The dog-wood there flung wide its stars,
In April, silvery sweet;
The squirrels crossed that path all day
On tiny flying feet;
The wild, brown rabbits knew each turn,
Each shadowy safe retreat.
And there the golden-belted bee
Sang his sweet summer song,
The crickets chirped there to the moon
With steady note and strong;
Till cold and silence wrapped them round
When autumn nights grew long.
But, oh! they brought the lonely dead
Along that quiet way,
With strange procession, dark and slow,
On sunny days and grey;
We used to watch them, wonder-eyed,
Nor care again to play.
And we forgot each merry jest;
The birds on bush and tree
Silenced the song within their throats
And with us watched to see,
The soft, slow passing out of sight
Of that dark mystery.
* * * * *
We fear no more the lonely road
That winds around the hill;
Far from the busy world's highway
And the gods' slow-grinding mill;
It only seems a peaceful path,
Pleasant, and green, and still.
SEA-BORN
Afar in the turbulent city,
In a hive where men make gold,
He stood at his loom from dawn to dark,
While the passing years were told.
And when he knew it was summer-time
By the grey dust on the street,
By the lingering hours of daylight,
And the sultry noon-tide heat--
Oh! he longed as a captive sea-bird
To leave his cage and be free,
For his heart like a shell kept singing
The old, old song of the sea.
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