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LAMSON, WOLFFE & CO. BOSTON AND NEW YORK WILLIAM BRIGGS, TORONTO]
Copyright, 1895, By Lamson, Wolffe, & Co. All rights reserved.
Many of the poems in this volume are printed here for the first time; several, however, have appeared in either the “New York Independent,” the “New England Magazine,” the “Youth’s Companion,” the “Toronto Week,” or the “Travelers’ Record,” and to their editors thanks are due for permission to reprint them.
Ope your doors and take me in, Spirit of the wood; Wash me clean of dust and din, Clothe me in your mood.
Take me from the noisy light To the sunless peace, Where at midday standeth Night, Signing Toil’s release.
All your dusky twilight stores To my senses give; Take me in and lock the doors, Show me how to live.
Lift your leafy roof for me, Part your yielding walls, Let me wander lingeringly Through your scented halls.
Ope your doors and take me in, Spirit of the wood; Take me--make me next of kin To your leafy brood.
The sun within the leafy woods Is like a midday moon, So soft upon these solitudes Is bent the face of noon.
Loosed from the outside summer blaze A few gold arrows stray; A vagrant brilliance droops or plays Through all the dusky day.
The gray trunk feels a touch of light, While, where dead leaves are deep, A gleam of sunshine golden white Lies like a soul asleep.
And just beyond dank-rooted ferns, Where darkening hemlocks sigh And leaves are dim, the bare road burns Beneath a dazzling sky.
When I see the ghost of night Stealing through my window-pane, Silken sleep and silver light Struggle for my soul in vain; Silken sleep all balmily Breathes upon my lids oppressed, Till I sudden start to see Ghostly fingers on my breast.
White and skyey visitant, Bringing beauty such as stings All my inner soul to pant After undiscovered things, Spare me this consummate pain! Silken weavings intercreep Round my senses once again, I am mortal--let me sleep.
Here where the pine tree to the ground Lets slip its fragrant load, My footsteps fall without a sound Upon a velvet road.