The rain imprinted the step's wet shine With target-circles that quivered and crossed As I was leaving this porch of mine;When from within there swelled and paused A song's sweet note;And back I turned, and thought, "Here I'll abide."The step shines wet beneath the rain, Which prints its circles as heretofore;I watch them from the porch again, But no song-notes within the door Now call to me To shun the dripping lea And forth I stride.
Jan. 1914.
SIGNS AND TOKENS
Said the red-cloaked crone In a whispered moan:
"The dead man was limp When laid in his chest;Yea, limp; and why But to signify That the grave will crimp Ere next year's sun Yet another one Of those in that house -It may be the best -
For its endless drowse!"
Said the brown-shawled dame To confirm the same:
"And the slothful flies On the rotting fruit Have been seen to wear While crawling there Crape scarves, by eyes That were quick and acute;As did those that had pitched On the cows by the pails, And with flaps of their tails Were far away switched."Said the third in plaid, Each word being weighed:
"And trotting does In the park, in the lane, And just outside The shuttered pane, Have also been heard -Quick feet as light As the feet of a sprite -And the wise mind knows What things may betide When such has occurred."Cried the black-craped fourth, Cold faced as the north:
"O, though giving such Some head-room, I smile At your falterings When noting those things Round your domicile!
For what, what can touch One whom, riven of all That makes life gay, No hints can appal Of more takings away!"PATHS OF FORMER TIME
No; no;
It must not be so:
They are the ways we do not go.
Still chew The kine, and moo In the meadows we used to wander through;Still purl The rivulets and curl Towards the weirs with a musical swirl;Haymakers As in former years Rake rolls into heaps that the pitchfork rears;Wheels crack On the turfy track The waggon pursues with its toppling pack.
"Why then shun -
Since summer's not done -
All this because of the lack of one?"