Strange LandsToC


Where do you come from, Mr. Jay?—
 'From the land of Play, from the land of Play.'
 And where can that be, Mr. Jay?—
 'Far away—far away.'
Where do you come from, Mrs. Dove?—
 'From the land of Love, from the land of Love.'
 And how do you get there, Mrs. Dove?—
 'Look above—look above.'
Where do you come from, Baby Miss?—
 'From the land of Bliss, from the land of Bliss.'
 And what is the way there, Baby Miss?—
 'Mother's kiss—mother's kiss.'





March MeadowsToC


A Lark:

Lark-bird, lark-bird soaring high,
 Are you never weary?
 When you reach the empty sky,
 Are the clouds not dreary?
 Don't you sometimes long to be
 A silent gold-fish in the sea?
Gold-fish, gold-fish diving deep,
 Are you never sad, say?
 When you feel the cold waves creep
 Are you really glad, say?
 Don't you sometimes long to sing
 And be a lark-bird on the wing?

Lambs:

O little lambs! the month is cold,
 The sky is very gray;
 You shiver in the misty grass
 And bleat at all the winds that pass;
 Wait! when I'm big—some day—
 I'll build a roof to every fold.
But now that I am small, I'll pray
 At mother's knee for you;
 Perhaps the angels with their wings
 Will come and warm you, little things;
 I'm sure that, if God knew,
 He'd let the lambs be born in May.





The RobinToC


When father takes his spade to dig,
 Then Robin comes along;
 He sits upon a little twig
 And sings a little song.
Or, if the trees are rather far,
 He does not stay alone,
 But comes up close to where we are
 And bobs upon a stone.





The MouseToC


Little Master Mouse,
 You'd better leave this house;
 Crumbs are scarce upon the floor,
 And pussy sleeps behind the door.
Mousie soft and grey,
 I wish you'd run away!
 Cook will catch you in a trap,
 And mice mayn't sit in mother's lap....





The BatToC


Bat, Bat, that flies at night
 When angels' breath has blown the light,
 When all the bees are hived in bed
 And swallow sleeps with hidden head:
 Songless bird! until this hour,
 Among the bells in the ivied tower
 Have you hung dreaming in your house?
 Are you a living wingèd mouse?—
 Bat, Bat, I often doubt;
 And when I see you flit about,
 I wonder if the dead birds roam
 In circles round their nestlings' home....





The SwallowToC


O Swallow! if I had your wings
 I would not stay below;
 I'd leave off catching flies and things
 And up to Heaven I'd go.
I'd sail above the tallest tree
 That waves its arms on high;
 Beyond the furthest cloud we see,
 And deeper than the sky.
Perhaps, when live birds find the way,
 They're all sent down again,
 And that is why you dive to-day
 For insects in the rain.





SnowdropsToC


Little ladies, white and green,
 With your spears about you,
 Will you tell us where you've been
 Since we lived without you?
You are sweet, and fresh, and clean,
 With your pearly faces;
 In the dark earth where you've been
 There are wondrous places:
Yet you come again, serene,
 When the leaves are hidden;
 Bringing joy from where you've been
 You return unbidden—
Little ladies, white and green,
[31] Are you glad to cheer us?
 Hunger not for where you've been,
 Stay till Spring be near us!





FrostToC


The flowers in the garden
 Are very cold at night;
 When I look out of window
 Their beds are hard and white.
The primrose and the scilla,
 The merry crocus too—
 O Jane! if we were flowers,
 What should we children do?
We'd have to sleep all naked
 Beneath the windy trees;
 Yet we should die, I know it,
 With even a chemise....





ApplesToC


Red cheeks, red cheeks,
 Will you play with me?
 No boy, pale boy,
 I want to climb that tree.
Red cheeks, red cheeks,
 You will tumble down—
 No boy, pale boy,
 I'll eat the apples brown.
Red cheeks, red cheeks,
 Barns are best for rain—
 No boy, pale boy,
 I'll soon be down again.





Lonely ChildrenToC


I

The trees are dusty in the Park,
 The grass is hard and brown;
 I'm glad I've got a Noah's ark,
 But I'm sorry I'm in town.
A lot of little girls and boys
 Are not so rich as me;
 But O! I'd give them all my toys
 For shells beside the sea....

