")£■ s-« ■«"«- f u-K it-i£-e-e-s E-B-e^e-B I GOLDEN NUMBERS ABDDKOFVERSB . FOR YOUTH , IJB,AJ^sR.^^.JijJtrf^Jl^^ KATE DOUGLAS WlCSGlK AND NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924014524627 Cornell University LibraiTf PN6110.C4W45 Golden numbers; a book of verse for youth 3 1924 014 524 627 GOLDEN NUMBERS Then read from the treaswred volume the poem of thy choice. Henrv Wadswoeth Longfeixow, Hark! the nvmhers soft and clear Gently steal upon the ear; Now louder, and yet louder rise. And fll with spreading sounds the sMes; Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes. In broken air, tremMing, the wild music floats. Alexandeb. Pofe. GOLDEN NUMBERS A BOOK OF VERSE FOR YOUTH CHOSEN AND CLASSIFIED BY Matt SDouglajS biggin AND WITH INTRODUCTION AND INTERLEAVES BY KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN "To add to golden numbers, golden numbers." Thomas Dekker. GARDEN CITY NEW YORK DOUBLED AY, PAGE & COMPANY 1910 TO. Copyright, 190S, hf McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. Published, October, 1902, N A NOTE ■^^^ r We are indebted to the folhwvng firms for permission to iise poems mentioned: Frederick Warne Sf Co., for poems of George Herbert and Reginald Heber; Small, Maynard Sf Co., for two poems by Walt Whitman, and " The T ax-Gatherer," by JohnB. Tabb; George Routledge 4" Son, for " Sir Lark and King Sun," George Macdonald; Longmans, Green <§• Co., for Andrew Lang's " Scythe Song "; Lee (§• Shepard, for " A Christmas Hymn," Al- fred Dommett," and " Minstrels and Maids," William Morris; J. B. Lippincott Co., for three poems by Thomas Buchanan Read; John Lame, for " The Forsaken Merman," Matthew Arnold, and " Song to April," William Watson; " The Skylark," Frederick Tennyson; E. P. Button 6c Co., for " Little Town of Bethlehem," Phil- lips Brooks; Dana, Estes <§• Co., for " July," by Susaii Hartley Sioett; Little, Brown 4- Co., for poems of Christina G. Rossetti, and for the three fv] A NOTE poems, " The Grass," " The Bee," and " Chart- less " by Emily Dickinson; D. Appleton Sj- Co., publishers of Bryant's Complete Poetical Works, for " March," " Planting of the Apple Tree," " To the Fringed Gentian," " Death of Flow- ers," " To a Waterfowl," and " The Twenty- second of December "; Charles Scribner's Sons, for " The Wind " and " A Visit from the Sea," both taken from " A Child's Garden of Verses "; " The Angler's Reveille," from " The Toiling of Felix "; " Dear Land of All My Love," from " Poems of Sidney Lanier," and " The Three Kings," from " With Trumpet and Drum,," by Eugene Field; The Churchman, for " Tacking Ship Off Shore," by Walter Mitchell; The Whitaker-Ray Co., for " Cohimbus " and " Crossing the Plains," from The Complete Poetical Works of Joaquin Miller; The Mac- mUlan Co., for "At Gibraltar," from " North Shore Watch and Other Poems," by George Edward Woodberry. The following poems are used by permis- sion of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton,, Mifflin <§• Co., the authorized pub- lishers: T. B. Aldrich, " A Turkish Legend," " Be- fore the Rain," " Maple Leaves," and " Tiger Lilies "; Christopher P. Cranch, " The Bobo- [vi] A NOTE UnJcs "; Alice Cary, " The Gray Swan "; Mar- garet Deland, " While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night "; Ralph Waldo Em- erson, "Forbearance," "The Humble-Bee," " Duty," " The Rhodora," " Concord Hymn," " The Snow Storm," and Ode Sung in the Town Hall, Concord; James T. Fields, " Song of the Turtle and the Flamingo " ; Oliver Wen- dell Holmes, " Old Ironsides " and " The Cham- bered Nautilus "; John Hay, " The Enchanted Shirt "; Julia Ward Howe, " Battle Hymn of the Republic "; Bret Harte, " The Reveille " and " A Greyport Legend "; T. W. Higgin- son, " The Snowing of the Pkies "; H. W. Longfellow, " The Wreck of the Hesperus," "The Psalm of Life," "Home Song," "The Three Kings," and " The Harvest Moon "; James Russell Lowell, " Washington," extracts from " The Vision of Sir Lamifal," " The Fatherland," " To the Dandelion," " The Singing Leaves," and " Stanzas on Freedom "; Lucy Larcom, " Harunah Binding Shoes "; Edna Dean Proctor, " Columbia's Emblem "; T. W. Parsons, "Dirge for One Who Fell in Battle "; E. C. Stedman, " The Flight of the Birds " and " Going A-Nuttvng "; E. R. Sill, " Opportunity "; W. W. Story, " The English Language "; Celia Thaxter, :[vii] A NOTE "The Samdpiper" and " Nikolma"; J. T. Trowbridge, " Eveimig at the Farm " and " Midwinter "; Bayard Taylor, " A Night With a Wolf " and " The Song of the Camp "; J. G. Whittier, " The Corn Song," " The Bare- foot Boy," " Barbara Frietchie," extracts from " Snow-Bownd," " Song of the Negro Boat- mam," and " The Pipes at Luckn^w"; W. D. Howells, " In August "; J. G. Saxe, " Solo- mon and the Bees." r [vini CONTENTS A CHANTED CALENDAR Page Daybreak. By Percy ByssJie Shelley 1 Morning. By John Keats 1 A Morning Song. By William Shakespeare 2 Evening in Paradise. By John Milton 3, Evening Song. By John Fletcher S Night. By Robert Southey 4 A Fine Day. By Michael Drayton 5 The Seasons. By Edmund Spenser 5 The Eternal Spring. By John Milton 5 March. By William Cullen Bryant 6 Spring. By Thomas Carew 7 Song to April. By William Watson 7 April in England. By Robert Browning 8 April and May. By Ralph Waldo Emerson 9 May. By Edmund Spender 9 Song on May Morning. By John Milton 10 Summer. By Edmund Spenser 10 June W^^t^ijer. ^j James .Russell; Lowell 11 July. By Susam, Hartley Swett 13 August. By Edmund Spender 14 In August. By William Dean Howells 14 [ixl CONTENTS A CHANTED CALESBAR— Continued page Autumn. By Edmtmd Spenser 16 Sweet September. By George Arnold 15 Autumn's Processional. By Dinah M. Mulock 16 October's Bright Blue Weatlier. By H. H. 16 Maple Leaves. By Thomas Bailey Aldrich 17 Down to Sleep. By H. H. 18 Winter. By Edmund Spenser 19 When Icicles Hang by the Wall. By William Shakespeare 19 A Winter Morning. By James Russell Lowell 20 The Snow Storm. By Ralph Waldo Emerson 21 Old Winter. By Thomas Noel 22 Midwinter. By John Townsend Trowbridge 23 Dirge for the Year. By Percy Bysshe Shelley 25 THE WORLD BEAUTIFUL The World Beautiful. By John MUton 2t The Harvest Moon. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 27 The Cloud. By Percy Bysshe Shelley 28 Before the Rain. By Thomas Bailey Aldrich 31 Rain In Summer. By Henry Wadsworth Long- fellow 32 Invocation to Rain in Summer. By William C. Bermett 34 The Latter Rain. By Jones Very 35 The Wind, By Robert Louis Stevenson 35 CONTENTS THE WORLD BEAUTIFVL—Contmned p^ Ode to the Northeast Wind. By Charles Kings- ley 36 The Windy Night. By Thomas Buchanan Read 39 The Brook. By Alfred, Lord Tenmyson 40 The Brook in Winter. By James Russell Lowell 42 Clear and Cool. By Charles Kmgsley 44 Minnows. By John Keats 45 Snow-Bound (Extracts). , By John G. Whittier 46 Highland Cattle. By Dinah M. Mulock 50 A Scene in Paradise. By John Milton 52 The Tiger. By William. Blake 53 The Spacious Firmament on High. By Joseph Addison 54 GREEN THINGS GROWING Green Things Growing. By Dinah M. Mulock 57 The Sigh of Silence. By John Keats 58 Under the Greenwood Tree. By William Shake- speare 59 The Planting of the Apple Tree. By William Cullen Bryant 69 The Apple Orchard in the Spring. By William Martin 63 Mine Host of " The Golden Apple." By Thom- as Westwood 64^ The Tree. By Jones Very 65 A Young Fir-Wood, By Dant? G. Rossetti 65 [xi] CONTENTS GREEN THINGS GROWmG— Continued Page The Snowing of the Pines. By Thomas W. Hig- gmson QQ The Procession of tlie Flowers. By Sydney Do- bell 67 Sweet Peas. By John Keats 68 A Snowdrop. By Harriet Prescott Spofford 69 Ahnond Blossom. By Sir Edwin Arnold 69 Wild Rose. By William AUingham 70 Tiger-Lilies. By Thomas Bailey Aldrich 71 To the Fringed Gentian. By William Cullen Bryant 72 To a Mountain Daisy. By Roherf Burns 73 Bind-Weed. By Susan Coolidge 74 The Rhodora. By Ralph Waldo Emerson 76 A Song of Clover. By " Saxe Holm " 76 To the Dandelion (Extract). By James Russell Lowell 77 To Daffodils. By Robert Herrich 78 The Daffodils. By William, Wordsworth 79 The White Anemone. By Owen Meredith 80 The Grass. By Emily Dickimson 81 The Corn-Song. By John G. Whittier 82 Columbia's Emblem. By Edna Dean Proctor 84 Scythe Song. By Andrew Lang 86 Time to Go. By Susa^n Coolidge 86 The Death of the Flowers. By William Cy^len Bryamt 88 Autumn's Mjpth. By Sav^uel Minturn Peck 90 CONTENTS ON THE WING Page Sing On, Blithe Bird. By William Motherwell 93 To a Skylark. By Percy Bysshe Shelley 94 Sir Lark and King Sun : A Parable. By George Macdonald 99 The Skylark. By Frederick Tennyson 101 The Skylark. By James Hogg 102 The Bobolinks. By Christopher P. Cranch 103 To a Waterfowl. By William Cullen Bryant 105 Goldfinches. By John Keats 107 The Sandpiper. By Celia Thaxter 107 The Eagle. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson 109 Child's Talk in April. By Christina G. Rossetti 109 The Flight of the Birds. By Edmund Clarence Stedman 111 The Shepherd's Home. By William Shenstone 112 To a Cricket. By William C. Bennett 113 On the Grasshopper and Cricket. By John Keats 114 The Tax-Gatherer. By John B. Tabb 114 To the Grasshopper and the Cricket. By Leigh Htmt 115 The Bee. By Emily Dickinson 116 The Humble-Bee. By Ralph Waldo Emerson 116 All Things Wait Upon Thee. By Christina G. Rossetti 119^ Providence. By Reginald Heber 119 [ »« 1 CONTENTS THE INGLENOOK P.ge A New Household. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 121 Two Heavens. By Leigh Hunt 121 A Song of Love. By " Lewis Carroll " 122 Mother's Song. Unknown 123 The Bonniest Bairn in a' the Warl'. By Rob- ert Ford 125 Cuddle Doon. By Alexander Anderson 126 I am Lonely. By George Eliot 128 Brother and Sister. By George Eliot 129 Home. By William Ernest Henley 131 Love Will Find Out the Way. Unknown 133 The Sailor's Wife. By William J. Mickle 134 Evening at the Farm. By John Townsend Trowbridge 136 Home Song. By Henry W. Longfellow 138 Etude Realiste. By Algernon C. Swimburne 139 We Are Seven. By William Wordsworth 141 FAIRY SONGS AND SONGS OF FANCY Puck and the Fairy. By William Shakespeare 145 Lullaby for Titania. By William Shakespeare 146 Oberon and Titania to the Fairy Train. By William Shakespeare 147 Ariel's Songs. By William Shakespeare 147 Orpheus with His Lute. By William Shake- speare 149 {xiv] CONTENTS FAIRY SONGS AND SONGS OF FANCY— Cora- tirmed The Arming of Pigwiggen. By Michael Dray- ton 149 Hesperus' Song. By Ben Jonson 151 L'AUegro (Extracts). By John Milton 152 Sabrina Fair. By John Milton 157 Alexander's Feast. By John Dry den 158 Kubla Khan. By Samuel Taylor Coleridge 160 The Magic Car Moved On. By Percy Bysshe Shelley 162 Arethusa. By Percy Bysshe Shelley ^ 165 The Culprit Fay (Extracts). By Joseph Rod- man Drake 168 A Myth. By Charles Kingsley 173 The Fairy Folk. By William Allingham 174 The Merman. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson 177 The Mermaid. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson 178 Bugle Song. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson 181 The Raven. By Edgar Allan Poe 182 The Bells. By Edgar Allan Poe 189 SPORTS AND PASTIMES Blowing Bubbles. By William Allvngham 195 Bicycling Song. By Henry C. Beeching 196 Going A Maying. By Robert Herrick 197 Jog On, Jog On. By William Shakespeare 200 A Vagabond Song. By Bliss Carman 201 Swimming. By Algernon C. Swinburne 201 [XV] CONTENTS SPORTS AND FASTIMES— Continued Page Swimming. By Lord Byron 202 The Angler's Reveille. ' By Henry van Dyke 203 The Angler's Invitation. By Thomas Tod Stod- dart 207 Skating. By William Wordsworth 207 Reading. By Elizabeth Barrett Brownmg 209 On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer. By John Keats 210 Music's Silver Sound. By William Shake- speare 210 The Power of Music. By William Shakespeare 211 Descend, Ye Nine! By Alexander Pope 212 Old Song. By Edward Fitzgerald 213 The Barefoot Boy. By John G. Whittier 214 Leolin and Edith. