Читать книгу Stray Pebbles from the Shores of Thought - Gould Elizabeth Porter - Страница 1

"I loafe and invite my soul."

And what do I feel?

An influx of life from the great central power

That generates beauty from seedling to flower.

"I loafe and invite my soul."

And what do I hear?

Original harmonies piercing the din

Of measureless tragedy, sorrow, and sin.

"I loafe and invite my soul."

And what do I see?

The temple of God in the perfected man

Revealing the wisdom and end of earth's plan.

Trip lightly, joyous hours,

While Day her heart reveals.

Such wealth from secret bowers

King Time himself ne'er steals.

O joy, King Time ne'er steals!

Breathe gently, tireless hours,

While Night in beauty sleeps.

Hold back e'en softest showers, —

Enough that mortal weeps.

Ah me, that my heart weeps!

"Cradled thus and wind caressed,"

Under the trees,

(Oh what ease.)

Nature full of joyous greeting;

Dancing, singing, naught secreting,

Ever glorious thoughts repeating —

Pause, O Time,

I'm satisfied!

Now all life

Is glorified!

Is life a farce?

Tell me, O breeze,

Bearing the perfume of flowers and trees,

While gaily decked birds

Pour forth their gladness in songs beyond words,

And cloudlets coquette in the fresh summer air

Rejoicing in everything being so fair —

Is life a farce?

How can it be, child,

When Nature at heart

Is but the great spirit of love and of art

Eternally saying, "I must God impart."

Is life a farce?

Tell me, O soul,

Struggling to act out humanity's whole

'Midst Error and Wrong,

And failure in sight of true victory's song;

With Wisdom and Virtue at times lost to view,

And love for the many lost in love for the few —

Is life a farce?

How can it be, child,

When humanity's heart

Is but the great spirit of love and of art

Eternally crying, "I must God impart."

O butterfly, now prancing

Through the air,

So glad to share

The freedom of new living,

Come, tell me my heart's seeking.

Shall I too know

After earth's throe

Full freedom of my being?

Shall I, as you,

Through law as true,

Know life of fuller meaning?

O happy creature, dancing,

Is time too short

With pleasure fraught

For you to heed my seeking?

Ah, well, you've left me thinking:

If here on earth

A second birth

Can so transform a being,

Why may not I

In worlds on high

Be changed beyond earth's dreaming?

The rustling leaves above me,

The breezes sighing round me,

A network glimpse of bluest sky

To meet the upturned seeing eye,

The greenest lawn beneath me,

Loved flowers and birds to greet me,

A well-kept house of ancient days

To tell of human nature's ways, —

Oh happy, happy hour!

Whence comes all this to bless me,

The soft wind to caress me,

The life which does my strength renew

For purer visions of the true?

Alas! no one can tell me.

But, hush! let Nature lead me.

Let even wisest questions cease

While I breathe in such life and peace

This happy, happy hour.

"The day is placid in its going,

To a lingering motion bound,

Like a river in its flowing —

Can there be a softer sound?"

O rare, sweet summer day,

Could'st thou not longer stay?

The soothing, whispering wind's caress

Was bliss to weary brain,

The songs of birds had power to bless

As in fair childhood's reign.

The tinted clouds were free from showers,

The sky was wondrous clear,

The precious incense of rare flowers

Made sweet the atmosphere;

The shimmering haze of mid-day hour

Was balm to restlessness,

While thought of silent hidden power

Was strength for helplessness —

O rare, sweet summer day,

Could'st thou not longer stay?

Blow breezes, fresh breezes, on Love's swiftest wing,

And bear her the message my heart dares to sing.

Pause not on the highways where gathers earth's dust,

Nor in the fair heavens, though cloudlets say must.

But blow through the valleys where flowers await

To give of their essence ere yielding to fate;

Or blow on the hill tops where atmospheres lie

Imbued with the health which no money can buy.

But fail not, O breezes, on Love's swiftest wing

To bear her the message my heart dares to sing.

The breezes, thus ladened, sped on in their flight,

As, cradled in hammock, I sang in delight,

On that blest summer day in the years long ago,

When life was all sunshine and youth all aglow.

The sweets of the valleys, the breath of the hills

Were gathered – the best that our loved earth distills —

As, obedient still to my wish, on they flew

To the home of my darling they now so well knew.

Alas for the breezes, alas for my heart,

Alas for my message, so full of love's art!

If only the breezes had followed their will,

And loitered among the pure cloudlets so still,

They'd have met a fair soul from the earth just set free

In search of their help for its message to me;

The message my darling, with last fleeting breath,

In vain tried to utter, o'ertaken by death.

The breezes, fresh breezes, have blown on since then,

With messages laden again and again.

As for me, I send none. I wait only their will

To bring me that message my lone heart to fill.

They'll find it some day in a light zephyr chase,

For nothing is lost in pure love's boundless space.

