Louis Untermeyer

The rain was over, and the brilliant airMade every little blade of grass appearVivid and startling—everything was thereWith sharpened outlines, eloquently clear,As though one saw it in a crystal sphere.The rusty sumac with its struggling spires;The goldenrod with all its million fires(A million torches swinging in the wind);A single poplar, marvellously thinned,Half like a naked boy, half like a sword;Clouds, like the haughty banners of the Lord;A group of pansies with their shrewish faces,Little old ladies cackling over laces;The quaint, unhurried road that curved so well;The prim petunias with their rich, rank smell;The lettuce-birds, the creepers in the field—How bountifully were they all revealed!How arrogantly each one seemed to thrive—So frank and strong, so radiantly alive!And over all the morning-minded earthThere seemed to spread a sharp and kindling mirth,Piercing the stubborn stones until I sawThe toad face heaven without shame or awe,The ant confront the stars, and every weedGrow proud as though it bore a royal seed;While all the things that die and decomposeSent forth their bloom as richly as the rose....Oh, what a liberal power that made them thriveAnd keep the very dirt that died, alive.And now I saw the slender willow-treeNo longer calm or drooping listlessly,Letting its languid branches sway and fallAs though it danced in some sad ritual;But rather like a young, athletic girl,Fearless and gay, her hair all out of curl,And flying in the wind—her head thrown back,Her arms flung up, her garments flowing slack,And all her rushing spirits running over....What made a sober tree seem such a rover—Or made the staid and stalwart apple-trees,That stood for years knee-deep in velvet peace,Turn all their fruit to little worlds of flame,And burn the trembling orchard there below?What lit the heart of every golden-glow—Oh, why was nothing weary, dull, or tame?...Beauty it was, and keen, compassionate mirthThat drives the vast and energetic earth.And, with abrupt and visionary eyes,I saw the huddled tenements arise.Here where the merry clover danced and shoneSprang agonies of iron and of stone;There, where green Silence laughed or stood enthralled,Cheap music blared and evil alleys sprawled.The roaring avenues, the shrieking mills;Brothels and prisons on those kindly hills—The menace of these things swept over me;A threatening, unconquerable sea....A stirring landscape and a generous earth!Freshening courage and benevolent mirth—And then the city, like a hideous sore....Good God, and what is all this beauty for?

The rain was over, and the brilliant air

Made every little blade of grass appear

Vivid and startling—everything was there

With sharpened outlines, eloquently clear,

As though one saw it in a crystal sphere.

The rusty sumac with its struggling spires;The goldenrod with all its million fires(A million torches swinging in the wind);A single poplar, marvellously thinned,Half like a naked boy, half like a sword;Clouds, like the haughty banners of the Lord;A group of pansies with their shrewish faces,Little old ladies cackling over laces;The quaint, unhurried road that curved so well;The prim petunias with their rich, rank smell;The lettuce-birds, the creepers in the field—How bountifully were they all revealed!How arrogantly each one seemed to thrive—So frank and strong, so radiantly alive!

The rusty sumac with its struggling spires;

The goldenrod with all its million fires

(A million torches swinging in the wind);

A single poplar, marvellously thinned,

Half like a naked boy, half like a sword;

Clouds, like the haughty banners of the Lord;

A group of pansies with their shrewish faces,

Little old ladies cackling over laces;

The quaint, unhurried road that curved so well;

The prim petunias with their rich, rank smell;

The lettuce-birds, the creepers in the field—

How bountifully were they all revealed!

How arrogantly each one seemed to thrive—

So frank and strong, so radiantly alive!

And over all the morning-minded earthThere seemed to spread a sharp and kindling mirth,Piercing the stubborn stones until I sawThe toad face heaven without shame or awe,The ant confront the stars, and every weedGrow proud as though it bore a royal seed;While all the things that die and decomposeSent forth their bloom as richly as the rose....Oh, what a liberal power that made them thriveAnd keep the very dirt that died, alive.

And over all the morning-minded earth

There seemed to spread a sharp and kindling mirth,

Piercing the stubborn stones until I saw

The toad face heaven without shame or awe,

The ant confront the stars, and every weed

Grow proud as though it bore a royal seed;

While all the things that die and decompose

Sent forth their bloom as richly as the rose....

Oh, what a liberal power that made them thrive

And keep the very dirt that died, alive.

And now I saw the slender willow-treeNo longer calm or drooping listlessly,Letting its languid branches sway and fallAs though it danced in some sad ritual;But rather like a young, athletic girl,Fearless and gay, her hair all out of curl,And flying in the wind—her head thrown back,Her arms flung up, her garments flowing slack,And all her rushing spirits running over....What made a sober tree seem such a rover—

And now I saw the slender willow-tree

No longer calm or drooping listlessly,

Letting its languid branches sway and fall

As though it danced in some sad ritual;

But rather like a young, athletic girl,

Fearless and gay, her hair all out of curl,

And flying in the wind—her head thrown back,

Her arms flung up, her garments flowing slack,

And all her rushing spirits running over....

What made a sober tree seem such a rover—

Or made the staid and stalwart apple-trees,That stood for years knee-deep in velvet peace,Turn all their fruit to little worlds of flame,And burn the trembling orchard there below?What lit the heart of every golden-glow—Oh, why was nothing weary, dull, or tame?...Beauty it was, and keen, compassionate mirthThat drives the vast and energetic earth.

Or made the staid and stalwart apple-trees,

That stood for years knee-deep in velvet peace,

Turn all their fruit to little worlds of flame,

And burn the trembling orchard there below?

What lit the heart of every golden-glow—

Oh, why was nothing weary, dull, or tame?...

