A broad green stretch of woodland,Cut through by bridle paths,A traveller in the early morn,Brushing the dewy grass.A cottage in the shadow,Of a grand old drooping elm,A girl-face in the doorway,The wildrose sprays between.
Just a rosetint of the daylight,Shadowed the departing star,Just a mist of filmy vapor,O'er the birch-tops rising far.Faintest note of robin calling,To its mate within the wood,And the ring-dove's tender wooing,Ringing through the dewy glade.
Sweeter than the wood-bird's calling,Or the robin's note, there came,Floating through the open doorway,A song of love and blame."Thou hast lightly, lightly wooed me,But thou shalt not win the same,For I know thou art a rover,Caring not for Love's sweet pain."
"Thou would'st value, dearly, dearly,Some new trophy of the wood,And thy scientific searching,Dost thou deem thy highest good,Thou would'st track the bird and bee,To its haunt, and spy the snake,Pierce the butterfly, and hold it,With the ground-mole in the brake."
"Thou hast not a heart for loving,Dearer to thee, roll of Fame,Though thou woo in courtly fashion,All thy heart repels its flame.Thou hast wooed, thou shalt not win,Hearts are not an easy prize,Thou shalt find no sign of yielding,In the light of scornful eyes."
Near, and nearer came the wooer,All his faithful heart aflame,And his longing eyes ashining,In his heart the echo thrilling,Of his darling's name."She is thinking, thinking, thinking,As she goes her quiet ways,Of the sweet and tender kisses,
'Neath the sunset's fading rays.On her cheek the rose-blush burning,Tells the tale her lips deny,And the endless joy of loving,Glistens in her shining eyes."
******
Twilight in the purple meadow,Twilight in the forest glade,And the bird and bee were nestled,In their haunts, and not afraid,For the cunning hand lay idle,And the lover's tears in vain,On the emerald mosses' carpet,Fell like dripping April rain.
"Love, Oh! Love thou art so fickle,Bittersweet art thou and rue,When I clipped thy wings and held thee,From my grasp thou soonest flew.If I let thee fly unheeding,Thou would'st surely follow me,When I pursue, then from my vision,"Thou wilt surely flee.
******
Daylight in the purple meadow,Daylight in the dewy wood,Where the spreading ferns grew thickest,There the maid repenting stood.
"I had never missed the kissing,Of my darling's dewy lips,I had never missed the pressure,Of his warm hand's tender clasp.I had never missed his presence,In the woodland's shaded bowers,Till he roamed, no more returning,In the twilight's rapturous hours.'
"When a woman bends to pity,She is very near to scorn,"Came an answer, "when man pities,In his heart there burneth long,Fathful care and tenderest loving,Woman's weak and man is strong."
Only the wood-bird, rocking, rocking,In his breezy cradle hears,Love's fond crooning, and the pinetops,Murmured olden tales of tears,Sweet are dewy morns in Summer,Sweet the golden stars above,Sweeter than all nature's beauty,Is equality of Love.
