ARIZONIAN.

Because the skies were blue, because

The sun in fringes of the sea
Was tangled, and delightfully
Kept dancing on as in a waltz,

And tropic trees bow'd to the seas,

And bloom'd and bore, years through and through,

And birds in blended gold and blue

Were thick and sweet as swarming bees,

And sang as if in paradise,

And all that paradise was spring —
Did I too sing with lifted eyes,
Because I could not choose but sing.

With garments full of sea-winds blown
From isles beyond of spice and balm,
Beside the sea, beneath her palm,

She waits as true as chisell'd stone.
My childhood's child! my June in May!
So wiser than thy father is,

These lines, these leaves, and all of this
Are thine, a loose, uncouth bouquet.
So wait and watch for sail and sign;
A ship shall mount the hollow seas,
Blown to thy place of blossom'd trees,
And birds, and song, and summer-shine.

I throw a kiss across the sea,

I drink the winds as drinking wine,

And dream they all are blown from thee:

I catch the whisper'd kiss of thine.

Shall I return with lifted face,

Or head held down as in disgrace,

To hold thy two brown hands in mine?

ENGLAND, 1871.

SONGS OF THE SIERRAS.

ARIZONIAN.

“AND I have said, and I say it ever,

As the years go on and the world goes over

"Twere better to be content and clever

In tending of cattle and tossing of clover,

In the grazing of cattle and the growing of grain,
Than a strong man striving for fame or gain;
Be even as kine in the red-tipp'd clover;
For they lie down and their rests are rests,
And the days are theirs, come sun come rain,
To lie, rise up, and repose again;

While we wish, yearn, and do pray in vain,
And hope to ride on the billows of bosoms,
And hope to rest in the haven of breasts,
Till the heart is sicken'd and the fair hope dead;
Be even as clover with its crown of blossoms,
Even as blossoms ere the bloom is shed,