The Home Book of Verse
Chapter 92 : O columbine, open your folded wrapper, Where two twin turtle-doves dwell?O cuckoopint,

O columbine, open your folded wrapper, Where two twin turtle-doves dwell?

O cuckoopint, toll me the purple clapper That hangs in your clear green bell!

And show me your nest with the young ones in it; I will not steal them away; I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet,-- I am seven times one to-day.

Seven Times Two.--ROMANCE

You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes, How many soever they be, And let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges Come over, come over to me.

Yet birds' clearest carol by fall or by swelling No magical sense conveys, And bells have forgotten their old art of telling The fortune of future days

"Turn again, turn again," once they rang cheerily, While a boy listened alone; Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily All by himself on a stone.

Poor bells! I forgive you; your good days are over, And mine, they are yet to be; No listening, no longing shall aught, aught discover: You leave the story to me.

The foxglove shoots out of the green matted heather Preparing her hoods of snow; She was idle, and slept till the suns.h.i.+ny weather: Oh! children take long to grow.

I wish and I wish that the spring would go faster, Nor long summer bide so late; And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster, For some things are ill to wait.

I wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover, While dear hands are laid on my head; "The child is a woman, the book may close over, For all the lessons are said."

I wait for my story,--the birds cannot sing it, Not one, as he sits on the tree; The bells cannot ring it, but long years, oh, bring it!

Such as I wish it to be.

Seven Times Three.--LOVE

I leaned out of window, I smelt the white clover, Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate, "Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover,-- Hush, nightingale, hus.h.!.+ O sweet nightingale, wait Till I listen and hear If a step draweth near, For my love he is late!

"The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, A cl.u.s.ter of stars hangs like fruit in the tree, The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer: To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see?

Let the star-cl.u.s.ters grow, Let the sweet waters flow, And cross quickly to me.

"You night-moths that hover, where honey brims over From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep; You glowworms, s.h.i.+ne out, and the pathway discover To him that comes darkling along the rough steep.

Ah, my sailor, make haste, For the time runs to waste, And my love lieth deep,--

"Too deep for swift telling; and yet, my one lover, I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night."

By the sycamore pa.s.sed he, and through the white clover, Then all the sweet speech I had fas.h.i.+oned took flight; But I'll love him more, more Than e'er wife loved before, Be the days dark or bright.

Seven Times Four.--MATERNITY

Heigh-ho! daisies and b.u.t.tercups!

Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall!

When the wind wakes how they rock in the gra.s.ses, And dance with the cuckoo-buds slender and small!

Here's two bonny boys, and here's mother's own la.s.ses, Eager to gather them all.

Heigh-ho! daisies and b.u.t.tercups; Mother shall thread them a daisy chain; Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow, That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain; Sing, "Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow,"-- Sing once, and sing it again.

Heigh-ho! daisies and b.u.t.tercups!

Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow; A s.h.i.+p sails afar over warm ocean waters, And haply one musing doth stand at her prow.

O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters, Maybe he thinks of you now.

Heigh-ho! daisies and b.u.t.tercups!

Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall!

A suns.h.i.+ny world full of laughter and leisure, And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall!

Send down on their pleasure smiles pa.s.sing its measure, G.o.d that is over us all!

Seven Times Five.--WIDOWHOOD

I sleep and rest, my heart makes moan Before I am well awake; "Let me bleed! O let me alone, Since I must not break!"

For children wake, though fathers sleep With a stone at foot and at head: O sleepless G.o.d, forever keep, Keep both living and dead!

I lift mine eyes, and what to see But a world happy and fair!

I have not wished it to mourn with me,-- Comfort is not there.

Oh, what anear but golden brooms, But a waste of reedy rills!

Oh, what afar but the fine glooms On the rare blue hills!

I shall not die, but live forlore,-- How bitter it is to part!

Oh, to meet thee, my love, once more!

O my heart, my heart!

No more to hear, no more to see!

Oh, that an echo might wake And waft one note of thy psalm to me Ere my heart-strings break!

I should know it how faint soe'er, And with angel voices blent; Oh, once to feel thy spirit anear; I could be content!

Or once between the gates of gold, While an entering angel trod, But once,--thee sitting to behold On the hills of G.o.d!

Seven Times Six.--GIVING IN MARRIAGE

To bear, to nurse, to rear, To watch, and then to lose: To see my bright ones disappear, Drawn up like morning dews,-- To bear, to nurse, to rear, To watch and then to lose: This have I done when G.o.d drew near Among his own to choose.

To hear, to heed, to wed, And with thy lord depart In tears, that he, as soon as shed, Will let no longer smart,-- To hear, to heed, to wed, This while thou didst I smiled, For now it was not G.o.d who said, "Mother, give ME thy child."

O fond, O fool, and blind!

To G.o.d I gave with tears; But when a man like grace would find, My soul put by her fears,-- O fond, O fool, and blind!

G.o.d guards in happier spheres; That man will guard where he did bind Is hope for unknown years.

To hear, to heed, to wed, Fair lot that maidens choose, Thy mother's tenderest words are said, Thy face no more she views; Thy mother's lot, my dear, She doth in naught accuse; Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear, To love,--and then to lose.

Seven Times Seven.--LONGING FOR HOME

A song of a boat:-- There was once a boat on a billow: Lightly she rocked to her port remote, And the foam was white in her wake like snow, And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would blow, And bent like a wand of willow.

I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat Went curtsying over the billow, I marked her course till a dancing mote, She faded out on the moonlit foam, And I stayed behind in the dear-loved home; And my thoughts all day were about the boat, And my dreams upon the pillow.