Our Profession and Other Poems Part 9

I sometimes think I love the rose More than all other flowers, Because its fragrance falls on me In copious, dainty showers; And blushing in its modesty, I press it to my heart, As the idol of my dalliance That should no more depart.

But when I see the lily fair-- The meadow's beauteous queen-- Surrounded by her myriad friends All dressed in Nature's green, My heart goes out in ecstasy, And naught on earth to me Seems fairer type of loveliness, Than this daughter of th' lea.

When bright snow-flake-petaled daisy, Whose heart of yellow gold, Is richer vein of pure delight Than miner-kings may hold, Sends out her invitation warm, To search in her domain For berries like a bleeding heart, I cannot well decline.

And then the graceful goldenrod With flaunting, sun-lit plume, Whose lateness lends a special joy And sweetness to its bloom, Invites me with its wind-blown nod, To be its devotee, With honesty I must confess It has a charm for me.

There's a heaven-born flower--the aster, That drinks nocturnal dews From late autumn's chilly fountains, And steals the sunset hues; It smiles from wayside tangles And coyly casts its eyes, Yet holds me by its modesty A voluntary prize.

I know not which I love the most,-- I know I love them all,-- For G.o.d hath given each its grace, And each its special call; Each has a mission to perform, A purpose and an end, And sweet is the companionship Of each bright flower-friend.

TRAILING ARBUTUS.

Under the brown leaves meekly abiding, The gem of the spring-flowers nestles away, In copse near th' wood, where covertly hiding, It catches the glow of Aurora's first ray.

Where moss and leaf are strewn in profusion-- A bed whereon G.o.ds might gladly repose-- Apart from the world, in rural seclusion The pride of the moorland--arbutus grows.

In mossy fields, 'mong refuse of bushes, With rose-tinted lips, like herald of morn, With but a leaf to conceal secret blushes, Earth's first vernal offspring is sweetly born.

Modest, retiring, and beautiful sprite, Emblem of graces a maiden should wear, Great is the pleasure, supreme the delight Of searching for joys such coyness doth bear.

Child of the woodland in beauty abiding, Whose breath scents the air of early spring morns, Fairies of magical powers are residing In nooks and valleys your presence adorns.

Oft in the springtime I wander away To dwell for a time in your blest retreat, Counting such pleasure far sweeter to me Than bustle of city or throng of the street.

THE MORNING GLORY.

[On being requested to give some Morning Glory seeds.]

The sunshine seems much brighter, And the heart is ever lighter, When the rays of sweet Aurora Gild the radiant morning glory With a splendor, such as heaven To few favorites has given Among the beautiful rare flowers.

So plant these seeds with care, In a place well-chosen, where The first rays of the morning May kiss their bright adorning, And teach your heart to see The beauties there may be In the early morning hours.

RYE.

When pollen-dust from fields of rye Floats out on the dews of even, And stars of June bedeck the sky Of mild and cloudless heaven, 'Tis ecstasy to linger near The odor-laden quivers, Whose lance-like arrows then appear To be our pleasure-givers.

When Luna bright is wreathed in smiles, And breathes upon the flowers, A billowy greenness oft beguiles Our minds by magic powers; For like the waves of ocean grand When tempest winds are high, With speed sweep by the waves on land, In the fields of liquid rye.

Fragrant fields of beautiful June, Whose billowy, graceful green Is a mem'ry-gem that fades too soon From childhood's romantic scene, Sweet were my hours of ecstasy When by your side I was nigh; Joys I covet, long lost to me That came from sweet fields of rye.

COMMUNION WITH NATURE.

'Tis sweet to hold communion With Nature true and wild, And feel the thrill of gladness She breathes upon her child, When close upon her bosom We press the listening ear, And fancy that the minstrelsy Our raptured senses hear, Is sweeter than the chorus By angel choirs sung, Or richer than vibrations Of chords so deftly strung, That all their intonations Seem blended in one strain, By touch of fairy fingers Which enchant the sweet refrain.

The beauties of the sunset Upon the evening sky, When flecked with fleeting vapors, Detached and awry, Give colors that no artist Save G.o.d alone can show To eyes that seek such blendings, And hearts that long to know The hidden things in Nature Which ne'er can be revealed To those who find not heaven In mountain, sky, and field; For they who live the nearest To Nature's self shall find Joy boundless as the ocean, As pure and unconfined.

Deep in the leafy forest A thousand tones are heard,-- The laughing, dancing brooklet, The song of bright-winged bird, The buzz of bee on flower, The leaf by breezes fanned, The hum of tiny insect Whose feeble notes command The modulated heart-beat To know the great decree, That frees the mind from slavery And sets the spirit free, Through knowledge of those hidden things Which G.o.d only reveals To him who loves all nature, And for a brother feels.

The dearest and the sweetest Of all the charms on earth, Are those that link our natures To feelings that have birth When leaf and flower and fruitage Steal our being for an hour, And we are half unconscious Of some mysterious power, That leads us close to heaven, And points to joys supreme, Where fields and flowers and happiness Are not an idle dream, But a true and soothing heritage Whose limit has no end, Where ev'ry rock and tree and shrub Shall prove a trusted friend.

If heaven is not shadowed Upon our spirit mind, Through all its gorgeous tintings And colorings combined; If Nature has no language To charm the ear and eye, And brooks and birds and forests Afford no minstrelsy; If waving grain and orchards, Freighted with fragrance rare, Draw not the spirit heavenward And lift the soul in prayer; Then orisons are soulless Though voiced on bended knee, And small must be our knowledge Of the Great Deity.

MOUNTAIN BROOK.

Beneath the shade deep in a dell, Where fairy spirits ever dwell,-- Away from haunts of men, A living thing of G.o.dlike birth, By Nature's law springs from the earth To gladden vale and glen.

Ten thousand fairies clad in green Enliven the sequestered scene, With noiseless dance and mirth, And minstrelsy of heaven conspires With liquid laughs and wind-played lyres To charm the scenes of earth.

The rocks and trees bedecked with moss, The million leaves with shimmering gloss Drink from the dancing spray, Which rising from the dashing foam, Seeks its bright aerial home And greets the orb of day.

No discord here my spirit jars, No artful smile my comfort mars, For Nature's self is true; Here beauty, grace, and peace conspire To make my inmost soul desire Some heart with kindred view.

Who dwells in such companionship, Builds fountains whence the soul may sip Heaven's sweetest gift to man, Sees beauty reign as G.o.d designed, Has purer love for all mankind, And lives near Nature's plan.

Loved mountain brook, so pure, so true, I'd rather spend an hour with you, And harmonize my soul With the sweet melodies you sing, With all the joy your concerts bring, That sit where flowing bowl

And jocund laugh of merry crowd In accents wild, profane, and loud, Break on the midnight air; For you bring peace and joy and rest, Refreshment for a mind distressed, And banish grief and care.

When I shall sleep my final sleep, Fain would I rest where you will keep A tuneful voice for me; Then to my spirit will be given The foretaste of a promised heaven-- Nature's sweet harmony.

TO A MOUNTAIN BROOK.

Shy sylvan spirit singing so sweetly, Dancing to measures that flow with your song Frolic your fairy feet faultlessly, fleetly, As down the mountain vale haste you along.