And I found the cohosh coigne the same,
Tossing with torches of pearly flame.
The owlet dingle of vine and brier,
That the butterfly-weed flecked fierce with fire.
The elder edge with its warm perfume,
And the sapphire stars of the bluet bloom;
The moss, the fern, and the touch-me-not
I breathed, and the mint-smell keen and hot.
And I saw the bird, that sang its best,
In the moted sunlight building its nest.
And I saw the chipmunk's stealthy face,
And the rabbit crouched in a grassy place.
And I watched the crows, that cawed and cried,
Hunting the hawk at the forest-side;
The bees that sucked in the blossoms slim,
And the wasps that built on the lichened limb.
And felt the silence, the dusk, the dread
Of the spot where they buried the unknown dead.
The water murmur, the insect hum,
And a far bird calling, Come, oh, come!—