Weeds by the Wall Part 6

In the shadow of the beeches, Where the rock-ledged waters flow; Where the sun's sloped splendor bleaches Every wave to foaming snow, Have you felt a music solemn As when minster arch and column Echo organ-worship low?

In the shadow of the beeches, Where the light and shade are blent; Where the forest-bird beseeches, And the breeze is brimmed with scent,-- Is it joy or melancholy That o'erwhelms us partly, wholly, To our spirit's betterment?

In the shadow of the beeches Lay me where no eye perceives; Where,--like some great arm that reaches Gently as a love that grieves,-- One gnarled root may clasp me kindly While the long years, working blindly, Slowly change my dust to leaves.

REQUIESCAT.

The roses mourn for her who sleeps Within the tomb; For her each lily-flower weeps Dew and perfume.

In each neglected flower-bed Each blossom droops its lovely head,-- They miss her touch, they miss her tread, Her face of bloom, Of happy bloom.

The very breezes grieve for her, A lonely grief; For her each tree is sorrower, Each blade and leaf.

The foliage rocks itself and sighs, And to its woe the wind replies,-- They miss her girlish laugh and cries, Whose life was brief, Was very brief.

The sunlight, too, seems pale with care, Or sick with woe; The memory haunts it of her hair, Its golden glow.

No more within the bramble-brake The sleepy bloom is kissed awake-- The sun is sad for her dear sake, Whose head lies low, Lies dim and low.

The bird, that sang so sweet, is still At dusk and dawn; No more it makes the silence thrill Of wood and lawn.

In vain the buds, when it is near, Open each pink and perfumed ear,-- The song it sings she will not hear Who now is gone, Is dead and gone.

Ah, well she sleeps who loved them well, The birds and bowers; The fair, the young, the lovable, Who once was ours.

Alas! that loveliness must pa.s.s!

Must come to lie beneath the gra.s.s!

That youth and joy must fade, alas!

And die like flowers, Earth's sweetest flowers!

THE QUEST.

I.

First I asked the honey-bee, Busy in the balmy bowers; Saying, "Sweetheart, tell it me: Have you seen her, honey-bee?

She is cousin to the flowers-- Wild-rose face and wild-rose mouth, And the sweetness of the south."-- But it pa.s.sed me silently.

II.

Then I asked the forest-bird, Warbling to the woodland waters; Saying, "Dearest, have you heard, Have you heard her, forest-bird?

She is one of Music's daughters-- Music is her happy laugh; Never song so sweet by half."-- But it answered not a word.

III.

Next I asked the evening sky, Hanging out its lamps of fire; Saying, "Loved one, pa.s.sed she by?

Tell me, tell me, evening sky!

She, the star of my desire-- Planet-eyed and hair moon-glossed, Sister whom the Pleiads lost."-- But it never made reply.

IV.

Where is she? ah, where is she?

She to whom both love and duty Bind me, yea, immortally.-- Where is she? ah, where is she?

Symbol of the Earth-soul's beauty.

I have lost her. Help my heart Find her, nevermore to part.-- Woe is me! ah, woe is me!

MEETING AND PARTING.

I.

When from the tower, like some sweet flower, The bell drops petals of the hour, That says the world is homing, My heart puts off its garb of care And clothes itself in gold and vair, And hurries forth to meet her there Within the purple gloaming.

It's--Oh! how slow the hours go, How dull the moments move!

Till soft and clear the bells I hear, That say, like music, in my ear, "Go meet the one you love."

II.

When curved and white, a bugle bright, The moon blows glamour through the night, That sets the world a-dreaming, My heart, where gladness late was guest, Puts off its joy, as to my breast At parting her dear form is pressed, Within the moon's faint gleaming.

It's--Oh! how fast the hours pa.s.sed!-- They were not slow enough!

Too soon, too soon, the sinking moon Says to my soul, like some sad tune, "Come! part from her you love."

LOVE IN A GARDEN.

I.

Between the rose's and the canna's crimson, Beneath her window in the night I stand; The jeweled dew hangs little stars, in rims, on The white moonflowers--each a spirit hand That points the path to mystic shadowland.

Awaken, sweet and fair!

And add to night thy grace!

Suffer its loveliness to share The white moon of thy face, The darkness of thy hair.

Awaken, sweet and fair!