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson 218 Going A-Nutting. By Edmund Clarence Sted- man 219 Whittling. By John Pierpont 220 Hunting Song. By Sir Walter Scott 222 The Hunter's Song. By Barry Cornwall 223 The Blood Horse. By Barry Cornwall 225 The Northern Seas. By William Mowitt 226 The Needle. By Samuel Woodworth 228 A GARDEN OF GIRLS A Portrait. By Elizabeth Barrett Browning 231 Little Bell. By Thomas Westwood 234 A Child of Twelve. By Percy Bysshe Shelley 237 [xvi] CONTENTS A GARDEN OF GIRLS—Continued p^g^ Chloe. By Robert Burns 238 O, Mally's Meek, Mally's Sweet. By Robert Burns 339 Who Is Silvia? By William Shakespeare 240 To Mistress Margaret Hussey. By John Skel- ton 240 Ruth. By Thomas Hood 242 My Peggy. By Allan Ramsay 243 Annie Laurie. By William Douglas 243 Lucy. By William Wordsworth 245 Jessie. By Bret Harte 246 Olivia. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson 247 Nikolina. By Celia Thaxter 248 The Solitary Reaper. By William Wordsworth 249 Helena and Hermia. By William Shakespeare 250 Phyllis. By William Drummond 251 So Sweet is She. By Ben Jonson 251 I Love My Jean. By Robert Burns 252 My Nannie's Awa'. By Robert Bums 253 THE WORLD OF WATERS To the Ocean. By Lord Byron 255 A Life on the Ocean Wave. By Epes Sargent 257 The Sea. By Barry Cornwall 258 A Sea-Song. By AUan Cwrmvngham 259 A Visit from the Sea. By Robert Louis Steven- son 261 Drifting. By Thomas Buchanan Read 262 [ xvii] CONTENTS THE WORLD OF WATERS— Continued Page Tacking Ship OfF Shore. By Walter Mitchell 265 Windlass Song. By WUliam AllvngTiam 268 The Coral Grove. By James Gates Percival 269 The Shell. By Alfred, Lord Termyson 270 Bermudas. By Andrew Marvell 272. Where Lies the Land.? By Arthur Hugh Clough 273 FOR HOME AND COUNTRY The First, Best Country. By Oliver Gold- smith 275 My Native Land. By Sir Walter Scott 276 Loyalty. By Allan Curmimgham 276 My Heart's in the Highlands. By Robert Burns Til The Minstrel Boy. Bj Thomas Moore 278 The Harp that Once Through Tara's Halls. By Thomas Moore 279 Fife and Drum. By John Dryden 280 The Cavalier's Song. By William Motherwell 280 The Old Scottish Cavalier. By Wm. Edmond- stoune Aytoun 281 The Song of the Camp. By Bayard Taylor 284 Border Ballad. By Sir Walter Scott 286 Gathering Song of Donuil Dhu. By Sir Walter Scott 287 The Reveille. By Bret Harte 288 Ye Mariners of England. By Thomas Camp- hell 290 [ xviii ] CONTENTS FOR HOME AND COVNTB.Y—Conimued p^ge The Knight's Tomb. By Samuel Taylor Cole- ridge 292 How Sleep the Brave! By William Collins 292 Dirge. By Thomas William. Parsons 293 The Burial of Sir John Moore. By Charles Wolfe . 295 Soldier, Rest ! By Sir Walter Scott 296 Recessional. By Rudyard Kipling 297 The Fatherland. By James Russell Lowell 298 NEW WORLD AND OLD GLORY Dear Land of All My Love. By Sidney Lanier 301 Columbus. By Joaquin Miller 301 Pocahontas. By William Makepeace Thack- eray 303 Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. By Felicia Hemans 305 The Twenty-second of December. By William Cullen Bryant 306 Washington. By James Russell Lowell 307 Warren's Address. By John Pierpont 308 Carmen Bellicosum. By Guy Humphreys Mc- Master 309 The American Flag. By Joseph Rodman Drake 311 Old Ironsides. By Oliver Wendell Holmes 312 Indians. By Charles Sprague 313 Crossing the Plains. By Joaquin Miller 314 [xix] CONTENTS NEW WORLD AND OLD GI^OBY—Contmued page Concord Hymn. By Ralph Waldo Emerson 315 Ode. By Ralph Waldo Emerson 316 Stanzas on Freedom. By James Russell Lowell 317 Abraham Lincoln. By Richard Henry Stoddard 318 Lincoln, the Great Commoner. By Edwin Mark- ham 319 Abraham Lincoln. By Henri/ Howard Brownell 321 O Captain ! My Captain ! By Walt Whitmam, 323 The Flag Goes By. By Henry Holcomb Ben- nett 324 The Black Regiment. By George Henry Boker 326 Night Quarters. By Henry Howard Brownell 329 Battle-Hymn of the Republic. By Julia Ward Howe 331 Sheridan's Ride. By Thomas Buchanan Read 332 Song of the Negro Boatman. By John G. Whit- tier 335 Barbara Frietchie. By John G. Whittier 337 Two Veterans. By Walt Whitmam. 340 Stand by the Flag ! By John Nichols Wilder 342 At Gibraltar. By George Edward Woodherry 343 Faith and Freedom. By William Wordsworth 345 Our Mother Tongue. By Lord Houghton 345 The English Language (Extracts). By William Wetmore Story 346 To America. By Alfred Austin 347 The Name of Old Glory. By James Whitcomb Riley 349 CONTENTS IN MERRY MOOD P.ge On a Favorite Cat, Drowned in a Tub of Gold- fishes. By Thomas Gray 353 The Priest and the Mulberry Tree. By Thomas Love Peacoch 355 The Council of Horses. By John Gay 356 The Diverting History of John Gilpin. By William Cowper 359 To a Child of Quality. By Matthew Prior 369 Charade. By Winthrop M. Praed 370 A Riddle. By Hannah More 371 A Riddle. By Jonathan Swift 372 A Riddle. By Catherine M. Fanshawe 373 Feigned Courage. By Charles and Mary Lamb 374 Baucis and Philemon. By Jonathan Swift 375 The Lion and the Cub. By John Gay 378 Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog. By Oliver Goldsmith 379 The Walrus and the Carpenter. By " Lewis Carroll " 381 Song of the Turtle and Flamingo. By James T. Fields 385 Captain Reece. By William S. Gilbert 387 The Cataract of Lodore. By Robert Southey 391 The Enchanted Shirt. By John Hay 395 Made in the Hot Weather. By William Ernest Henley 398 The Housekeeper. By Charles Lamb 400 [xxi] CONTENTS IN MERRY MOOB— Continued P,ge The Monkey. By Mary Howitt 401 November, By Thomas Hood 402 Captain Sword. By Leigh Hunt 403 STORY POEMS : ROMANCE AND REALITY The Singing Leaves. By James Russell Lowell 407 Seven Times Two. By Jean Ingelow 411 The Long White Seam. By Jean Ingelow 413 Hannah Binding Shoes. By Lucy Larcom 414 Lord UUin's Daughter. By Thomas Campbell 416 The King of Denmark's Ride. By Caroline E. Norton 418 The Shepherd to His Love. By Christopher Marlowe 420 Ballad. By Charles Kingsley 422 Romance of the Swan's Nest. By Elizabeth Barrett Browning 423 Lochinvar. By Sir Walter Scott 427 Jock of Hazeldean. By Sir Walter Scott 430 The Lady of Shalott. By Alfred, Lord Tenny- son 431 The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire. By Jean Ingelow 438 The Forsaken Merman. By Matthew Arnold 444 The Sands of Dee. By Charles Kingsley 450 The " Gray Swan." By Alice Cary 452 The Wreck of the Hesperus. By Henry W. Longfellow 4^4 [ xxii ] CONTENTS STORY POEMS: ROMANCE AND REALITY — Continued p^^. A Greyport Legend. By Bret Harte 458 The Glove and the Lions. By Leigh Hunt 460 How's My Boy.? By Sydney Dobell 462 The Child-Musician. By Austin Dobson 463 How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix. By Robert Browning 464 The Inchcape Rock. By Robert Southey 468 A Night with a Wolf. By Bayard Taylor 471 The Dove of Dacca. By Rudyard Kiplkig 472 The Abbot of Inisfalen. By William Allingham 474 The Cavalier's Escape. By George Walter Tfiornbury 479 The Pied Piper of Hamelin. By Robert Brownr ing 480 Herve Riel. By Robert Browning 493 Vision of Belshazzar. By Lord Byron 500 Solomon and the Bees. By John G. Saxe 502 The Burial of Moses. By Cecil Frances Alex- ander 504 WHEN BANNERS ARE WAVING When Banners Are Waving. Unknown 509 Battle of the Baltic. By Thomas Campbell 511 The Pipes at Lucknow. By John Greenleaf Whittier 514 The Battle of Agincourt. By Michael Dray- ton 517 [xxiu] CONTENTS WHEN BANNERS ARE WAVING— Core- ttnued Page The Battle of Blenheim. By Robert Southey 622 The Armada. By Lord MacoMlay 524 Ivry. By Lord Macaulay 530 On the Loss of the Royal George. By William Cowper 535 The Charge of the Light Brigade. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson 537 Bannockburn. By Robert Burns 539 The Night Before Waterloo. By Lord Byron 54)0 Hohenlinden. By Thomas Campbell 542 Incident of the French Camp. By Robert Browning 544 Marco Bozzaris. By Fitz-Greene Halleck 545 The Destruction of Sennacherib. By Lord Byron 548 TALES OF THE OLDEN TIME Sir Patrick Spens. Old Ballad 651 The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington. Old Ballad 665 King John and the Abbot of Canterbury. Old Ballad 568 Lord Beichan and Susie Pye. Old Ballad 563 The Gay Gos-hawk. Old Ballad 569 Earl Mar's Daughter. Old Ballad 576 Chevy-Chace. Old Ballad 682 Hynde Horn. Old Ballad 593 Glenlogie. Old Ballad 597 [xxir ] CONTENTS LIFE LESSONS p^g. Life. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 601 In a Child's Album. By William Wordsworth 602 To-Day. By Thomas Carlyle 602 The Noble Nature. By Ben Jonson 603 Forbearance. By Ralph Waldo Emerson 603 The Chambered Nautilus. By Oliver Wendell Holmes 604 Duty. By Ralph Waldo Emerson 605 On His Blindness. By John Milton 606 Sir Launfal and the Leper. By James Russell Lowell 606 Opportunity. By Edward Rowland Sill 608 Abou Ben Adhem and the Angel. By Leigh Hunt 609 Be True. By Horatio Bonar 610 The Shepherd Boy Sings in the Valley of Humil- iation. By John Bunyan 610 A Turkish Legend. By Thomas Bailey Aldrich 611 Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard. By Thomas Gray 612 Polonius to Laertes. By William Shakespeare 618 The Olive-Tree. By S. Baring-Gould 619 Coronation. By H. H. 620 December. By John Keats 622 The End of the Play. By William Makepeace Thackeray 623 A Farewell. By Charles Kvngsley 625 A Boy's Prayer. By Henry C. Beechmg 626 [ XXV ] CONTENTS LIFE LESSORS— Contimied p,g^ Chartless. By Emily Dickinson 626 Peace. By Henry Vcmghan 627 Consider. By Christina G. Rossetti 628 The Elixir. By George Herbert 629 One by One. By Adelaide A. Procter 629 The Commonwealth of the Bees. By William Shakespeare 631 The Pilgrim. By John Bwnyan 632 Be Useful. By George Herbert 633 THE GLAD EVANGEL A Christmas Carol. By Josiah Gilbert Holland 635 The Angels. By William Driimmond 636 While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night. By Margaret Deland 637 The Star Song. By Robert Herrick 638 Hymn for Christmas. By Felicia Hemans 639 New Prince, New Pomp. By Robert Southwell 640 The Three Kings. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 641 The Three Kings. By Eugene Field 644 A Christmas Hymn. By Alfred Dommett 646 O Little Town of Bethlehem. By Phillips Brooks 648 Wliile Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night. By Nahum Tate 649 Christmas Carol. Old English 650 Old Christmas. By Mary Howitt 652 [ xxvi ] CONTENTS THE GLAD BY ANGEL— Conti7ived p^ge God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen. By Dinah Maria Mulock 653 Minstrels and Maids. By William Morris 654 An Ode on the Birth of Our Saviour. By Robert Herrick 656 Old Christmas Returned. Old English 657 Ceremonies for Christmas. By Robert Herrick 658 Christmas in England. By Sir Walter Scott 659 The Gracious Time. By William Shakespeare 661 Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning. By Reginald Heber 661 r CQ Tl (Q CD (D O) CO CL (Ji INTRODUCTION On the Reading of Poetry r r r A HERE is no doubt, I fear, that certain people are horn without, as certain other people are born with, a love of poetry. Any natural gift is a great advantage, of course, he it physi- cal, mental, or spiritual. The dear old tales which suggest the presence of fairies at the cradle of the new-born child, dealing out, not very impartially, talents, charms, graces, are not so far from the real truth. You may have been given a straight nose, a rosy cheek, a courteous manner, a lively wit, a generous disposition; but perhaps the Fairy Fine-Ear, who hears the grass grow, and the leaf-buds throb, had a pressing engage- ment at somebody else's cradle-side when you most needed her benefactions. There is another elf too, a Dame o' Dreams; she is clad all in color-of-rose, and when she touches your eyelids you see visions forever after; beautiful haunting things hidden from duller eyes, visions made of stars and dew and magic. Never any great poet lived but these two fairies were present at his birth, and it may be that they stole a [xxxi ] INTRODUCTION moment to visit you. If such was the case you love, need, crave poetry, to understand yourself, your neighbor, the world, God; and you will find that nothing else will satisfy you so completely as the years go on. If, on the other hand, these highly mythical but interesting personages were absent when the question of your natural endow- ment was being settled, do not take it too much to heart, but try to make good the deficiencies. You must have liked the rhymes and jingles of your nursery-days: Ride a Cock-horse To Banbwry Cross I or Mistress Mary quite contrary How does your garden grow ? I am certain you remember what pleasure it gave you to make " contrary " rhyme with " Mary " instead of pronouncing it in the proper and prosy way. " But," you answer, " / did indeed like that sort of verse, and am still fond of it when it dances and prances, or trips and patters and tinkles; it is what is termed " sublime " poetry that is dull and difficult to understand; the verb is always a long distance from its subject; the- punctuation comes in the middle of the lines, so that it reads like prose in spite of one, and it is [ xxxii] INTRODUCTION generally sprinkled with allusions to Calypso, CEdipus, Eurydice, Hesperus, Corydon, Are- thusa, and the Acroceraunian Mountains; or at any rate with people and places which one has to look up in the atlas and dictionary." Of course, all poems are not equally simple in sound and sense. It does not require much in- telligence to read or chant Foe's Raven, and if one does not quite understand it, one is so taken captive by the weird, haunting music of the lines, the recurrence of phrases and repetition of words, that one does not think about its meaning: " While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. ''Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber dooi — Only this, and nothing more.' " The moment, however, that your eye falls upon the following lines from " Paradise Lost " you confess privately that if you were obliged to parse and analyze them the task would cause you a weary half-hour with Lindley Murray or Quackenbos. " Adam the goodliest man of men since horn His sons; the fairest of her daughters Eve. Under a tuft of shade that on a green Stood whispering soft, h/ a fresh fountain-side. They sat them down ; '' [ xxxiii ] INTRODUCTION Very well then, do not try to parse them; Par- adise Lost was not written exclusively for the grammarians; content yourself with enjoying the picture; the frisking of the beasts of the earth, while Adam and Eve watphed them from a fountain-side in Paradise. No one need be ashamed of liking a good deal of rhyme and rhythm, swing and movement and melody in poetry; absolute perfection of form, though all too rarely attained, is one of the chief delights of the verse-lover. " The procession of beautiful sounds that is a poem," says Walter Raleigh. It is quite natural to love the music of verse before you catch the deeper thought, and you feel, in some of the greatest poetry, as if only the angels could have* put the melodious words together. There is more in this music than meets the eye or ear; it is what differentiates prose from poetry, which, to quote Wordsworth, is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge. Prose it is said can never be too truthful or too wise, but song is more than mere Truth and Wisdom, it is the " rose upon Truth's lips, the light in Wisdom's eyes." That is why the thought in it finds its way to the very heart of one and makes one glow and tremble, fills one with desire to do some splendid action, right some wrong, be something othex [ xxxiv ] INTRODUCTION than one is, more noble, more true, more patient, more courageous. We who have selected the poems in this book have had to keep in mind the various kinds of "young people who are to read it. The boys may wish that there were more story and battle poems, and verses ringing with spirited and war-like adventures; the girls may think that there are too many already; while both, per- haps, may miss certain old favorites like Ho- ratius or The Ancient Mariner, omitted be- cause of their great length. Some of you will yawn if the book flies open at Milton; some will be bored whenever they chance upon Pope; others will never read Wordsworth except on com- pulsion. Romantic little maids will turn away from " Tacking Ship off Shore," while their brothers will disdain " The Swan's Nest Among the Reeds "; but it was necessary to make the book for all sorts and conditions of readers, and such a volume must contain a taste of the best things, whether your special palate is ready for them or not. When you are twenty-one you may say, loftily, " I do not care for Pope and Dryden, I prefer Spenser and Tennyson, or Ben Jonson and Herrick," or whatever you really do prefer, — but now, although, of course, you have your personal likes and dislikes, you cannot be sure that they are based on anything v.a^ [xxxv ] INTRODUCTION or that they will stand the test of time and expe- rience. So you will find between these covers, we hope, a little of everything good, for we have searched the pages of the great English-spedkmg poets to find verses that you, would either love at first sight, or that you would grow to care for as you learn what is worthy to be loved. Where we found one beautiful verse, quite simple and wholly beautiful, we have given you that, if it held a complete thought or painted a picture perfect in itself, even although we omitted the very next one, which perhaps would have puz- zled and wearied the younger ones with its in- volved construction or difficult phraseology. Will you think, I wonder, that this very sim- ple talk is too informal to be quite proper when one remembers that it is to serve as introduction to the greatest poets that ever lived? ■ Infor- mality is very charming in its place, no doubt {for so the thought might cross your mind), but one does not use it with kings and queens; still the least things, you know, may sometimes explain or interpret the greatest. The brook might say, " I am nothing in myself, I know, but I am showing you the way to the ocean; follow on if you wish to see something really vast and magnificent." There are besides gracious courtesies to be ob- [ xxxvi ] INTRODUCTION served c n certain occasions. If a famous poet or author should chance to come to your village or city and appear before the people, someone would have to introduce the stranger and commend him to your attention; and if he did it modestly it would only he an act of kindliness; a wish to serve you and at the same time bespeak for him a gentle and a friendly hearing. Once intro- duced — Presto, change! If he is a great poet he is a great wizard; the words he uses, the method and manner in which he uses them, the. cadence of his verse, the thoughts he calls to your mind, the way he brings the quick color to your cheek and the tear to your eye, all these savor of magic, nothing else. Who could be less than modest in his presence? Who could but wish to bring the whole world under his spell? You will readily be modest, too, when you confront these splendid poems, even al- though some of you may not wholly compre- hend as yet their grandeur and their majesty; may not fully understand their claim to immor- tality. Where is there a girl who would not make a low curtsey to Shakespeare's Silvia, Mil- ton's Sabrina, Wordsworth's Lucy, or Mrs. Browning's Elizabeth? And if there is a boy who could stand with his head covered before Horatius, Herve Riel, Sir Launfal, or Mother- well's Cavalier he is not one of those we had in [ xxxvii ] INTRODUCTION mind when we made this book. Neither is it altogether the personality of hero or heroine that fills us with reverence; it is the beauty and perfection of the poem itself that almost brings us to our knees in worship. A little later on you wUl have the same feeling of admiration and awe for Shelley's Skylark, Emerson's Snow Storm, Wordsworth's Daffodils, Keats's Day- break, and for many another poem not included in this book, to which you must hope to grow. For it is a matter of growth after all, and growth, in mind and spirit, as in body, is largely a matter of will. It is all ours, the beauty in the world: your task is merely to enter into pos- session. Chaucer, Spenser, and Shakespeare are yours as much as another's. The great treasury of inspiring thoughts that has been heaped together as the ages went by, that " rich deposit of the centuries," is your heritage; if you wish to assert your heirship no one can say you nay; if you will to be a Croesus in the things of the mind and spirit, no one can ever keep you poor. We have brought you only English verse, so you must wait for the years to give you Homer, Virgil, Dante, Goethe, Schiller, Victor Hugo, and many another; and of English verse we have only given a hint of the treasures in store for you later on. [ xxxviii j INTRODUCTION We have quoted you poems from, the grand old masters, those " bards sublime," " Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time," and many a verse: — — ''from some humbler poet Whose songs gushed from his heart As showers from the clouds of summer. Or tears from the eyelids start ; Who through long days of labor. And nights devoid of ease. Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. " Since you will not like everything im the hook equally well, may we advise you how to use it? First find something you know and love, and read it over again. {Penitent, indeed, shall we be if it has been omitted!) The meeting will be like one with a dear playfellow and friend in a new and strange house, and the house will seem less strange after you have met and welcomed the friend. Then search the pages until you see a verse that speaks to you instantly, catches your eye, begs you to read it, willy-nilly. There are dozens of such poems in this collection, as simple as if they had been written for six-year-olds instead of for the grown-up English-speaking £ xxxix} INTRODUCTION world: little masterpieces like Temn/y son's Brook, Kingsley's Clear and Cool, Shakespeare's Fairy Songs, Burns's Mountaim Daisy, Emerson's Rho- dora, Motherwell's Blithe Bird, Hogg's Skylark, Wordsworth's Pet Lamb, Scott's Ballads, and scores of others. This so far is pure pleasure, but why not, as another step, find something difficult, something you instinctively draw back fromf It will prob- ably be MOton, Pope, Dryden, Browning, or Shelley. You cannot find any " story " in it; its rhymes do not run trippingly off the tongue; there are a few strange and unpronounceable words, the punctuation and phrasing puzzle you, and worse ■ than all you are obligefd to read it two or three times before you really understand its meaning. Very well, that is nothing to be ashamed of, and you surely do not want to be vanquished by a difficulty. You will realize some time or other that all learning, like all life, is a sort of obstacle race in which the strongest wins. I once said to a dear old minister who was preaching to a very ignorant and unlearned congregation, " It must be very difficult, sir, for you to preach down to them "; for he was a man of rare scholarship and true wisdom; — " / try to be very simple a part of the time," he answered, " but not always; about once a month I fling [xl] INTRODUCTION the fodder so high in the rack that no man cam, catch at a single straw without stretchi/ng his neck! " Now pray do not laugh at that illustration; smile if you will, hut it serves the purpose. Just as we develop our muscles hy exercising our bodies, so do we grow strong mentally and spir- itually hy this " stretching " process. You are not ohliged to love an impersonal, remote, or complex poem intimately and passionately, hut read it faithfully if you do n^ot wish to be wholly blind and deaf to beauties of sense or sound that happier people see and hear. Joubert says most truly: " You will find poetry nowhere unless you bring some with you," but there are some splendid things in verse as in prose that you stand in too great awe of to love in any real, childlike way. It is never scenes from Paradise Lost that run through your mind when you are going to sleep. It is something with a lilt, like: " Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen. We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men ; " or a poem with a gallant action in it like Marco Bozzaris, or with a charming story like The Singing Leaves, or a mysterious and musical one, like Kubla Khan or The Bells, or something thai fxlil INTRODUCTION TpJien first you read it made you a little older and a little sadder, in an odd, unaccustomed way quite unlike that of real grief: " A feeling of sadness and longing That is not akin to pain And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles rain." When you read that verse of Longfellow's after- wards you see that he has expressed