MISCELLANEOUS PIECES

A SONG OF THE FOUR SEASONS

WH

HEN Spring comes laughing
By vale and hill,

By wind-flower walking
And daffodil,-

Sing stars of morning,

Sing morning skies,
Sing blue of speedwell,-
And my Love's eyes.

When comes the Summer,
Full-leaved and strong,

And gay birds gossip

The orchard long,-
Sing hid, sweet honey
That no bee sips;
Sing red, red roses,-

And my Love's lips.

When Autumn scatters

The leaves again,
And piled sheaves bury

The broad-wheeled wain,-

Sing flutes of harvest

Where men rejoice;

Sing rounds of

reapers,

And my Love's voice.

Once, when my voice was strong,
I filled the woods with song

To praise your "rose" and "snow"
My bird, that sang, is dead;
Where are your roses fled?
Alas, Time stays,-we go!

See, in what traversed ways,
What backward Fate delays

The hopes we used to know;
Where are our old desires ?—
Ah, where those vanished fires?
Time goes, you say?—ah no!

How far, how far, O Sweet,
The past behind our feet
Lies in the even-glow!
Now, on the forward way,
Let us fold hands, and pray;
Alas, Time stays,—we go!

TO A GREEK GIRL

WITH

breath of thyme and bees that hum, Across the years you seem to come,Across the years with nymph-like head, And wind-blown brows unfilleted; A girlish shape that slips the bud

In lines of unspoiled symmetry; A girlish shape that stirs the blood With pulse of Spring, Autonoë!

Where'er you pass,-where'er you go,
I hear the pebbly rillet flow;
Where'er you go,-where'er you pass,
There comes a gladness on the grass;
You bring blithe airs where'er you tread,-
Blithe airs that blow from down and sea;
You wake in me a Pan not dead,--

Not wholly dead!—Autonoë!

How sweet with you on some green sod
To wreathe the rustic garden-god;
How sweet beneath the chestnut's shade
With you to weave a basket-braid;