The hills far-off were blue, blue, The hills at hand were brown; And all the herd-bells called to me As I came by the down.
The briars turned to roses, roses; Ever we stayed to pull A white little rose, and a red little rose, And a lock of silver wool.
n.o.body heeded, -- none, none; And when True Love came by, They thought him naught but the shepherd-boy.
n.o.body knew but I!
The trees were feathered like birds, birds; Birds were in every tree.
Yet n.o.body heeded, n.o.body heard, n.o.body knew, save me.
And he is fairer than all -- all.
How could a heart go wrong?
For his eyes I knew, and his knew mine, Like an old, old song.
Where Love is. [Amelia Josephine Burr]
By the rosy cliffs of Devon, on a green hill's crest, I would build me a house as a swallow builds its nest; I would curtain it with roses, and the wind should breathe to me The sweetness of the roses and the saltness of the sea.
Where the Tuscan olives whiten in the hot blue day, I would hide me from the heat in a little hut of gray, While the singing of the husbandman should scale my lattice green From the golden rows of barley that the poppies blaze between.
Narrow is the street, Dear, and dingy are the walls Wherein I wait your coming as the twilight falls.
All day with dreams I gild the grime till at your step I start -- Ah Love, my country in your arms -- my home upon your heart!
Interlude. [Scudder Middleton]
I am not old, but old enough To know that you are very young.
It might be said I am the leaf, And you the blossom newly sprung.
So I shall grow a while with you, And hear the bee and watch the cloud, Before the dragon on the branch, The caterpillar, weaves a shroud.
The Lover envies an Old Man. [Shaemas O Sheel]
I envy the feeble old man Dozing there in the sun.
When all you can do is done And life is a shattered plan, What is there better than Dozing in the sun?
I could grow very still Like an old stone on a hill And content me with the one Thing that is ever kind, The tender sun.
I could grow deaf and blind And never hear her voice, Nor think I could rejoice With her in any place; And I could forget her face, And love only the sun.
Because when we are tired, Very very tired, And cannot again be fired By any hope, The sun is so comforting!
A little bird under the wing Of its mother, is not so warm.
Give me only the scope Of an old chair Out in the air, Let me rest there, Moving not, Loving not, Only dozing my days till my days be done, Under the sun.
"If you should tire of loving me". [Margaret Widdemer]
If you should tire of loving me Some one of our far days, Oh, never start to hide your heart Or cover thought with praise.
For every word you would not say Be sure my heart has heard, So go from me all silently Without a kiss or word;
For G.o.d must give you happiness, And Oh, it may befall In listening long to Heaven-song I may not care at all!
The Flower of Mending. [Vachel Lindsay]
When Dragon-fly would fix his wings, When Snail would patch his house, When moths have marred the overcoat Of tender Mister Mouse,
The pretty creatures go with haste To the sunlit blue-gra.s.s hills Where the Flower of Mending yields the wax And webs to help their ills.
The hour the coats are waxed and webbed They fall into a dream, And when they wake the ragged robes Are joined without a seam.
My heart is but a dragon-fly, My heart is but a mouse, My heart is but a haughty snail In a little stony house.
Your hand was honey-comb to heal, Your voice a web to bind.
You were a Mending Flower to me To cure my heart and mind.
Venus Transiens. [Amy Lowell]
Tell me, Was Venus more beautiful Than you are, When she topped The crinkled waves, Drifting sh.o.r.eward On her plaited sh.e.l.l?
Was Botticelli's vision Fairer than mine; And were the painted rosebuds He tossed his lady, Of better worth Than the words I blow about you To cover your too great loveliness As with a gauze Of misted silver?
For me, You stand poised In the blue and buoyant air, Cinctured by bright winds, Treading the sunlight.
And the waves which precede you Ripple and stir The sands at your feet.