Beauty it was, and keen, compassionate mirth

That drives the vast and energetic earth.

And, with abrupt and visionary eyes,I saw the huddled tenements arise.Here where the merry clover danced and shoneSprang agonies of iron and of stone;There, where green Silence laughed or stood enthralled,Cheap music blared and evil alleys sprawled.The roaring avenues, the shrieking mills;Brothels and prisons on those kindly hills—The menace of these things swept over me;A threatening, unconquerable sea....

And, with abrupt and visionary eyes,

I saw the huddled tenements arise.

Here where the merry clover danced and shone

Sprang agonies of iron and of stone;

There, where green Silence laughed or stood enthralled,

Cheap music blared and evil alleys sprawled.

The roaring avenues, the shrieking mills;

Brothels and prisons on those kindly hills—

The menace of these things swept over me;

A threatening, unconquerable sea....

A stirring landscape and a generous earth!Freshening courage and benevolent mirth—And then the city, like a hideous sore....Good God, and what is all this beauty for?

A stirring landscape and a generous earth!

Freshening courage and benevolent mirth—

And then the city, like a hideous sore....

Good God, and what is all this beauty for?

I never knew the earth had so much gold—The fields run over with it, and this hillHoary and old,Is young with buoyant blooms that flame and thrill.Such golden fires, such yellow—lo, how goodThis spendthrift world, and what a lavish God—This fringe of wood,Blazing with buttercup and goldenrod.You too, beloved, are changed. Again I seeYour face grow mystical, as on that nightYou turned to me,And all the trembling world—and you—were white.Aye, you are touched; your singing lips grow dumb;The fields absorb you, color you entire....And you becomeA goddess standing in a world of fire!

I never knew the earth had so much gold—The fields run over with it, and this hillHoary and old,Is young with buoyant blooms that flame and thrill.

I never knew the earth had so much gold—

The fields run over with it, and this hill

Hoary and old,

Is young with buoyant blooms that flame and thrill.

Such golden fires, such yellow—lo, how goodThis spendthrift world, and what a lavish God—This fringe of wood,Blazing with buttercup and goldenrod.

Such golden fires, such yellow—lo, how good

This spendthrift world, and what a lavish God—

This fringe of wood,

Blazing with buttercup and goldenrod.

You too, beloved, are changed. Again I seeYour face grow mystical, as on that nightYou turned to me,And all the trembling world—and you—were white.

You too, beloved, are changed. Again I see

Your face grow mystical, as on that night

You turned to me,

And all the trembling world—and you—were white.

Aye, you are touched; your singing lips grow dumb;The fields absorb you, color you entire....And you becomeA goddess standing in a world of fire!

Aye, you are touched; your singing lips grow dumb;

The fields absorb you, color you entire....

And you become

A goddess standing in a world of fire!

Jerome Epstein—August 8, 1912

Lo—to the battle-ground of life,Child, you have come, like a conquering shout,Out of a struggle—into strife;Out of a darkness—into doubt.Girt with the fragile armor of youth,Child, you must ride into endless wars,With the sword of protest, the buckler of truth,And a banner of love to sweep the stars.About you the world’s despair will surge;Into defeat you must plunge and grope—Be to the faltering an urge;Be to the hopeless years a hope!Be to the darkened world a flame;Be to its unconcern a blow—For out of its pain and tumult you came,And into its tumult and pain you go.

Lo—to the battle-ground of life,Child, you have come, like a conquering shout,Out of a struggle—into strife;Out of a darkness—into doubt.

Lo—to the battle-ground of life,

Child, you have come, like a conquering shout,

Out of a struggle—into strife;

Out of a darkness—into doubt.

Girt with the fragile armor of youth,Child, you must ride into endless wars,With the sword of protest, the buckler of truth,And a banner of love to sweep the stars.

Girt with the fragile armor of youth,

Child, you must ride into endless wars,

With the sword of protest, the buckler of truth,

And a banner of love to sweep the stars.

About you the world’s despair will surge;Into defeat you must plunge and grope—Be to the faltering an urge;Be to the hopeless years a hope!

About you the world’s despair will surge;

Into defeat you must plunge and grope—

Be to the faltering an urge;

Be to the hopeless years a hope!

Be to the darkened world a flame;Be to its unconcern a blow—For out of its pain and tumult you came,And into its tumult and pain you go.

Be to the darkened world a flame;

Be to its unconcern a blow—

For out of its pain and tumult you came,

And into its tumult and pain you go.

IRONY

Why are the things that have no deathThe ones with neither sight nor breath!Eternity is thrust uponA bit of earth, a senseless stone.A grain of dust, a casual clodReceives the greatest gift of God.A pebble in the roadway lies—It never dies.The grass our fathers cut awayIs growing on their graves to-day;The tiniest brooks that scarcely flowEternally will come and go.There is no kind of death to killThe sands that lie so meek and still....But Man is great and strong and wise—And so he dies.

Why are the things that have no death

The ones with neither sight nor breath!

Eternity is thrust upon

A bit of earth, a senseless stone.

A grain of dust, a casual clod

Receives the greatest gift of God.

A pebble in the roadway lies—

It never dies.

The grass our fathers cut awayIs growing on their graves to-day;The tiniest brooks that scarcely flowEternally will come and go.There is no kind of death to killThe sands that lie so meek and still....But Man is great and strong and wise—And so he dies.

The grass our fathers cut away

Is growing on their graves to-day;

The tiniest brooks that scarcely flow

Eternally will come and go.

There is no kind of death to kill

The sands that lie so meek and still....

But Man is great and strong and wise—

And so he dies.

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