DEAR friends, ask not from me a song: The singing days to spring belong, And in our hearts, as in this clime, Spring has long turned to summer-time. The morning dreams have fled afar, When every dew-drop held a star: The broad, full noon is here -- till even The stars have drawn away to heaven. With you 't is June; and rosebuds blush, And golden sunsets glow and flush: While every breeze, with Psyche wings, Wafts promise of immortal things; And every shower of perfumed rain Brightens to rainbow hope again. 'T is meet that in that fragrant air Your songs defy old Time and care, While overhead the elms shall swing, And hand to hand old friendships cling: Ah, sweet and strong your voices ring! But here, upon the planet's verge, The grassy velvet turns to serge: No shower has wet the hillocks sere Since April shed her parting tear. The poppies on the hill are dead, And the wild oat is harvested: The canyon's flowers are brown with seed, And only blooms some wayside weed. No leafy elms their shadows throw, No moist and odorous breezes blow; But all the bare, brown hills along The ocean wind sweeps sad and strong. Then ask not, friends, from me a song! Yet think not that this sombre strain Would, dear old friends, of fate complain. Though spring has gone, and singing days, The sunshine, and the starshine, stays. If no more bloom the hillsides yield, The tented sheaves are in the field: The tawny slopes are sending down Their harvest loads to farm and town. If early spring-time fled with tears, Yet earlier harvest-time appears. And if far off, as in a dream, I see your merry faces beam, And if far off, as through the deep, I hear your songs their cadence keep, I know 't were childishness to weep. For all the time is grand indeed! And whether June bring flower or seed -- And whether softest breezes blow, Or ocean's organ-music flow, Not backward only turn our eyes, But forward, where along the skies The brighter dawn-lights break and rise. For all the love these years have stored Wells up to manlier deed and word. The nerveless grasp of girlish youth Grips now the banner staff of truth; The careless song, half sung, rings out Changed to a mighty battle-shout; And we that kept our holiday With wine and fragrant mists and play, Shall yet, perchance, even such as we, Fulfill our half-heard prophecy. The vision we but half divined, Wrought out with steadier heart and mind, Shall bless the world of humankind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WOMAN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ANGLOSAXON STREET by EARL (EARLE) BIRNEY INTROSPECTIVE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE ROSE TREE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS REMARKS TO THE BACK OF A PEW by WILLIAM ROSE BENET TO LIFE by HELEN TAPPAN BERTHOFF THE POET, AND HIS INTERPRETERS by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |