September, all glorious with gold, as a king In the radiance of triumph attired, Outlightening the summer, outsweetening the spring, Broods wide on the woodlands with limitless wing, A presence of all men desired.
Far eastward and westward the sun-coloured lands Smile warm as the light on them smiles; And statelier than temples upbuilded with hands, Tall column by column, the sanctuary stands Of the pine-forest"s infinite aisles.
Mute worship, too fervent for praise or for prayer, Possesses the spirit with peace, Fulfilled with the breath of the luminous air, The fragrance, the silence, the shadows as fair As the rays that recede or increase.
Ridged pillars that redden aloft and aloof, With never a branch for a nest, Sustain the sublime indivisible roof, To the storm and the sun in his majesty proof, And awful as waters at rest.
Man"s hand hath not measured the height of them; thought May measure not, awe may not know; In its shadow the woofs of the woodland are wrought; As a bird is the sun in the toils of them caught, And the flakes of it scattered as snow.
As the shreds of a plumage of gold on the ground The sun-flakes by mult.i.tudes lie, Shed loose as the petals of roses discrowned On the floors of the forest engilt and embrowned And reddened afar and anigh.
Dim centuries with darkling inscrutable hands Have reared and secluded the shrine For G.o.ds that we know not, and kindled as brands On the altar the years that are dust, and their sands Time"s gla.s.s has forgotten for sign.
A temple whose transepts are measured by miles, Whose chancel has morning for priest, Whose floor-work the foot of no spoiler defiles, Whose musical silence no music beguiles, No festivals limit its feast.
The noon"s ministration, the night"s and the dawn"s, Conceals not, reveals not for man, On the slopes of the herbless and blossomless lawns, Some track of a nymph"s or some trail of a faun"s To the place of the slumber of Pan.
Thought, kindled and quickened by worship and wonder To rapture too sacred for fear On the ways that unite or divide them in sunder, Alone may discern if about them or under Be token or trace of him here.
With pa.s.sionate awe that is deeper than panic The spirit subdued and unshaken Takes heed of the G.o.dhead terrene and t.i.tanic Whose footfall is felt on the breach of volcanic Sharp steeps that their fire has forsaken.
By a spell more serene than the dim necromantic Dead charms of the past and the night, Or the terror that lurked in the noon to make frantic Where Etna takes shape from the limbs of gigantic Dead G.o.ds disanointed of might,
The spirit made one with the spirit whose breath Makes noon in the woodland sublime Abides as entranced in a presence that saith Things loftier than life and serener than death, Triumphant and silent as time.
PINE RIDGE: _September 1893_
A YEAR"S CAROLS
JANUARY
Hail, January, that bearest here On s...o...b..ight b.r.e.a.s.t.s the babe-faced year That weeps and trembles to be born.
Hail, maid and mother, strong and bright, Hooded and cloaked and shod with white, Whose eyes are stars that match the morn.
Thy forehead braves the storm"s bent bow, Thy feet enkindle stars of snow.
FEBRUARY
Wan February with weeping cheer, Whose cold hand guides the youngling year Down misty roads of mire and rime, Before thy pale and fitful face The shrill wind shifts the clouds apace Through skies the morning scarce may climb.
Thine eyes are thick with heavy tears, But lit with hopes that light the year"s.
MARCH
Hail, happy March, whose foot on earth Rings as the blast of martial mirth When trumpets fire men"s hearts for fray.
No race of wild things winged or finned May match the might that wings thy wind Through air and sea, through scud and spray.
Strong joy and thou were powers twin-born Of tempest and the towering morn.
APRIL
Crowned April, king whose kiss bade earth Bring forth to time her lordliest birth When Shakespeare from thy lips drew breath And laughed to hold in one soft hand A spell that bade the world"s wheel stand, And power on life, and power on death, With quiring suns and sunbright showers Praise him, the flower of all thy flowers.
MAY
Hail, May, whose bark puts forth full-sailed For summer; May, whom Chaucer hailed With all his happy might of heart, And gave thy rosebright daisy-tips Strange fragrance from his amorous lips That still thine own breath seems to part And sweeten till each word they say Is even a flower of flowering May.
JUNE
Strong June, superb, serene, elate With conscience of thy sovereign state Untouched of thunder, though the storm Scathe here and there thy shuddering skies And bid its lightning cross thine eyes With fire, thy golden hours inform Earth and the souls of men with life That brings forth peace from shining strife.
JULY
Hail, proud July, whose fervent mouth Bids even be morn and north be south By grace and gospel of thy word, Whence all the splendour of the sea Lies breathless with delight in thee And marvel at the music heard From the ardent silent lips of noon And midnight"s rapturous plenilune.
AUGUST
Great August, lord of golden lands, Whose lordly joy through seas and strands And all the red-ripe heart of earth Strikes pa.s.sion deep as life, and stills The folded vales and folding hills With gladness too divine for mirth, The gracious glories of thine eyes Make night a noon where darkness dies.
SEPTEMBER
Hail, kind September, friend whose grace Renews the bland year"s bounteous face With largess given of corn and wine Through many a land that laughs with love Of thee and all the heaven above, More fruitful found than all save thine Whose skies fulfil with strenuous cheer The fervent fields that knew thee near.
OCTOBER
October of the tawny crown, Whose heavy-laden hands drop down Blessing, the bounties of thy breath And mildness of thy mellowing might Fill earth and heaven with love and light Too sweet for fear to dream of death Or memory, while thy joy lives yet, To know what joy would fain forget.
NOVEMBER
Hail, soft November, though thy pale Sad smile rebuke the words that hail Thy sorrow with no sorrowing words Or gratulate thy grief with song Less bitter than the winds that wrong Thy withering woodlands, where the birds Keep hardly heart to sing or see How fair thy faint wan face may be.
DECEMBER
December, thou whose hallowing hands On shuddering seas and hardening lands Set as a sacramental sign The seal of Christmas felt on earth As witness toward a new year"s birth Whose promise makes thy death divine, The crowning joy that comes of thee Makes glad all grief on land or sea.