your Ttwod exactly. That is what it means to he a poet, and that is what poetry is always doing for us; revealing, translating thoughts we are capable of feeling, hut not expressing. Perhaps you will not for a long time see the heauty of certain famous reflective poems like Gray's Elegy, hut we must include a few of such things whether they appeal to you very strongly or not, merely hecause it is necessary that you should have an acquaintance, if not a friend- ship, with Ikies that the world by common con- sent has agreed to call immortal. They show you, without your being conscious of it, show you by their lines " all gold and seven times refined," — how beautiful the English language can be when it is used by a master of style. Young people do not think or talk very much about style, but they come under its spell un- consciously and respond to its influence quickly INTRODUCTION enough. To give a sort of definition: style it a way of saying or writing a thing so that peopie are compelled to listen. When you grow sensi- tive to beauty of language you become, in some small degree at least, capable of using it your- self. You could not, for instance, read daily these " honey-tongued " poets without gather- ing a little sweetness for your own unruly mem- ber. There are certain spiritual lessons to he gained from many of these immortal poems, lessons which the oldest as well as the youngest might well learn. Turn to Milton's Ode on his Blindness. It is not easy reading, but you will begin to care for it when experience brings you the meaning of the line, " They also serve who only stand and wait." It is one of a class of poems that have been living forces from age to age; that have quickened aspiration, aroused energy, deepened conviction; that have infused a nobler ardor and loftier purpose into life wherever and whenever they were read. Prefacing each of the divisions of this volume you will find a page or " interleaf " of comment on, and appreciation of, the poems that follow. These pages you may read or not as you are minded; they are only friendly or informal let- ters from an old traveller to a pilgrim who has just taken his staff in hand. Ixliii] INTRODUCTION By and, by you mil add poem after poem to your list of favorites, and so, gradvMlly, you will make your own volume of Golden Numbers, which will be far better than any book we can fashion for you. Perhaps you will copy single verses and whole poems in it and, later, learn them by heart. Such treasures of memory " will henceforth no longer be forgettable, de- tachable parts of your mind's furniture, but well-springs of instinct forever." Kate Douglas WiggiNo ixUv] GOLDEN NUMBERS I A CHANTED CALENDAR Dayhreak UAY had awakened all things that be, The lark, and the thrush, and the swallow free, And the milkmaid's song, and the mower's scythe, And the matin bell and the mountain bee : Fireflies were quenched on the dewy corn. Glowworms went out, on the river's brim, Like lamps which a student forgets to trim : The beetle forgot to wind his horn, The crickets were still in the meadow and hill : Like a flock of rooks at a farmer's gun. Night's dreams and terrors, every one. Fled from the brains which are its prey. From the lamp's death to the morning ray. Peecy Bysshe Shelley. r Mornmg Now morning from her orient chambers came. And her first footsteps touch'd a verdant hill : Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame. Silvering the untainted gushes of its rill. Which, pure from mossy beds of simple flowers<^ By many streams a little lake did fill, [1] GOLDEN NUMBERS A Which round its marge reflected woven bowers, Chanted ^^^^ jjj j^g middle space, a sky that never lowers. Calendar ^ _. John Keats. A Morning Song Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winkiilg Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty bin, My lady 'sweet, arise: Arise, arise! William Shakespeaee. From " Cymheline." r ' Evening in Paradise Now came still Evening on, and Twilight gray Had in her sober livei-y all things clad ; Silence accompanied; for beast and bird — They to their grassy couch, these to their nests. Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale; She all night long her amorous descant sung ; Silence was pleased : now glowed the firmament With living sapphires: Hesperus, that led The starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon, [2] GOLDEN NUMBERS Rising in clouded majesty, at length A Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light. Chanted And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw. From " Paradise Lost." John Milton. f Evening Song ****** Shepherds all, and maidens fair, Fold your flocks up, for the air 'Gins to thicken, and the sun Already his great course hath run. See the dew-drops how they kiss Every little flower that is, Hanging on their velvet heads, Like a rope of crystal beads: See the heavy clouds low falling, And bright Hesperus down calling The dead Night from under ground; At whose rising, mists unsound. Damps and vapors fly apace, Hovering o'er the wanton face Of these pastures, where they come^ Striking dead both bud and bloom: Therefore, from such danger lock Every one his loved flock ; And let your dogs he loose without. Lest the wolf come as a scout From the mountain, and, ere day, [3] GOLDEN NUMBERS A Bear a lamb or kid away ; Chanted Qr the crafty thievish fox Calendar ^ ■, • i a i Break upon your simple nocks. * To secure yourselves from these, Be not too secure in ease; Let one eye his watches keep, Whilst the other eye doth sleep; So you shall good shepherds prove, And for ever hold the love Of our great god. Sweetest slumbers. And soft silence, fall in numbers On your eyelids! So, farewell! Thus I end my evening's knell. John Fletcher. Night How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven: In fuU-orb'd glory yonder Moon divine Rolls through the dark-blue depths. Beneath her steady ray The desert-circle spreads. Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky. How beautiful is night! Robert Southey. r [4] GOLDEN NUMBERS A Fine Day ^ Clear had the day been from the dawn, Cakndat All chequer'd was the sky, jo. Thin clouds like scarfs of cobweb lawn Veil'd heaven's most glorious eye. The wind had no more strength than this, That leisurely it blew. To make one leaf the next to kiss That closely by it grew. Michael Deayton. 'r The Seasons So forth issued the seasons of the year; First, lusty Spring, all dight in leaves of flowers That freshly budded, and new blooms did bear, In which a thousand birds had built their bowers. Edmund Spenser. From " The Faerie Queene."" r The Eternal Spring The birds their quire apply; airs, vernal airs. Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance. Led on the eternal Spring. John Milton. 15] GOLDEN NUMBERS A March * Chanted Calendar The stormy March is come at last, g^ With wind, and cloud, and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast That through the snowy valley flies. Ah,, passing few are they who speak, Wild, stormy month, in praise of thee ; Yet though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me. For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring; And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. Then sing aloud the gushing rills In joy that they again are free. And, brightly leaping down the hills. Renew their journey to the sea. Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies. And that soft time of sunny showers. When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, Seems of a brighter world than ours. William Cttllen Bryant. *By courtesy of D. Appleton §■ Co., publishers of Bryanfi Complete Poetical Works. [6] GOLDEN NUMBERS Spring A Chanted Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath Calendar lost Jo, Her snow-white robes ; and now no more the frost Candies the grass or casts an icy cream Upon the silver lake or crystal stream: But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth, And makes it tender ; gives a sacred birth To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree The drowsy cuckoo and the bumble-bee. Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring In triumph to the world the youthful spring ! The valleys, hills, and woods, in rich array. Welcome the coming of the longed-for May. Thomas Carew, r Song to April * April, April, Laugh thy girlish laughter; Then, the moment after. Weep thy girlish tears ! April, that mine ears Like a lover greetest, If I tell thee, sweetest. All my hopes and fea'^ * By conrfesj/ of John Lane. GOLDEN NUMBERS A April, April, Cak^i ^BMgh thy golden laughter. But the moment after, V Weep thy golden tears ! William Watson. April in England Oh, to be in England Now that April's there. And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware. That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England — now! And after AprU, when May follows. And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows ! Hark ! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field, and scatters on the clover • Blossoms and dewdrops, — at the bent spray's edge— That's the wise thrush ; he sings ea,ch song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture ! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew [8] r GOLDEN NUMBERS The buttercups, the little children's dower, A —Far brighter than, this gaudy melon flower. Chanted Calendar KOBERT BaOWNING. r April and May April cold with dropping rain Willows and lilacs brings again. The whistle of returning birds, And trumpet-lowing of the herds ; The scarlet maple-keys betray , What potent blood hath modest May ; What fiery force the earth renews, The wealth of forms, the flush of hues ; What Joy in rosy waves outpoured, Flows from the heart of Love, the Lord. Ralph Waldo Emerson. From " May-Day." May Then came fair May, the fairest maid on ground, Deck'd all with dainties of her season's pride. And throwing flowers out of her lap around : Upon two brethren's shoulders she did ride; The twins of Leda, which on either side Supported her like to their sovereign queen. Lord! how all creatures laught when her they spied, [9] GOLDEN NUMBERS ■^ And leapt and danced as they had ravish'd been, Cakldar ^^^^ Cupid's self about her fluttered aU in green. ^ Edmund Spensee. Song on May Morning Now the bright morning star, Day's harbinger. Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that doth inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing. Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song. And welcome thee, and wish thee long. John Milton. r • Slimmer Then came jolly Summer, being dight In a thin silken cassock, colored green, That was unlined, all to be more light, And on his head a garland well beseene. Edmund Spenseu. From " The Faerie Queene."" r [10] GOLDEN NUMBERS June Weather A Chanted For a cap and bells our lives we pay, Calendar Bubbles we earn with a whole soul's tasking; ^ 'T is heaven alone that is given away, 'T is only God may be had for the asking; No price is set on the lavish summer; June may be had by the poorest comer. And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune. And over it softly her warm ear lays : Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; Every clod feels a stir of might. An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; J'he flush of life may well be seen Thrilling back over hills and valleys; The cowslip startles in meadows green, The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean To be some happy creature's palace ; The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves. And lets his illumined being o'errun With the deluge of summer it receives ; His mate»feels the eggs beneath her wings, [11] GOLDEN NUMBERS A And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and Chanted gjjj . Lalendar . ii.i j. He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, — • In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best? Now is the high tide of the year, And whatever of hf e hath ebbed away Comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer, Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it. We are happy now because God wills it ; No matter how barren the past may have been, 'T is enough for us now that the leaves are green ; We sit in the warm shade and feel right well How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ; We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help know- ing That skies are clear and grass is growing; The breeze comes whispering in our ear. That dandelions are blossoming near. That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, That the river is bluer than the sky. That the robin is plastering his house hard by ; And if the breeze kept the good news back, For other couriers we should not lack, We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, — ■ And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer,* [12] GOLDEN NUMBERS Warmed with the new wine of the year, A Tells all in his lusty crowing! Chanted _ _ _ Calendar James Kussell Lowell. From " The Vision of Sir Launfal." ? July * When the scarlet cardinal tells Her dream to the dragon fly, And the lazy breeze makes a nest in the trees, And murmurs a lullaby. It is July. When the tangled cobweb pulls The cornflower's cap awry, And the lilies tall lean over the wall To bow to the butterfly. It is July. When the heat like a mist-veil floats, And poppies flame in the rye, And the silver note in the streamlet's throat Has softened almost to a sigh, It is July. When the hours are so still that time Forgets them, and lets them lie 'Neath petals pink till the night stars wink. At the sunset in the sky, It is July. ***♦*» Susan Hakxi.ey Swett. * Bg courtesy of Dana Estes ^ Co. [13] GOLDEN NUMBERS A August Chanted Calendar The sixth was August, being rich arrayed ^ In garment all of gold down to the ground ; Yet rode he not, but led a lovely maid Forth by the lily hand, the which was crowned- With ears of corn, and full her hand was found : That was the righteous Virgin, which of old Lived here on earth, and plenty made abound. Edmund Spensek. r In August All the long August afternoon, The little drowsy stream Whispers a melancholy tune, As if it dreamed of June, And whispered in its dream. The thistles show beyond the brook Dust on their down and bloom, And out of many a weed-grown nook The aster flowers look With eyes of tender gloom. The silent orchard aisles are sweet With smell of ripening fruit. Through the sere grass, in shy retreat Flutter, at coming feet. The robins strange and mute. [14] GOLDEN NUMBERS There is no wind to stir the leaves, A The harsh leaves overhead; Chanted Only the querulous cricket grieves, And shrilling locust weaves f A song of summer dead. William Dean Howells. Autumn Then came the Autumn all in yellow clad, As though he joyed in his plenteous store, Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full glad That he had banished hunger, which to-fore Had by the belly oft him pinched sore : • Upon his head a wreath, that was enroU'd With ears of corn of every sort, he bore ; And in his hand a sickle he did hold, To reap the ripen'd fruits the which the earth had yo^d- Edmund Spenser. From " The Faerie Qusene." r Sweet September O sweet September! thy first breezes bring The dry leaf's rustle and the squirrel's laugh- ter. The cool, fresh air, whence health and vigor spring. And promise of exceeding joy hereafter. George Arnold. [15] r GOLDEN NUMBERS A Autumn's Processional Chanted Calendar Then step by step walks Autumn, With steady eyes that show Nor grief nor fear, to the death of the year, While the equinoctials blow. Dinah Maeia Mulock. October's Bright Blue Weather O suns and skies and clouds of June, And flowers of June together, Ye cannot rival for one hour October's bright blue weather; When loud the bumblebee makes haste. Belated, thriftless vagrant. And goldenrod is dying fast. And lanes with grapes are fragrant; When gentians roll their fringes tight To save them for the morning, And chestnuts fall from satin burrs Without a sound of warning; When on the ground red apples lie In piles like jewels shining. And redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbine twining; [16] GOLDEN NUMBERS When all the lovely wayside things Their white-winged seeds are sowing, And in the fields, still green and fair, Late aftermaths are growing; When springs run low, and on the brooks, In idle golden freighting. Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush Of woods, for winter waiting ; When comrades seek sweet country haunts, By twos and twos together. And count like misers, hour by hour, October's bright blue weather. O sun and skies and flowers of June, Count all your boasts together. Love loveth best of all the year October's bright blue weather. H. H. A Chanted Calendar Maple Leaves October turned my maple's leaves to gold; The most are gone now; here and there one lingers : Soon these will slip from out the twigs' weak hold, Like coins between a dying miser's fingers. Thomas Bailey Aldrich. [17] GOLDEN NUMBERS A " Down to Sleep " Chanted Calendar November woods are bare and still, to, November days are clear and bright, Each noon bums up the morning's chiU, The morning's snow is gone by night. Each day my steps grow slow, grow light. As through the woods I reverent creep, Watching all things " lie down to sleep." I never knew before what beds, Fragrant to smell and soft to touch. The forest sifts and shapes and spreads. I never knew before, how much Of human sound there is, in such Low tones as through the forest sweep, When all wild things " lie down to sleep." Each day I find new coverlids Tucked in, and more sweet eyes shut tight. Sometimes the viewless mother bids Her ferns kneel down full in my sight, I hear their chorus of " good night," And half I smile and half I weep. Listening while they " lie down to sleep." November woods are bare and still, November days are bright and good. Life's noon burns up life's morning chillj [18 1 GOLDEN NUMBERS Life's night rests feet that long have stood, -^ Some warm, soft bed in field or wood Chanted Calendar a he mother will not fail to keep Where we can " lay us down to sleep." * H. H. Winter Lastly came Winter cloathed all in frize, Chattering his teeth for cold that did him chill ; Whilst on his hoary° beard his breath did freeze, And the dull drops that from his purple bill As from a limbeck did adown distill; In his right hand a tipped staff he held With which -his feeble steps he stayed still. For he was faint with cold and weak with eld, That scarce his loosed limbs he able was to weld. Edmund Spenser. r When Icicles Hang by the Wall When icicles hang by the wall. And Dick the shepherd blows his nail. And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipped, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-whit ! To-who! — a merry note. While greasy Joan doth keel the pot, [19] GOLDEN NUMBERS A When all aloud the wind doth blow, Chanted ^ j couHhine: drowns the parson's saw, Calendar .,,.,.,,. . , And birds sit brooding m the snow, * And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-whit! To-who ! — a merry note. While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. William Shakespeare. From " Love's Labor's Lost." A Winter Mornmg There was never a leaf on bush or tree, The bare boughs rattled shudderingly ; The river was dumb and could not speak, For the weaver Winter its shroud had spun ; A single crow on the tree-top bleak From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun , Again it was morning, but shrunk and cold, As if her veins were sapless and old. And she rose up decrepitly For a last dim look at earth and sea. James Russell Lowell. From " The Vision of Sir Lawnfal." [20} GOLDEN NUMBERS The Snow Storm A Chanted Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Calendar Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, to, Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air • ' Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end. The sled and traveler stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, inclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm. Come see the north-wind's masonry. Out of an unseen quarry evermore Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer Curves his white bastions with projected roof Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he For number or proportion. Mockingly, On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths; A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn; Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, Maugre the farmer's sighs ; and, at the gate, A tapering turret overtops the work: And when his hours are numbered, and the world Is all his own, retiring, as he were not. Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone, 121] GOLDEN NUMBERS A Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work, Chanted -pj^g frolic architecture of the snow. Calendar -r. x^t -n ^ Ralph Waldo Emekson. Old Winter Old Winter sad, in snow yclad, Is making a doleful din; But let him howl till he crack his jowl, We will not let him in. Ay, let him lift from the billowy drift His hoary, hagged form, And scowling stand, with his wrinkled hand Outstretching to the storm. And let his weird and sleety beard Stream loose upon the blast, And, rustling, chime to the tinkling rime From his bald head falling fast. Let his baleful breath shed blight and death On herb and flower and tree; And brooks and ponds in crystal bonds Bind fast, but what care we.'' Let him push at the door, — in the chimney roar, And rattle the window pane; Let him in at us spy with his icicle eye. But he shall not entrance gain. [32] GOLDEN NUMBERS Let him gnaw, forsooth, with his freezing tooth, A On our roof -tiles, till he tire; Chanted T, , . 1 .. . . , ., Calendar But we care not a whit, as we jovial sit Before our blazing fire. Y Come, lads, let's sing, till the rafters ring; Come, push the can about; — From our snug fire-side this Christmas-tide We'll keep old Winter out. Thomas Noel. r • Midwinter The speckled sky is dim with snow, The light flakes falter and fall slow; Athwart the hill-top, rapt and pale, Silently drops a silvery veil; And all the valley is shut in By flickering curtains gray and thin. But cheerily the chickadee Singeth to me on fence and tree; The snow sails round him as he sings, White as the down of angels' wings. I watch the slow flakes as they fall On bank and brier and broken wall; Over the orchard, waste and brown, All noiselessly they settle down. Tipping the apple-boughs, and each Light quivering twig of plum and peach. [23] GOLDEN NUMBERS A On turf and curb and bower-roof Chanted rpj^g snow-storm spreads its ivory woof; It paves with pearl the garden-walk; ? And lovingly round tattered stalk And shivering stem its magic weaves A mantle fair as lily-leaves. The hooded beehive small and low, Stands like a maiden in the snow ; And the old door-slab is half hid Under an alabaster lid. All day it snows : the sheeted post Gleams in the dimness like a ghost ; All day the blasted oak has stood A muffled wizard of the wood; Garland and airy cap adorn The sumach and the wayside thorn, And clustering spangles lodge and shine In the dark tresses of the pine. The ragged bramble, dwarfed and old. Shrinks like a beggar in the cold; In surplice white the cedar stands, And blesses him with priestly hands. Still cheerily the chickadee Singeth to me on fence and tree: But in my inmost ear is heard The music of a holier bird ; [24] GOLDEN NUMBERS And heavenly thoughts as soft and white A As snow-flakes on my soul alight, Chanted Clothing with love my lonely heart, Healing with peace each bruised part, * Till all my being seems to be Transfigured by their purity. John Townsend Tkowbridge. Dirge for the Year " Orphan Hours, the Year is dead ! Come and sigh, come and weep ! " " Merry Plours, smile instead. For the Year is but asleep ; See, it smiles as it is sleeping. Mocking your untimely weeping." • • ■ • • Percy Bysshe Shbi^let. [95] n THE WORLD BEAUTIFUL The World Beautiful ^WEET is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet With charm of earHest birds; pleasant the Sun When first on this dehghtful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glistening with dew ; fragrant the fertile Earth After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful Evening mild; then silent Night With this her solemn bird, and this fair Moon, And these the gems of Heaven, her starry train. John Milton. From " Paradise Lost." The Harvest Moon It is the harvest moon! On gilded vanes And roofs of villages, on woodland crests And their aerial neighborhoods of nests Deserted, on the curtained window-panes Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes [27] GOLDEN NUMBERS The And liarvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests ! „ "'".