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Ah, but I have a charm to trouble you;
A spell that shall subdue

Your all-escaping-heart, unheedful one
And unremembering!

Now, when I make my prayer
To your wild brightness there
That will but run and run,
O mindless Water!-

Hark, now will I bring

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my little yearling daugh

Heed well that threat;

And tremble for your hill-born liberty
So bright to see! -

Your shadow-dappled way, unthwarted yet, And the high hills whence all your dearness bubbled ;

You, never to possess !

For let her dip but once -O fair and fleet, Here in your shallows, yes,

Here in your silverness

Her two blithe feet,

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O Brook of mine, how shall your heart be troubled!

The heart, the bright unmothering heart of


That never knew,

(O never, more than mine of long ago. How could we know? —)

For who should guess

The shock and smiting of that perfectness?

The lily-thrust of those ecstatic feet
Unpityingly sweet?

Sweet beyond all the blurred blind dreams.

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The lilt and gladness of those jocund feet, Unpityingly sweet?

Ah, for your coolness that shall change and stir

With every glee of her!

Under the fresh amaze

That drips and glistens from her wiles and


When the endearing air

That everywhere

Must twine and fold and follow her, shall be

Rippled to ring on ring of melody,

Music, like shadows from the joy of her,

Small starry Reveller! —

When from her triumphings,

All frolic wings

There soars beyond the glories of the height,

The laugh of her delight.

And it shall sound, until

Your heart stand still;

Shaken to human sight;

Struck through with tears and light;

One with the one desire

Unto that central Fire

Of Love the Sun, whence all we lighted are Even from clod to star.

And all your glory, O most swift and


And all your exultation only this;

To be the lowly and forgotten kiss
Beneath those feet.

You that must ever pass,

You of the same wild way,

The silver-bright good-bye without a look! —

You that would never stay,

For the beseeching grass


Josephine Preston Peabody


So; it is nightfall then.

The valley flush

That beckoned home the way for herds

and men,

Is hardly spent.

Down the bright pathway winds, through veils of hush

And wonderment.

Unuttered yet, the chime
That tells of folding-time;
Hardly the sun has set.

The trees are sweetly troubled with bright words

From new-alighted birds;

And yet,

Here, round my neck, are come to cling and twine,

The arms, the folding arms, close, close and fain,

All mine!

I pleaded to, in vain,

I reached for, only to their dimpled scorning, Down the blue halls of Morning;

Where all things else could lure them on and on,

Now here, now gone,

From bush to bush, from beckoning bough

to bough,

With bird-calls of Come Hither!

Ah, but now,

Now it is dusk. And from his heaven of


A wilding skylark, sudden dropt to earth Along the last low sunbeam yellow moted,

Athrob with joy,

There pushes here, a little golden Boy,
Still-gazing with great eyes.
And wonder-wise,

All fragrancy, all valor silver-throated,
My daughterling, my swan,

My Alison!

Closer than homing lambs against the bars At folding-time, that crowd, all mother


They crowd,

they cling, they wreathe; And thick as sparkles of the thronging stars, Their kisses swarm.

O Rose of being, at whose heart I breathe, Fold over; hold me fast

In the dark Eden of a blinding kiss.

And lightning heart's-desire, be still at last! Heart can no more,

Life can no more,

Than this.

Josephine Preston Peabody


DEPARTED CHILD! I could forget thee once Though at my bosom nursed; this woeful


Thy dissolution brings, that in my soul

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