While cuckoos wake the fellside, and daffodils are born—
O! any one can have the world, so I may keep my stream—

Yet would I barter beechen wood and little singing beck
If I could fold my arms once more around my sweetheart's neck.

NIDDERDALE.

SONG OF GOOD-BYE

The ship is speeding fast from out the bay,
Instead of thine, I feel a kiss of spray;
My face is lashed by salt winds from the sea,
My eyes are wet with parting now from thee.
    O Husband Sweetheart! send to me a thought—
    Some loving word, perchance my lips have taught!

The evening fades to purple, darkly blue,
The air is chill, a few white stars creep through
The steely buckler of the northern sky;
One lonely sound recurs—a sew-mew's cry.
    O Husband Sweetheart! send thy heart to me
    Across this tireless, surging, tossing sea!

To-night we're severed, many miles apart:
I wonder, canst thou rest, my Dearest Heart?
In Court of Dreams perhaps we'll briefly meet
And kiss upon the Borderland of Sleep.
    O Husband Sweetheart! say for me a prayer—
    God give you peace, and have you in His care!

OFF THE YORKSHIRE COAST.

KING YESTERDAY

You and King Yesterday both have fled
To the Land-of-the-beautiful-days-that-are-dead.

How full of bird music the dewy-fair Morn
When Yesterday, King of the Past, was born;

How rosy with roses the passionate noon
When you and King Yesterday ruled sweet June;

How royal with splendour the crimsoning west
As Yesterday bravely grew old with zest;

And eve was a glamour of emerald light
When Yesterday greeted the world "Good-night."

Oh! You and King Yesterday gently wean
My thoughts to the Country-it-might-have-been.

KISSING

Thou canst not kiss without consent,
For know, dear Thief, a kiss is lent;
And if thou takest one to-day,
With interest must thou repay:
One now, next week I'll count in fives,—
Thou'lt owe some scores in Paradise!

TANFIELD, WENSLEYDALE.

PHILOSOPHY

Some tell me "Life is a weariful thing,
That Sorrow remains, while joy takes wing."
But Sorrow and I already have met:
His face is wan and his lips are set;
He cometh and goeth on silent feet,
Yet between his visits are moments sweet,
Moments that come like a blackbird's dart,
When Happiness holds me close to his heart;
When I sense the rapture of swinging skies
And know the thrill of the spring's surprise,
As I lie on the mothering Earth's deep breast
And clasp my tremulous bosom, lest
Some unknown loveliness I might miss,
Or forgetful be of the West Wind's kiss.

Like the blackbird's notes in the early hours
Which fall like a peal of silver flowers,
Joy rings his bells in my waiting ears,
And Sorrow departs to his silent meres.
"And if he returns?"—my soul will sing
Remembering Joy who has taken wing!

RILSTONE FELL.

A THRUSH'S SONG

(To My First Love, Daddy)

A thrush's call
Has chanced to fall
Into my heart
Where dwell apart
Dear memories
Of summer skies,
Of heartsome days,
Of flower-fair ways,
Of kisses shy
With people high.
What did I ken
Of lovers then,
Of lover-laws,
Of lover-saws?
The sweet, sweet earth
Was giving birth
To lovely things
With songs and wings;
And yonder thrush
On yonder bush
Brings home to me
The little years of memory.

A FEBRUARY DAY

(There is a country saying that spring has not come until you can set your foot on seven daisies at once)

"O! How do you know
    When spring has come?
Still falls the snow
    And the birds are dumb."

The grass will wear
    A greener tone,
The thrush will dare
    To carol alone.

The silver rain
    Will warmly fall,
The woods will gain
    The blackbird's call.

But the way to tell,
    And the only way,
Is to find a dell
    Where the breezes play,

And seek and seek
    Where the daisy-bloom
Shows white and meek
    Like a baby moon.

And when your foot treads
    With tender fear
On seven white heads,—
    Then spring is here.

COXWOLD.

LAUS DEO

(For My Little God-son)

God Darling! Listen to my song,
The one I sing the whole day long,
Of thanks to Thee for every good,
Whether at home, in field, or wood.

I thank Thee for the lovely spring,
And for Thy little birds that sing;
I thank Thee for the summer's sun,
When 'mong the roses I can run.

I thank Thee for the sickle time,
When corn is ripe, and apples prime.
I thank Thee for the deep white snow,
When I tobogganing can go.

I thank Thee for the bright sweet day,
For hours of love and work and play;
I thank Thee for the deep blue night
When I and flower-buds fold up tight.

NIDDERDALE.

"PAST-TEN-O'CLOCK-LAND"

"It was Moonlight Land and Past-ten-o'clock Land and we were in it and of it."—KENNETH GRAHAM.

There's a lovely land that is all your own,
    If your years but number ten,
Where the cherryblossom's ever in flower,
    And found in "Past-ten-o'clock Glen."

There's a river with musical water-falls,
    You paddle as long as you please,
And the daisies don't die as you pick them,
    When found on "Past-ten-o'clock Leas."

And the rivulet leads to a harbour,
    Full of the quaintest of ships,
One wish will transport you to China,
    Or other "Past-ten-o'clock Trips."

Away in dim mountains of amber,
    Which drop sheer down to the waves,
Fierce brigands, be-weaponed and ear-ringed,
    Live in "Past-ten-o'clock Caves."

O! the folk understand you and love you,
    You never can do any wrong—
You can shoot the cat with a catapult,
    Or shout the "Past-ten-o'clock Song."

You can play you are really an otter,
    And get as wet as you like;
You can lie in wait as a Redskin does,
    In a deep "Past-ten-o'clock Dyke."

It's a lovely land that is all your own,
    If you're only ten years old,
But when you are more, you are apt to forget
    "Past-Ten-o'clock-Dreams of Gold!"

BARDEN FELL,