* , Gone are the birds that were our summer tSeautijul guests ; ▼ With the last sheaves return the laboring wains ! Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The Cloud I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams ; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under; And then again I dissolve it in rain. And laugh as I pass in thunder. I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast; And all the night 'tis my pillow white. While I sleep in the arms of the blast. Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers, Lightning my pilot sits; In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, It struggles and howls at fits; [28] GOLDEN NUMBERS Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, The This pilot is guiding me, World Lured by the love of the genii that move "^ In the depths of the purple sea; ? Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains. Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, The Spirit he loves remains ; And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains. The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes. And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack When the morning-star shines dead. As on the jag of a mountain crag, Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings. And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath Its ardors of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above. With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest. As still as a brooding dove. That orbed maiden with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon, [39] GOLDEN NUMBERS The Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, florid gy ^Yie midnight breezes strewn ; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, * Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof. The stars peep behind her and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee. Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent. Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, ■ Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, Are each paved with the moon and these. I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone. And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ; The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, AVhen the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, Over a torrent sea. Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof. The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march With hurricane, fire, and snow. When the powers of the air are chained to my chair. Is the million-colored bow ; The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove. While the moist earth was laughing below. [30] GOLDEN NUMBERS I am the daughter of earth and water, The And the nursling of the sky : n ff I I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; I change, but I cannot die. ' For after the rain when with never a stain, The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams. Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph. And out of the caverns of rain. Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again. Percy Bysshe Shelley. r Before the Ram We knew it would rain, for all the morn, A spirit on slender ropes of mist Was lowering its golden buckets down Into the vapory amethyst Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens — Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers, Dipping the jewels out of the sea. To sprinkle them over the land in showers. [31] GOLDEN NUMBERS The We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed World rpjj^g white of their leaves, the amber grain Shrunk in the wind — and the lightning now * Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain! Thomas Bailey Aldrich. Rain in Summer How beautiful is the rain ! After the dust and heat. In the broad and fiery street, ^ In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain! How it clatters along the roofs Like the tramp of hoofs ! How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout! Across the window-pane It pours and pours ; And swift and wide. With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain! The sick man from his chamber looks At the twisted brooks ; He can feel the cool Breath of each little pool ; [32] GOLDEN NUMBERS His fevered brain The Grows calm aeain, ^/^"'"^ , And he breathes a blessing on the rain. From the neighboring school Come the boys, With more than their wonted noise And commotion; And down the wet streets Sail their mimic fleets, Till the treacherous pool Engulfs them in its whirling And turbulent ocean. In the country on every side, Where, far and wide, Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide, Stretches the plain, To the dry grass and the drier grain How welcome is the rain! In the furrowed land The toilsome and patient oxen stand. Lifting the yoke-encumbered head. With their dilated nostrils spread, They silently inhale The clover-scented gale, And the vapors that arise From the well-watered and smoking soil. For this rest in the furrow after toil, [331 GOLDEN NUMBERS The Their large and lustrous eyes World gggjjj to ^Yia.n\ the Lord, Beautiful ,, ,, , , j More than man's spoken word. r Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Invocation to Rain m Summer O gentle, gentle summer rain, Let not the silver lily pine. The drooping lily pine in vain To feel that dewy touch of thine — • To drink thy freshness once again, O gentle, gentle summer rain! In heat the landscape quivering lies; The cattle pant beneath the tree; Through parching air and purple skies The earth looks up, in vain, for thee; For thee — for thee, it looks in vain, O gentle, gentle summer rain! Come, thou, and brim the meadow streams. And soften all the hills with mist, O falling dew! from burning dreams By thee shall herb and flower be kissed ; And Earth shall bless thee yet again, O gentle, gentle summer rain ! William C. Bennett. [34] GOLDEN NUMBERS The Latter Ram The . „ . . World The latter ram, — it falls in anxious haste Beautiful Upon the sun-dried fields and branches bare, to, Loosening with searching drops the rigid waste As if it would each root's lost strength repair; But not a blade grows green as in the spring; No swelling twig puts forth its thickening leaves ; The robins only 'mid the harvests sing, Pecking the grain that scatters from the sheaves ; The rain falls still,— the fruit all ripened drops. It pierces chestnut-bur and walnut-shell; The furrowed fields disclose the yellow crops; Each bursting pod of talents used can tell; And all that once received the early rain Declare to man it was not sent in vain. Jones Veuy. r The Wind* I saw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky ; And all around I heard you pass, Like ladies' skirts across the grass — O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! I saw the diff'erent things you did. But always you yourself you hid, * From "A Child's Garden of Verses." By co:irtesy of Charles Scrihner's Sons. [35] GOLDEN NUMBERS TJie I felt you push, I heard you call, World beautiful • I could not see yourself at all — O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a songS O you that are so strong and cold, O blower, are you young or old ? Are you a beast of field and tree Or just a stronger child than me? O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! RoBEKT Louis Stevenson, Ode to the Nbrtheast Wind Welcome, wild Northeaster! Shame it is to see Odes to every zephyr; Ne'er a verse to thee. Welcome, black Northeaster! O'er the German foam; O'er the Danish moorlands, From thy frozen home. Tired we are of summer. Tired of gaudy glare. Showers soft and steaming, Hot and breathless air. Tired of listkss dreaming. Through the lazy day ; [36] Beautiful r GOLDEN NUMBERS Jovial wind of winter The Turn us out to play ! ^^"''^^ Sweep the golden reed-beds; Crisp the lazy dyke; Hunger into madness Every plunging pike. Fill the lake with wild-fowl ; Fill the marsh with snipe; While on dreary moorlands Lonely curlew pipe. Through the black fir forest Thunder harsh and dry, Shattering down the snowflakes Off the curdled sky. Hark ! the brave Northeaster ! Breast-high lies the scent, On by holt and headland, Over heath and bent. Chime, ye dappled darlings. Through the sleet and snow, Who can override you? Let the horses go ! Chime, ye dappled darlings, Down the roaring blast; You shall see a fox die Ere an hour be past. Go! and rest to-morrow. Hunting in your dreams, [37] GOLDEN NUMBERS The While our skates are ringing World Q5gj, ^jjg frozen streams. ■^ Let the luscious South-wind T Breathe in lovers' sighs, While the lazy gallants Bask in ladies' eyes. What does he but soften Heart alike and pen.'' 'Tis the hard gray weather Breeds hard English men. What's the soft Southwester.'' 'Tis the ladies' breeze, Bringing home their true loves Out of all the seas ; But the black Northeaster, Through the snowstorm hurled. Drives our English hearts of oak, Seaward round the world! Come! as came our fathers, Heralded by thee. Conquering from the eastward, Lords by land and sea. Come ! and strong within us Stir the Vikings' blood '■> Bracing brain and sinew; Blow,, thou wind of God ! Charles Kingsley. [38] GOLDEN NUMBERS The Windy Night* The World Alow and aloof, Beautift. Over the roof, ^ How the midnight tempests howl! With a dreary voice, like the dismal tune Of wolves that bay at the desert moon ; — Or whistle and shriek Through limbs that creak, "Tu-who! tu-whit!" They cry and flit, " Tu-whit ! tu-who ! " like the solemn owl ! Alow and aloof. Over the roof, Sweep the moaning winds amain, And wildly dash The elm and ash, Clattering on the window-sash. With a clatter and patter. Like hail and rain That well nigh shatter The dusky pane! Alow and aloof. Over the roof, How the tempests swell and roar! Though no foot is astir, Though the cat and the cur * By courtesy of J. B. Lippincott S[ Co, [39] GOLDEN NUMBERS The Lie dozing along the kitchen floor, World rj,jjgj.g ^j.g fgg^ ^f ^Jj. tSeauttjul On every stair! » Through every hall — Through each gusty door, There's a jostle and bustle, With a silken rustle. Like the meeting of guests at a festival! Alow and aloof, Over the roof, How the stormy tempests swell! And make the vane On the spire complain — They heave at the steeple with might and main And burst and sweep Into the belfry, on the bell! They smite it so hard, and they smite it so well, That the sexton tosses his arms in sleep, And dreams he is ringing a funeral knell! Thomas Buchanan Read. The Brook I come from haunts of coot and hem, I make a sudden sally. And sparkle out among the fern. To bicker down a valley. [40] Beautifui GOLDEN NUMBERS By thirty hills I hurry down, The Or slip between the ridges; d !^-^ By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges. • • • • » I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fret, By many a field and fallow. And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling. And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel, With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel. • • • • C [41] GOLDEN NUMBERS The I steal by lawns and grassy plots, World Beautiful I slide by hazel covers; I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers. I shp, I slide, I gloom, I glance. Among my skimming swallows ; I make the netted sunbeams dance Against my sandy shallows. I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars; I loiter round my cresses. And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. Alfeed, Lord Tennyson. r The Brook in Winter Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak. From the snow five thousand summers old; On open wold and hill-top bleak It had gathered all the cold, And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek ; [42] GOLDEN NUMBERS It carried a shiver everywhere The From the unleaf ed boughs and pastures bare ; .