THE GRAVE-TREE

Let me have a scarlet maple

For the grave-tree at my head,

With the quiet sun behind it,

In the years when I am dead.

Let me have it for a signal,

Where the long winds stream and stream,

Clear across the dim blue distance,

Like a horn blown in a dream;

Scarlet when the April vanguard

Bugles up the laggard Spring,

Scarlet when the bannered Autumn,

Marches by unwavering.

It will comfort me with honey

When the shining rifts and showers

Sweep across the purple valley

And bring back the forest flowers.

It will be my leafy cabin,

Large enough when June returns

And I hear the golden thrushes

Flute and hesitate by turns.

And in fall, some yellow morning,

When the stealthy frost has come,

Leaf by leaf it will befriend me

As with comrades going home.

Let me have the Silent Valley

And the hill that fronts the east,

So that I can watch the morning

Redden and the stars released.

Leave me in the Great Lone Country,

For I shall not be afraid

With the shy moose and the beaver

There within my scarlet shade.

I would sleep, but not too soundly,

Where the sunning partridge drums,

Till the crickets hush before him

When the Scarlet Hunter comes.

That will be in warm September,

In the stillness of the year,

When the river-blue is deepest

And the other world is near.

When the apples burn their reddest

And the corn is in the sheaves,

I shall stir and waken lightly

At a footfall in the leaves.

It will be the Scarlet Hunter

Come to tell me time is done;

On the idle hills forever

There will stand the idle sun.

There the wind will stay to whisper

Many wonders to the reeds;

But I shall not fear to follow

Where my Scarlet Hunter leads.

I shall know him in the darkling

Murmur of the river bars,

While his feet are on the mountains

Treading out the smoldering stars.

I shall know him, in the sunshine

Sleeping in my scarlet tree,

Long before he halts beside it

Stooping down to summon me.

Then fear not, my friends, to leave me

In the boding autumn vast;

There are many things to think of

When the roving days are past.

Leave me by the scarlet maple,

When the journeying shadows fail,

Waiting till the Scarlet Hunter

Pass upon the endless trail.

By the Aurelian Wall, and Other Elegies · 第 50 / 50 题