The sovereign mountains bask in sunset rays,

The valleys rest in peace;

The lingering clouds melt into twilight haze,

The birds their warbling cease;

The villagers' hour of welcome sleep is near,

The cattle wander home,

While wrapped in summer-scented atmosphere,

Calm evening comes to roam

With gentle pace

Through star-lit space,

Till moon-kissed Night holds all in her embrace,

And Morning waits to show her dawn-flushed face.

The lovely valleys nestling in the arms

Of glorious mountain peaks;

The purple tint of sunset hour, and charms

The evening hour bespeaks;

The monarch peak kissed by the rising sun,

While clouds keep guard below;

Grand, restful views, with foliage autumn-won,

And Northern lights rare glow, —

Will e'er recall,

In memory's hall,

The happy days when on fair "Look-Off's" height,

Sweet friendship cast her hues of golden light.

Buttercups and daisies,

Clover red and white,

Ferns and crown-topped grasses

Waving with delight,

Dainty locust-blossoms,

All that glad June yields,

Welcome me with gladness

To dearly-loved "Fairfields."

But where's my happy collie dog,

My Rosa?

The orioles sing greeting,

The butterflies come near,

The hens cease not their cackling,

The horses neigh "I'm here,"

The cows nod "I have missed you,"

The pigs' eyes even shine,

And from the red-house hearth-stone

Comes pet cat Valentine.

But where's my happy collie dog,

My Rosa?

I miss her joyful greeting,

Her handsome, high-bred face,

Her vigorous, playful action

In many a fair field chase.

Not even lively Sancho

Can fill for me her place.

O Rosa, happy Rosa,

Gone where the good dogs go,

Dost find such fields as "Fairfields,"

More love than we could show?

Blossoms floating through the air,

Bearing perfumes rich and rare,

Free from trouble, toil, and care.

Would I were a blossom!

Robins singing in the trees,

Feeling every velvet breeze,

Free from knowledge that bereaves.

Would I were a robin!

Violets peaceful in the vale,

Telling each its happy tale,

Free from worldly noise and sale.

Would I were a violet!

Blessed day of needed wealth,

Full of Nature's perfect health,

Fill me with thy power.

Then like blossoms I shall be,

Wafting only purity,

Or like robins, singing free

'Midst the deepening mystery,

Or like violets, caring naught

Only to reflect God's thought."

Who tells you, sweet primrose, 'tis time to wake up

After dreaming all day?

Who changes so quickly your sombre green dress

To the yellow one gay,

And makes you the pet of the twilight's caress,

And of poet's sweet lay?

Who does, primrose, pray?

The primrose, secure on his emerald throne,

Looked up quickly to say,

"A dear lovely fairy glides down from his throne

In the sun's golden ray,

And with a sweet kiss opens wide all our eyes,

Saying, 'Now is your day.'

And lo! when he's gone we are filled with surprise

At our wondrous array,

So fresh and so gay.

Do tell us the name of this fairy, I pray,

Who gives of his beauty, and then hies away

Without thanks, without pay.

Does he linger your way?"

Lying on the new-mown hay, in a sightly field,

On a summer day,

With no care to weigh,

Or a bitter thought to stay all that sense might yield —

What a joy to have alway!

Sky as blue as blue can be, perfect green all round,

Birdlings on the wing

Ere they pause to sing

On the top of bush or tree, or on sweet hay-mound —

Restful joy in everything!

Butterflies just come to light, proud of freedom's hour,

Cows in pastures near,

Wondering why I'm here,

Chipmunks now and then in sight, bees in clover-flower —

Added joy when these appear!

Happy children far and near climbing loads of hay,

Running here and there.

Farmer's work to share,

Skipping, shouting loud and clear, full of daring play —

Children's joy! Joy everywhere!

Far up in air the pines are murmuring

Love songs sweet and low,

With a rhythmic flow,

Worthy of the glad sun's glow.

The airy clouds are o'er them bending,

Captured by the sound

Of such pleasure found

In a playful daily round.

The birds pause in their flight to listen,

Wondering all the while

How the trees can smile

Rooted so to earthly guile.

The hush of summer noon enwraps them

Perfumed from below

By the flowers that show

They, too, murmuring love songs know.

All nature finds a joy in loving —

Oh, that I could hear

Love songs once so dear

Death has hushed forever here!

The earthquake's shock, the thunder's roar,

The lightning's vivid chain,

The ocean's strength, the deluge's pour,

The wildest hurricane,

Are moods that Nature loves to show

To man who boasts his birth

From conscious force she could not know

Because denied soul-worth.

But is it true she does not share

A knowledge in God's plan?

Must not she His own secret bear

To so touch soul of man?

Those who deny this see not clear

Into the heart of things;

For how could otherwise God here

Reveal His wanderings?