  IUnder grey clouds some birds will dare to sing, No wild exultant chants, but soft and low; Under grey clouds the young leaves seek the spring, And lurking violets blow. And waves make idle music on the strand, And inland streams have lucky words to say, And children’s voices sound across the land Although the clouds be grey. IIOnly maidenhood and youth, Only eyes that are most fair, And the pureness of a mouth, And the grace of golden hair, Yet beside her we grow wise, And we breathe a finer air. Words low-utter’d, simple-sweet,— Yet, nor songs of morning birds, Nor soft whisperings of the wheat More than such clear-hearted words Make us wait, and love, and listen, Stir more mellow heart accords. Only maiden-motions light, Only smiles that sweetly go, Girlish laughter pure and bright, And a footfall like the snow, What in these should make us wise? What should bid the blossom blow? Child! on thee God’s angels wait, ’Tis their robes that wave and part, Make this summer air elate, Fresh and fragrant, and thou art But a simple child indeed, One dare cherish to the heart. IIIVINay, more! yet more, for my lips are fain; No cups for a babe; I ask the whole Deep draught that a God could hardly drain, —Wine of your soul. Pour! for the goblet is great I bring, Not worthless, rough with youths at strife, And men that toil and women that sing, —It is all my life. VIILook forward with those steadfast eyes O Pilot of our star! It sweeps through rains and driving snows, Strong Angel, gaze afar! Seest thou a zone of golden air? Hearest thou the March-winds ring? Or is thy heart prophetic yet With stirrings of the Spring? VIIIWords for my song like sighing of dim seas, Words with no thought in them,—a piping reed, An infant’s cry, a moan low-uttered,—these Are all the words I need. Others have song for broad-winged winds that pass, For stars and sun, for standing men around; I put my mouth low down into the grass, And whisper to the ground. HERE END THE POEMS |
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