I LOOKED one night, and there Semiramis, With all her mourning doves about her head, Sat rocking on an ancient road of Hell, "The bugles! they are crying back again- I felt the Mystery the Muses fear; III I think the meadow-lark's clear sound The flirting chewink calls his dear Where water flows, where green grass grows, Song-sparrows gently sing, "Good cheer." And, best of all, through twilight's calm How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing In days so sweet with music's balm ! In English gardens, green and bright and full of fruity treasure, I heard the blackbird with delight repeat his merry measure: The ballad was a pleasant one, the tune was loud and cheery, And yet, with every setting sun, I listened for the veery. But far away, and far away, the tawny thrush is singing; New England woods, at close of day, with that clear chant are ringing: And when my light of life is low, and heart and flesh are weary, I fain would hear, before I go, the woodnotes of the veery. ROSLIN AND HAWTHORNDEN Yet not within thy storied wall A long-drawn aisle, with roof of green Within the temple of this wood From Nature's solemn altar-stair. THE LILY OF YORROW DEEP in the heart of the forest the lily of Yorrow is growing; Blue is its cup as the sky, and with mystical odor o'erflowing; Faintly it falls through the shadowy glades when the south wind is blowing; Sweet are the primroses pale, and the violets after a shower; Sweet are the borders of pinks, and the blossoming grapes on the bower: |