Читать книгу Weeds by the Wall: Verses - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 2

That day we wandered 'mid the hills, – so lone

Clouds are not lonelier, – the forest lay

In emerald darkness 'round us. Many a stone

And gnarly root, gray-mossed, made wild our way;

And many a bird the glimmering light along

Showered the golden bubbles of its song.

Then in the valley, where the brook went by,

Silvering the ledges that it rippled from, —

An isolated slip of fallen sky,

Epitomizing heaven in its sum, —

An iris bloomed – blue, as if, flower-disguised,

The gaze of Spring had there materialized.

I have forgotten many things since then —

Much beauty and much happiness and grief;

And toiled and dreamed among my fellow-men,

Rejoicing in the knowledge life is brief.

"'T is winter now," so says each barren bough;

And face and hair proclaim 't is winter now.

I would forget the gladness of that spring!

I would forget that day when she and I,

Between the bird-song and the blossoming,

Went hand in hand beneath the soft spring sky! —

Much is forgotten, yea – and yet, and yet,

The things we would we never can forget. —

Nor I how May then minted treasuries

Of crowfoot gold; and molded out of light

The sorrel's cups, whose elfin chalices

Of limpid spar were streaked with rosy white.

Nor all the stars of twinkling spiderwort,

And mandrake moons with which her brows were girt.

But most of all, yea, it were well for me,

Me and my heart, that I forget that flower,

The wild blue iris, azure fleur-de-lis,

That she and I together found that hour.

Its recollection can but emphasize

The pain of loss, remindful of her eyes.