poetry of nature

Tweet

THE ARBOUR I'LL rest me in this sheltered bower, And look upon the clear blue sky That smiles upon me through the trees, Which stand so thick clustering by; And view their green and glossy leaves, All glistening in the sunshine fair; And list the rustling of their boughs, So softly whispering through the air. And while my ear drinks in the sound, My winged soul shall fly away; Reviewing lone departed years As one mild, beaming, autumn day; And soaring on to future scenes, Like hills and woods, and valleys green, All basking in the summer's sun, But distant still, and dimly seen. Oh, list! 'tis summer's very breath That gently shakes the rustling trees-- But look! the snow is on the ground-- How can I think of scenes like these? 'Tis but the FROST that clears the air, And gives the sky that lovely blue; They're smiling in a WINTER'S sun, Those evergreens of sombre hue. And winter's chill is on my heart-- How can I dream of future bliss? How can my spirit soar away, Confined by such a chain as this? AUTUMN NOW droops the troubled year And now her tiny sunset stains the leaf. A holy fear, A rapt, elusive grief, Make imminent the swift, exalting tear. The long wind's weary sigh-- Knowest, O listener! for what it wakes? Adown the sky What star of Time forsakes Her pinnacle? What dream and dreamer die? A presence half-divine Stands at the threshold, ready to depart Without a sign. Now seems the world's deep heart About to break. What sorrow stirs in mine? A mist of twilight rain Hides now the orange edges of the day. In vain, in vain We labor that thou stay, Beauty who wast, and shalt not be again! BEFORE THE RAIN WE knew it would rain, for all the morn A spirit on slender ropes of mist Was lowering its golden buckets down Into the vapory amethyst. Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens-- Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers, Dipping the jewels out of the sea, To sprinkle them over the land in showers. We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed The white of their leaves, the amber grain Shrunk in the wind--and the lightning now Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain! BY THE SHORE ALL night by the shore. The obscure water, the long white lines of advancing foam, the rustle and thud, the panting sea-breaths, the pungent sea-smell, The great slow air moving from the distant horizon, the immense mystery of space, and the soft canopy of the clouds! The swooning thuds go on--the drowse of ocean goes on: The long inbreaths--the short sharp outbreaths--the silence between. I am a bit of the shore: the waves feed upon me, they come pasturing over me; I am glad, O waves, that you come pasturing over me. I am a little arm of the sea: the same tumbling swooning dream goes on--I feel the waves all around me, I spread myself through them. How delicious! I spread and spread. The waves tumble through and over me--they dash through my face and hair. The night is dark overhead: I do not see them, but I touch them and hear their gurgling laughter. The play goes on! The strange expanding indraughts go on! Suddenly I am the Ocean itself: the great soft wind creeps over my face. I am in love with the wind--I reach my lips to its kisses. How delicious! all night and ages and ages long to spread myself to the gliding wind! But now (and ever) it maddens me with its touch, I arise and whirl in my bed, and sweep my arms madly along the shores. I am not sure any more which my own particular bit of shore is; All the bays and inlets know me: I glide along in and out under the sun by the beautiful coast-line; My hair floats leagues behind me; millions together my children dash against my face; I hear what they say and am marvellously content. All night by the shore; And the sea is a sea of faces. The long white lines come up--face after face comes and falls past me-- Thud after thud. Is it pain or joy? Face after face--endless! I do not know; my sense numbs; a trance is on me-- I am becoming detached! I am a bit of the shore: The waves feed upon me, they pasture all over me, my feeling is strangely concentrated at every point where they touch me; I am glad O waves that you come pasturing over me. I am detached, I disentangle myself from the shore; I have become free--I float out and mingle with the rest. The pain, the acute clinging desire, is over--I feel beings like myself all around me, I spread myself through and through them, I am merged in a sea of contact. Freedom and equality are a fact. Life and joy seem to have begun for me. The play goes on! Suddenly I am the great living Ocean itself--the awful Spirit of Immensity creeps over my face. I am in love with it. All night and ages and ages long and for ever I pour my soul out to it in love. I spread myself out broader and broader for ever, that I may touch it and be with it everywhere. There is no end. But ever and anon it maddens me with its touch. I arise and sweep away my bounds. I know but I do not care any longer which my own particular body is--all conditions and fortunes are mine. By the ever-beautiful coast-line of human life, by all shores, in all climates and countries, by every secluded nook and inlet, Under the eye of my beloved Spirit I glide: O joy! for ever, ever, joy! I am not hurried--the whole of eternity is mine; With each one I delay, with each one I dwell--with you I dwell. The warm breath of each life ascends past me; I take the thread from the fingers that are weary, and go on with the work; The secretest thoughts of all are mine, and mine are the secretest thoughts of all. All night by the shore; And the fresh air comes blowing with the dawn. The mystic night fades--but my joy fades not. I arise and cast a stone into the water (O sea of faces I cast this poem among you)--and turn landward over the rustling beach CLOUDS DOWN the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow, Now tread the far South, or lift rounds of snow Up to the white moon's hidden loveliness. Some pause in their grave wandering comradeless, And turn with profound gesture vague and slow, As who would pray good for the world, but know Their benediction empty as they bless. They say that the Dead die not, but remain Near to the rich heirs of their grief and mirth. I think they ride the calm mid-heaven, as these, In wise majestic melancholy train, And watch the moon, and the still-raging seas, And men, coming and going on the earth. EARTH VOICES I HEARD the spring wind whisper Above the brushwood fire, "The world is made forever Of transport and desire. "I am the breath of being, The primal urge of things; I am the whirl of star dust, I am the lift of wings. "I am the splendid impulse That comes before the thought, The joy and exaltation Wherein the life is caught. "Across the sleeping furrows I call the buried seed, And blade and bud and blossom Awaken at my need. "Within the dying ashes I blow the sacred spark, And make the hearts of lovers To leap against the dark." II I heard the spring light whisper Above the dancing stream, "The world is made forever In likeness of a dream. "I am the law of planets, I am the guide of man; The evening and the morning Are fashioned to my plan. "I tint the dawn with crimson, I tinge the sea with blue; My track is in the desert, My trail is in the dew. "I paint the hills with color, And in my magic dome I light the star of evening To steer the traveller home. "Within the house of being, I feed the lamp of truth With tales of ancient wisdom And prophecies of youth." III I heard the spring rain murmur Above the roadside flower, "The world is made forever In melody and power. "I keep the rhythmic measure That marks the steps of time, And all my toil is fashioned To symmetry and rhyme. "I plow the untilled upland, I ripe the seeding grass, And fill the leafy forest With music as I pass. "I hew the raw, rough granite To loveliness of line, And when my work is finished, Behold, it is divine! "I am the master-builder In whom the ages trust. I lift the lost perfection To blossom from the dust." IV Then Earth to them made answer, As with a slow refrain Born of the blended voices Of wind and sun and rain, "This is the law of being That links the threefold chain: The life we give to beauty Returns to us again."