As I walked through my gardenI saw a butterfly light on a flower.His wings were pink and purple:He spoke a small word . . .It was Follow!"I cannot follow"I told him,"I have to go the opposite way."
The clouds were gray all day.At last they departedAnd the blue diamonds shone again.I watched clouds float past and flow backLike waves across the sea,Waves that are foamy and soft,When they hear clouds callingMother Sea, send us up your songOf hushaby!
Narcissus, I like to watch you growWhen snow is shiningBeyond the crystal glass.A coat of snow covers the hills far.The sun is setting;And you stretch out flowers of palest whiteIn the pink of the sun.
I saw a little snailCome down the garden walk.He wagged his head this way . . . that way . . .Like a clown in a circus.He looked from side to sideAs though he were from a different country.I have always said he carries his house on his back . . .To-day in the rainI saw that it was his umbrella!
The cherry tree is red now;Cherry tree nods his red headAnd calls to the sun:Let down the birds out of the sky;Send home the birds to build nests in my arms,For I am ready to feed them.There is a little girl coming for cherries too . . .(I am that little girl, I who am singing . . .)She is coming with hair flying!The butterflies will be going (says the cherry)For it is getting dusk.When it is dawn,They will be up and out with the dew,And sparkle as the dew doesOn the tips of tall slender green grassesAround my feet,Or on the cheeks of fruit I have ripened,Red cherries for birdsAnd children.A THING FORGOTTENWhite owl is not gloomy;Black bat is not sad.It is only that each has forgottenSomething he used to remember:Black bat goes searching . . . searching . . .White owl says over and overWho? What? Where?
Little papooseswung high in the branchesHears a song of birds, stars, clouds,Small nests of birds,Small buds of flowers.But he is thinking of his mother with dark hairLike her horse's mane.Fair clouds nod to himWhere he swings in the tree,But he is thinking of his fatherDark and glistening and wonderful,Of his father with a voice like ice and velvet,And tones of falling water,Of his father who shoutsLike a storm.
Fairies dancing in the woods at nightMake me think of foreign places,Of places unknown.Fairies with sparkling crowns and dewy hands,Sprinkle flowers and mosses to keep them fresh,Talk to the birds to keep them cheery.Once a bird came homeAnd found a fairy asleep in his nest,Upon his baby eggs,To keep them warm!
Oh, my hazel-eyed mother,I looked behind the mulberry bushAnd saw you standing there.You were all in whiteWith a star on your forehead.Oh, my hazel-eyed mother,I do not remember what you said to me,But the light floating above youWas your love for your little girl.
I sat under a delicate palm treeOn a shore of sounding waves.I felt sure I was alone,Listening.A sea-gull flew by from France,A sea-gull flew by from Spain,A sea-gull flew by from Mexico!I laughed softlyWhen they saw me:It was those travelersFrom foreign countriesChanged my thoughtsTo laughter!
Robbers carry a treasureInto a field of wheat.With a great bag of silkThey go on careful feet.They dig a hole, deep, deep,They bury it under a stone,Cover it up with turf,Leave it alone.What is there in the bag?Stones that shine, gold?Icannot rob the robbers!THEY have not told.To-night I'd like to knowIf they will goSoftly to find the treasure?I'd like to knowHow much yellow goldA bag like that can hold?
IGorgeous Blue MountainI see a great mountainStand among clouds;You would never knowWhere it ended. . . .Oh, gorgeous blue mountain of my heartAnd of my love for you!
Sea-GullFrom a yellow strip of sandI watch a gull go by.He is bright-eyedTo see the world of waves.All his dream is of the sea.All his love is for his mate.
Tell me quiet thingsWhen it is shadowy:It is at morningbreak you must tell me talesLike those about Odysseus,Morning is the time for shipsAnd strangers!
It is out in the mountainsI find him,My snowy deerWith silver horns like dew,Horns that sparkle.I think I see him in the hollow,He is on the high hill!I think I see him on the hill,He is leaping through the air!I think I can ride upon his back,He is like moonlight I cannot hold,He is like thoughts I lose.He flows byAll white . . .He makes me think of the brookOut of the hillsWith its little foamy pointsLike his twitching ears,Like his horns of silverSparkling.The brook is his only friendWhen he travels . . .Silverhorn, Silverhorn!
