LITMIR.BIZ

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plod along the featureless sands,

       And coasting miles and miles of sea."

      Said one: "Before the turn of tide

       We will achieve the eyrie-seat."

      Said one: "To-morrow shall be like

       To-day, but much more sweet."

      "To-morrow," said they, strong with hope,

       And dwelt upon the pleasant way:

      "To-morrow," cried they, one and all,

       While no one spoke of yesterday.

      Their life stood full at blessed noon;

       I, only I, had passed away:

      "To-morrow and to-day," they cried;

       I was of yesterday.

      I shivered comfortless, but cast

       No chill across the table-cloth;

      I, all-forgotten, shivered, sad

       To stay, and yet to part how loth:

      I passed from the familiar room,

       I who from love had passed away,

      Like the remembrance of a guest

       That tarrieth but a day.

       FROM SUNSET TO STAR RISE.

      Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not:

       I am no summer friend, but wintry cold,

       A silly sheep benighted from the fold,

      A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot.

      Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot,

       Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold;

       Lest you with me should shiver on the wold,

      Athirst and hungering on a barren spot.

      For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge,

       I live alone, I look to die alone:

      Yet sometimes when a wind sighs through the sedge,

       Ghosts of my buried years and friends come back,

      My heart goes sighing after swallows flown

       On sometime summer's unreturning track.

       LOVE FROM THE NORTH.

      I had a love in soft south land,

       Beloved through April far in May;

      He waited on my lightest breath,

       And never dared to say me nay.

      He saddened if my cheer was sad,

       But gay he grew if I was gay;

      We never differed on a hair,

       My yes his yes, my nay his nay.

      The wedding hour was come, the aisles

       Were flushed with sun and flowers that day;

      I pacing balanced in my thoughts,--

       "It's quite too late to think of nay."--

      My bridegroom answered in his turn,

       Myself had almost answered "yea":

      When through the flashing nave I heard.

       A struggle and resounding "nay."

      Bridemaids and bridegroom shrank in fear,

       But I stood high who stood at bay:

      "And if I answer yea, fair Sir,

       What man art thou to bar with nay?"

      He was a strong man from the north,

       Light-locked, with eyes of dangerous gray:

      "Put yea by for another time

       In which I will not say thee nay."

      He took me in his strong white arms,

       He bore me on his horse away

      O'er crag, morass, and hair-breadth pass,

       But never asked me yea or nay.

      He made me fast with book and bell,

       With links of love he makes me stay;

      Till now I've neither heart nor power

       Nor will nor wish to say him nay.

       WINTER RAIN.

      Every valley drinks,

       Every dell and hollow:

      Where the kind rain sinks and sinks,

       Green of Spring will follow.

      Yet a lapse of weeks

       Buds will burst their edges,

      Strip their wool-coats, glue-coats, streaks,

       In the woods and hedges;

      Weave a bower of love

       For birds to meet each other,

      Weave a canopy above

       Nest and egg and mother.

      But for fattening rain

       We should have no flowers,

      Never a bud or leaf again

       But for soaking showers;

      Never a mated bird

       In the rocking tree-tops,

      Never indeed a flock or herd

       To graze upon the lea-crops.

      Lambs so woolly white,

       Sheep the sun-bright leas on,

      They could have no grass to bite

       But for rain in season.

      We should find no moss

       In the shadiest places,

      Find no waving meadow-grass

       Pied with broad-eyed daisies;

      But miles of barren sand,

       With never a son or daughter,

      Not a lily on the land,

       Or lily on the water.

A DIRGE.

      Why were you born when the snow was falling?

      You should have come to the cuckoo's calling,

      Or when grapes are green in the cluster,

      Or, at least, when lithe swallows muster

       For their far off flying

       From summer dying.

      Why did you die when the lambs were cropping?

      You should have died at the apples' dropping,

      When the grasshopper comes to trouble,

      And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble,

       And all winds go sighing

       For sweet things dying.

       CONFLUENTS

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