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Fields, James Thomas, 1817-1881 [1866], Good company for every day in the year (Ticknor and Fields, Boston) [word count] [eaf559T]. To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.
'T IS not the dropping of the flower, The blush of fruit upon the tree, Though Summer ripens, hour by hour, The garden's sweet maternity: 'T is not that birds have ceased to build, And wait their brood with tender care; That corn is golden in the field, And clover balm is in the air; — Not these the season's splendor bring, And crowd with life the happy year, Nor yet, where yonder fountains sing, The blaze of sunshine, hot and clear. In thy full womb, O Summer! lies A secret hope, a joy unsung, Held in the hush of these calm skies, And trembling on the forest's tongue. The lands of harvest throb anew In shining pulses, far away; The Night distils a dearer dew, And sweeter eyelids has the Day.
And not in vain the peony burns In bursting globes, her crimson fire, Her incense-dropping ivory urns The lily lifts in many a spire: And not in vain the tulips clash In revelry the cups they hold Of fiery wine, until they dash With ruby streaks the splendid gold! Send down your roots the mystic charm That warms and flushes all your flowers, And with the summer's touch disarm The thraldom of the under powers, Until, in caverns, buried deep, Strange fragrance reach the diamond's home, And murmurs of the garden sweep The houses of the frighted gnome! For, piercing through their black repose, And shooting up beyond the sun, I see that Tree of Life, which rose Before the eyes of Solomon: Its boughs, that, in the light of God, Their bright, innumerous leaves display, — Whose hum of life is borne abroad By winds that shake the dead away. And, trembling on a branch afar, The topmost nursling of the skies, I see my bud, the fairest star That ever dawned for watching eyes.
Unnoticed on the boundless tree, Its fragrant promise fills the air; Its little bell expands, for me, A tent of silver, lily-fair. All life to that one centre tends; All joy and beauty thence outflow; Her sweetest gifts the summer spends, To teach that sweeter bud to blow. So, compassed by the vision's gleam, In trembling hope, from day to day, As in some bright, bewildering dream, The mystic summer wanes away.
Fields, James Thomas, 1817-1881 [1866], Good company for every day in the year (Ticknor and Fields, Boston) [word count] [eaf559T]. |
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