AMONG THE TREES AGAIN
Aye, throb, my heart! is it not sweet to be,To breathe, to bide, by growing things once more!We did not guess beforeHow close our life was locked in greenery.Hark! how the sparrows in the apple treeAre chattering, chirping, till their tiny throatsAre fairly brimmed and quivering through and throughWith rollick notes!Good morrow, little birds!Good morrow! morrow!—O, I would I knewSome light-winged language, kindred singing wordsWherein to sayThis day, this day, at last this happy dayI come to be a neighbor unto you!Too long, too long, we heard strange footsteps pass,Harsh, strident echoes stricken out of stone;But never softened by green, growing grass,Or mellowed to faint, earthy undertone.And then, O heart,Did we not ofttimes feel ourselves apart,Alone,Wrought to vague discord by some touch unknown?Did we not weary with a nameless grief,In dreaming of tall clover, daisy sown,Or music blownFrom the wind-harping of some little leaf?It was not that within the city’s coreThere dwelt no sympathies, nor interests keen,No human ties to temper its fatigues.—’Twas only that we needed something more;Some note rang wrong;A foolish fancy, may be, but still strong,That life sang sweeter snatched between the greenClose-lapping verdure of a fret of twigs.Where all the ground was paven out of sight,And only from a far-off strip of skyMy mother Nature strove to speak to me,I could not harken to her voice aright;I knew not why,But ever to mine ears some whispering treeSeemed of the inmost golden soul of her,The best interpreter.And so what wonder, Life, that you and I,Shut out from such glad confidence, should missAnd grieve for this.—But all this yearning we’ll forget; for nowWithin my window,So,By finger-tips,I’ll draw into mine arms this dancing bough,And stroke its silky buds across my lips.O generous-natured, friendly, neighbor tree!Weave gentle blessings in the shade and shine;And granting gracious patience to my plea,Some simple lesson of your lore make mine,Make mine, I pray!O, be a kindly teacher unto me,And I’ll pour out such worshipful heart-wine,Not any bird that sings to you all day,Or nestles to low, leafy lullaby,Shall hold you in such dear observance, nay,Nor love you half so tenderly as I.
Aye, throb, my heart! is it not sweet to be,To breathe, to bide, by growing things once more!We did not guess beforeHow close our life was locked in greenery.Hark! how the sparrows in the apple treeAre chattering, chirping, till their tiny throatsAre fairly brimmed and quivering through and throughWith rollick notes!Good morrow, little birds!Good morrow! morrow!—O, I would I knewSome light-winged language, kindred singing wordsWherein to sayThis day, this day, at last this happy dayI come to be a neighbor unto you!Too long, too long, we heard strange footsteps pass,Harsh, strident echoes stricken out of stone;But never softened by green, growing grass,Or mellowed to faint, earthy undertone.And then, O heart,Did we not ofttimes feel ourselves apart,Alone,Wrought to vague discord by some touch unknown?Did we not weary with a nameless grief,In dreaming of tall clover, daisy sown,Or music blownFrom the wind-harping of some little leaf?It was not that within the city’s coreThere dwelt no sympathies, nor interests keen,No human ties to temper its fatigues.—’Twas only that we needed something more;Some note rang wrong;A foolish fancy, may be, but still strong,That life sang sweeter snatched between the greenClose-lapping verdure of a fret of twigs.Where all the ground was paven out of sight,And only from a far-off strip of skyMy mother Nature strove to speak to me,I could not harken to her voice aright;I knew not why,But ever to mine ears some whispering treeSeemed of the inmost golden soul of her,The best interpreter.And so what wonder, Life, that you and I,Shut out from such glad confidence, should missAnd grieve for this.—But all this yearning we’ll forget; for nowWithin my window,So,By finger-tips,I’ll draw into mine arms this dancing bough,And stroke its silky buds across my lips.O generous-natured, friendly, neighbor tree!Weave gentle blessings in the shade and shine;And granting gracious patience to my plea,Some simple lesson of your lore make mine,Make mine, I pray!O, be a kindly teacher unto me,And I’ll pour out such worshipful heart-wine,Not any bird that sings to you all day,Or nestles to low, leafy lullaby,Shall hold you in such dear observance, nay,Nor love you half so tenderly as I.
