Wait I prithee, till I come Within ear shot of thy hum, All without is martyrdom. When the south wind, in May days, With a net of shining haze, Silvers the horizon wall, And, with softness touching all, Tints the human countenance With a colour of romance, And, infusing subtle heats, Turns the sod to violets, Thou in sunny solitudes, Rover of the underwoods, Hot midsummer's petted crone, Of gulfs of sweetness without bound In Indian wildernesses found, Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, Firmest cheer and bird-like pleasure. Aught unsavoury or unclean, Hath my insect never seen, But violets and bilberry bells, Maple sap and daffodels, Grass with green flag half-mast high, Succory to match the sky, Columbine with horn of honey, Wiser far than human seer, Thou dost mock at fate and care, Leave the chaff and take the wheat. Cools sea and land so far and fast, Want and wo which torture us, Thy sleep makes ridiculous. BERRYING. 'MAY be true what I had heard, Earth's a howling wilderness Truculent with fraud and force,' Said I, strolling through the pastures, And along the river-side. Caught among the blackberry vines, Feeding on the Ethiops sweet, Pleasant fancies overtook me : I said, What influence me preferred Elect to dreams thus beautiful?' The vines replied, 'And didst thou deem No wisdom to our berries went ?' THE SNOW STORM. ANNOUNCED by all the trumpets of the sky In a tumultuous privacy of storm. Come, see the north wind's masonry. Out of an unseen quarry evermore Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer Curves his white bastions with projected roof So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths; D A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn; Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, And when his hours are numbered, and the world Born out of time; All his accomplishment From nature's utmost treasure spent Booteth not him. |