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I. AN EMPTY sky, a world of heather, | |
| Purple of foxglove, yellow of broom: | |
| We two among them wading together, | |
| Shaking out honey, treading perfume. | |
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| Crowds of bees are giddy with clover, | 5 |
| Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet: | |
| Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, | |
| Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet. | |
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| Flusheth the rise with her purple favor, | |
| Gloweth the cleft with her golden ring, | 10 |
| ’Twixt the two brown butterflies waver, | |
| Lightly settle, and sleepily swing. | |
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| We two walk till the purple dieth, | |
| And short dry grass under foot is brown, | |
| But one little streak at a distance lieth | 15 |
| Green, like a ribbon, to prank the down. | |
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II. Over the grass we stepped unto it, | |
| And God, He knoweth how blithe we were! | |
| Never a voice to bid us eschew it; | |
| Hey the green ribbon that showed so fair! | 20 |
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| Hey the green ribbon! we kneeled beside it, | |
| We parted the grasses dewy and sheen: | |
| Drop over drop there filtered and slided | |
| A tiny bright beck that trickled between. | |
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| Tinkle, tinkle, sweetly it sung to us, | 25 |
| Light was our talk as of faery bells— | |
| Faery wedding-bells faintly rung to us, | |
| Down in their fortunate parallels. | |
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| Hand in hand, while the sun peered over, | |
| We lapped the grass on that youngling spring, | 30 |
| Swept back its rushes, smoothed its clover, | |
| And said, “Let us follow it westering.” | |
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III. A dappled sky, a world of meadows; | |
| Circling above us the black rooks fly, | |
| Forward, backward: lo, their dark shadows | 35 |
| Flit on the blossoming tapestry— | |
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| Flit on the beck—for her long grass parteth, | |
| As hair from a maid’s bright eyes blown back; | |
| And lo, the sun like a lover darteth | |
| His flattering smile on her wayward track. | 40 |
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| Sing on! we sing in the glorious weather, | |
| Till one steps over the tiny strand, | |
| So narrow, in sooth, that still together | |
| On either brink we go hand in hand. | |
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| The beck grows wider, the hands must sever, | 45 |
| On either margin, our songs all done, | |
| We move apart, while she singeth ever, | |
| Taking the course of the stooping sun. | |
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| He prays, “Come over”—I may not follow; | |
| I cry, “Return”—but he cannot come: | 50 |
| We speak, we laugh, but with voices hollow; | |
| Our hands are hanging, our hearts are numb. | |
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IV. A breathing sigh—a sigh for answer; | |
| A little talking of outward things: | |
| The careless beck is a merry dancer, | 55 |
| Keeping sweet time to the air she sings. | |
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| A little pain when the beck grows wider— | |
| “Cross to me now, for her wavelets swell:” | |
| “I may not cross”—and the voice beside her | |
| Faintly reacheth, though heeded well. | 60 |
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| No backward path; ah! no returning: | |
| No second crossing that ripple’s flow: | |
| “Come to me now, for the west is burning: | |
| Come ere it darkens.”—“Ah, no! ah, no!” | |
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| Then cries of pain, and arms outreaching— | 65 |
| The beck grows wider and swift and deep; | |
| Passionate words as of one beseeching— | |
| The loud beck drowns them: we walk and weep. | |
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V. A yellow moon in splendor drooping, | |
| A tired queen with her state oppressed, | 70 |
| Low by rushes and sword-grass stooping, | |
| Lies she soft on the waves at rest. | |
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| The desert heavens have felt her sadness; | |
| Her earth will weep her some dewy tears; | |
| The wild beck ends her tune of gladness, | 75 |
| And goeth stilly as soul that fears. | |
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| We two walk on in our grassy places, | |
| On either marge of the moonlit flood, | |
| With the moon’s own sadness in our faces, | |
| Where joy is withered, blossom and bud. | 80 |
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VI. A shady freshness, chafers whirring, | |
| A little piping of leaf-hid birds; | |
| A flutter of wings, a fitful stirring, | |
| A cloud to the eastward snowy as curds. | |
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| Bare grassy slopes, where the kids are tethered, | 85 |
| Round valleys like nests all ferny-lined; | |
| Round hills, with fluttering tree-tops feathered, | |
| Swell high in their freckled robes behind. | |
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| A rose-flush tender, a thrill, a quiver, | |
| When golden gleams to the tree-tops glide; | 90 |
| A flashing edge for the milk-white river, | |
| The beck, a river—with still sleek tide. | |
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| Broad and white, and polished as silver, | |
| On she goes under fruit-laden trees; | |
| Sunk in leafage cooeth the culver, | 95 |
| And ’plaineth of love’s disloyalties. | |
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| Glitters the dew, and shines the river; | |
| Up comes the lily and dries her bell; | |
| But two are walking apart forever, | |
| And wave their hands for a mute farewell. | 100 |
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VII. A braver swell, a swifter sliding; | |
| The river hasteth, her banks recede; | |
| Wing-like sails on her bosom gliding | |
| Bear down the lily, and drown the reed. | |
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| Stately prows are rising and bowing— | 105 |
| (Shouts of mariners winnow the air)— | |
| And level sands for banks endowing | |
| The tiny green ribbon that showed so fair. | |
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| While, O my heart! as white sails shiver, | |
| And crowds are passing, and banks stretch wide, | 110 |
| How hard to follow, with lips that quiver, | |
| That moving speck on the far-off side! | |
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| Farther, farther—I see it—know it— | |
| My eyes brim over, it melts away: | |
| Only my heart to my heart shall show it, | 115 |
| As I walk desolate day by day. | |
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VIII. And yet I know past all doubting, truly,— | |
| A knowledge greater than grief can dim— | |
| I know, as he loved, he will love me duly— | |
| Yea, better—e’en better than I love him: | 120 |
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| And as I walk by the vast calm river, | |
| The awful river so dread to see, | |
| I say, “Thy breadth and thy depth forever | |
| Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me.” | |
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