Aye, throb, my heart! is it not sweet to be,To breathe, to bide, by growing things once more!We did not guess beforeHow close our life was locked in greenery.Hark! how the sparrows in the apple treeAre chattering, chirping, till their tiny throatsAre fairly brimmed and quivering through and throughWith rollick notes!Good morrow, little birds!Good morrow! morrow!—O, I would I knewSome light-winged language, kindred singing wordsWherein to sayThis day, this day, at last this happy dayI come to be a neighbor unto you!
Aye, throb, my heart! is it not sweet to be,
To breathe, to bide, by growing things once more!
We did not guess before
How close our life was locked in greenery.
Hark! how the sparrows in the apple tree
Are chattering, chirping, till their tiny throats
Are fairly brimmed and quivering through and through
With rollick notes!
Good morrow, little birds!
Good morrow! morrow!—O, I would I knew
Some light-winged language, kindred singing words
Wherein to say
This day, this day, at last this happy day
I come to be a neighbor unto you!
Too long, too long, we heard strange footsteps pass,Harsh, strident echoes stricken out of stone;But never softened by green, growing grass,Or mellowed to faint, earthy undertone.And then, O heart,Did we not ofttimes feel ourselves apart,Alone,Wrought to vague discord by some touch unknown?Did we not weary with a nameless grief,In dreaming of tall clover, daisy sown,Or music blownFrom the wind-harping of some little leaf?
Too long, too long, we heard strange footsteps pass,
Harsh, strident echoes stricken out of stone;
But never softened by green, growing grass,
Or mellowed to faint, earthy undertone.
And then, O heart,
Did we not ofttimes feel ourselves apart,
Alone,
Wrought to vague discord by some touch unknown?
Did we not weary with a nameless grief,
In dreaming of tall clover, daisy sown,
Or music blown
From the wind-harping of some little leaf?
It was not that within the city’s coreThere dwelt no sympathies, nor interests keen,No human ties to temper its fatigues.—’Twas only that we needed something more;Some note rang wrong;A foolish fancy, may be, but still strong,That life sang sweeter snatched between the greenClose-lapping verdure of a fret of twigs.
It was not that within the city’s core
There dwelt no sympathies, nor interests keen,
No human ties to temper its fatigues.
—’Twas only that we needed something more;
Some note rang wrong;
A foolish fancy, may be, but still strong,
That life sang sweeter snatched between the green
Close-lapping verdure of a fret of twigs.
Where all the ground was paven out of sight,And only from a far-off strip of skyMy mother Nature strove to speak to me,I could not harken to her voice aright;I knew not why,But ever to mine ears some whispering treeSeemed of the inmost golden soul of her,The best interpreter.And so what wonder, Life, that you and I,Shut out from such glad confidence, should missAnd grieve for this.
Where all the ground was paven out of sight,
And only from a far-off strip of sky
My mother Nature strove to speak to me,
I could not harken to her voice aright;
I knew not why,
But ever to mine ears some whispering tree
Seemed of the inmost golden soul of her,
The best interpreter.
And so what wonder, Life, that you and I,
Shut out from such glad confidence, should miss
And grieve for this.
—But all this yearning we’ll forget; for nowWithin my window,So,By finger-tips,I’ll draw into mine arms this dancing bough,And stroke its silky buds across my lips.O generous-natured, friendly, neighbor tree!Weave gentle blessings in the shade and shine;And granting gracious patience to my plea,Some simple lesson of your lore make mine,Make mine, I pray!O, be a kindly teacher unto me,And I’ll pour out such worshipful heart-wine,Not any bird that sings to you all day,Or nestles to low, leafy lullaby,Shall hold you in such dear observance, nay,Nor love you half so tenderly as I.
—But all this yearning we’ll forget; for now
Within my window,
So,
By finger-tips,
I’ll draw into mine arms this dancing bough,
And stroke its silky buds across my lips.
O generous-natured, friendly, neighbor tree!
Weave gentle blessings in the shade and shine;
And granting gracious patience to my plea,
Some simple lesson of your lore make mine,
Make mine, I pray!
O, be a kindly teacher unto me,
And I’ll pour out such worshipful heart-wine,
Not any bird that sings to you all day,
Or nestles to low, leafy lullaby,
Shall hold you in such dear observance, nay,
Nor love you half so tenderly as I.