A Voice on the Wind, and Other Poems. Cawein Madison Julius

a berry bit into.

      You may mark the naiad rise

      From her pool's reflected skies;

      In her gaze the heaven that dreams,

      Starred, in twilight-haunted streams,

      Mixed with water's grayer gleams.

      You may see the laurel's girth,

      Big of bloom, give fragrant birth

      To the oread whose hair,

      Musk and darkness, light and air,

      Fills the hush with wonder there.

      You may mark the rocks divide,

      And the faun before you glide,

      Piping on a magic reed,

      Sowing many a music seed,

      From which bloom and mushroom bead.

      Of the rain and sunlight born,

      Young of beard and young of horn,

      You may see the satyr lie,

      With a very knowing eye,

      Teaching youngling birds to fly.

      These shall cheer and follow you

      Through the Vale of Dreams Come True;

      Wind-like voices, leaf-like feet;

      Forms of mist and hazy heat,

      In whose pulses sunbeams beat.

      Lo! you tread enchanted ground!

      From the hollows all around

      Elf and spirit, gnome and fay,

      Guide your feet along the way

      Till the dewy close of day.

      Then beside you, jet on jet,

      Emerald-hued or violet,

      Flickering swings a firefly light,

      Aye to guide your steps a-right

      From the valley to the height.

      Steep the way is; when at last

      Vale and wood and stream are passed,

      From the heights you shall behold

      Panther heavens of spotted gold

      Tiger-tawny deeps unfold.

      You shall see on stocks and stones

      Sunset's bell-deep color tones

      Fallen; and the valleys filled

      With dusk's purple music, spilled

      On the silence rapture-thrilled.

      Then, as answering bell greets bell,

      Night ring in her miracle

      Of the doméd dark, o'er-rolled,

      Note on note, with starlight cold,

      'Twixt the moon's broad peal of gold.

      On the hill-top Love-a-Dream

      Shows you then her window-gleam;

      Brings you home and folds your soul

      In the peace of vale and knoll,

      In the Land of Hearts Made Whole.

      THE WIND OF WINTER

      The Winter Wind, the wind of death,

      Who knocked upon my door,

      Now through the key-hole entereth,

      Invisible and hoar;

      He breathes around his icy breath

      And treads the flickering floor.

      I heard him, wandering in the night,

      Tap at my window pane,

      With ghostly fingers, snowy white,

      I heard him tug in vain,

      Until the shuddering candle-light

      With fear did cringe and strain.

      The fire, awakened by his voice,

      Leapt up with frantic arms,

      Like some wild babe that greets with noise

      Its father home who storms,

      With rosy gestures that rejoice

      And crimson kiss that warms.

      Now in the hearth he sits and, drowned

      Among the ashes, blows;

      Or through the room goes stealing 'round

      On cautious-stepping toes,

      Deep mantled in the drowsy sound

      Of night that sleets and snows.

      And oft, like some thin fairy-thing,

      The stormy hush amid,

      I hear his captive trebles ring

      Beneath the kettle's lid;

      Or now a harp of elfland string

      In some dark cranny hid.

      Again I hear him, imp-like, whine

      Cramped in the gusty flue;

      Or knotted in the resinous pine

      Raise goblin cry and hue,

      While through the smoke his eyeballs shine,

      A sooty red and blue.

      At last I hear him, nearing dawn,

      Take up his roaring broom,

      And sweep wild leaves from wood and lawn,

      And from the heavens the gloom,

      To show the gaunt world lying wan,

      And morn's cold rose a-bloom.

      THE WIND OF SUMMER

      From the hills and far away

      All the long, warm summer day

      Comes the wind and seems to say:

      "Come, oh, come! and let us go

      Where the meadows bend and blow,

      Waving with the white-tops' snow.

      "'Neath the hyssop-colored sky

      'Mid the meadows we will lie

      Watching the white clouds roll by;

      "While your hair my hands shall press

      With a cooling tenderness

      Till your grief grows less and less.

      "Come, oh, come! and let us roam

      Where the rock-cut waters comb

      Flowing crystal into foam.

      "Under trees whose trunks are brown,

      On the banks that violets crown,

      We will watch the fish flash down;

      "While your ear my voice shall soothe

      With a whisper soft and smooth

      Till your care shall wax uncouth.

      "Come! where forests, line on line,

      Armies of the oak and pine,

      Scale the hills and shout and shine.

      "We will wander, hand in hand,

      Ways where tall the toadstools stand,

      Mile-stones white of Fairyland.

      "While your eyes my lips shall kiss,

      Dewy