| |
| WHERE hints of racy sap and gum | |
| Out of the old dark forest come; | |
| |
| Where birds their beaks like hammers wield, | |
| And pith is pierced, and bark is peeled; | |
| |
| Where the green walnut’s outer rind | 5 |
| Gives precious bitterness to the wind;— | |
| |
| There lurks the sweet creative power, | |
| As lurks the honey in the flower. | |
| |
| In winter’s bud that bursts in spring, | |
| In nut of autumn’s ripening, | 10 |
| |
| In acrid bulb beneath the mold, | |
| Sleeps the elixir, strong and old, | |
| |
| That Rosicrucians sought in vain,— | |
| Life that renews itself again! | |
| |
| What bottled perfume is so good | 15 |
| As fragrance of split tulip-wood? | |
| |
| What fabled drink of god or Muse | |
| Was rich as purple mulberry-juice? | |
| |
| And what school-polished gem of thought | |
| Is like the rune from Nature caught? | 20 |
| |
| He is a poet strong and true | |
| Who loves wild thyme and honey-dew; | |
| |
| And like a brown bee works and sings, | |
| With morning freshness on his wings, | |
| |
| And a gold burden on his thighs,— | 25 |
| The pollen-dust of centuries! | |
| |
