_MY LOVE_
My love is fair as the morn;
Yes, fair as the summer morning,
When with fold on fold of red, and gold,
The sun in the east gives warning,
And a soft, rare light, not dim nor bright,
O'er hill and mountain lingers;
And flower, and vine with jewels shine--
Bedecked by the fairie's fingers.
My love has eyes like the clouds,
That are dyed with the autumn's splendor,
So darkly blue, where her soul looks through--
So truthful and so tender.
When their light is hid by the snowy lid,
My heart seems lost in shadow.
And her glance will chase the gloom from my face,
Like sunlight on a meadow.
My love has cheeks like a rose--
Yes, like a rose in blossom,
And a flake of snow is her polished brow,
And a drift of snow is her bosom;
And her hair sweeps down, half gold, half brown,
Like a silken veil, to cover
The matchless grace of her form and face,
From the burning eyes of her lover.
My love has a voice like a thrush--
Yes, like a thrush when singing.
And the wondering lark cries, "Listen! hark!"
When he hears her glad tone ringing.
Oh, she is fair, beyond compare;
And how her sweet face flushes,
When I whisper low a tale we know--
And the rose is shamed by her blushes.
1871
_THE FROST FAIRY_
All day the trees were moaning,
For the leaves that they had lost.
All day they creaked and trembled,
And the naked branches tossed,
And shivered in the north wind,
As he hurried up and down,
Over hill-tops, bleak and cheerless,
Over meadows, bare, and brown.
"Oh, my green and tender leaflets.
Oh, my fair buds, lost, and gone!"
So they moaned through all the daytime,
So, they groaned, till night came on.
And the hoar-frost lurked, and listened,
To the wailing, sad refrain.
And he whispered, "Wait--be patient--
I will cover you again.
"I will clothe you in new garments:
I will deck you, ere the light,
In a sheen of spotless glory,
In a robe of purest white.
You shall wear the matchless mantle,
That the good frost-fairy weaves."
And the bare trees listened, wondered--
And forgot their fallen leaves.
And the quaint and silent fairy,
Backward, forward, through the gloom,
Wove the matchless, glittering mantle;
Spun the frost-thread, on her loom.
And the bare trees talked together--
Talked in whispers, soft, and low,
As the good and patient fairy
Moved her shuttle to and fro.
And lo! when the sudden glory
Of the morning crept abroad,
All the trees were clothed in grandeur;
All the twiglets robed and shod
In the glittering, spotless garments,
That the sunshine decked with gems;
And the trees forgot their sorrow,
'Neath their robes and diadems.
1870.
_THE SUMMONS_
I think the leaf would sooner
Be the first to break away,
Than to hang alone in the orchard
In the bleak November day.
And I think the fate of the flower
That falls in the midst of bloom
Is sweeter than if it lingered
To die in the autumn's gloom.
Some glowing, golden morning
In the heart of the summer time,
As I stand in the perfect vigor
And strength of my youth's glad prime;
When my heart is light and happy,
And the world seems bright to me,
I would like to drop from this earth-life,
As a green leaf drops from the tree.
Someday, when the golden glory
Of June is over the earth,
And the birds are singing together
In a wild, mad strain of mirth,
When the skies are as clear and cloudless
As the skies of June can be,
I would like to have the summons
Sent down from God to me.
I would not wait for the furrows--
For the faded eyes and hair;
But pass out swift and sudden,
Ere I grow heart-sick with care;
I would break some morn in my singing--
Or fall in my springing walk,
As a full-blown flower will sometimes
Drop, all a-bloom, from the stalk.
And so, in my youth's glad morning,
I would like to hear the summons,
That must come, sometime, from God.
I would pass from the earth's perfection
To the endless June above;
From the fullness of living and loving,
To the noon of Immortal Love.
1873
_THREE YEARS OLD_
Written upon Eva Orton's third birthday.
A robin up in the linden-tree
Merrily sings this lay:
"Somebody sweet is three years old--
Three years old to-day."
Somebody's bright blue eyes look up
Through tangled curls of gold,
And two red lips unclose to say--
"To-day I am free years old."
Clouds were over the sky this morn,
But now they are sailing away;
Clouds could never obscure the sun
On somebody sweet's birthday.
Bluest of skies and greenest of trees,
Sunlight and birds and flowers,
These are Nature's birthday gifts
To this sweet pet of ours.
The pantry is brimming with cakes and creams
For somebody's birthday ball.
Papa and mamma bring their gifts,
But their _love_ is better than all.
Ribbons and sashes, and dainty robes,
Gifts of silver and gold,
Will fade and rust as the days go by,
But their _hearts_ will not grow cold.
Then laugh in the sunlight, somebody sweet--
Little flower of June!
You have nothing to do with care,
For life is in perfect tune.
Loving hearts and sheltering arms
Shall keep old care away
For many a year, from somebody sweet,
Who is three years old to-day.