And my dear heart,
Each moment that you fly
Is a dull eon apart
In my soul's agony.
This autumn wind
Treacherous, hungry,—chill,
Those laughing wings may find
And rend, and still.
The earth-force, strong,
Ready to lure your bark,
May hum a homing-song
And draw you to the dark.
O golden Fire,
Whose course is never run,
Outshine all dark desire
And keep my son.
A SPRING DAY
O, March, he is a loud-foot lad,
Nor pipes as April can,
But this green day he brings again,
An olive-branch to man.
His emerald hours are promises
Set in the snow-white days;
And slowly moves Earth's miracle
Along the hidden ways.
As peace is paler than red war,
The crocus than the rose,
So Life comes whispering up the land
A word that whitely glows.
And not in azure Arcady
Or where great battles ring,
Is felt the everlasting hope
That is the heart of Spring;
But in the spirit of the race
That holds a vision clear,
And plucks the flower of fadeless dream,
Through soldier as through seer.