II

The flowers are happy in the garden,
 For the bees are always there;
 The clouds are happy up in Heaven
 With the angels in the air;
 But little boy and little mouse
 Are rather lonely in the house.





PlaygroundsToC


In summer I am very glad
 We children are so small,
 For we can see a thousand things
 That men can't see at all.
They don't know much about the moss
 And all the stones they pass:
 They never lie and play among
 The forests in the grass:
They walk about a long way off;
 And, when we're at the sea,
 Let father stoop as best he can
 He can't find things like me.
But, when the snow is on the ground
[37] And all the puddles freeze,
 I wish that I were very tall,
 High up above the trees....





FairingsToC


O, Father has donned his suit of brown
 And saddled the gelding gray,
 And he's ridden off to London town
 Where the streets are fine and gay.
And Mother has asked for a yard of lace,
 And Kate for a kerchief new,
 And Moll for a mirror to look at her face,
 And Bessie for beads, all blue;
And Dick has been promised a kite so tall,
 And Jamie a leathern whip,
 And Baby shall play with a painted ball,
 And O! I have asked for a ship!—
But our eldest sister stood apart,
[39] And I think I heard her say:
 'O bring me back a little white heart
 Like the one I lost in May....'





The Flower to the BudToC


Tiny heart beneath my hand,
 Say, what treasures will you hold?
 O, what blossom will unfold,
 Late to bloom, or soon to fade,
 From this bud, my baby-maid?
 Through what shallows will you wade,
 To what heights will you aspire
 In your spirit's white desire?
 Will you mar or will you make?
 Will you give or will you take?
 Will you glow or will you break
 With the running of the sand—
 Tiny heart beneath my hand?...








SIX SONGS OF GIRLHOOD






Love and the MaidensToC


He seemed asleep; his wings were wet
 With dew; he lay among the flowers,
 Sweeter than Spring; his radiant curls
 With primrose and with violet
 Were crowned; and in a silent ring the girls
 Watched, all an April morning's misty hours....
Not one dared wake him—yet each breast
 Yearned to be pillow to a thing
 So fair. 'How will he smile?' thought they,
 'In waking?...' But between them pressed
 One who with laughter bore the rogue away,
 Ere they had touched a feather of his wing.





AwakeningsToC


The first time she awoke,
 Her room was filled with light;
 Thought she: They've made a little fire
 To warm me through the night....
The next time she awoke,
 Sweet music stirred the air;
 Thought she: They've brought a magic lyre
 To make my dreams more fair....
The third time she awoke,
 The dawn-swept sky was gray;
 Thought she: I know my heart's desire
 Will come to me to-day....
But empty was the street,
[45] And ashen was the hearth;
 And the music-maker's nimble feet
 Were speeding o'er the earth.





The Clouded SoulToC


O what have you done with your heart, daughter,
 And what have you done to your soul, my dear?
 Your heart was like a lily in June,
 And your soul as a crystal clear....
O, I've thrown my heart in a well, mother,
 For the lily was sick, and needed rain:
 O, I've wept a cloud round my soul, mother,
 And we never shall see it again....





The HealerToC


O will you have my heart, sweet maid,
 My heart so true, my heart so red?
 O will you have my heart, dear maid,
 And give me yours instead?
O keep your heart, my good young man,
 For mine is wounded, deep and sore;
 O keep your heart, my kind young man,
 For mine shall love no more....





The Open DoorToC


Why have you locked the door, my maid,
 Why have you locked the door?
 O! I have let Grief out, she said,
 Never to enter more.
Open and set it wide, my maid,
 Open and set it wide!
 Lest Joy should come one day, he said,
 And have to stand outside.





The FugitiveToC


When she returned to the clouded land,
 She held sweet flowers in her hand;
 Her eyes were bright
 With a beaming light
 That none could understand.
Said they: Where, sister, hast thou been?
 What hidden glory hast thou seen?
 What magic sod
 Has thy white foot trod;
 What song-filled groves of green?
Said she: I followed across the plain
 To the gates of Love, to the gates of Pain:
 By one, by two,
 All the rest went through:
 But I came back again....








