what dost thou here, Thou dusky courtier, Within the pinky palace of the rose? Here is no bed for thee, No honeyed spicery,— But for the golden bee, And the gay wind, and me, Its sweetness grows. Rover, thou dost forget;— Seek thou the passion-flower Bloom of one twilight hour. Haste, thou art late! Its hidden savors wait. For thee is spread Its soft, purple coverlet; Moth, art thou sped? —Dim as a ghost he flies Thorough the night mysteries.
Sweet, sweet, sweet, Is the wind’s song, Astir in the rippled wheat All day long. It hath the brook’s wild gayety, The sorrowful cry of the sea. Oh hush and hear! Sweet, sweet and clear, Above the locust’s whirr And hum of bee Rises that soft, pathetic harmony. In the meadow-grass...
The tide slips up the silver sand, Dark night and rosy day; It brings sea-treasures to the land, Then bears them all away. On mighty shores from east to west It wails, and gropes, and cannot rest. O Tide, that still doth ebb and flow Through night to golden day:— Wit, learning, beauty,...
Come down, ye graybeard mariners, Unto the wasting shore! The morning winds are up,—the gods Bid me to dream no more. Come tell me whither I must sail, What peril there may be, Before I take my life in hand And venture out to sea! “We may not tell thee where to sail, Nor what the...
“dame, how the moments go— And the bride is not ready! Call all her tiring maids, Paul, Jean, and Thedie. Is this your robe, my dear? Faith, but she ’s steady! The bridegroom is blest who gets Such a brave lady.” “Pardi! That throat is fair— How he will kiss it! Here is your kerchief,...
More shy than the shy violet, Hiding when the wind doth pass, Nestled in the nodding grass, With morning mist all wet, In open woodland ways The Quaker Lady strays. Pale as noonday cloudlets are, Floating in the blue, This little wildwood star Blooms in light and dew. Sun and shadow...
