TEARS IN SPRING 65 Above the surf's wild roar He darts as swiftly o'er, But he who heard his cry of spring Hears that no more, heeds not his wing. How bright the skies that dally Along day's cheerful arch, And paint the sunset valley! How redly buds the larch! Clear hylas ringing, Over the meadow the frogs proclaim The coming of Spring to boy and dame, But not to me, Nor thee! And golden crowfoot's shining near, And yet it is mean to mourn for thee, Cold are the sods of the valley to-day That took thee back to thy native clay; SHE CAME AND WENT As a twig trembles, which a bird As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven, The blue dome's measureless content, As, at one bound, our swift spring heaps An angel stood and met my gaze, Through the low doorway of my tent; The tent is struck, the vision stays; I only know she came and went. Oh, when the room grows slowly dim, One gush of light these eyes will brim, MY LOVE NoT as all other women are MY LOVE Great feelings hath she of her own, And sweet they are as any tone Wherewith the wind may choose to blow. Yet in herself she dwelleth not, No simplest duty is forgot, Life hath no dim and lowly spot That doth not in her sunshine share. She doeth little kindnesses, Which most leave undone, or despise: She hath no scorn of common things, Blessing she is: God made her so, She is most fair, and thereunto 67 Ne'er made less beautiful the blue She is a woman: one in whom I love her with a love as still And, on its full, deep breast serene, It flows around them and between, And makes them fresh and fair and green, James Russell Lowell. COMMEMORATION ODE I WEAK-winged is song, Nor aims at that clear-ethered height We seem to do them wrong, Bringing our robin's-leaf to deck their hearse Who in warm life-blood wrote their nobler verse, Our trivial song to honor those who come With ears attuned to strenuous trump and drum, COMMEMORATION ODE And shaped in squadron-strophes their desire, II To-day our Reverend Mother welcomes back No science peddling with the names of things, Can lift our life with wings Far from Death's idle gulf that for the many waits And lengthen out our dates With that clear fame whose memory sings 69 In manly hearts to come, and nerves them and dilates: Nor such thy teaching, Mother of us all! Not such the trumpet-call Of thy diviner mood, That could thy sons entice From happy homes and toils, the fruitful nest But rather far that stern device The sponsors chose that round thy cradle stood The letter's unprolific sheath, Life of whate'er makes life worth living, |