THE BIRD’S SONG, THE SUN, AND THE WIND
The bird’s song, the sun, and the wind—
The wind that rushes, the sun that is still,
The song of the bird that sings alone,
And wide light washing the lonely hill!
The Spring’s coming, the buds and the brooks—
The brooks that clamour, the buds in the rain,
The coming of Spring that comes unprayed for,
And eyes that welcome it not for pain!
OH, PURPLE HANG THE PODS
Oh, purple hang the pods
On the green locust-tree,
And yellow turn the sods
On a grave that’s dear to me!
And blue, softly blue,
The hollow Autumn sky,
With its birds flying through
To where the sun-lands lie!
In the sun-lands they’ll bide
While Winter’s on the tree;—
And oh that I might hide
The grave that’s dear to me!
BRINGING HOME THE COWS
When potatoes were in blossom,
When the new hay filled the mows,
Sweet the paths we trod together,
Bringing home the cows.
What a purple kissed the pasture,
Kissed and blessed the alder-boughs,
As we wandered slow at sundown,
Bringing home the cows!