Nor knew her beauty's best attire Was woven still by the snow-white choir. Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage; A gentle wife, but fairy none. Then I said, "I covet truth; Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat; I leave it behind with the games of youth: As I spoke, beneath my feet The ground pine curled its pretty wreath, I inhaled the violet's breath; Around me stood the oaks and firs; Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground; Over me soared the eternal sky, Full of light and of deity; Again I saw, again I heard, The rolling river, the morning bird; Beauty through my senses stole ; I yielded myself to the perfect whole. THE SNOW-STORM Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Come, see the north wind's masonry. Out of an unseen quarry evermore Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. And when his hours are numbered, and the world APRIL The April winds are magical The garden walks are passional To bachelors and dames. The hedge is gemmed with diamonds, The air with Cupids full, The cobweb clues of Rosamond Guide lovers to the pool. Each dimple in the water, Each leaf that shades the rock The lore we care to know. FORBEARANCE Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained, O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine! FABLE The mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter "Little Prig; Bun replied, "You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you, I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track; Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, THE ENCHANTER In the deep heart of man a poet dwells Scent, form, and color; to the flowers and shells And crowds a history into a glance; Gives beauty to the lake and fountain, Spies oversea the fires of the mountain; When thrushes ope their throat, 't is he that sings, WOODNOTES SELECTIONS 'T was one of the charmed days When the genius of God doth flow, The wind may alter twenty ways, A tempest cannot blow; It may blow north, it still is warm; Or south, it still is clear; Or east, it smells like a clover-farm; The musing peasant lowly great Beside the forest water sate; The rope-like pine roots crosswise grown The wide lake, edged with sand and grass, He was the heart of all the scene; Through thick-stemmed woodlands rough and wide. The watercourses were my guide; I travelled grateful by their side, Or through their channel dry; They led me through the thicket damp, The foodful waters fed me, And brought me to the lowest land, Unerring to the ocean sand. The moss upon the forest bark Was pole-star when the night was dark; The purple berries in the wood Supplied me necessary food; For Nature ever faithful is To such as trust her faithfulness. When the forest shall mislead me, When the night and morning lie, When sea and land refuse to feed me, A pillow in her greenest field, |