^ The Kttle brook heard it and built a roof 'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof; * All night by the white stars' frosty gleams He groined his arches and matched his beams ; Slender and clear were his crystal spars As the lashes of light that trim the stars ; He sculptured every summer delight In his halls and chambers out of sight ; Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt Down through a frost-leaved forest crypt, Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees Bending to counterfeit a breeze; Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew; But silvery mosses that downward grew; Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf; Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops And hung them thickly with diamond drops, That crystalled the beams of moon and sun, And made a star of every one: No mortal builder's most rare device Could match this winter-palace of ice; 'T was as if every image that mirrored lay [43] GOLDEN NUMBERS The In his depths serene through the summer day. World j^^pIj flitting shadow of earth and sky, Lest the happy model should be lost, ' Had been mimicked in fairy masonry By the elfin builders of the frost. James Russell Lowell. From " The Vision of Sir Launfal." Clear and Cool Clear and cool, clear and cool, By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool; Cool and clear, cool and clear, By shining shingle, and foaming wear; Under the crag where the ouzel sings, And the ivied wall where the church-bell rings, Undefiled, for the undefiled; Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. Dank and foul, dank and foul. By the smoky town in its murky cowl; Foul and dank, foul and dank. By wharf and sewer and slimy bank; Darker and darker the farther I go. Baser and baser the richer I grow ; Who dare sport with the sin-defiled ? Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child. t44J GOLDEN NUMBERS Strong and free, strong and free. The The floodgates are open, away to the sea. World Free and strong, free and strong, Beautiful Cleansing my streams as I hurry along, ? To the golden sands, and the leaping bar. And the taintless tide that awaits me afar. As I lose myself in the infinite main, Like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again. Undefiled, for the undefiled ; Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. Chaeles Kingsley. From " The Water-Babies." Minnows How silent comes the water round that bend; Not the minutest whisper does it send To the o'erhanging sallows; blades of grass Slowly across the chequer'd shadows pass, — Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reach To where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds ; Where swarms of minnows show their little heads, Staying their wavy bodies 'gainst the streams, To taste the luxury of sunny beams Tempered with coolness. How they ever wrestle With their own sweet delight, and ever nestle [ *5 ] GOLDEN NUMBERS The Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand. World jf yoy Yixxt scantily hold out the hand, That very instant not one will remain ; T But turn your eye, and they are there again. The ripples seem right glad to reach those cresses, And cool themselves among the em'rald tresses; The while they cool themselves, they freshness give. And moisture, that the bowery green may live. John Keats. Snow-Bound (Extracts) The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray. And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon. Slow tracing down the thickening sky Its mute and ominous prophecy, A portent seeming less than threat, It sank from sight before it set. A chill no coat, however stout. Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, A hard dull bitterness of cold, That checked, mid-vein, the circling race Of life-blood in the sharpened face. The coming of the snow-storm told. [46] World Beautiful GOLDEN NUMBERS The wind blew east: we heard the roar The Of ocean on his wintry shore, And felt the strong pulse throbbing there Beat with low rhythm our inland air. Unwarmed by any sunset light The gray day darkened into night, A night made hoary with the swarm And whirl-dance of the blinding storm. As zig-zag wavering to and fro Crossed and recrossed the winged snow: And ere the early bedtime came The white drift piled the window-frame, And through the glass the clothes-line posts Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. The old familiar sights of ours Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, Or garden wall, or belt of wood; A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, A fenceless drift what once was road; The bridle-post an old man sat With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; The well-curb had a Chinese roof; And even the long sweep, high aloof, [47] GOLDEN NUMBERS The In its slant splendor, seemed to teU World Qf Pisa's leaning miracle. peautijul All day the gusty north wind bore The loosening drift its breath before ; Low circling round its ^southern zone, The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. No church-bell lent its Christian tone To the savage air, no social smoke Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. A solitude made more intense By dreary-voiced elements, The shrieking of the mindless wind. The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind. And on the glass the unmeaning beat Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. Beyond the circle of our hearth No welcome sound of toil or mirth Unbound the spell, and testified Of human life and thought outside. We minded that the sharpest ear The buried brooklet could not hear, The music of whose liquid lip Had been to us companionship, And in our lonely life, had grown To have an almost human tone. As night drew on, and, from the crest Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, [48] GOLDEN NUMBERS The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank __From sight beneath the smothering bank, We piled with care, our nightly stack Of wood against the chimney-back, — The oaken log, green, huge and thick, And on its top the stout back-stick; The knotty fore-stick laid apart. And filled between with curious art The ragged brush ; then hovering near, We watched the first red blaze appear. Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, Until the old rude-fashioned room sJBurst flower-like into rosy bloom; While radiant with a mimic flame Outside the sparkling drift became. And through the bare-boughed lilac tree Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. The crane and pendent trammels showed. The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed; While childish fancy, prompt to tell The meaning of the miracle, Whispered the old rhyme: " Under the tree. When fire outdoors burns merrily. There the witches are making tea." The World Beautiful Shut in from all the world without, We sat the clean-winged hearth about, [49] GOLDEN NUMBERS The Content to let the north wind roar J^orld jjj baffled rage at pane and door, Beautiful „., ., ,, ,, , „ , , While the red logs bet ore us beat * The frost-line back with tropic heat ; And ever, when a louder blast Shook beam and rafter as it passed, The merrier up its roaring draught The great throat of the chimney laughed, The house-dog on his paws outspread Laid to the fire his drowsy head, The cat's dark silhouette on the wall A couchant tiger's seemed to fall; And, for the winter fireside meet. Between the andirons' straddling feet, The mug of cider simmered slow, The apples sputtered in a row, And close at hand the basket stood With nuts from brown October's wood. John Greenleaf Whittiee. Highland Cattle Down the wintry mountain Like a cloud they come, Not like a cloud in its silent shroud When the sky is leaden and the earth all dumb, [50] GOLDEN NUMBERS But tramp, tramp, tramp. The With a roar and a shock. World . , . . , Beautiful And stamp, stamp, stamp, '' Down the hard granite rock, ? With the snow-flakes falling fair Like an army in the air Of white-winged angels leaving Their heavenly homes, half grieving, And half glad to drop down kindly upon earth so bare: With a snort and a bellow Tossing manes dun and yellow, Red and roan, black and gray. In their fierce merry play, Though the sky is all leaden and the earth all dumb — Down the noisy cattle come! Throned on the mountain Winter sits at ease: Hidden under mist are those peaks of amethyst That rose like hills of heaven above the amber seas. While crash, crash, crash. Through the frozen heather brown, And dash, dash, dash, Where the ptarmigan drops down And the curlew stops her cry And the deer sinks, like to die — ■ [SI] GOLDEN NUMBERS 77«e And the waterfall's loud noise With a plunge and a roar • Like mad waves upon the shore, Or the wind through the pass Howling o'er the reedy grass — In a wild battalion pouring from the heights unto the plain, Down the cattle come again! Dinah Maria Mulock. A Scene in Paradise Adam the goodliest man of men since born His sons ; the fairest of her daughters Eve. Under a tuft of shade that on a green Stood whispering soft, by a fresh fountain-side, They sat them down ; . . . About them frisking played All beasts of the earth, since wild, and of all chase In wood or wilderness, forest or den. Sporting the lion ramped, and in his paw Dandled the kid; bears, tigers, ounces, pards. Gamboled before them ; the unwieldy elephant, To make them mirth, used all his might, and wreathed His lithe proboscis ; close the serpent sly, [52] GOLDEN NUMBERS Insinuating, wove with Gordian twine The His braided train, and of his fatal guile „ .^ Gave proof unheeded. Others on the grass i Couched, and, now filled with pasture, gazing sat, ? Or bedward ruminating; for the sun, Declined, was hastening now with prone career To the Ocean Isles, and in the ascending scale Of Heaven the stars that usher evening rose. John Milton. From " Paradise Lost." r The Tiger Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night! What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the ardor of thine eyes ? On what wings dare he aspire — What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand form'd thy dread feet? What the hammer, what the chain. In what furnace was thy brain? [S3] GOLDEN NUMBERS The What the anvil? What dread grasp "^ Dare its deadly terrors clasp? Beautiful When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the lamb make thee? Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night. What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? William Blaee. r The Spacious Firmament on High The spacious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky. And spangled heavens, a shining frame, Their great Original proclaim. The unwearied sun from day to day Does his Creator's power display. And publishes to every land The work of an Almighty hand. Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale. And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth ; Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, [54] GOLDEN NUMBERS Confirm the tidings as they roll, The And spread the truth from pole to pole. „ '^^ .