Chapter IV

And we may see the Satyrs in the shades
Of drowsy dells pipe, and, goat-footed, dance;
And Pan himself reel rollicking through the glades;
Or, hidden in bosky bow'rs, the Lust, perchance,
Faun-like, that waits with heated, animal glance
The advent of the Loveliness that wades
Thigh-deep through flowers, naked as Romance,
All unsuspecting, till two hairy arms
Clasp her rebellious beauty, panting white,
Whose tearful terror, struggling into might,
Beats the brute brow resisting, but evades
Not him, for whom the gods designed her charms.

WAITING

Were it but May now, while
Our hearts are yearning,
How they would bound and smile,
The young blood burning!
Around the tedious dial
No slow hands turning.

Were it but May now!--say,
What joy to go,
Your hand in mine all day,
Where blossoms blow!
Your hand, more white than May,
May's flowers of snow.

Were it but May now!--think,
What wealth she has!
The bluet and wild-pink,
Wild flowers,--that mass
About the wood-brook's brink,--
And sassafras.

Nights, that the large stars strew,
Heaven on heaven rolled;
Nights, pearled with stars and dew,
Whose heavens hold
Aromas, and the new
Moon's curve of gold.

So mad, so wild is March!--
I long, oh, long
To see the redbud's torch
Flame far and strong;
Hear, on my vine-climbed porch,
The bluebird's song.

How slow the Hours creep,
Each with a crutch!--
Ah, could my spirit leap
Its bounds and touch
That day, no thing would keep--
Or matter much!

But now, with you away,
Time halts and crawls,
Feet clogged with winter clay,
That never falls,
While, distant still, that day
Of meeting calls.

LONGINGS

Now when the first wild violets peer
All rain-filled at blue April skies,
As on one smiles one's sweetheart dear
With the big teardrops in her eyes:

Now when the May-apples, I wis,
Bloom white along lone, greenwood creeks,
As bashful as the cheeks you kiss,
As waxen as your sweetheart's cheeks:

Within the soul what longings rise
To stamp the town-dust from the feet!
Fare forth to gaze in Spring's clean eyes,
And kiss her cheeks so cool and sweet!

THE SWEET O' THE YEAR

I

How can I help from laughing, while
The daffodillies at me smile?
The dancing dew winks tipsily
In clusters of the lilac-tree,
And crocus' mouths and hyacinths'
Storm through the grassy labyrinths
A mirth of pearl and violet;
While roses, bud by bud,
Laugh from each dainty-lacing net
Red lips of maidenhood.

II

How can I help from singing when
The swallow and the hawk again
Are noisy in the hyaline
Of happy heavens, clear as wine?
The robin, lustily and shrill,
Pipes on the timber-belted hill;
And o'er the fallow skim the bold,
Mad orioles that glow
Like shining shafts of ingot gold
Shot from the morning's bow.