Her children all were gathered round her,
One olden, golden day;
Between her tender, drooping eyelids
She watched them feed or play.
Upon the lion's living velvet
She pillowed her fair head;
A white fawn pushed its dewy muzzle
Beneath the hand that fed.
A goldfinch clung upon a ringlet
That brushed her wide, smooth brow;
And, thence, right merrily he answered
His comrades on the bough.
But at her feet there lay a sleeper,
Of subtly-fashioned limb;
Whose motion, force and will to be,
Kept yet their prison dim.
And round about his couch of slumber
The rest a space did make:
"Your peace" (the Mother told her children)
"Is broken, if he wake!
"Lo! this--the best of all created--
Shall yet an evil bring:
And ye in doubt shall graze the pasture,
And ye in fear shall sing.
"For your dear sake, my lesser children,
I keep him long asleep;
Play on, sing on, a happy season--
His dreams be passing deep!"
Thus, while her children gathered round her,
And while Man sleeping lay,
The fair Earth-Mother softly murmured,
"It is your Golden Day!"
"WHEN THE LEAVES ARE GONE"
When the leaves are gone, the birds are gone,
And 'tis very silent at the dawn.
Snowbird, nuthatch, chickadee,--
Come and cheer the lonely tree!
When the leaves are gone, the flowers are gone,
Fast asleep beneath the ground withdrawn.
Flowers of snow, so soft and fine--
Clothe the shivering branch and vine!