THE CASCADE RAVINE
Fromoff the traveled road that layBetween wide fields of wheat and corn,An old gate, gray and weather-worn,Led down a shady woodland way.One scarce might trace the narrow path,So green it was and overgrownWith springtime’s seeded aftermath;Tall grasses that had never knownThe mower’s scythe or sickle’s scath,And rosy mayweed lightly sownWhere’er the summer winds had blown;And all their tangled stems the redSweet clover blossoms overspread.Near by, through scented, leafy veilsOf wreathing vines, and dewy, denseGreen underwood, a brood of quailsSped swiftly past the ragged railsThat tilted off a mossy fence;And over it, on airy wing,A robin paused in glad contentWhere budding elder-bushes leantAnd brambles clambered flowering.Then, suddenly, a low, sweet soundRose, faintly quivering on the breeze,And all that blossom-studded groundSeemed charged with murmurous mysteries!As if all rarest forest keysIn dreamful chords divinely blent,Sang forth from some sweet instrument;While pulsing through, with rhythmic beat,In slumberous melodies there wentThe soft susurrus of the trees,The wind that wandered through the wheat,And all the changeful strains of these.And as I listened, marvelingWhere those light, liquid tones might be,Forgetting all and everythingSave that enchanting minstrelsy,I wandered slowly through the wood,Till all at once the parted greenRevealed its secret, for I stoodUpon the verge of a ravineWherein the sunbeams broke betweenTall rustling hemlock boughs, and brightAs burnished silver in the light,A tiny stream ran tinkling through,While hidden somewhere out of sight,A little spring made music, too.The shining water slipped and slippedAdown the mossy rocks, and drippedFrom off fine fringing ferns, in dropsOf endless threaded pearls that tippedThe tasseled sedge and alder topsWith flickering light,—and then it sippedA drowsy draught of sun, and dippedBeneath small clustering buds, and hidAmong lush marigolds, and slidBetween tall serried ranks of reeds,And stroked their little leaves and lippedThe flower-spangled jewel-weeds;Then, speeding suddenly amidFaint shimmering spray, it lightly trippedAcross white pebbly sand, and strippedThe marsh flowers’ gold, and fled, half seen,A splash of silver through the green.And all the while that music sweetKept softly murmuring at my feet,As down the rocks in ceaseless streamsThe limpid cascades poured, and stillThe slumberous light in yellow beamsBathed the green hemlock boughs,—untilI seemed to lose all waking will,And all my soul was lulled to dreams;Wherethrough there floated, drowsy-wise,Bright glints of bird-wings, gracious gleamsOf tender, sunlit summer skies,And fleet, sweet visions of the rareDeep, shadowy hearts the forests bear.
Fromoff the traveled road that layBetween wide fields of wheat and corn,An old gate, gray and weather-worn,Led down a shady woodland way.One scarce might trace the narrow path,So green it was and overgrownWith springtime’s seeded aftermath;Tall grasses that had never knownThe mower’s scythe or sickle’s scath,And rosy mayweed lightly sownWhere’er the summer winds had blown;And all their tangled stems the redSweet clover blossoms overspread.Near by, through scented, leafy veilsOf wreathing vines, and dewy, denseGreen underwood, a brood of quailsSped swiftly past the ragged railsThat tilted off a mossy fence;And over it, on airy wing,A robin paused in glad contentWhere budding elder-bushes leantAnd brambles clambered flowering.Then, suddenly, a low, sweet soundRose, faintly quivering on the breeze,And all that blossom-studded groundSeemed charged with murmurous mysteries!As if all rarest forest keysIn dreamful chords divinely blent,Sang forth from some sweet instrument;While pulsing through, with rhythmic beat,In slumberous melodies there wentThe soft susurrus of the trees,The wind that wandered through the wheat,And all the changeful strains of these.And as I listened, marvelingWhere those light, liquid tones might be,Forgetting all and everythingSave that enchanting minstrelsy,I wandered slowly through the wood,Till all at once the parted greenRevealed its secret, for I stoodUpon the verge of a ravineWherein the sunbeams broke betweenTall rustling hemlock boughs, and brightAs burnished silver in the light,A tiny stream ran tinkling through,While hidden somewhere out of sight,A little spring made music, too.The shining water slipped and slippedAdown the mossy rocks, and drippedFrom off fine fringing ferns, in dropsOf endless threaded pearls that tippedThe tasseled sedge and alder topsWith flickering light,—and then it sippedA drowsy draught of sun, and dippedBeneath small clustering buds, and hidAmong lush marigolds, and slidBetween tall serried ranks of reeds,And stroked their little leaves and lippedThe flower-spangled jewel-weeds;Then, speeding suddenly amidFaint shimmering spray, it lightly trippedAcross white pebbly sand, and strippedThe marsh flowers’ gold, and fled, half seen,A splash of silver through the green.And all the while that music sweetKept softly murmuring at my feet,As down the rocks in ceaseless streamsThe limpid cascades poured, and stillThe slumberous light in yellow beamsBathed the green hemlock boughs,—untilI seemed to lose all waking will,And all my soul was lulled to dreams;Wherethrough there floated, drowsy-wise,Bright glints of bird-wings, gracious gleamsOf tender, sunlit summer skies,And fleet, sweet visions of the rareDeep, shadowy hearts the forests bear.
Fromoff the traveled road that layBetween wide fields of wheat and corn,An old gate, gray and weather-worn,Led down a shady woodland way.
Fromoff the traveled road that lay
Between wide fields of wheat and corn,
An old gate, gray and weather-worn,
Led down a shady woodland way.
One scarce might trace the narrow path,So green it was and overgrownWith springtime’s seeded aftermath;Tall grasses that had never knownThe mower’s scythe or sickle’s scath,And rosy mayweed lightly sownWhere’er the summer winds had blown;And all their tangled stems the redSweet clover blossoms overspread.
One scarce might trace the narrow path,
So green it was and overgrown
With springtime’s seeded aftermath;
Tall grasses that had never known
The mower’s scythe or sickle’s scath,
And rosy mayweed lightly sown
Where’er the summer winds had blown;
And all their tangled stems the red
Sweet clover blossoms overspread.
Near by, through scented, leafy veilsOf wreathing vines, and dewy, denseGreen underwood, a brood of quailsSped swiftly past the ragged railsThat tilted off a mossy fence;And over it, on airy wing,A robin paused in glad contentWhere budding elder-bushes leantAnd brambles clambered flowering.
Near by, through scented, leafy veils
Of wreathing vines, and dewy, dense
Green underwood, a brood of quails
Sped swiftly past the ragged rails
That tilted off a mossy fence;
And over it, on airy wing,
A robin paused in glad content
Where budding elder-bushes leant
And brambles clambered flowering.
Then, suddenly, a low, sweet soundRose, faintly quivering on the breeze,And all that blossom-studded groundSeemed charged with murmurous mysteries!As if all rarest forest keysIn dreamful chords divinely blent,Sang forth from some sweet instrument;While pulsing through, with rhythmic beat,In slumberous melodies there wentThe soft susurrus of the trees,The wind that wandered through the wheat,And all the changeful strains of these.
Then, suddenly, a low, sweet sound
Rose, faintly quivering on the breeze,
And all that blossom-studded ground
Seemed charged with murmurous mysteries!
As if all rarest forest keys
In dreamful chords divinely blent,
Sang forth from some sweet instrument;
While pulsing through, with rhythmic beat,
In slumberous melodies there went
The soft susurrus of the trees,
The wind that wandered through the wheat,
And all the changeful strains of these.
And as I listened, marvelingWhere those light, liquid tones might be,Forgetting all and everythingSave that enchanting minstrelsy,I wandered slowly through the wood,Till all at once the parted greenRevealed its secret, for I stoodUpon the verge of a ravineWherein the sunbeams broke betweenTall rustling hemlock boughs, and brightAs burnished silver in the light,A tiny stream ran tinkling through,While hidden somewhere out of sight,A little spring made music, too.
And as I listened, marveling
Where those light, liquid tones might be,
Forgetting all and everything
Save that enchanting minstrelsy,
I wandered slowly through the wood,
Till all at once the parted green
Revealed its secret, for I stood
Upon the verge of a ravine
Wherein the sunbeams broke between
Tall rustling hemlock boughs, and bright
As burnished silver in the light,
A tiny stream ran tinkling through,
While hidden somewhere out of sight,
A little spring made music, too.
The shining water slipped and slippedAdown the mossy rocks, and drippedFrom off fine fringing ferns, in dropsOf endless threaded pearls that tippedThe tasseled sedge and alder topsWith flickering light,—and then it sippedA drowsy draught of sun, and dippedBeneath small clustering buds, and hidAmong lush marigolds, and slidBetween tall serried ranks of reeds,And stroked their little leaves and lippedThe flower-spangled jewel-weeds;Then, speeding suddenly amidFaint shimmering spray, it lightly trippedAcross white pebbly sand, and strippedThe marsh flowers’ gold, and fled, half seen,A splash of silver through the green.
The shining water slipped and slipped
Adown the mossy rocks, and dripped
From off fine fringing ferns, in drops
Of endless threaded pearls that tipped
The tasseled sedge and alder tops
With flickering light,—and then it sipped
A drowsy draught of sun, and dipped
Beneath small clustering buds, and hid
Among lush marigolds, and slid
Between tall serried ranks of reeds,
And stroked their little leaves and lipped
The flower-spangled jewel-weeds;
Then, speeding suddenly amid
Faint shimmering spray, it lightly tripped
Across white pebbly sand, and stripped
The marsh flowers’ gold, and fled, half seen,
A splash of silver through the green.
And all the while that music sweetKept softly murmuring at my feet,As down the rocks in ceaseless streamsThe limpid cascades poured, and stillThe slumberous light in yellow beamsBathed the green hemlock boughs,—untilI seemed to lose all waking will,And all my soul was lulled to dreams;Wherethrough there floated, drowsy-wise,Bright glints of bird-wings, gracious gleamsOf tender, sunlit summer skies,And fleet, sweet visions of the rareDeep, shadowy hearts the forests bear.
And all the while that music sweet
Kept softly murmuring at my feet,
As down the rocks in ceaseless streams
The limpid cascades poured, and still
The slumberous light in yellow beams
Bathed the green hemlock boughs,—until
I seemed to lose all waking will,
And all my soul was lulled to dreams;
Wherethrough there floated, drowsy-wise,
Bright glints of bird-wings, gracious gleams
Of tender, sunlit summer skies,
And fleet, sweet visions of the rare
Deep, shadowy hearts the forests bear.