For fire and running water,
Snowfall and summer rain;
For sunsets and quiet meadows,
The fruit and the standing grain;
For the solemn hour of moonrise
Over the crest of trees,
When the mellow lights are kindled
In the lamps of the centuries;
For those who wrought aforetime,
Led by the mystic strain
To strive for the larger freedom,
And live for the greater gain;
For plenty of peace and playtime,
The homely goods of earth,
And for rare immaterial treasures
Accounted of little worth;
For art and learning and friendship,
Where beneficent truth is supreme,—
Those everlasting cities
Built on the hills of dream;
For all things growing and goodly
That foster this life, and breed
The immortal flower of wisdom
Out of the mortal seed.
But most of all for the spirit
That cannot rest nor bide
In stale and sterile convenience,
Nor safety proven and tried,
But still inspired and driven,
Must seek what better may be,
And up from the loveliest garden
Must climb for a glimpse of sea.
Lines for a Picture
When the leaves are flying
Across the azure sky,
Autumn on the hill top
Turns to say good-by;
In her gold-red tunic,
Like an Eastern queen,
With untarnished courage
In her wilding mien.
All the earth below her
Answers to her gaze,
And her eyes are pensive
With remembered days.
Yet, with cheek ensanguined,
Gay at heart she goes
On the great adventure
Where the north wind blows.