MIDSUMMER.
After the May time, and after the June time
Rare with blossoms and perfumes sweet,
Cometh the round world's royal noon time,
The red midsummer of blazing heat.
When the sun, like an eye that never closes,
Bends on the earth its fervid gaze,
And the winds are still, and the crimson roses
Droop and wither and die in its rays.
Unto my heart has come that season,
O my lady, my worshiped one,
When over the stars of Pride and Reason
Sails Love's cloudless, noonday sun.
Like a great red ball in my bosom burning
With fires that nothing can quench or tame.
It glows till my heart itself seems turning
Into a liquid lake of flame.
The hopes half shy, and the sighs all tender,
The dreams and fears of an earlier day,
Under the noontide's royal splendor,
Droop like roses and wither away.
From the hills of doubt no winds are blowing,
From the isle of pain no breeze is sent.
Only the sun in a white heat glowing
Over an ocean of great content.
Sink, O my soul, in this golden glory,
Die, O my heart, in thy rapture‑swoon,
For the Autumn must come with its mournful story,
And Love's midsummer will fade too soon.
After the May time, and after the June time
Rare with blossoms and perfumes sweet,
Cometh the round world's royal noon time,
The red midsummer of blazing heat.
When the sun, like an eye that never closes,
Bends on the earth its fervid gaze,
And the winds are still, and the crimson roses
Droop and wither and die in its rays.
Unto my heart has come that season,
O my lady, my worshiped one,
When over the stars of Pride and Reason
Sails Love's cloudless, noonday sun.
Like a great red ball in my bosom burning
With fires that nothing can quench or tame.
It glows till my heart itself seems turning
Into a liquid lake of flame.
The hopes half shy, and the sighs all tender,
The dreams and fears of an earlier day,
Under the noontide's royal splendor,
Droop like roses and wither away.
From the hills of doubt no winds are blowing,
From the isle of pain no breeze is sent.
Only the sun in a white heat glowing
Over an ocean of great content.
Sink, O my soul, in this golden glory,
Die, O my heart, in thy rapture‑swoon,
For the Autumn must come with its mournful story,
And Love's midsummer will fade too soon.
A REMINISCENCE.
I saw the wild honey‑bee kissing a rose
A wee one, that grows
Down low on the bush, where her sisters above
Cannot see all that's done
As the moments roll on.
Nor hear all the whispers and murmurs of love.
They flaunt out their beautiful leaves in the sun,
And they flirt, every one,
With the wild bees who pass, and the gay butterflies.
And that wee thing in pink—
Why, they never once think
That she's won a lover right under their eyes.
It reminded me, Kate, of a time—you know when!
You were so petite then,
Your dresses were short, and your feet were so small.
Your sisters, Maud‑Belle
And Madeline—well,
They both set their caps for me, after that ball.
How the blue eyes and black eyes smiled up in my face!
'T was a neck‑and‑neck race,
Till that day when you opened the door in the hall,
And looked up and looked down,
With your sweet eyes of brown,
And you seemed so tiny, and I felt so tall.
Your sisters had sent you to keep me, my dear,
Till they should appear.
Then you were dismissed like a child in disgrace.
How meekly you went!
But your brown eyes, they sent
A thrill to my heart, and a flush to my face.
We always were meeting some way after that.
You hung up my hat,
And got it again, when I finished my call.
Sixteen, and so sweet!
Oh, those cute little feet!
Shall I ever forget how they tripped down the hall?
Shall I ever forget the first kiss by the door,
Or the vows murmured o'er,
Or the rage and surprise of Maud‑Belle? Well‑a‑day,
How swiftly time flows,
And who would suppose
That a bee could have carried me so far away.
I saw the wild honey‑bee kissing a rose
A wee one, that grows
Down low on the bush, where her sisters above
Cannot see all that's done
As the moments roll on.
Nor hear all the whispers and murmurs of love.
They flaunt out their beautiful leaves in the sun,
And they flirt, every one,
With the wild bees who pass, and the gay butterflies.
And that wee thing in pink—
Why, they never once think
That she's won a lover right under their eyes.
It reminded me, Kate, of a time—you know when!
You were so petite then,
Your dresses were short, and your feet were so small.
Your sisters, Maud‑Belle
And Madeline—well,
They both set their caps for me, after that ball.
How the blue eyes and black eyes smiled up in my face!
'T was a neck‑and‑neck race,
Till that day when you opened the door in the hall,
And looked up and looked down,
With your sweet eyes of brown,
And you seemed so tiny, and I felt so tall.
Your sisters had sent you to keep me, my dear,
Till they should appear.
Then you were dismissed like a child in disgrace.
How meekly you went!
But your brown eyes, they sent
A thrill to my heart, and a flush to my face.
We always were meeting some way after that.
You hung up my hat,
And got it again, when I finished my call.
Sixteen, and so sweet!
Oh, those cute little feet!
Shall I ever forget how they tripped down the hall?
Shall I ever forget the first kiss by the door,
Or the vows murmured o'er,
Or the rage and surprise of Maud‑Belle? Well‑a‑day,
How swiftly time flows,
And who would suppose
That a bee could have carried me so far away.