Afterwhiles

CONTENTS

Where are they— the Afterwhiles— Luring us the lengthening miles Of our lives? Where is the dawn With the dew across the lawn Stroked with eager feet the far Way the hills and valleys are? Were the sun that smites the frown Of the eastward-gazer down? Where the rifted wreaths of mist O'er us, tinged with amethyst, Round the mountain's steep defiles? Where are the afterwhiles? Afterwhile— and we will go Thither, yon, and too and fro— From the stifling city streets To the country's cool retreats— From the riot to the rest Were hearts beat the placidest: Afterwhile, and we will fall Under breezy trees, and loll In the shade, with thirsty sight Drinking deep the blue delight Of the skies that will beguile Us as children— afterwhile. Afterwhile— and one intends To be gentler to his friends—, To walk with them, in the hush Of still evenings, o'er the plush Of home-leading fields, and stand Long at parting, hand in hand: One, in time, will joy to take New resolves for some one's sake, And wear then the look that lies Clear and pure in other eyes— We will soothe and reconcile His own conscience— afterwhile. Afterwhile— we have in view A far scene to journey to—, Where the old home is, and where The old mother waits us there, Peering, as the time grows late, Down the old path to the gate—. How we'll click the latch that locks In the pinks and hollyhocks, And leap up the path once more Where she waits us at the door—! How we'll greet the dear old smile, And the warm tears— afterwhile! Ah, the endless afterwhiles—! Leagues on leagues, and miles on miles, In distance far withdrawn, Stretching on, and on, and on, Till the fancy is footsore And faints in the dust before The last milestone's granite face, Hacked with: Here Beginneth Space. O far glimmering worlds and wings, Mystic smiles and beckonings, Lead us through the shadowy aisles Out into the afterwhiles.

Herr Weiser—! Three-score-years-and-ten—, A hale white rose of his country-men, Transplanted here in the Hoosier loam, And blossomy as his German home— As blossomy and as pure and sweet As the cool green glen of his calm retreat, Far withdrawn from the noisy town Where trade goes clamoring up and down, Whose fret and fever, and stress and strife, May not trouble his tranquil life! Breath of rest, what a balmy gust—! Quite of the city's heat and dust, Jostling down by the winding road, Through the orchard ways of his quaint abode—. Tether the horse, as we onward fare Under the pear-trees trailing there, And thumping the wood bridge at night With lumps of ripeness and lush delight, Till the stream, as it maunders on till dawn, Is powdered and pelted and smiled upon. Herr Weiser, with his wholesome face, And the gentle blue of his eyes, and grace Of unassuming honesty, Be there to welcome you and me! And what though the toil of the farm be stopped And the tireless plans of the place be dropped, While the prayerful master's knees are set In beds of pansy and mignonette And lily and aster and columbine, Offered in love, as yours and mine—? What, but a blessing of kindly thought, Sweet as the breath of forget-me-not—! What, but a spirit of lustrous love White as the aster he bends above—! What, but an odorous memory Of the dear old man, made known to me In days demanding a help like his—, As sweet as the life of the lily is— As sweet as the soul of a babe, bloom-wise Born of a lily in paradise.