Spun-yarn And Spindrift Part 7

Where the dark green hollows lift Into crests of snow, Wheeling, flas.h.i.+ng, floating by, White against the stormy sky, With exultant call and cry Swift the sea-gulls go.

Fearless, vagabond and free, Children of the spray, Spirits of old mariners Drifting down the restless years-- Drake's and Hawkins' buccaneers, So do sea-men say.

Watching, guarding, sailing still Round the sh.o.r.es they knew, Where the cliffs of Devon rise Red against the sullen skies, (Dearer far than Paradise) 'Mid the tossing blue.

Not for them the heavenly song; Sweeter still they find Than those angels, row on row, Thunder of the bursting snow Seething on the rocks below, Singing of the wind.

Fairer than the streets of gold Those wild fields of foam, Where the horses of the sea Stamp and whinny ceaselessly, Warding from all enemy Sh.o.r.es they once called home.

So the sea-gulls call and cry 'Neath the cliffs to-day, Spirits of old mariners Drifting down the restless years-- Drake's and Hawkins' buccaneers-- So do sea-men say.

MY DOG AND I

My dog and I, the hills we know Where the first faint wild roses blow, We know the shadowy paths and cool That wind across the woodland dim, And where the water beetles swim Upon the surface of the pool.

My dog and I, our feet brush through Full oft, the fragrant morning dew, Or, when the summer sun is high, We linger where the river flows Chattering and chuckling as it goes-- Two happy tramps, my dog and I.

Or, when the winter snows are deep, Into some fire-lit nook we creep, And, while the north wind howls outside, See castles in the dancing blaze, Or, dozing, dream of summer days And woodland stretches, wild and wide.

My dog and I are friends till death, And when the chill, dark angel's breath Shall call him from me, still I know, Somewhere within the shadowy land Waiting his master he will stand Until my summons comes to go.

And, in that life so strange and new, We'll tramp the fields of heaven through, Loiter the crystal river by; Together walk the hills of G.o.d As when the hills of earth we trod, Forever friends, my dog and I.

SNOWDROPS

February fair maids, All along the lane, Dancing with the breezes, Nodding to the rain, Whispering tales of Springtime Through the snow and sleet, February fair maids, Brave and bright and sweet.

February fair maids, Soon you'll disappear, Soon the swallow's twitter Tells that Spring is here.

Soon the rose and lily Laugh 'neath skies of blue-- February fair maids, None so brave as you.

February fair maids, Dancing down the lane, Bowing to the breezes, Smiling at the rain, Lifting laughing faces Through the snow and sleet-- February fair maids, Brave and bright and sweet.

SPRING

Lo, the spring has come again!

Down the lane Silent, first, the snowdrop came; Green each bursting leaf-bud swells In the dells Where the crocus breaks in flame.

Spring, with all the daffodils On her hills, Comes and wakes the world to mirth: List with what reverberant glee Streams set free Tell their triumph to the earth.

Hark! Once more the cuckoo's call, Musical, magical, Over all the land doth ring; Little waves upon the beach, Each to each Laughing, whisper, "'Tis the Spring."

OCTOBER WIND

The piper wind goes straying Into the morning skies, With fern seed in his pocket, And laughter in his eyes, And the swift clouds break, and follow His magic melodies.

The piper wind goes playing His music, sweet and shrill, And, brave in red and yellow, The leaves dance on the hill; And the purple plumes of aster Nod gaily by the rill.

The piper wind goes roaming O'er upland, glade and plain, He whispers to the suns.h.i.+ne, He whistles through the rain, He dreams among the pine trees And wakes, and laughs again.

The piper wind goes homing Adown the sunset skies, With fern seed in his pocket, And laughter in his eyes; And our hearts are fain to follow His magic melodies.

OCTOBER

Now, when the summer flowers are past and dead, And, from the earth's wild bosom, brown and bare, No trillium lifts its head; When, in the hollows where the violets were Purple and white and fair, Only a few brown leaves are falling now, The wind shakes from the bough:

Now, when the tiger-lily's flame no more Burns in the long, lush gra.s.ses on the hill, And, by the river sh.o.r.e, The smoky trail of asters, lingering still, Thins, and the air grows chill With the first feathery snowflakes, that anon Fall softly and are gone:

O let us leave this dull and dusty street, The noise and heat and turmoil of the town For country waysides sweet, Lanes where the nuts are cl.u.s.tering, plump and brown, Hedges blackberries crown; Come, ere the s.h.i.+vering blasts of winter blow, Let us make haste and go.

IN ARCADIE

Heart of my heart, the long road lies A streak of white across the down To where the hill-tops touch the skies; Then let us seek the mountain's crown And cross its summit, bare and brown, Heart of my heart, O come with me To walk the ways of Arcadie.

Heart of my heart, right merrily The little winds of Springtime blow, The air is full of melody, The birds are singing, soft and low; Heart of my heart, then let us go Across the hills, and wander free The pleasant paths of Arcadie.

There sunny land and sunny sea Lie drowsing in the noontide heat, There song of bird and hum of bee Mix in a music wild and sweet, And in the thyme beneath our feet Cicalas chirp their melody, Across the hills in Arcadie.

Or, when the twilight shadows steep The hill-tops with a misty light, And stars their quiet watches keep Through the short hours of summer night, And glow-worms burn their lanterns bright, The streams still murmur sleepily Across the hills in Arcadie.

Heart of my heart, O let us leave The toil and turmoil of the town, And men that work and men that grieve, And take the road across the down And climb the hill-top, bare and brown; Heart of my heart, O come with me To walk the ways of Arcadie.

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

Wave your hand to him! Let him go Back from the dusty paths we stray, To the land where his boyhood's rivers flow; He is not dead--he is just away, Gone to laugh at 'Lizabuth Ann, And swap old yarns with the Raggedy Man.

Hus.h.!.+ Do you hear, in the distance dim, Faint and sweet as an elfin tune, Orphant Annie is calling him, Counting him in with the old-time rune-- Intry, mintry, eatery, corn, Apple blossom and apple thorn.