A Lonely Flute Part 5

But we must draw the curtain And fasten bolts and bars And talk here in the firelight Of him beneath the stars.

THE GOLDFINCH

Down from the sky on a sudden he drops Into the mullein and juniper tops, Flushed from his bath in the midsummer shine Flooding the meadowland, drunk with the wine Spilled from the urns of the blue, like a bold Sky-buccaneer in his sable and gold.

Lightly he sways on the pendulous stem, Vividly restless, a fluttering gem, Then with a flash of bewildering wings Dazzles away up and down, and he sings Clear as a bell at each dip as he flies Bounding along on the wave of the skies.

Sunlight and laughter, a winged desire, Motion and melody married to fire, Lighter than thistle-tuft borne on the wind, Frailer than violets, how shall we find Words that will match him, discover a name Meet for this marvel, this lyrical flame?

How shall we fashion a rhythm to wing with him, Find us a wonderful music to sing with him Fine as his rapture is, free as the rollicking Song that the harlequin drops in his frolicking Dance through the summer sky, singing so merrily High in the burning blue, winging so airily?

(_ Mount Vernon, New Hampshire_)

ORIOLES

Wings in a blur of gold High in the elm trees, Looping like tawny flame Through the green shadows, Now at an airy height Pausing a heart beat Quite at the twig's tip, Pendulous, bending.

Golden against the blue, Gold in an azure cup, Golden wine bubbling Out of blue goblets...

Cool, smooth and reedy notes Fly low across the noon While through the drowsy heat Drums the cicada.

Tropical wing and song Bound from Bolivia...

All the blue Amazon Sings to New England....

Flute-noted orioles, Flame-coated orioles, Gold-throated orioles, Spirits of summer.

BY A MOUNTAIN STREAM

Where the rivulet swept by a sycamore root With a turbulent voice and a hurrying foot, I bent by the water and spoke in my dream To the wavering, restless, unlingering stream: "Oh, turbulent rivulet hastening past, For what wonderful goal do you hope at the last That never you pause in the shimmering green Of the undulant shade where the sycamores lean Or rest in the moss-curtained, cool dripping halls Hidden under the veils of your musical falls Or loiter at peace by the tremulous fern-- White wandering waters that never return?"

And I dreamed by the rivulet's wavering side That a myriad ripple of voices replied: "Aloft on the mountain, afar on the steep, A voice that we knew cried aloud in our sleep, 'Come, hasten ye down to the vale and to me, Your begetter, destroyer, preserver, the Sea!'

We must carry our feebleness down to the Strong, We must mingle us deep in the Whole, and ere long All the numberless host of the heaven shall ride With the pale Lady Moon on our slumbering tide."

The voices swept out and away through the door Of the canyon, and on to the infinite sh.o.r.e.

Oh, vast in thy destiny, slender of span, Wild rivulet, how thou art like to a man!

(_Cold Brook, California_, 1912)

APRIL

(_To Bliss Carman_)

There's a murmur in the patient forest alleys, There's an elfin echo whispering through the trees, Lonely pipes are lifted softly in the valleys...

All the air is filled with waking melodies.

From the crucibles of Erebus and Endor, Flame of emerald has fallen by the rills, And it flashes up the slope and sits in splendor In the glory of the beauty of the hills.

Now my heart will yearn again to voice its wonder And my song must sing again between the words With a mutter of unutterable thunder And a twitter of inimitable birds.

(_April_, 1903)

A CHAPEL BY THE SEA

(_To Paul Dowling_)

There's a mouldering mountain chapel gazing out across the sea From beneath the lisping shelter of a eucalyptus tree That has drawn the ancient silence from the mountain's heart and fills And subdues a fevered spirit with the quiet of the hills.

For silvery in the morning the chimes go dropping down Across the vales of purple mist that gird the island town And golden in the evening the vesper bells again Call back the weary fishing folk along the leafy lane.

I'd like to be the father priest and call the folk to prayer Up through the winding dewy ways that climb the morning air, And send them down at even-song with all the silent sky Of early starshine teaching them far deeper truth than I.

I'd like to lie at rest there beneath a mossy stone Above the crooning sea's low distant monotone, Lulled by the lisping whisper of the eucalyptus tree That shades my mountain chapel gazing out across the sea.

(_Avalon, Christmas Day_, 1913)

EPHEMEROS

A firefly cried across the night: "O lofty star, O streaming light, Clear eye of heaven, immortal lamp Set high above the dew and damp, Thou great high-priest to heaven's King And chief of all the choirs that sing Their golden, endless antiphons Of praise before the eternal thrones-- Hear thou my prayer of worship! Thine The glory, all the dimness mine.

I am a feeble glimmering spark Vagrant along the lower dark."

The star called down from heaven's roof With a humble heart and mild reproof: "The Power that made, the Breath that blew My fire aglow has kindled you With equal love and equal pain And equal toil of heart and brain.

For I am only a wandering light, Your elder comrade in the night.

We are two sisters, you and I, And when we two burn out and die It will be hardly known from far Which was the firefly, which the star."

WANDERl.u.s.t

(_To Willard_)