II.
When ways are drifted with the leaves,
And winds make music in the thorns;
And lone and lost above the frost
The new moon shows its silver horns;
When underneath the lamp-lit eaves
The opened door is crossed,—
A happy heart and light, sweetheart,
And lips to kiss good-night, sweetheart,
And lips to kiss good-night.
ON THE FARM
I.
He sang a song as he sowed the field,
Sowed the field at break of day:
"When the pursed-up leaves are as lips that yield
Balm and balsam, and Spring,—concealed
In the odorous green,—is so revealed,
Halloo and oh!
Hallo for the woods and the far away!"
II.
He trilled a song as he mowed the mead,
Mowed the mead as noon begun:
"When the hills are gold with the ripened seed,
As the sunset stairs that loom and lead
To the sky where Summer knows naught of need,
Halloo and oh!
Hallo for the hills and the harvest sun!"
III.
He hummed a song as he swung the flail,
Swung the flail in the afternoon:
"When the idle fields are a wrecker's tale,
That the Autumn tells to the twilight pale,
As the Year turns seaward a crimson sail,
Halloo and oh!
Hallo for the fields and the hunter's-moon!"