  THE HOUSE OF THE TREESOPE your doors and take me in, Spirit of the wood; Wash me clean of dust and din, Clothe me in your mood. Take me from the noisy light To the sunless peace, Where at midday standeth Night Signing Toil's release. All your dusky twilight stores To my senses give; Take me in and lock the doors, Show me how to live. Lift your leafy roof for me, Part your yielding walls, Let me wander lingeringly Through your scented halls. Ope your doors and take me in, Spirit of the wood; Take me—make me next of kin To your leafy brood. HOW thick about the window of my life Buzz insect-like the tribe of petty frets: Small cares, small thoughts, small trials, and small strife, Small loves and hates, small hopes and small regrets. If 'mid this swarm of smallnesses remain A single undimmed spot, with wondering eye I note before my freckled window-pane The outstretched splendor of the earth and sky? O MASTER-BUILDER, blustering as you go About your giant work, transforming all The empty woods into a glittering hall, And making lilac lanes and footpaths grow As hard as iron under stubborn snow,— Though every fence stand forth a marble wall, And windy hollows drift to arches tall, There comes a might that shall your might o'erthrow. Build high your white and dazzling palaces, Strengthen your bridges, fortify your towers, Storm with a loud and a portentous lip; And April with a fragmentary breeze, And half a score of gentle, golden hours, Shall leave no trace of your stern workmanship. WITH slender arms outstretching in the sun The grass lies dead; The wind walks tenderly, and stirs not one Frail, fallen head. Of baby creepings through the April day Where streamlets wend, Of childlike dancing on the breeze of May, This is the end. No more these tiny forms are bathed in dew, No more they reach To hold with leaves that shade them from the blue A whispered speech. No more they part their arms, and wreathe them close Again to shield Some love-full little nest—a dainty house Hid in a field. |
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