Chapter II

Going, going, all the glory growing, See it stir and flutter; that is singing, hark! Singing in the caverns of the primal dark. _Going, going, all the glory growing._

What is in the making, what immortal plan Draws to its unfolding? 'Tis the Soul of man. _Going, going, all the glory growing._

See it mount and hover, singing as it goes, Battling with the darkness, nourished by its woes; _Going, going, all the glory growing._

The bale-fires of midnight glaring in its eyes, Past the phantom shadows see it rush and rise; _Going, going, all the glory growing._

The supernal morning on its dewy wings, Soaring and scorning the lust of earthy things; _Going, going, all the glory growing._

The beatific noontide on its eager breast Springing and singing to its halcyon rest; _Going, going, all the glory growing._

In its starry vesture not a vestige of the sod, Winging still and singing to the heart of God. _Going, going, all the glory growing._

O TURN ONCE MORE

O turn once more! The meadows where we mused and strayed together Abound and glow yet with the ruby sorrel; 'Twas there the bluebirds fought and played together, Their quarrel was a flying bluebird-quarrel; Their nest is firm still in the burnished cherry, They will come back there some day and be merry; O turn once more.

O turn once more! The spring we lingered at is ever steeping The long, cool grasses where the violets hide, Where you awoke the flower-heads from their sleeping And plucked them, proud in their inviolate pride; You left the roots, the roots will flower again, O turn once more and pluck the flower again; O turn once more.

O turn once more! We were the first to find the fairy places Where the tall lady-slippers scarf'd and snooded, Painted their lovely thoughts upon their faces, And then, bewitched by their own beauty brooded; This will recur in some enchanted fashion; Time will repeat his miracles of passion; O turn once more.

O turn once more! What heart is worth the longing for, the winning, That is not moved by currents of surprise; Who never breaks the silken thread in spinning, Shows a bare spindle when the daylight dies; The constant blood will yet flow full and tender; The thread will mended be though gossamer-slender; O turn once more.

AT THE GILL-NETS

Tug at the net, Haul at the net, Strip off the quivering fish; Hid in the mist The winds whist, Is like my heart's wish.

What is your wish, Your heart's wish? Is it for home on the hills? Strip off the fish, The silver fish, Caught by their rosy gills.

How can I know, I love you so, Each little thought I get Is held so, It dies you know, Caught in your heart's net.

Tug at your net, Your heart's net, Strip off my silver fancies; Keep them in rhyme, For a dull time, Fragile as frost pansies.

A LOVE SONG

I gave her a rose in early June, Fed with the sun and the dew, Each petal I said is a note in the tune, The rose is the whole tune through and through, The tune is the whole red-hearted rose, Flush and form, honey and hue, Lull with the cadence and throb to the close, I love you, I love you, I love you.

She gave me a rose in early June, Fed with the sun and the dew, Each petal she said is a mount in the moon, The rose is the whole moon through and through, The moon is the whole pale-hearted rose, Round and radiance, burnish and blue, Break in the flood-tide that murmurs and flows, I love you, I love you, I love you.

This is our love in early June, Fed with the sun and the dew, Moonlight and roses hid in a tune, The roses are music through and through, The moonlight falls in the breath of the rose, Light and cadence, honey and hue, Mingle, and murmur, and flow to the close, I love you, I love you, I love you.

THREE SONGS

I

Where love is life The roses blow, Though winds be rude And cold the snow, The roses climb Serenely slow, They nod in rhyme We know--we know Where love is life The roses blow.

Where life is love The roses blow, Though care be quick And sorrows grow, Their roots are twined With rose-roots so That rosebuds find A way to show Where life is love The roses blow.

II

Nothing came here but sunlight,
Nothing fell here but rain,
Nothing blew but the mellow wind,
Here are the flowers again!

No one came here but you, dear,
You with your magic train
Of brightness and laughter and lightness,
Here is my joy again!