We thunder thro’ the bridges. We bicker down the cuttings. We sway along the ridges.
A rush of streaming hedges, Of jostling lights and shadows, Of hurtling, hurrying stations, Of racing woods and meadows.
We charge the tunnels headlong - The blackness roars and shatters. We crash between embankments - The open spins and scatters.
We shake off the miles like water, We might carry a royal ransom; And I think of her waiting, waiting, And long for a common hansom.
1876
XXII
The West a glimmering lake of light, A dream of pearly weather, The first of stars is burning white - The star we watch together. Is April dead? The unresting year Will shape us our September, And April’s work is done, my dear - Do you not remember?
O gracious eve! O happy star, Still-flashing, glowing, sinking! - Who lives of lovers near or far So glad as I in thinking? The gallant world is warm and green, For May fulfils November. When lights and leaves and loves have been, Sweet, will you remember?
O star benignant and serene, I take the good to-morrow, That fills from verge to verge my dream, With all its joy and sorrow! The old, sweet spell is unforgot That turns to June December; And, tho’ the world remembered not, Love, we would remember.
1876
XXIII
The skies are strown with stars, The streets are fresh with dew A thin moon drifts to westward, The night is hushed and cheerful. My thought is quick with you.
Near windows gleam and laugh, And far away a train Clanks glowing through the stillness: A great content’s in all things, And life is not in vain.
1877
XXIV
The full sea rolls and thunders In glory and in glee. O, bury me not in the senseless earth But in the living sea!
Ay, bury me where it surges A thousand miles from shore, And in its brotherly unrest I’ll range for evermore.
1876
XXV
In the year that’s come and gone, love, his flying feather Stooping slowly, gave us heart, and bade us walk together. In the year that’s coming on, though many a troth be broken, We at least will not forget aught that love hath spoken.
In the year that’s come and gone, dear, we wove a tether All of gracious words and thoughts, binding two together. In the year that’s coming on with its wealth of roses We shall weave it stronger, yet, ere the circle closes.
In the year that’s come and gone, in the golden weather, Sweet, my sweet, we swore to keep the watch of life together. In the year that’s coming on, rich in joy and sorrow, We shall light our lamp, and wait life’s mysterious morrow.
1877
XXVI
In the placid summer midnight, Under the drowsy sky, I seem to hear in the stillness The moths go glimmering by.
One by one from the windows The lights have all been sped. Never a blind looks conscious - The street is asleep in bed!
But I come where a living casement Laughs luminous and wide; I hear the song of a piano Break in a sparkling tide;
And I feel, in the waltz that frolics And warbles swift and clear, A sudden sense of shelter And friendliness and cheer …
A sense of tinkling glasses, Of love and laughter and light - The piano stops, and the window Stares blank out into the night.
The blind goes out, and I wander To the old, unfriendly sea, The lonelier for the memory That walks like a ghost with me.
XXVII
She sauntered by the swinging seas, A jewel glittered at her ear, And, teasing her along, the breeze Brought many a rounded grace more near.
So passing, one with wave and beam, She left for memory to caress A laughing thought, a golden gleam, A hint of hidden loveliness.
1876
XXVIII—To S. C.
Blithe dreams arise to greet us, And life feels clean and new, For the old love comes to meet us In the dawning and the dew. O’erblown with sunny shadows, O’ersped with winds at play, The woodlands and the meadows Are keeping holiday. Wild foals are scampering, neighing, Brave merles their hautboys blow: Come! let us go a-maying As in the Long-Ago.
Here we but peak and dwindle: The clank of chain and crane, The whir of crank and spindle Bewilder heart and brain; The ends of our endeavour Are merely wealth and fame, Yet in the still Forever We’re one and all the same; Delaying, still delaying, We watch the fading west: Come! let us go a-maying, Nor fear to take the best.
Yet beautiful and spacious The wise, old world appears. Yet frank and fair and gracious Outlaugh the jocund years. Our arguments disputing, The universal Pan Still wanders fluting—fluting - Fluting to maid and man. Our weary well-a-waying His music cannot still: Come! let us go a-maying, And pipe with him our fill.
When wanton winds are flowing Among the gladdening glass; Where hawthorn brakes are blowing, And meadow perfumes pass; Where morning’s grace is greenest, And fullest noon’s of pride; Where sunset spreads serenest, And sacred night’s most wide; Where nests are swaying, swaying, And spring’s fresh voices call, Come! let us go a-maying, And bless the God of all!
1878
XXIX—To R. L. S.
A child, Curious and innocent, Slips from his Nurse, and rejoicing Loses himself in the Fair.
Thro’ the jostle and din Wandering, he revels, Dreaming, desiring, possessing; Till, of a sudden Tired and afraid, he beholds The sordid assemblage Just as it is; and he runs With a sob to his Nurse (Lighting at last on him), And in her motherly bosom Cries him to sleep.
Thus thro’ the World, Seeing and feeling and knowing, Goes Man: till at last, Tired of experience, he turns To the friendly and comforting breast Of the old nurse, Death.
1876
XXX
Kate-a-Whimsies, John-a-Dreams, Still debating, still delay, And the world’s a ghost that gleams - Wavers—vanishes away!
We must live while live we can; We should love while love we may. Dread in women, doubt in man … So the Infinite runs away.
1876
XXXI
O, have you blessed, behind the stars, The blue sheen in the skies, When June the roses round her calls? - Then do you know the light that falls From her beloved eyes.
And have you felt the sense of peace That morning meadows give? - Then do you know the spirit of grace, The angel abiding in her face, Who makes it good to live.
She shines before me, hope and dream, So fair, so still, so wise, That, winning her, I seem to win Out of the dust and drive and din A nook of Paradise.
1877
XXXII—To D. H.
O, Falmouth is a fine town with ships in the bay, And I wish from my heart it’s there I was to-day; I wish from my heart I was far away from here, Sitting in my parlour and talking to my dear. For it’s home, dearie, home—it’s home I want to be. Our topsails are hoisted, and we’ll away to sea. O, the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree They’re all growing green in the old countrie.
In Baltimore a-walking a lady I did meet With her babe on her arm, as she came down the street; And I thought how I sailed, and the cradle standing ready For the pretty little babe that has never seen its daddie. And it’s home, dearie, home …
O, if it be a lass, she shall wear a golden ring; And if it be a lad, he shall fight for his king: With his dirk and his hat and his little jacket blue He shall walk the quarter-deck as his daddie used to do. And it’s home, dearie, home …
O, there’s a wind a-blowing, a-blowing from the west, And that of all the winds is the one I like the best, For it blows at our backs, and it shakes our pennon free, And it soon will blow us home to the old countrie. For it’s home, dearie, home—it’s home I want to be. Our topsails are hoisted, and we’ll away to sea. O, the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree They’re all growing green in the old countrie.
1878
NOTE: The burthen and the third stanza are old.
XXXIII
The ways are green with the gladdening sheen Of the young year’s fairest daughter.
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