TO THE DAISIES
O Daisies, with your golden hearts
And petals white as snow,
Ye are, indeed, fond Summer’s eyes
O speak! for I would know
The secrets of this month of June
Of all months of the year,
And not one June of all my life
Was ever half so dear.
The secrets of this month of June
With your soft eyes declare:
What is it makes the roses bloom,
And beauty everywhere?
Is it the longing in the seed
That speaketh in the flower;
And is this longing satisfied
To breathe for one short hour,
And vanish? Nay: the hidden power,
In seed-life unto me
Seems deathless, as the human-soul,
Was, and will always be—
And what though on the silent air,
The perfume dies away
Of the June roses, and they fade—
Behold! shall any say,
However wise, that this is loss:
Alas! shall any deign
Deny, that Nature’s wondrous laws
May not restore again?
The waves roll in upon the shore,
Recede, and come again
And thirsty clouds drink in the floods,
To give them back, in rain.
O Daisies, when bright June is past,
And all your beauty fled;
If in my memory ye but live,
I dare not call ye dead,
For ye have led me to the fount
From whence all beauty springs,
Your silence filled my soul with awe,
And gave my spirit wings.
The self-same tint in morning’s glow
And in the crimson flush
Of the June roses, I behold
In timid maidens’ blush.
O Daisies, listen unto me,
My secret I impart—
Love’s sweetest flowers are all ablow;
’Tis June-time in my heart!
Go tell my secret to some bird,
The bob-o-link were best—
Tell him to ask his patient wife
To sit upon the nest;
And him unto my lover go,
And, as my minstrel sent,
Ask him to sing that song he sang
When he a-wooing went.
Thou think’st he might not find him?
It might be well to say,
My love, like light, will go before
To ’luminate the way.
ABSENCE
Thou art away and I am here.
The one that’s left is lonesome, dear.
I long to look into your face.
I long to-night for your embrace.
Like hopeless grief, the wind and rain
Beats at my darkened window pane.