The Dales of Arcady Part 3

"_Like to this fleeting glory, carmined deep, The season of thy power is transient: Do good, whilst yet thou canst--'before thine eyes Close in thy last, forgetting, silent sleep._"

O blood-red rose! Thy petals bring to me The sunlit beauty of the Persian Court, The voice of Saadi, pleading with the king His freedom granted on thy crimson plea.

A ROSE-GARDEN IN AIREDALE.

THE DIFFERENCE

When the factories all are silenced, And night brings her balm of sleep, What are your last dear waking thoughts Ere you drift into slumber deep?

Why, Darling Mine! they are all of work, As your mind reviews the day: Of the men you meet, of progress made, Of struggles to make your way.

But I--when I nestle among the sheets, Ere sleep my tired eyes woo, Just count and repeat the loving words That have fall'n to-day from you!

AIREDALE.

SONG OF THE PRIMROSES

Listen to the infant breeze, Clutching at the nippled trees, Where our yellow flowers are blowing, Where the rivulet is flowing.

Over all the blue-cupped sky Silver brooding clouds swim by; See! The firstling swallow flying, Later, owlets will be crying.

Come and mark the painter sun Daub the earth with golden fun; Hear the larches' fingers snapping, As if goblin hands were clapping.

Smell the rain-sweet, thymy earth, Feel the wonder of rebirth!

Far away a cuckoo's calling, Notes that sound like twin bells falling.

Then a clearer voice replies To his echo ere it dies, And the blackbirds' voices mingle With th' Eistedfodd in the dingle.

Gold-green poplars slowly wave O'er the Winter's mossy grave; Ferns are pointing curly fingers Where the dead year's bracken lingers.

We have seen a hedgehog hide p.r.i.c.kle-less to greet his bride; Watched the baby otter shiver Ere he plunged into the river.

We are critics of the bees, Watch how they despoil and seize From each cowslip saffron bounty; Uncaught robbers of the county!

All the keenings of the bat, Whimperings of the water-rat; All the hopes of sister flowers Come to us by gossip showers.

Tortoise-sh.e.l.led b.u.t.terflies, On their dew-pearl'd wingful sighs, Bear the news of elfin squabbles; "Wounded Oberon still hobbles."

We are darlings of the Spring, All her secrets she doth bring, Runes of magic she discloses To her confidant-Primroses.

ENVOI

We shall feel her joy-winged sigh, When she hears the Summer's cry: We shall droop and die of grieving, When our lovely Spring is leaving.

LITTONDALE.

LILIES

When I am old, so very old That all my own have pa.s.sed away, And I await Life's evening-gold, A little figure, lone and grey; I'll keep a garden, green and bright, Then I'll forget approaching night.

A garden dear--with quaint-cut yews-- Bound by a hedge of bronzing beech, And just before them I shall choose The great white lilies that beseech, With upturned faces, pure and staid, Love from the little Mother Maid.

And close beside the lichened wall, Lilies, aflame like scarlet fire, Shall watch the little swallows fall From out their nestlet in the byre; And where the path strays to the stream, The golden ones shall dying dream.

Then where the garden greets the wood, A host of lily-bells shall ring Their message clear that "all is good Where G.o.d reigns over everything."

My garden-beauty, all shall see, Is mirrored from Eternity.

A GARDEN IN AIREDALE.

THE PEAR-TREE

A rain of petals the pear-trees give, As a pearly toll for the right to live.

Fragile petals that gently fall, Like tears down the face of the old grey wall.

Around the bole, where the gra.s.ses grow, Is a circle white as of melting snow.

An enchanted circle, flower-entwined, Where hyacinth fingers the gra.s.ses bind.

The youngling thrushes soon learn how To alight and shake the flowers from each bough.

The swallows tell their babes such tales!

That the tree is a ship with flower-white sails,

Anch.o.r.ed to Earth in the harbour of May; But one moonless night she will sail away,

And a prim green tree will take the place Of the phantom ship with its sails of lace.

Then in autumn the Orchardist Time will come, And bear the fruit away to his home.

And later on he will heave a sigh, That the little white tree some day must die.

So I write this verse to the little Pear-tree, That both be remembered--it and me.

c.o.xWOLD.