Poetry

well
Whence you, first of all, did come.

Of it you have kept some flavour
Through long paths of darkling strife:
Water all has still a savour
Of the primal well of life!

Could you show the lovely way
Back and up through sea and sky
To that well? Oh, happy day,
I would drink, and never die!

Jesus sits there on its brink
All the world’s great thirst to slake,
Offering every one to drink
Who will only come and take!

Lord of wells and waters all,
Lord of rains and dewy beads,
Unto thee my thirst doth call
For the thing thou know’st it needs!

Come home, water sweet and cool,
Gift of God thou always art!
Spring up, Well more beautiful,
Rise in mine straight from his heart.

V

Cleaning the Windows

Wash the window; rub it dry;
Make the ray-door clean and bright:
He who lords it in the sky
Loves on cottage floors to light!

Looking over sea and beck,
Mountain-forest, orchard-bloom,
He can spy the smallest speck
Anywhere about the room!

See how bright his torch is blazing
In the heart of mother’s store!
Strange! I never saw him gazing
So into that press before!

Ah, I see!⁠—the wooden pane
In the window, dull and dead,
Father called its loss a gain,
And a glass one put instead!

What a difference it makes!
How it melts the filmy gloom!
What a little more it takes
Much to brighten up a room!

There I spy a dusty streak!
There a corner not quite clean!
There a cobweb! There the sneak
Of a spider, watching keen!

Lord of suns, and eyes that see,
Shine into me, see and show;
Leave no darksome spot in me
Where thou dost not shining go.

Fill my spirit full of eyes,
Doors of light in every part;
Open windows to the skies
That no moth corrupt my heart.

The Wind and the Moon

Said the Wind to the Moon, “I will blow you out!
You stare
In the air
As if crying “Beware,”
Always looking what I am about:
I hate to be watched; I will blow you out!”

The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.
So, deep
On a heap
Of clouds, to sleep
Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon,
Muttering low, “I’ve done for that Moon!”

He turned in his bed: she was there again!
On high
In the sky
With her one ghost-eye
The Moon shone white and alive and plain:
Said the Wind, “I will blow you out again!”

The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew slim.
“With my sledge
And my wedge
I have knocked off her edge!
I will blow,” said the Wind, “right fierce and grim,
And the creature will soon be slimmer than slim!”

He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread.
“One puff
More’s enough
To blow her to snuff!
One good puff more where the last was bred,
And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go that thread!”

He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone.
In the air
Nowhere
Was a moonbeam bare;
Larger and nearer the shy stars shone:
Sure and certain the Moon was gone!

The Wind he took to his revels once more;
On down
And in town,
A merry-mad clown,
He leaped and holloed with whistle and roar⁠—
When there was that glimmering thread once more!

He flew in a rage⁠—he danced and blew;
But in vain
Was the pain
Of his bursting brain,
For still the Moon-scrap the broader grew
The more that he swelled his big cheeks and blew.

Slowly she grew⁠—till she filled the night,
And shone
On her throne
In the sky alone
A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night.

Said the Wind, “What a marvel of power am I!
With my breath,
In good faith,
I blew her to death!⁠—
First blew her away right out of the sky,
Then blew her in: what a strength am I!”

But the Moon she knew nought of the silly affair;
For, high
In the sky
With her one white eye,
Motionless miles above the air,
She never had heard the great Wind blare.

The Foolish Harebell

A harebell hung her wilful head:
“I am tired, so tired! I wish I was dead.”

She hung her head in the mossy dell:
“If all were over, then all were well!”

The Wind he heard, and was pitiful,
And waved her about to make her cool.

“Wind, you are rough!” said the dainty Bell;
“Leave me alone⁠—I am not well.”

The Wind, at the word of the drooping dame,
Sighed to himself and ceased in shame.

“I am hot, so hot!” she moaned and said;
“I am withering up; I wish I was dead!”

Then the Sun he pitied her woeful case,
And drew a thick veil over his face.

“Cloud go away, and don’t be rude,”
She said; “I do not see why you should!”

The Cloud withdrew. Then the Harebell cried,
“I am faint, so faint!⁠—and no water beside!”

The Dew came down its millionfold path:
She murmured, “I did not want a bath!”

The Dew went up; the Wind softly crept;
The Night came down, and the Harebell slept.

A boy ran past in the morning gray,
Plucked the Harebell, and threw her away.

The Harebell shivered, and sighed, “Oh! oh!
I am faint indeed! Come, dear Wind, blow.”

The Wind blew gently, and did not speak.
She thanked him kindly, but grew more weak.

“Sun, dear Sun, I am cold!” she said.
He shone; but lower she drooped her head.

“O Rain, I am withering! all the blue
Is fading out of me!⁠—come, please do!”

The Rain came down as fast as he could,
But for all his good will he could do her no good.

She shuddered and shrivelled, and moaning said,
“Thank you all kindly!” and then she was dead.

Let us hope, let us hope when she comes next year
She’ll be simple and sweet! But I fear, I fear!

Song

I was very cold
In the summer weather;
The sun shone all his gold,
But I was very cold⁠—
Alas, we were grown old,
Love and I together!
Oh, but I was cold
In the summer weather!

Sudden I grew warmer
Though the brooks were frozen:
“Truly, scorn did harm her!”
I said, and I grew warmer;
“Better men the charmer
Knows at least a dozen!”
I said, and I grew warmer
Though the brooks were frozen.

Spring sits on her nest,