THE FAITHFUL WIFE






The Faithful WifeToC


It was a banished chieftain
 Returned from oversea,
 And he saw his wife and children
 Come smiling o'er the lea.
The moon had wrapped them in her beams,
 The wind was in their hair,
 Their feet that trod the wild bluebell
 Were light as wings on air.
'O have you come to meet me, wife,
 As you once did swear to do?
 Full seven years have I been gone,
 And was your word so true?'
He took her by the white cool hand
[54] Where the golden rings shone gay;
 He took her youngest on his arm
 And joyful led the way.
'O fair are ye, my father's towers,
 And sweet my garden dear:
 God grant I never leave you more
 Till Death o'ertake me here!'
The lights were burning in the hall,
 As they sat them down to meat;
 The pipers piped a merry tune
 The while their lord did eat.
He looked to right, he looked to left,
 And a happy man was he,
 As he stroked the head of the good gre-hound
 That stood beside his knee.
'O, I am weary, wife, my wife,
[55] And the flames begin to pale;
 Lead on, for I would sleep awhile
 Before I tell my tale.'
She lifted the bright curtain
 That led into her bower;
 There came the tramp of parting feet
 And silence held the tower.
'O wife, how long have I been gone?
 The room smells of roses still—
 O wife, our babes are very young,
 Their limbs are cold and chill....'
She folded up their raiment small,
 She smiled but said no word:
 She laid her children in one bed,
 Then came beside her lord.
He could not sleep, he could not wake,
[56] But lay in silence there;
 His dear wife held him by the hand,
 He felt her wind-blown hair—
'O Mother! Mother!' whispered one,
 'Why must we sleep so soon?
 The sun is hidden down below,
 I still can see the moon.'
'Be quiet, be quiet, my little child,
 And watch the moonbeams creep;
 To-night you may not play about,
 For your father lies asleep.'
'O Mother! Mother!' whispered one,
 'It is not time for bed!
 Where have you put my little lid?
 I cannot hide my head.'
'Lie still, lie still, my tiny child,
[57] Your father dear is found:
 We four shall never sleep again
 In the dark and heavy mound.'
'O Mother! Mother!' whispered one,
 'How shall that ever be?
 We may not bide in the light of day
 To watch upon the lea.'
'No need, no need, my pretty child,
 For your father dear has come;
 We'll kiss him once, we'll kiss him twice,
 Then seek our own far home.'
He heard them laugh with baby joy,
 He felt their kisses sweet,
 He heard the patter to the door
 Of their unearthly feet....
He could not stir when she bent low
[58] To kiss him on the lips—
 He could not raise, to hold her fast,
 His anguished finger-tips;
But his heart against her silent breast
 Beat loud in wild despair—
 He heard the swaying of her skirt,
 And his soul leapt forth in prayer.
          .          .          .          .          .
A shepherd rose to call his sheep
 When the morning sky was gray;
 The owl flew back to the ruined tower—
 He led his flock that way.
And lo! amid the scattered stones
 That the foe had strewn around,
 He saw his long-lost chieftain lie
 A corpse upon the ground.
A smile was on his breathless lips,
[59] And he lay on the flowered sward,
 Where his wife and babes had bled to death
 Beneath a traitor's sword.








WOMANHOOD






A Woman to her PoetToC


In three worlds King art thou of my desire,
 O thou of many crowns! whose brow, birth-bound
 With light, wears wisdom's diadem. Thou lyre
 Of the speechless soul, in silence triple-crowned!
 My love's proud empire smiles to know thee King;
 And in the realms of Womanhood I wind
 A coronet of Faith, a blood-rose ring
 With azure chain of sapphire intertwined;
 And where the mind's pure kingdom is, I seek
 Bright crystals, pearls of Truth divine and rare
 To honour thee; but on the aërial peak
 That marks the Soul's eternal region—there
 Thou thronest Monarch of a world serene,
 Crowned with the emerald's unfathomed green.





The InfidelToC


My soul at times, outworn by length of woe,
 A strange appeasement seeks in doubting thee,
 And cries: My sacred mount's a thing as low
 As any hillock; shallow rolls the sea
 That should have quenched my deep unbounded thirst;
 My star's a lamp that flickers earthly light;
 Mere surf-worn glass my emerald; why burst,
 O heart! for love of these?—Then, fullest night
 Environs me, thou banished; stretching wide
 My arms, I grope for refuge; all my pain
 Cries babe-like for a breast whereon to hide,
 And on to thine I fling myself again....
 Thus fools, impatient of God's silence, cry:
 There is no God!—and seek what they deny.