A path across the meadow fair and sweet, Still sweet and fair where blooms and grasses meet— A path worn smooth by his reluctant feet.
A long, straight path—and, at its end, a gate Behind whose bars she doth in silence wait To keep the tryst, if he comes soon or late!
ST. JOHN’S EVE
The veil is thin between The seen and the unseen— Thinner to-night than the transparent air; All heaven and earth are still, Save when from some far hill Floateth the nightbird’s unavailing prayer; Up from the mountain bars Climb the slow, patient stars, Only to faint in moonlight white and rare!
Ere earth had grown too wise To commerce with the skies, On this midsummer night the men of old Believed the dead drew near, Believed that they could hear Voices long silent speaking from the mould, Believed whoever slept Unearthly vigil kept Where his own death-knell should at last be tolled.
In solemn midnight marches Beneath dark forest arches They fancied that their hungry souls found God; His angels clad in light Stole softly through the night, Leaving no impress on the yielding sod, And bore to mortal ears Tidings from other spheres, The undiscovered way no man hath trod.
Ah! what if it were true? Then would I call ye who Have one by one beyond my vision flown; I would set wide the door Ye enter now no more Crying, “Come in from out the void unknown! Come as ye came of old Laden with love untold”— Hark! was that nothing but the night wind’s moan?
A LITTLE SONG
Little song I fain would sing, Why dost thou elude me so? Like a bird upon the wing, Sailing high, sailing low, Yet forever out of reach, Thou dost vex me beyond measure, Unallured by prayer or speech, Waiting thine own time and pleasure!