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Ah, but I have a charm to trouble you;
Your all-escaping-heart, unheedful one
Now, when I make my prayer
Hark, now will I bring
my little yearling daugh
Heed well that threat;
And tremble for your hill-born liberty
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,
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
Sweet beyond all the blurred blind dreams.
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
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
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
Is hardly spent.
Down the bright pathway winds, through veils of hush
Unuttered yet, the chime
The trees are sweetly troubled with bright words
From new-alighted birds;
Here, round my neck, are come to cling and twine,
The arms, the folding arms, close, close and fain,
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
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,
All fragrancy, all valor silver-throated,
Closer than homing lambs against the bars At folding-time, that crowd, all mother
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,
Josephine Preston Peabody
DEPARTED CHILD! I could forget thee once Though at my bosom nursed; this woeful
Thy dissolution brings, that in my soul