The crows that train o'er desert skies In endless caravans that have no goal But flight--where darkness flies-- From Pole to Pole.

The sombre zone of hills around That shrink in misty mournfulness from sight, With sunset aureoles crowned-- Before the night.

MOTHER-LOVE

The seraphs would sing to her And from the River Dip her cool grails of radiant Life.

The angels would bring to her, Sadly a-quiver, Laurels she never had won in earth-strife.

And often they'd fly with her O'er the star-s.p.a.ces-- Silent by worlds where mortals are pent.

Yea, even would sigh with her, Sigh with wan faces!

When she sat weeping of strange discontent.

But one said, "Why weepest thou Here in G.o.d's heaven-- Is it not fairer than soul can see?"

"'Tis fair, ah!--but keepest thou Not me depriven Of some one--somewhere--who needeth most me?

"For tho' the day never fades Over these meadows, Tho' He has robed me and crowned--yet, yet!

Some love-fear for ever shades All with sere shadows-- Had I no child _there_--whom I forget?"

TO A SINGING WARBLER

"Beauty! all--all--is beauty?"

Was ever a bird so wrong!

"No young in the nest, no mate, no duty?"

Ribald! is this your song?

"Glad it is ended," are you?

The Spring and its nuptial fear?

"And freedom is better than love?" beware you, There will be May next year!

"Beauty!" again, still "beauty"?

Wait till the winter comes!

Till kestrel and hungry kite seek booty And the bleak cold benumbs!

Wait? nay, fling it to heaven The false little song you prate!

Too sweet are its fancies not to leaven Even the rudest fate!

SONGS TO A. H. R.

I

THE WORLD'S, AND MINE

The world may hear The wind at his trees, The lark in her skies, The sea on his leas; May hear Song rise On words as immortal As any that sound Thro' Heaven's Portal.

But I have a music they can never know-- The touch of you, soul of you, heart of you, Oh!

All else that is said or sung 's but a part of you-- Be it forever so!

II

LOVE-CALL IN SPRING

Not only the lark but the robin too (Oh, heart o' my heart, come into the wood!) Is singing the air to gladness new As the breaking bud And the freshet's flood!

Not only the peeping gra.s.s and the scent-- (Oh, love o' my life, fly unto me here!) Of violets coming ere April's spent-- But the frog's shrill cheer And the crow's wild jeer!

Not only the blue, not only the breeze, (Oh, soul o' my heart, why tarry so long!) But sun that is sweeter upon the trees Than rills that throng To the brooklet's song!

Oh, heart o' my heart, oh, heart o' my love, (Oh soul o' my soul, haste unto me, haste!) For spring is below and G.o.d is above-- But all is a waste Without thee--haste!

III

MATING

The bliss of the wind in the redbud ringing!

What shall we do with the April days!

Kingcups soon will be up and swinging-- What shall we do with May's!

The cardinal flings, "They are made for mating!"

Out on the bough he flutters, a flame.

Thrush-flutes echo, "For mating's elating!

Love is its other name!"

They know! know it! but better, oh, better, Dearest, than ever a bird in Spring, Know we to make each moment debtor Unto love's burgeoning!

IV

UNTOLD

Could I, a poet, Implant the truth of you, Seize it and sow it As Spring on the world.

There were no need To fling (forsooth) of you Fancies that only lovers heed!

No, but unfurled, The bloom, the sweet of you, (As unto me they are opened oft) Would with their beauty's breath repeat of you All that my heart breathes loud or soft!

V