and now too swiftly, like some groom,
  Raining hot kisses on his bride's young mouth,
  The mad young year, delirious with the South,
Squanders his fairy treasure, bloom on bloom;
  Too soon the wild rose hastens to be sweet,
  Too swift, O June, thy feet.

Tarry a little, summer, crowd not so
  All glory and gladness in so brief a day,
Teach all thy dancing flowers a step more slow,
  And bid thy wild musicians softlier play,
O hast thou thought, that like a madman spends,
The longest summer ends.

GREEN SILENCE

Silence, whose drowsy eyelids are soft leaves,
  And whose half-sleeping eyes are the blue flowers,
On whose still breast the water-lily heaves,
  For all her speech the whisper of the showers.

Made of all things that in the water sway,
  The quiet reed kissing the arrowhead,
The willows murmuring, all a summer day,
  "Silence"—sweet word, and ne'er so softly said

As here along this path of brooding peace,
  Where all things dream, and nothing else is done
But all such gentle businesses as these
  Of leaves and rippling wind, and setting sun

Turning the stream to a long lane of gold,
  Where the young moon shall walk with feet of pearl,
And, framed in sleeping lilies, fold on fold,
  Gaze at herself, like any mortal girl.

SUMMER SONGS

I

How thick the grass,
  How green the shade—
All for love
  And lovers made.

Wood-lilies white
  As hidden lace—
Open your bodice,
  That's their place.

See how the sun-god
  Overpowers
The summer lying
  Deep in flowers;

With burning kisses
  Of bright gold
Fills her young womb
  With joy untold;

And all the world
  Is lad and lass,
A blue sky
  And a couch of grass.

Summer is here—
  let us drain
It all! it may
  Not come again.

II

How the leaves thicken
  On the boughs,
And the birds make
 Their lyric vows.

O the beating, breaking
  Heart of things,
The pulse and passion—
  How it sings.

How it burns and flames
  And showers,
Lusts and laughs, flowers
  And deflowers.

III

Summer came,
Rose on rose;
Leaf on leaf,
Summer goes.

Summer came,
Song on song;
O summer had
A golden tongue.

Summer goes,
Sigh on sigh;
Not a rose
Sees him die.

TO A WILD BIRD

Wild bird, I stole you from your nest,
  And cannot find your nest again;
To hear you chirp a little while
  I wrung your mother's heart with pain.

And here you sit and droop and die,
  Nor any love that I can bring
Wins me forgiveness for the wrong,
  Nor any kindness makes you sing.

"I CROSSED THE ORCHARD WALKING HOME"

I crossed the orchard, walking home,
  The rising moon was at my back,
The apples and the moonlight fell
  Together on the railroad track.

Then, speeding through the evening dews,
  A dozen lighted windows glide—
The East-bound flyer for New York,
  Soft as a magic-lantern slide.

New York! on through the sleeping flowers,
  Through echoing midnight on to noon;
How strange that yonder is New York,
  And here such silence and the moon.

"I MEANT TO DO MY WORK TO-DAY"

I meant to do my work to-day—
  But a brown bird sang in the apple-tree,
And a butterfly flitted across the field,
  And all the leaves were calling me.

And the wind went sighing over the land,
  Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand—
  So what could I do but laugh and go?

"HOW FAST THE YEAR IS GOING BY"

How fast the year is going by!
  Love, it will be September soon;
  O let us make the best of June.
Already, love, it is July;
  The rose and honeysuckle go,
  And all too soon will come the snow.

Dark berries take the place of flowers,
  Of summer August still remains,
  Then sad September with her rains.
O love, how short a year is ours—
  So swiftly does the summer fly,
  Scarce time is left to say goodbye.

AUGUST MOONLIGHT

The solemn light behind the barns,
  The rising moon, the cricket's call,
The August night, and you and I—
  What is the meaning of it all!

Has it a meaning, after all?
  Or is it one of Nature's lies,
That net of beauty that she casts
  Over Life's unsuspecting eyes?

That web of beauty that she weaves
  For one strange purpose of her own,—
For this the painted butterfly,
  For this the rose—for this alone!

Strange repetition of the rose,
  And strange reiterated call
Of bird and insect, man and maid,—
  Is that the meaning of it all?

If it means nothing, after all!
  And nothing lives, except to die—
It is enough—that solemn light
  Behind the barns, and you and I.

TO A ROSE

O rose! forbear to flaunt yourself,
  All bloom and dew—
I once, sad-hearted as I am,
  Was young as you.

But, one by one, the petals fell
  Earthward to rot;
Only a berry testifies
  A rose forgot.

INVITATION

Unless you come while still the world is green,
  A place of birds and the blue dreaming sea,
In vain has all the singing summer been,
  Unless you come, and share it all with me.

Ah! come, ere August flames its heart away,
  Ere, like a golden widow, autumn goes
Across the woodlands, sad with thoughts of May,
  An aster in her bosom for a rose.

SUMMER GOING

Crickets calling,
Apples falling.

Summer dying,
Life is flying.

So soon over—
Love and lover.

AUTUMN TREASURE

Who will gather with me the fallen year,
This drift of forgotten forsaken leaves,
Ah! who give ear
To the sigh October heaves
At summer's passing by!
Who will come walk with me
On this Persian carpet of purple and gold
The weary autumn weaves,
And be as sad as I?
Gather the wealth of the fallen rose,
And watch how the memoried south wind blows
Old dreams and old faces upon the air,
And all things fair.

WINTER