To A Blue Hepatica
A flake of light-blue sky,
Perched on the top of a slender stem,
Like a bird with his azure wings outspread,
Here, at my feet, as I wandered by,
I found thee, wilding gem!
And the dead leaves rustled to my tread
In the weird and agèd wood.
I understood
As it were thy glance.
It was like a dance
Of glad surprise
In those sweet, blue eyes,
Which thou and heaven above
Dost 'mind me of.
I thought of winter gone,
When the brief sun shone,
Nor abated aught th' intolerant cold,
Which would yield no place,
On the white earth's face,
To thy beauty, O flower! But the mold,
Rich and black, under fallen leaves
Held thee safe as garnered sheaves.
Strange, that a tender flower like thee,
Against the rude and eager stress
Of Winter's frosty selfishness,
In forefront of revolt should'st be!
And yet, rathe flower divine,
On whom I almost trod,
I take thee for a sign.
With peace thou art endued,
Petaled beatitude
And little child of God!
I, too, rebel against the old-
Against the drear, insensate cold
Of selfish customs manifold;
And I say that every kindly deed
Is a flower like thee in the wilderness,
And makes for peace, and will sow the seed
Of other deeds to help and bless.
When these are common-when strikes that hour,
Of Time the dower-
The world shall see life truly free-
The endless Summer that is to be,
The ripened fruit, the light, the power
Of democracy!
Spirits of peace are in the air,
And gleams of Springtime everywhere!
The Singer's Alms
In Lyons, in the mart of that French town,
Years since, a woman, leading a fair child,
Craved a small alms of one who, walking down
The thoroughfare, caught the child's glance, and smiled
To see, behind its eyes, a noble soul.
He paused, but found he had no coin to dole.
His guardian angel warned him not to lose
This chance of pearl to do another good;
So as he waited, sorry to refuse
The asked-for penny, there aside he stood,
And with his hat held as by limb the nest
He covered his kind face, and sang his best.
The sky was blue above, and all the lane
Of commerce where the singer stood was filled,
And many paused, and, listening, paused again,
To hear the voice that through and through them thrilled.
I think the guardian angel helped along
That cry for pity woven in a song.
The singer stood between the beggars there,
Before a church, and, overhead, the spire,
A slim, perpetual finger in the air
Held toward heaven, land of the heart's desire,
As if an angel, pointing up, had said,
'Yonder a crown awaits this singer's head.'
The hat of its stamped brood was emptied soon
Into the woman's lap, who drenched with tears
Her kiss upon the hand of help: 't was noon,
And noon in her glad heart drove forth her fears.
The singer, pleased, passed on, and softly thought,
'Men will not know by whom this deed was wrought.'
But when at night he came upon the stage,
Cheer after cheer went up from that wide throng,
And flowers rained on him: naught could assuage
The tumult of the welcome, save the song
The he had sweetly sung, with covered face,
For the two beggars in the market-place.
By Hudson's Tide
What pleasant dreams, what memories, rise,
When filled with care, or pricked in pride,
I wander down in solitude
And reach the beach by Hudson's tide!
The thick-boughed hemlocks mock my sigh;
The azure heaven is filled with smiles;
The water, lisping at my feet,
From weary thought my heart beguiles,
By Hudson's tide.
I watch a slow-wing'd water-fowl
Pursue her finny quest, and bear
The gasping silver of her prey
Far up th' untrodden heights of air.
In quiet depths I note the course
Of dreamy clouds against the sky,
And see a flock of wild-ducks float,
Like water-lilies nearer by,
On Hudson's tide.
The mullein lifts, along the bank,
Its velvet spires of yellow bloom;
And there a darting humming-bird
Gleams in the cedars' verdant gloom.
By basins of the brook that flings
Its dewy diamonds far below
Into the ripples' pigmy hands,
Sweet maiden-hair and cresses grow,
By Hudson's tide.
I wander on the pebbled beach,
And think of boyhood's careless hours
When, in my boat, I used to float
Along the bank and gather flowers;
Or catch the wind, and swiftly dash
Across the white-caps in their play,
And feel their wet resistance break
Against the prow in pearly spray,
On Hudson's tide.
And once, in those lost days, I lay
Becalmed with limp and drowsy sail,
And drifted where Esopus Isle
Mid-stream reclines along the vale;
He slowly rose, and stood erect,
His giant body all of stone,
And cast his eyes, as from the skies,
On me that drifted there alone
On Hudson's tide.
Only his feet were lost to view,
And cleft the current ebbing down;
His lofty headdress, plumed with trees,
Touched the blue zenith with its crown.
The river's self was but his bow
That lay neglected on the ground;
Like down, or fur, the soft leaves were,
That, as a blanket, wrapped him round,
On Hudson's tide.
I had not been surprised if he
Had mounted on some thunder-cloud
And rushed at Ontiora's knee,
With sudden war-whoop sharp and loud.
But he was mild, and blandly smiled,
And spoke with accents sweet and low.
His words with kindness glanced and fell,
And seemed like music or the flow
Of Hudson's tide.
'Enjoy the river and thy days,'
He said, 'nor heed what others say.
What matters either blame or praise,
If one in peace pursue his way?
The river heeds not; heed not thou:
Cut deep the channel of thy life.
Thou hast a fair exemplar there:
With what serene indifference rife
Is Hudson's tide!
How level lies its changeful floor,
Broad-sweeping to the distant sea!
What Titan grandeur marks the shore!
What beauty covers rock and tree!
What ample bays and branching streams,
What curves abrupt for glad surprise!
And how supreme the Artist is
Who paints it all for loving eyes
By Hudson's tide!'
I woke; and since, long years have passed;
By Hudson's tide my days go by:
Its varied beauty fills my heart.
Of fairer scenes what need have I?
And when my boat of life and thought
Shall quit the harbor of my breast,
And seek the silent, unknown sea,
I trust this dust in peace shall rest
By Hudson's tide.
