Tinkle, tinkle, sweetly it sung to us, Light was our talk as of faëry bells; Faëry wedding-bells faintly rung to us Down in their fortunate parallels. Hand in hand, while the sun peered over, We lapped the grass on that youngling spring; Swept back its rushes, smoothed its clover, And said, 'Let us follow it westering.' III. A dappled sky, a world of meadows, Flit on the beck, for her long grass parteth As hair from a maid's bright eyes blown back; And, lo, the sun like a lover darteth His flattering smile on her wayward track. Sing on! we sing in the glorious weather The beck grows wider, the hands must sever. Taking the course of the stooping sun. He prays, 'Come over' - I may not follow; Our hands are hanging, our hearts are numb. IV. A breathing sigh, a sigh for answer, 'Cross to me now-for her wavelets swell:' 'I may not cross,' — and the voice beside her Faintly reacheth, though heeded well. No backward path; ah! no returning; No second crossing that ripple's flow: Then cries of pain, and arms outreaching — The loud beck drowns them; we walk, and weep. V. A yellow moon in splendor drooping, A tired queen with her state oppressed, The desert heavens have felt her sadness, We two walk on in our grassy places On either marge of the moonlit flood, With the moon's own sadness in our faces, Where joy is withered, blossom and bud. VI. A shady freshness, chafers whirring, A cloud to the eastward snowy as curds. Bare grassy slopes, where kids are tethered A rose-flush tender, a thrill, a quiver, Broad and white, and polished as silver And 'plaineth of love's disloyalties. Glitters the dew and shines the river, But two are walking apart forever, And wave their hands for a mute farewell. VII. A braver swell, a swifter sliding; The river hasteth, her banks recede. Stately prows are rising and bowing The tiny green ribbon that showed so fair. While, O my heart! as white sails shiver, And crowds are passing, and banks stretch wide, How hard to follow, with lips that quiver, That moving speck on the far-off side. Farther, farther I see it -- know it— VIII. And yet I know past all doubting, truly – And as I walk by the vast calm river, The awful river so dread to see, I say, 'Thy breadth and thy depth forever Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me.' FROM 'SONGS OF SEVEN.'19 SEVEN TIMES ONE. EXULTATION. THERE's no dew left on the daisies and clover, I've said my 'seven times' over and over, I am old, so old, I can write a letter; My birthday lessons are done; The lambs play always, they know no better; O moon! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low; You were bright! ah bright! but your light is failing — You are nothing now but a bow. You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven I hope if you have you will soon be forgiven, O velvet bee, you 're a dusty fellow, O columbine, open your folded wrapper, And show me your nest with the young ones in it; I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet — I am seven times one to-day. SEVEN TIMES FOUR. MATERNITY. HEIGH HO! daisies and buttercups, Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall, When the wind wakes how they rock in the grasses, And dance with the cuckoo-buds, slender and small: Here's two bonny boys, and here's mother's own lasses, Eager to gather them all. Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups: Mother shall thread them a daisy chain; Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow, That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain ; |