The Little Book of Modern Verse Part 14

Who shall tell of the pleasures of flight!

Springing and spurning the tufts of wild heather, Sweeping, wide-winged, through the blue dome of light.

Everything mortal has moments immortal, Swift and G.o.d-gifted, immeasurably bright.

So with the stretch of the white road before me, Shining snow crystals rainbowed by the sun, Fields that are white, stained with long, cool, blue shadows, Strong with the strength of my horse as we run.

Joy in the touch of the wind and the sunlight!

Joy! With the vigorous earth I am one.

Sic Vita. [William Stanley Braithwaite]

Heart free, hand free, Blue above, brown under, All the world to me Is a place of wonder.

Sun shine, moon shine, Stars, and winds a-blowing, All into this heart of mine Flowing, flowing, flowing!

Mind free, step free, Days to follow after, Joys of life sold to me For the price of laughter.

Girl's love, man's love, Love of work and duty, Just a will of G.o.d's to prove Beauty, beauty, beauty!

Across the Fields to Anne. [Richard Burton]

How often in the summer-tide, His graver business set aside, Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed, As to the pipe of Pan, Stepped blithesomely with lover's pride Across the fields to Anne.

It must have been a merry mile, This summer stroll by hedge and stile, With sweet foreknowledge all the while How sure the pathway ran To dear delights of kiss and smile, Across the fields to Anne.

The silly sheep that graze to-day, I wot, they let him go his way, Nor once looked up, as who should say: "It is a seemly man."

For many lads went wooing aye Across the fields to Anne.

The oaks, they have a wiser look; Mayhap they whispered to the brook: "The world by him shall yet be shook, It is in nature's plan; Though now he fleets like any rook Across the fields to Anne."

And I am sure, that on some hour Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower, He stooped and broke a daisy-flower With heart of tiny span, And bore it as a lover's dower Across the fields to Anne.

While from her cottage garden-bed She plucked a jasmine's goodlihede, To scent his jerkin's brown instead; Now since that love began, What luckier swain than he who sped Across the fields to Anne?

The winding path whereon I pace, The hedgerow's green, the summer's grace, Are still before me face to face; Methinks I almost can Turn poet and join the singing race Across the fields to Anne!

The House and the Road. [Josephine Preston Peabody]

The little Road says, Go, The little House says, Stay: And O, it's bonny here at home, But I must go away.

The little Road, like me, Would seek and turn and know; And forth I must, to learn the things The little Road would show!

And go I must, my dears, And journey while I may, Though heart be sore for the little House That had no word but Stay.

Maybe, no other way Your child could ever know Why a little House would have you stay, When a little Road says, Go.

The Path to the Woods. [Madison Cawein]

Its friendship and its carelessness Did lead me many a mile, Through goat's-rue, with its dim caress, And pink and pearl-white smile; Through crowfoot, with its golden lure, And promise of far things, And sorrel with its glance demure And wide-eyed wonderings.

It led me with its innocence, As childhood leads the wise, With elbows here of tattered fence, And blue of wildflower eyes; With whispers low of leafy speech, And brook-sweet utterance; With bird-like words of oak and beech, And whisperings clear as Pan's.

It led me with its childlike charm, As candor leads desire, Now with a clasp of blossomy arm, A b.u.t.terfly kiss of fire; Now with a toss of tousled gold, A barefoot sound of green, A breath of musk, of mossy mold, With vague allurements keen.

It led me with remembered things Into an old-time vale, Peopled with faery glimmerings, And flower-like fancies pale; Where fungous forms stood, gold and gray, Each in its mushroom gown, And, roofed with red, glimpsed far away, A little toadstool town.

It led me with an idle ease, A vagabond look and air, A sense of ragged arms and knees In weeds grown everywhere; It led me, as a gypsy leads, To dingles no one knows, With beauty burred with th.o.r.n.y seeds, And tangled wild with rose.

It led me as simplicity Leads age and its demands, With bee-beat of its ecstasy, And berry-stained touch of hands; With round revealments, puff-ball white, Through rents of weedy brown, And petaled movements of delight In roseleaf limb and gown.

It led me on and on and on, Beyond the Far Away, Into a world long dead and gone, -- The world of Yesterday: A faery world of memory, Old with its hills and streams, Wherein the child I used to be Still wanders with his dreams.

Sometimes. [Thomas S. Jones, Jr.]

Across the fields of yesterday He sometimes comes to me, A little lad just back from play -- The lad I used to be.

And yet he smiles so wistfully Once he has crept within, I wonder if he hopes to see The man I might have been.

Renascence. [Edna St. Vincent Millay]

All I could see from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood; I turned and looked another way, And saw three islands in a bay.

So with my eyes I traced the line Of the horizon, thin and fine, Straight around till I was come Back to where I'd started from; And all I saw from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood.

Over these things I could not see; These were the things that bounded me; And I could touch them with my hand, Almost, I thought, from where I stand.

And all at once things seemed so small My breath came short, and scarce at all.