A Basket of Flowers
from Dawn to Dusk
Dawn
On skies still and starlitWhite lustres take hold,And grey flushes scarlet,And red flashes gold.And sun-glories coverThe rose shed above her,Like lover and loverThey flame and unfold.
Still bloom in the gardenGreen grass-plot, fresh lawn,Though pasture lands hardenAnd drought fissures yawn.While leaves not a few fall,Let rose leaves for you fall,Leaves pearl-strung with dew-fall,And gold shot with dawn.
Does the grass-plot rememberThe fall of your feetIn autumn’s red ember,When drought leagues with heat,When the last of the rosesDespairingly closesIn the lull that reposesEre storm winds wax fleet?
Love’s melodies languishIn “Chastelard’s” strain,And “Abelard’s” anguishIs love’s pleasant pain!And “Sappho” rehearsesLove’s blessings and cursesIn passionate versesAgain and again.
And I!—I have heard ofAll these long ago,Yet never one word ofTheir song-lore I know;Not under my fingerIn songs of the singerLove’s litanies linger,Love’s rhapsodies flow.
Fresh flowers in a basket—An offering to you—Though you did not ask it,Unbidden I strew;With heat and drought striving,Some blossoms still livingMay render thanksgivingFor dawn and for dew.
The garlands I gather,The rhymes I string fast,Are hurriedly ratherThan heedlessly cast.Yon tree’s shady awningIs short’ning, and warningFar spent is the morning,And I must ride fast.
Songs empty, yet airy,I’ve striven to write,For failure, dear Mary!Forgive me—Good-night!Songs and flowers may beset you,I can only regret you,While the soil where I met youRecedes from my sight.
For the sake of past hours,For the love of old times,Take “A Basket of Flowers”,And a bundle of rhymes;Though all the bloom perishE’en YOUR hand can cherish,While churlish and bearishThe verse-jingle chimes.
And Eastward by Nor’wardLooms sadly MY track,And I must ride forward,And still I look back,—Look back—ah, how vainly!For while I see plainly,My hands on the reins lieUncertain and slack.
The warm wind breathes strong breath,The dust dims mine eye,And I draw one long breath,And stifle one sigh.Green slopes, softly shaded,Have flitted and faded—My dreams flit as they did—Good-night!—and—Good-bye!
Dusk
Lost rose! end my story!Dead core and dry husk—Departed thy gloryAnd tainted thy musk.Night spreads her dark limbs onThe face of the dim sun,So flame fades to crimsonAnd crimson to dusk.