THE POOL II In A minor Allegretto
Cool-hearted dim familiar of the doves, Thou coiled sweet water where they come to tell Their mellow legends and rehearse their loves, As what in April or in June befell And thou must hear of,—friend of Dryades Who lean to see where flower should be set To star the dusk of wreathed ivy braids, They have not left thy trees, Nor do tired fauns thy crystal kiss forget, Nor forest-nymphs astray from distant glades.
Thou feelest with delight their showery feet Along thy mossy margin myrtle-starred, And thine the heart of wildness quick to beat At imprint of shy hoof upon thy sward: Yet who could know thee wild who art so cool, So heavenly-minded, templed in thy grove Of plumy cedar, larch and juniper? O strange ecstatic Pool, What unknown country art thou dreaming of, Or temple than this garden lovelier?
Who made thy sky the silver side of leaves, And poised its orchid like a swan-white moon Whose disc of perfect pallor half deceives The mirror of thy limpid green lagoon, He loveth well thy ripple-feathered moods, Thy whims at dusk, thy rainbow look at dawn! Dream thou no more of vales Olympian: Where pale Olympus broods There were no orchid white as moon or swan, No sky of leaves, no garden-haunting Pan!
THE BIRDS III In F major Presto
I keep a frequent tryst With whirr and shower of wings: Some inward melodist Interpreting all things Appoints the place, the hours. Dazzle and sense of flowers, Though not the least leaf stir, May mean a tanager: How rich the silence is until he sings!
The smoke-tree's cloudy white Has fire within its breast. What winged mere delight There hides as in a nest And fashions of its flame Music without a name? So might an opal sing If given thrilling wing, And voice for lyric wildness unexpressed.
In grassy dimness thatched With tangled growing things, A troubadour rose-patched, With velvet-shadowed wings, Seeks a sustaining fly. Who else unseen goes by Quick-pattering through the hush? Some twilight-footed thrush Or finch intent on small adventurings?
I have no time for gloom, For gloom what time have I? The orange is in bloom; Emerald parrots fly Out of the cypress-dusk; Morning is strange with musk. The wild canary now Jewels the lemon-bough, And mocking-birds laugh in the rose's room.
THE ORANGE TREE In D Major Presto meno assai