The little waves in passing-like the breeze That stirs the foliage of the unmoved treesPlayed in their hair, and fluttering grasses rose And fell and danced about their mute repose. But I gazed on until I too had drunk Of their lips' joy, until their peace had sunk Into my troubling earth-stirred heart that ached To join them, . . . and then waked . . . Honey-Harvest. Μὴ Φθινοπωρὶς ἀνέμων χειμερία κατὰ πνοὰ δαμαλίζοι χρόνον. SETTING of summer all golden and sun's setting Glory kindle in a garden where flower-knots glow Like a pane of jewelled stain from the lattice fallen low, High that was holden in the wide west's fiery fretting. Hummeth around it unceasing the land, hummeth Loud with drone of the wheels that whir gathering rich gain, Field by field bereft must yield, with each amberbeaded gain, Man's hoard increasing ere the wintry dearth-day cometh. Guerdon of toil 'mid the blossoms, a rare guerdon, Filmy wings quiver questing and murmurous make Fragrant air round bud-lips fair, for the dew-pure nectar's sake Hid in their bosoms, now the honey-bee's sweet burden. Golden the granary's harvest, the hive's golden Rapt from troubling of storm-blast, from frost-blight's despair: So be wise 'neath smiling skies, so, ere all thy world lie bare, Store else thou starvest-store memories dear and olden. The Turn of the Road. Deceptaque non Capiatur. WHERE this narrow lane slips by, For these hedged banks close and high, Then a curve of sudden sweep- And the white track's dwindling thread There's a gleam of rusted gold, Where a thatched roof huddles low; And a day will seldom fall But its mistress, bent and old, Rime-frost hair and little red shawl, Through her black-gapped doorway fares, Very frail and meagre and small, And the years' unlifted load With a faltering foot she bears But her steps will ever stay Ere the turn of the road Never reach it; you might guess For she says: "The children all Are a weary Years long since I watched them go 'Twas when dawn came glimmering cold— Round the turn of the road. And I'm lonesome left behind; Yet time passes, fast or slow, And they're coming home some day; "But a stone's throw further on, And the longest look I'd take "So or ever I come in sight, Home I set my face again, Lest I'd lose the thought that's light That my heart begins to ache, |