Dimming in sunniness, aerily distant, Valley and hillside float; Up to me wavering, softly insistent, Wanders the wood-brook's note.
Anchored beyond in azure unending Cloud-sails await wind-tide. Oh, for the skylands where soon they'll be wending-- And, unabiding, bide.
Where Time aflow thro' infinite spaces Stays for no throttle of pain! Where the stars go at eve to their places; Where silence never shall wane!
Where there's no sense but of beauty's wild sweetness, Thought but of sweetening beauty! Where wanting's stilled in unwanting's completeness-- Where peace is duty!
I knew she would come! Sarcastic November Laughed cold and glum On the last red ember Of forest leaves. He was laughing, the scorner, At me forlorner Than any that grieves-- Because I asked him if June would come!
But I knew she would come! When snow-hearted winter Gripped river and loam, And the wind sped flinter On icy heel, I was chafing my sorrow And yearning to borrow A hope that would steal Across the hours--till June should come.
And now she is here.-- The wanton!--I follow Her steps, ever near, To the shade of the hollow Where violets blow: And chide her for leaving, Tho' half, still, believing She taunted me so, To make her abided return more dear.
Brown dropping of leaves, Soft rush of the wind, Slow searing of sheaves On the hill; Green plunging of frogs, Cool lisp of the brook, Far barking of dogs At the mill; Hot hanging of clouds, High poise of the hawk, Flush laughter of crowds From the Ridge; Nut-falling, quail-calling, Wheel-rumbling, bee-mumbling-- Oh, sadness, gladness, madness, Of an autumn day at the bridge!
Her voice is vibrant beauty dipt In dreams of infinite sorrow and delight. Thro' an awaiting soul 'tis slipt And lo, words spring that breathe immortal might.
Out of the night of lovelessness I call Thee, as, in a chill chamber where no ray Of unbelievable light and freedom fall, Might cry one manacled! And tho' the way Thou'lt come I cannot see; tho' my heart's sore With emptiness when morning's silent gray Wakes me to long aloneness; yet I know Thou hast been with me, who like dawn wilt go Beside me, when I have found thee, evermore!
So in the garden of my heart each day I plant thee a flower. Now the pansy, peace, And now the lily, faith--or now a spray Of the climbing ivy, hope. And they ne'er cease Around the still unblossoming rose of love To bend in fragrant tribute to her sway. Then--for thy shelter from life's sultrier suns, The oak of strength I set o'er joy that runs With brooklet glee from winds that grieve above.