Hazel bloom — A Closer Reading

efrain— “’Tis wisdom that mingles the sorrow and pain. The sunlight, that gilds, with its glory the earth, Would blight with its blaze, but for clouds and the rain, And lives would be arid and smitten with dearth If beamed on forever with joy and mirth— _In blessing I weave in the sorrow and pain_.”

When meadows are strewn with the buttercup’s gold, There’s gladness for childhood that song never told; The laugh of a child, bubbling up from the heart, Is linked with the spring, a most beautiful part.

A bevy of children—sweet far away dream!— They trip o’er the sward, lit with dandelion gleam— We’ll join in their sports with a heartiness true; Our own vanished springtime, with them, we’ll renew.

The woods, (that are reached by a romp thro’ the lane Where the grass is made velvet by sunshine and rain) Have infinite beauty, in blossom outspread— Delights for the gods in the fragrance they shed.

Come, drink in the perfume of blossoming trees— Take lessons of patience from murmuring bees, And listen to brooklets—they’ll sing you a song As, wild in their glee, they go leaping along.

Come, watch the wild birds as they cheerily dart— Their music, with sunshine, take into your heart— Let the gladness of childhood thrill you, and be gay, Thus keeping your soul in perpetual May.

When Nature is robing her forests anew, And heaven spreads over her loveliest blue— When earth is aglow with spring’s ravishing bloom, Ingratitude only sits shrouded in gloom.

When Somnus is giddy and flies from my pillow, And care’s elfin throngs come to vex me— When mem’ry, perverse, all the sweet things forgetting, Will mention but those that perplex me, I ask that monotony’s rigid insistence Shall drive out the gibberous crew; They flee from his presence—will hie back to elfland, Where their Night shade and astrofell grew—

Ask thought for a theme that’s subduing in power— The sea, with its billows all hushed to a calm— Not mantled with darkness, but lit with the sunset, When Day, unto Evening, is chanting her psalm. All life’s petty griefs in the grandeur evanish, The spirit is freed from its thrall, And unto the faint heart a trustfulnesss whispers, “Be brave—there’s a God over all.”

In fancy I launch on the shimmering sea That’s lighting with glory its waters for me; Like a sprite of the ocean the boat seems to glide, As lightly the oars dip the opaline tide, Till out in expanses, afar from the shore, Away from life’s din and tumultuous roar Where, gently I’m rocked on the breast of the deep, While symphonic waves woo the Lethe of Sleep. A broad, shining pathway is westward unrolled— I watch the bright wavelets, with tresses of gold, Run out in wild play to the visual rim Where the sky bends to kiss them in distance so dim, Till thought is enchanted—anxiety flees, And weariness slips into somnolent ease; The silences seem to have rhythmical beat— ’Tis footfalls of wakefulness, now in retreat. Forgetfulness softly creeps into the mind, Suspecting no trace of resistance to find, But wakefulness turns back, commands and forbids— Yet, Slumber steals past her and touches the lids; Then Morpheus bears me away in his arms To his realm that’s swept of all fears and alarms Where, lulled with his stupors, of poppy and rose, I dreamily, dreamily sink to repose.

When evening falls softly, with far away dreaming, Oft steals o’er my spirit a rapturous seeming— I feel the light touch of her hand as of old, When bending above me with good night caresses, She lovingly pushed back the long heavy tresses, And smoothed out the tangles of gold.

Touch memory’s harp in the silence of even, And loved ones will leave e’en the raptures of heaven, And come to us then when the gates are ajar: With mother’s face, ever most central and tender, They light all the Past with a rosy-hued splendor And the soul’s secret chamber’s unbar.

From hidden recesses they bring out its treasures— Among them are shining youth’s dream-lighted pleasures, When mother-love blent with, and hallowed them all; The haunts that the years with their sunsets have gilded, The castles of beauty that child-fancy builded, All come in the gloaming at memory’s call.

’Twas down by the river, where bluebells were sweetest And swift-footed hours forever ran fleetest, Enthralled by the charm, that I loved most to roam— To watch where the sunshine and ripple wove wimples, Like smiles, on a rosy face, dancing with dimples, Forgetful of duty till mother called home.