One Day & Another Part 5

Now opening through a willow fringe The waters creep, one tawny tinge Of sunset; and on either marge The cottonwoods make walls of shade; And, near, the gradual hills loom large Within its mirror. Herons wade, Or fly, like Faery birds, from gra.s.s That mats the sh.o.r.e by which we pa.s.s.

_She speaks._

On we pa.s.s; we rippling pa.s.s, On sunset waters still as gla.s.s.

A vesper-sparrow flies above Soft twittering to its woodland love.

A whippoorwill now calls afar; And 'gainst the west, like some swift star, A glittering jay flies screaming. Slim The sand-snipes and king-fishers skim Before us; and some evening thrush-- Who may discover where such sing?-- The silence rinses with a gush Of mellow music bubbling.

_He speaks._

On we pa.s.s.--Now let us oar To yonder strip of ragged sh.o.r.e, Where, from a rock with lichens h.o.a.r, A ferny spring wells. Gliding by The sulphur-colored firefly Lights its pale lamp where mallows gloom, And wild-bean and wild-mustard bloom.-- Some hunter there within the woods Last fall encamped those ashes say And campfire boughs.--The solitudes Grow dreamy with the death of day.

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_She sings._

Over the fields of millet A young bird tries its wings; And sweet as a woodland rillet, Its first wild music rings-- Soul of my soul, where the meadows roll What is the song it sings?

"Love, and a glad good-morrow, Heart where the rapture is!

Good-morrow, good-morrow!

Adieu to sorrow!

Here is the road to bliss: Where all day long you may hearken my song, And kiss, kiss, kiss!"

Over the fields of clover, Where the wild bee drones and sways, The wind, like a shepherd lover, Flutes on the fragrant ways-- Heart of my heart, where the blossoms part, What is the air he plays?

"Love, and a song to follow, Soul with the face a-gleam!

Come follow, come follow, O'er hill and o'er hollow, To the land o' the bloom and beam; Where under the flowers you may listen for hours, And dream, dream, dream!"

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_He speaks, letting the boat drift._

Here the sh.o.r.es are irised. Gra.s.ses Clump the water dark that gla.s.ses Broken wood and deepened distance.

Far the musical persistence Of a field-lark lingers low In the west where tulips blow.

White before us flames one pointed Star; and Day hath Night anointed King; from out her azure ewer Pouring starry fire, truer Than pure gold. Star-crowned he stands With the star-light in his hands.

Will the moon bleach through the ragged Tree-tops ere we reach yon jagged Rock, that rises gradually, Pharos of our homeward valley?-- All the west is smouldering red; Embers are the stars o'erhead.

At my soul some Protean elf is; You're Simaetha; I am Delphis.

You are Sappho and your Phaon, I.--We love.--There lies a ray on All the Dark aeolian seas 'Round the violet Lesbian leas.

On we drift. I love you. Nearer Looms our island. Rosier, clearer, The Leucadian cliff we follow, Where the temple of Apollo Shines--a pale and pillared fire....

Strike, oh, strike the Lydian lyre!-- While in h.e.l.las still we seem, Let us sing of that we dream.

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_Landing, he sings._

Night, night, 'tis night. The moon drifts low above us, And all its gold is tangled in the stream: Love, love, my love, and all the stars, that love us, The stars smile down and every star's a dream.

In odorous purple, where the falling warble Of water cascades and the plunged foam glows, A columned ruin lifts its sculptured marble Friezed with the chiselled rebeck and the rose.

_She sings._

Sleep, Sleep, sweet Sleep sleeps at the drifting tiller, And in our sail the Spirit of the Rain-- Love, love, my love, ah, bid thy heart be stiller, And, hark! the music of the resonant main.

What flowers are those that blow their balm unto us From mouths of wild aroma, each a flame?-- That breathe of love, of love we know that drew us, That kissed our eyes, so we might see the same.

_He speaks._

Night, night, 'tis night!--no dream is this to banish; The temple and the nightingale _are_ there!

Our love has made them, nevermore to vanish, Real as yon moon, this wild-rose in your hair.

Night, night, 'tis night!--and love's own star's before us, Its bright reflection in the starry stream-- Yes, yes, ah, yes! its presence shall watch o'er us, Night, night, to-night, and every night we dream.

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_Homeward through flowers; she speaks:_

Behold the offerings of the common hills!

Whose lowly names have made them three times dear: The evening-primrose and dim mult.i.tudes Of violets that sky the mossy dells With heaven's ambrosial blue; dew-dripping plumes Of mauve lobelias; and the red-stained cups Of blackberry-lilies all along the creek, Where, lulled, the freckled silence sleeps, and vague

The water flows; where, at high noon, the cows Wade knee-deep, and the heat is honied with The drone of drowsy bees. The fleur-de-lis, Blue, streaked with crystal like a summer day, The monkey-flower and the touch-me-not, All frailly scented and familiar as Fair baby faces and soft infant eyes.

Simple suggestions of a life most fair!

You whisper me of love and untaught faith, Whose habitation is within the soul, Not of the Earth, yet for the Earth indeed....

What is it halcyons my heart? makes calm, With calmness not of wisdom, all my soul To-night?--Is't love? or faith? or both?-- The lore of all the world is less than these Simple suggestions of a life most fair, And love most sweet; that I have learned to know!

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_He speaks, musingly._

Yes, I have known its being so; Long ago was I seeing so-- Beckoning on to a fairer land, Out of the flowers it waved its hand; Bidding me on to life and love; Life with the hope of the love thereof.

What is the value of knowing it, If you are shy in showing it?-- Need of the earth unfolds the flower, Dewy sweet at the proper hour; And in the world of the human heart Love is the flower's counterpart.

So when the soul is heedable, Then is the heart made readable-- I in the book of your heart have read Words that are truer than truth has said; Measures of love, the spirit's song, Writ of your soul to haunt me long.

Love can hear each laudable Thought of the loved made audible, Spoken in wonder, or bliss, or pain, And re-echo it back again; Ever responsive, ever awake, Ever replying with ache for ache.

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