Song-Surf Part 10

LOVE-WATCH

My love's a guardian-angel Who camps about thy heart, Never to See thine enemy, Nor from thee turn apart.

Whatever dark may shroud thee And hide thy stars away, With vigil sweet his wings shall beat About thee till the day.

VI

AT AMALFI

Come to the window, you who are mine.

Waken! the night is calling.

Sit by me here--with the moon's fair shine Into your deep eyes falling.

The sea afar is a fearful gloom; Lean from the cas.e.m.e.nt, listen!

Anear it breaks with a faery spume, Spraying the rocks that glisten.

The little white town below lies deep As eternity in slumber.

O, you who are mine, how a glance can reap Beauties beyond all number!

And, how as sails that at anchor ride Our spirits rock together On a sea of love--lit as this tide With tenderest star-weather!

Till the gray dawn is redd'ning up, Over the moon low-lying.

Come, come away--we have drunk the cup: Ours is the dream undying!

VII

ON THE PACIFIC

A storm broods far on the foam of the deep; The moon-path gleams before.

A day and a night, a night and a day, And the way, love, will be o'er.

Six thousand wandering miles we have come And never a sail have seen.

The sky above and the sea below And the drifting clouds between.

Yet in our hearts unheaving hope And light and joy have slept.

Nor ever lonely has seemed the wave Tho' heaving wild it leapt.

For there is talismanic might Within our vows of love To breathe us over all seas of life-- On to that Port, above,

Where the great Captain of all ships Shall anchor them or send Them forth on a vaster Voyage, yea, On one that shall not end.

And upon _that_ we two, I think, Together still shall sail.

Oh, may it be, my own, or may We perish in death's gale!

THE ATONER

Winter has come in sackcloth and ashes (Penance for Summer's enverdured sheaves).

Bitterly, cruelly, bleakly he lashes His limbs that are naked of gra.s.s and leaves.

He moans in the forest for sins unforgiven (Sins of the revelous days of June)-- Moans while the sun drifts dull from the heaven, Giftless of heat's beshriving boon.

Long must he mourn, and long be his scourging, (Long will the day-G.o.d aloof frown cold), Long will earth listen the rue of his dirging-- Till the dark beads of his days are told.

TO THE SPRING WIND

Ah, what a changeling!

Yester you dashed from the west, Altho' it is Spring, And scattered the hail with maniac zest Thro' the shivering corn--in scorn For the labour of G.o.d and man.

And now from the plentiful South you haste, With lovingest fingers, To ruefully lift and wooingly fan The lily that lingers a-faint on the stalk: As if the chill waste Of the earth's May-dreams, The flowers so full of her joy, Were not--as it seems-- A wanton attempt to destroy.

THE RAMBLE

Down the road which asters tangle, Thro' the gap where green-briar twines, By the path where dry leaves dangle Sere from the ivy vines

We go--by sedgy fallows And along the stifled brook, Till it stops in lushy mallows Just at the bridge's crook.

Then, again, o'er fence, thro' thicket, To the mouth of the rough ravine, Where the weird leaf-hidden cricket Chirrs thro' the weirder green,

There's a way, o'er rocks--but quicker Is the beat of heart and foot, As the beams above us flicker Sun upon moss and root!

And we leap--as wildness tingles From the air into our blood-- With a cry thro' golden dingles Hid in the heart of the wood.

Oh, the wood with winds a-wrestle!

With the nut and acorn strown!

Oh, the wood where creepers trestle Tree unto tree o'ergrown!

With a climb the ledging summit Of the hill is reached in glee.

For an hour we gaze off from it Into the sky's blue sea.

But a bell and sunset's crimson Soon recall the homeward path.

And we turn as the glory dims on The hay-field's mounded math.

Thro' the soft and silent twilight We come, to the stile at last, As the clear undying eyelight Of the stars tells day is past.