The gold-red leaves have burned
To their last great glow, and died
And underfoot
By the strong oak's root
They are seized by the angry wind and spurned
And into a common grave have turned
For Summer--warm and wide.
A year must a sapling wage
Its life with the sun and rain,
Then its tender youth
Without reck or ruth
Is frozen and beaten to harsh old age
By a stroke of Nature mother's rage
And the sturdy fight seems vain.
It wails to the oak o'erhead
As the coffin-cold wraps round
"The end of life
Is toil and strife
And the secret of being, I have found
Is a seed in the wind and a log on the ground.
I hope I will soon be dead."
"Peace little struggler--sleep"--
And the great oak croons a song,
"Death is but night
And a cradle white
For one dark space may the shadows creep,
Then Spring will rise from her dungeon keep
And life wake, wise and strong."
WAITING
FOR DAY
Sweet Lady Night is paling white.
Why lags her Lord and Master?
She weeping, lays her jewels off--
Ah--may he not come faster.
But hush--the tender rosy blush
Her beauty fair adorning
Her love steps o'er the mountain's rim,
They kiss--and here's the morning.
THE ANGEL OF
INDIFFERENCE
A Man once loved a Woman, in the days of old,
Our bond is the strongest in the world, they said--
The Angels up above
Are jealous of our love,
Perhaps they are wishing we were dead, overhead.
So they loved for a Time and the passing of a Time,
And the Angel of Indifference, smiling down, saw their fire,
And he covered for a space
With his sombre wings his face,
That they twain might have of love all desire, without tire.
But love's perfect joy within them burned at last to a flame
Till they longed for a breeze that would gently cool the heart.
For absence! cooling snow
They sighed apart and low,
Tho' they murmured still their love, hand and heart loth to part.
But at length they prayed together to the calm Angel--pale,
Ah--we yearn, scorched and weary, for the peace of thy breast.
For that land where love seems
But the shadow of dreams,
Where all sleep in the silver of the West, give us rest.
And he heard, and he bore them to the cool grey heights,
Where all men may drift and himself alone stands fast,
And gave them for their token
The peace of dreams unbroken
Where their souls, his faithful vassals, rest at last, from
the past.