I. THE evening shadows lengthen on the lawn: Westward, our immemorial chestnuts stand, A mount of shade; but o'er the cedars drawn, Between the hedge-row trees, in many a band Of brightening gold, the sunshine lingers on, And soon will touch our oaks with parting hand: And down the distant valley all is still, And flushed with purple smiles the beckoning hill. II. Come, leave the flowery terrace, leave the beds Where Southern children wake to Northern air: Let yon mimosas droop their tufted heads, These myrtle-trees their nuptial beauty wear, And while the dying day reluctant treads From tree-top unto tree-top, with me share The scene's idyllic peace, the evening's close, The balm of twilight, and the land's repose. III. Come, for my task is done: the task that drew My footsteps from the chambers of the Day, -- That held me back, Beloved, even from you, That are my daylight: for the Poet's way Turns into many a lonely avenue Where none may follow. He must sing his lay First to himself, then to the One most dear; Last, to the world. Come to my side, and hear! IV. The poems ripened in a heart at rest, A life that first through you is free and strong, Take them and warm them in your partial breast, Before they try the common air of song! Fame won at home is of all fame the best: Crown me your poet, and the critic's wrong Shall harmless strike where you in love have smiled, Wife of my heart, and mother of my child! |