The sun shone,All was still.The sun made one sparkle in one dropBefore it fellDown into the mossy greenThat was the grass.It lay there silentA long time.The sun went, the moon came,Again one sparkle in the grass!Day then night, sun then moon,Year in, year out,So it went on with its lifeFor several yearsUntil at last it was never heard ofAny more.
This is another kind of sweetnessShaped like a bee-hive:This is the hive the bees have leftsIt is from this clover-heapThey took away the honeyFor the other hive!
Under the vine I saw one morning-gloryA tight unfolding budHalf out.He looked hard down into my lettuce-bed.He was thinking hard.He said I want a friend!I was standing there:I said, Well, I am here! Don't you see me?But he thought and thought.The next day I found him happy,Quite out,Looking about the world.The wind blew sweet airs,Carried away his perfume in the sun;And near by swung a new flowerUncurling its hands . . .He was not thoughtfulAny more!
Weather is the answerWhen I can't go out into flowery places;Weather is my wonderAbout the kind of morningHidden behind the hills of sky.
Wild birds fly over me.I am not the blue curtain overhead,I am the one who lives under the sky.I swing to the tree-tops,I pick strawberries,I sing and play,And happiness makes me like a great godOn the earth.It makes me think of great thingsA little girl like meCould not know of.
Pink rose-petalsFluttering down in hosts,I know what you meanSometimes, in Spring.It is love you mean.Love has a gray birdThat flutters down;A dove that comes flyingSaying the same thing.How happy it makes me to think of it,Rose-petals . . . the gray dove . . .
There was a little green appleThat had lasted over winter.He had one leaf . . .In spite of that he was lonesome.He wondered what he could doWhen the blossoms were all around him,But one day he saw something!Petals were falling, faces were looking out,Shapes like his were coming in the buds;Then he said:"If I hold onThere will be a tree-full,and I shall know more than any of them!"I AMI am willowy boughsFor coolness;I am gold-finch wingsFor darkness;I am a little grapeThinking of September,I am a very small violetThinking of May.
Oh little mushrooms with brown faces underneathAnd bare white heads,You think of summer and you think of song . . .Why don't you think of meIn my little white bedIn the night?You think only of your singsong and your dances,Following your leader round and round,You think only of the grassAnd the green apples and leavesDropping out of the blue . . .Why don't you think of me asleepIn my little white bed?The wind thinks of me,Brown-white dancers!You forget,But the wind remembers.
Down in the depths of the seaGrew the Apple-Jelly-Fish-Tree.It was named by a queer old robberAnd his mates three.I watched it for a second,I watched it for a day.It did not change colorFor its colors stay.It was as red, as yellow, as white, as blueAs gold and stones with the light through!I watched it long and longTill a flying sunfishSwam through its branches.He had opal wingsAnd a sapphire tail.No wonder robbers like to stayWhere fish so shining come to play!
Angel-love,Fairy-love,Wave-love,Which will you choose?Angel-love . . . golden-yellow and far white . . .Fairy-love . . . golden yellow and green . . .Wave-love . . . scarlet and azure blue . . .Which will you choose?I will keep them in a boxLocked with a twisted key.I will give them to people who need love,I will let them choose.Fairy-love blows away like leaves.Angels I know little about.For myself I choose wave-loveBecause of the wind and the sea and my heart.
What could be more wonderfulThan the place where I walk sometimes?Swaying like trees in rain . . .Swaying like trees in sunshineWhen breezes stir nothing but happiness . . .What could be more lovely?I walk in the Field of WonderWhere colors come to be;I stare at the sky . . .I feel myself lifting on the windAs the swallows lift and blow upward . . .I see colors fade out, they die away . . .I blow across a cloud . . . I am lifted . . .How can I change again into a little girlWhen wings are in my feeling of gladness?This is strange to knowOn a summer day at noon,This is a wild new joyWhen summer is over.The scarlet of three maple treesWill guide me home,Oh mother my dear!Fear nothing: I will come homeBefore snow falls!
The moon has a dove-cote safe and small,Hid in the velvet sky:The doves are her companions sweet;She has no others.Moon doves on the wing are whiteAs a valley of stars,When they fly, there is shiningLike a golden river.I see so many whirling away and away,How can they get home again?The moon is calm and never wears an anxious look,She goes on smiling.I hear so many doves along the skyHow will her dove-cote hold them?The moon says not one word to me;She lets me wonder.I WENT TO SEAI WENT to sea in a glass-bottomed boatAnd found that the loveliest shells of allAre hidden below in valleys of sand.I saw coral and sponge and weedAnd bubbles like jewels dangling.I saw a creature with eyes of mistGo by slowly.Star-fish fingers held the water . . .Let it go again . . .I saw little fish, the children of the sea;They were gay and busy.I wanted the sea-weed purple; I wanted the shells;I wanted a little fish to hold in my hands;I wanted the big fish to stop wandering about,And tell me all they knew . . .I have come back safe and dryAnd know no more secretsThan yesterday!
