but the cold stare of alien eyes.

No friend, nor love nor care
To hold me; but when summer suns return
And wake this stagnant and exhausted air,
The little dearer life for which I yearn
May wake, and make me happier than of old,
Watching the innocent life my arms enfold.

Cold east and drear,
Spreading a noontide darkness on the town
You shall not blight my faith, nor make me fear
Nor leave me in despond, nor drag me down.
I am alone; but, if he loves me still,
I am not all alone, sad days and chill.

My heart is heavy,
My life runs low,
My young blood's pulses
Beat faint and slow.

I cannot believe,
Yet I dare not doubt,
For when faith is shadowed
Love's fire goes out.

Oh, Love, what is this
That thy strong power brings
To those thou hast touched
With thy vanishing wings?

Oh, Love, it was cruel
To bring us to pain.
I will hide me away
From the cold world again.

I can stay here no longer;
Whatever may come,
I will go to my father
And — die at home.

My heart is heavy,
My life runs slow;
To my Father in Heaven
I open my woe.

Farewell, oh dear, dear hills!
I do not know if I shall see you more.
Farewell! 'tis set of sun, the night is near
Farewell! Below, the mist of autumn fills
The sleeping vale with winding vapours frore,
And hides from sight the yellow woods and sere.

But on the heights the day's declining fire
Bathes all the summits in a haze of gold
Not yet the cold mist, stealing high and higher,
Touches the purple glow with fingers cold;
Not yet the ruddy light from out the sky
Goes, nor the orange shadows fade and die.

Here, far above the grave of dying day,
The clear night comes, and hills and vales grow dark.
But soon the first faint star, a lucid spark,
Glimmers; and, lo! the mystical array!
A myriad suns for one! strange suns and far,
The eternal homes where blessed spirits are!

Oh! night of Being, like the night of day,
How should I fear because your shadows fall?
Who knows from what fresh glories thy dark pall
For failing vision lifts the veil away?
What boundless spiritual orbits rise
Before the inward gaze of dying eyes?

Farewell, oh little grave,
Wherein I leave my buried heart awhile!
Thick yew, protect it well until I come;
Shelter it; let not winds of winter rave,
Nor sharp frosts fret nor snows, nor floods defile.
Here is my heart, and here my waiting home.
Farewell! farewell!

The silent Forces of the World,
Time, Change, and Fate, deride us still;
Nor ever from the hidden summit, furled,
Where sits the Eternal Will,
The clouds of Pain and Error rise
Before our straining eyes.

It is to-day as 'twas before,
From the far days when Man began to speak,
Ere Moses preached or Homer sung,
Ere Buddha's musing thought or Plato's silvery tongue.
We pace our destined path with failing footsteps weak;
A little more we see, a little more
Of that great orb which shineth day and night
Through the high heaven, now hidden, now too bright,
The Sun to which the earth on which we are,
Life's labouring world, is as the feeblest star.

Nor this firm globe we know
Which lies beneath our feet;
Nor by what grades we have grown and yet shall grow,
Through chains of miracle, more and more complete;
By what decrees the watery earth
Compacted grew the womb of countless birth;
Nor, when the failing breath
Is taken by the frozen lips of Death,
Whither the Spoiler, fleeing with his prey,
The fluttering, wandering Wonder bears away.

The powers of Pain and Wrong,
Immeasurably strong,
Assail our souls, and chill with common doubt
Clear brain and heart devout;
War, Pestilence, and Famine, as of old,
The lust of the flesh, the baser lust of gold,
Vex us and harm us still;
Fire comes, and crash and wreck, and lives are shed
As if the Eternal Will itself were dead;
And sometimes Wrong and Right, the thing we fear,
The thing we cherish, draw confusedly near;
We know not which to choose, we cannot separate
Our longing and our hate.

But Love the Conqueror, Love, Immortal Love,
Through the high heaven doth move,
Spurning the brute earth with his purple wings,
And from the great Sun brings
Some radiant beam to light the House of Life,
Uplifts our grosser thought, and makes us pure;
And to a Higher Purpose doth mature
Our trivial days, and calms the ignoble strife,
Raises the waning life with his sweet breath,
And from the arms of Death
Soars with it to the eternal shore,
Where sight or thought of evil comes no more.

Love sitteth now above,
Enthroned in glory,
And yet hath deigned to move
Through life's sad story.
Fair Name, we are only thine!
Thou only art divine!
Be with us to the end, for there is none
But thou to bind together God and Man in one!