260
POEMS.
TWO HARVESTS.
I.
LOSSOM and fruit no man could count or hoard;
Seasons their laws forgot, in riot haste
Lavishing yield on yield in madman's waste;
No tropic with its centuries' heat outpoured
In centuries of summers, ever stored
Such harvest.
Had the earth her sole pearl placedIn wine of sun to melt,—one blissful taste
To drain and die,—it had not fully dowered
This harvest!
She who smiling goes, a queen,Reaping with alabaster arms and hands
The fruits and flowers of these magic lands,
With idle, satiate intervals between,—
Oh, what to her do laws of harvest mean?
Joy passes by her, where she laden stands!
Seasons their laws forgot, in riot haste
Lavishing yield on yield in madman's waste;
No tropic with its centuries' heat outpoured
In centuries of summers, ever stored
Such harvest.
Had the earth her sole pearl placedIn wine of sun to melt,—one blissful taste
To drain and die,—it had not fully dowered
This harvest!
She who smiling goes, a queen,Reaping with alabaster arms and hands
The fruits and flowers of these magic lands,
With idle, satiate intervals between,—
Oh, what to her do laws of harvest mean?
Joy passes by her, where she laden stands!
II.
A parched and arid land, all colorless,
Than desert drearier, than rock more stern;
Spring could not find, nor any summer learn
The secret to redeem this wilderness.
Harsh winds sweep through with icy storm and stress:
Fierce lurid suns shine but to blight and burn;
Than desert drearier, than rock more stern;
Spring could not find, nor any summer learn
The secret to redeem this wilderness.
Harsh winds sweep through with icy storm and stress:
Fierce lurid suns shine but to blight and burn;