As I was straying by the forest brookI heard my heart speak to me:Listen; said my heart,I have three thoughts for you . . .a thought of clouds,A thought of birds,A thought of flowers.I sat upon a cushion of moss,Listening,Where the light played, and the green shadows:What would you do . . . I asked my heart . . .If you were a floating ship of the sky . . .If you were a peering bird . . .If you were a wild geranium?And my heart made answer:That is what I wonder and wonder!After all it is life I love,After all I am a living thing,After all I am the heart of you . . .I am content!
Snow-capped mountain, so white, so tall,The whole seaMust stand behind you!Snow-capped mountain, with the wind on your forehead,Do you hold the eagles' nests?Proud thing,You shine like a lily,Yet with a different whiteness;I should not dare to ventureUp your slippery towers,For I am thinking you lean too farOver the Edge of the World!
"O brook, running down your mossy way,I hear only your voiceAnd the murmuring fir-trees;Where are your children?Where are the magic stones, your children?"The brook answered me sweetly,"I left them on the Alp,In steep fields.They were trying to hold me back,To keep me from this shady path of happiness;But I went onward day by dayUntil they got used to seeing me pass.Now, they stand there in an enchantmentOn the mountain-side,While I travel fields of elm and poplar."
I was walking in a meadow of ParadiseWhen I heard a singingFar away and sweetLike a Roman harp,Sweet and murmurousLike the wind,Far and softLike the fir trees.It will not change a songIf the bird has a golden crest;No feathers of blue and rose-redCould make a song.I have known in my dreamingA gray bird that sangWhile all the fields listened!The Bird of Paradise is like flowers of many treesBlooming on one:I saw him in the meadow,But it was the gray bird I heard singingBeyond and far.
Oh, shiny brook,I watch you on your way to the sea,And see little faces peering upOut of the water . . .Water-fairiesStrange smiles and questions.They are your pebbles sweet,Golden with foam of the sun,Blue with foam of the sky.I know their way of speaking,Of talking to each other:I hear them telling secretsAbout green moss, about fish that get lost.And how I am sitting on a big stoneGetting my feet wet in Shiny BrookTo watch their surprising ways!
The hills are going somewhere;They have been on the way a long time.They are like camels in a lineBut they move more slowly.Sometimes at sunset they carry silks,But most of the time silver birch trees,Heavy rocks, heavy trees, gold leavesOn heavy branches till they are aching . . .Birches like silver bars they can hardly liftWith grass so thick about their feet to hinder . . .They have not gone farIn the time I've watched them . . .
I went slowly through the wood of shadows,Thinking always I should meet some one:There was no one.I found a hollowSweet to rest in all night long:I did not stay.I came out beyond the treesTo the moaning sea.Over the sea swam a cloud the outline of a ship:What if that ship held my adventureUnder its sails?Come quickly to me, come quickly,I am waiting.I am here on the sand;Sail close!I want to go over the waves . . .The sand holds me back.Oh adventure, if you belong to me,Don't blow away down the sky!
I cannot see fairies.I dream them.There is no fairy can hide from me;I keep on dreaming till I find him:There you are, Primrose! I see you, Black Wing!
Why do you stand on the airAnd no sun shining?How can you hold yourself so stillOn raindrops sliding?They change and fall, they are not steady,But you do not know they are gone.Is there a silver wireI cannot see?Is the wind your perch?Raindrops slide down your little shoulders . . .They do not wet you:I think you are not realIn your green feathers!You are not a humming-bird at allStanding on air above the garden!I dreamed you the way I dream fairies,Or the flower I lost yesterday!
Blue grass flowering in the field,You are my heart's content.It is not only through the day I see you,But in dreams at nightWhen you trudge up the hillAlong the forest,As I do!You are small to shine so,Nobody speaks of you much,Because of daisies and such summer blooms.When you wonder why I like youIt makes me wonder too!Maybe I remember when you grew highLike a tree above my head,Because I was a fairy.
If I am happy, and you,And there are things to do,It seems to be the reasonOf this world!