^ . What though in solemn silence, all f^ Move round this dark, terrestrial ball? What though nor real voice nor sound Amidst their radiant orbs be found? In Reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice, Forever singing as they shine: " The hand that made us is divine ! " Joseph Addison. ffiSJ in GREEN THINGS GROWING r Green Things Growing Oh, the green things growing, the green things growing. The faint sweet smell of the green things grow^ ing! I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve, Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing. Oh, the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing! How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing ; In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crow- ing. I love, I love them so, — my green things grow- ing! And I think that they love me, without false showing ; [S7] Gromng GOLDEN NUMBERS Green For by many a tender touch, thej^ comfort me so P'"f*_ much, With the soft mute comfort of green things growing. • • • • ■ Dinah Maria Mulock. r The Sigh of Silence I stood tiptoe upon a little hill; The air was cooling and so very still. That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside. Their scanty-leaved, and finely-tapering stems, Had not yet lost their starry diadems Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. Tht clouds were pure and white as flocks new- shom. And fresh from the clear brook; sweetly they slept On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept A little noiseless noise among the leaves. Born of the very sigh that silence heaves; For not the faintest motion could be seen Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green. John Keats. r GOLDEN NUMBERS Under the Greenwood Tree Green Under the ereenwood tree, ^ '"^* ° ' (jrotmng Who loves to He with me, ^ And tune his merry note ' Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither ! Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun, And loves to live i' the sun. Seeking the food he eats. And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither ! Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. William Shakespeare. From "As You Like It." The Planting of the Apple Tree * Come, let us plant the apple tree. Cleave the tough greensward with the spade ; Wide let its hollow bed be made ; There gently lay the roots, and there Sift the dark mold with kindly care, * By courtesy o/D. Apple ton S[ Co., pMishers of Brt/anft Compute Poetical Works. [59] Growing GOLDEN NUMBERS Green And press it o'er them tenderly, Things ^g^ round the sleeping infant's feet We softly fold the cradle sheet ; So plant we the apple tree. What plant we in this apple tree? Buds, which the breath of summer days Shall lengthen into leafy sprays; Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast. Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest; We plant, upon the sunny lea, A shadow for the noontide hour, A shelter from the summer shower. When we plant the apple tree. What plant we in this apple tree.? Sweets for a hundred flowery springs To load the May wind's restless wings, When, from the orchard row, he pours Its fragrance through our open doors; A world of blossoms for the bee. Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, For the glad infant sprigs of bloom. We plant with the apple tree. What plant we in this apple tree.? Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, And redden in the August noon, And drop, when gentle airs come by. That fan the blue September sky, [60] GOLDEN NUMBERS While children come, with cries of glee, Green And seek them where the fragrant grass Things Betrays their bed to those who pass, ° At the foot of the apple tree. f And when, above this apple tree, The winter stars are quivering bright, And winds go howling through the night, Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth. Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth. And guests in prouder homes shall see. Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine And golden orange of the line. The fruit of the apple tree. The fruitage of this apple tree Winds, and our flag of stripe and star, Shall bear to coasts that lie afar. Where men shall wonder at the view. And ask in what fair groves they grew; And sojourners beyond the sea Shall think of childhood's careless day And long, long hours of summer play, In the shade of the apple tree. Each year shall give this apple tree A broader flush of roseate bloom, A deeper maze of verdurous gloom, And loosen, when the frost clouds lower. The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. [61] Growing GOLDEN NUMBERS Green The years shall come and pass, but we ■d^vL Shall hear no longer, where we lie. The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh. In the boughs of the apple tree. And time shall waste this apple tree. Oh, when its aged branches throw Thin shadows on the ground below. Shall fraud and force and iron will Oppress the weak and helpless still.-' What shall the tasks of mercy be, Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears. Of those who live when length of years Is wasting this apple tree.'' "Who planted this old apple tree.'"' The children -of that distant day Thus to some aged man shall say; And, gazing on its mossy stem. The gray-haired man shall answer them: " A poet of the land was he, Born in the rude but good old times; 'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes On planting the apple tree." William Cullen Bryant. r [68] GOLDEN NUMBERS An Apple Orchard m the Spring Green Have you seen an apple orchard in the spring? Grardnp In the spring? to. An English apple orchard in the spring? When the spreading trees are hoary With their wealth of promised glory, And the mavis sings its story, In the spring. Have you plucked the apple blossoms in the spring? . In the spring? And caught their subtle odors in the spring? Pink buds pouting at the light, Crumpled petals baby white, Just to touch them a delight — In the spring. Have you walked beneath the blossoms in the spring? _ , . in the spring.'' Beneath the apple blossoms in the spring? When the pink cascades are falling. And the silver brooklets brawling. And the cuckoo bird soft calling, In the spring. If you have not, then you know not, in the spring, In the spring. Half the color, beauty, wonder of the spring, [63] Green Things Growing r GOLDEN NUMBERS No sweet sight can I remember Half so precious, half so tender, As the apple blossoms render In the spring. William Martin. r Mine Host of " The Golden Apple " A goodly host one day was mine, A Golden Apple his only sign. That hung from a long branch, ripe and fine. My host was the bountiful apple-tree; He gave me shelter and nourished me With the best of fare, all fresh and free. And light-winged guests came not a few, To his leafy inn, and sipped the dew, And sang their best songs ere they flew. I slept at night on a downy bed Of moss, and my Host benignly spread His own cool shadow over my head. When I asked what reckoning there might be. He shook his broad boughs cheerily : — A blessing be thine, green Apple-tree! Thomas Westwood. r [64] GOLDEN NUMBERS The Tree Green I love thee when thy swelHng buds appear, Groroins And one by one their tender leaves unfold, to, As if they knew that warmer suns were near. Nor longer sought tO' hide from winter's cold ; And when with darker growth thy leaves are seen To veil from view the early robin's nest, I love to lie beneath thy waving screen. With limbs by summer's heat and toil oppressed ; And when the autumn winds have stripped thee bare. And round thee lies the smooth, untrodden snow. When naught is thine that made thee once so fair, I love to watch thy shadowy form below, And through thy leafless arms to look above On stars that brighter beam when most we need their love. t ,, Jones Veky. r A Young Fir-Wood These little firs to-day are things To clasp into a giant's cap. Or fans to suit his lady's lap. From many winters, many springs Shall cherish them in strength and sap. Till they be marked upon the map, A wood for the wind's wanderings. [65] GOLDEN NUMBERS Green ■ All seed is in the sower's hands: Things j^jjd what at first was trained to spread ° Its shelter for some single head, — T Yea, even such fellowship of wands, — May hide the sunset, and the shade Of its great multitude be laid Upon the earth and elder sands. Dante G. Rossetti. r The Snowing of the Pines Softer than silence, stiller than still air Float down from high pine-boughs the slender leaves. The forest floor its annual boon receives That comes like snowfall, tireless, tranquil, fair. Gently they glide, gently they clothe the bare Old rocks with grace. Their fall a mantle weaves Of paler yellow than autumnal sheaves Or those strange blossoms the witch-hazels wear. Athwart long aisles the sunbeams pierce .their way; High up, the crows are gathering for the night ; The delicate needles fill the air; the jay Takes through their golden mist his radiant flight; They fall and fall, till at November's close The snow-flakes drop as lightly — snows on snows. Thomas Wentwokth Higginson. [66] Growing GOLDEN NUMBERS The Procession of the Flowers Green First came the primrose, Groans On the bank high, Like a maiden looking forth From the window of a tower When the battle rolls below, So look'd she, And saw the storms go by. Then came the wind-flower In the valley left behind, As a wounded maiden, pale With purple streaks of woe. When the battle has roU'd by Wanders to and fro, So totter'd she, Dishevell'd in the wind. Then came the daisies, On the first of May, Like a banner'd show's advance While the crowd runs by the way, With ten thousand flowers about them they came trooping through the fields. As a happy people come, So came they, As a happy people come Wlien the war has roll'd away, [67 1 Green Things Growing GOLDEN NUMBERS With dance and tabor, pipe and drum, And all make holiday. Then came the cowslip, Like a dancer in the fair, She spread her little mat of green, And on it danced she. With a fillet bound about her brow, A fillet round her happy brow, A golden fillet round her brow. And rubies in her hair. Sydney Dobell. r Smeet Peas Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight: With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white. And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings. Linger awhile upon some bending planks That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks. And watch intently Nature's gentle doings: They will be found softer than ringdove's coo- ings. How silent comes the water round that bend ! Not the minutest whisper does it send To the o'erhanging sallows : blades of grass Slowly across the chequer'd shadows pass. John Keats. £68] GOLDEN NUMBERS A Snowdrop Only a tender little thing, So velvet soft and white it is; But March himself is not so strong, With all the great gales that are his. In vain his whistling storms he calls. In vain the cohorts of his Jjower Ride down the sky on mighty blasts — He cannot crush the little flower. Its white spear parts the sod, the snows Than that white spear less snowy are, The rains roll off its crest like spray, It lifts again its spotless star. • • • • s ■ HaREIET PeESCOTT SpOFtOIJP Green Things Growing r Almond Blossom Blossom of the almond trees- April's gift to April's bees. Birthday ornament of spring, Flora's fairest daughterling ; Coming when no flowerets dare Trust the cruel outer air; When the royal kingcup bold Dares not don his coat of gold ; [69] Green Things Growins GOLDEN NUMBERS And the sturdy black-thorn spray Keeps his silver for the May; — Coming when no flowerets would, Save thy lowly sisterhood, Early violets, blue and white. Dying for their love of light. Almond blossom, sent to teach us That the spring-days soon will reach us. Lest, with longing over-tried, We die, as the violets died — Blossom, clouding all the tree With thy crimson broidery. Long before a leaf of green O'er the bravest bough is seen; Ah ! when winter winds are swinging All thj red bells into ringing, With a bee in every bell, Almond blossom, we greet thee well. Edwin Arnold. Wild Rose Some innocent girlish Kisses by a charm Changed to a flight of small pink Butterflies, To waver under June's delicious skies Across gold-sprinkled meads — the merry swarm A smiling powerful word did next transform [70] GOLDEN NUMBERS To little Roses mesh'd in green, allies Green Of earth and air, and everything we prize I kings For mirthful, gentle, delicate, and warm. ° William Allingham. Tiger-Lilies I like not lady-slippers. Nor yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Nor yet the flaky roses, Red, or white as snow ; I like the chaliced lilies. The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies. That in our garden grow ! For they are tall and slender; Their mouths are dashed with carmine, And when the wind sweeps by them. On their emerald stalks They bend so proud and graceful, — They are Circassian women. The favorites of the Sultan, Adown our garden walks ! And when the rain is falling, I sit beside the window And watch them glow and glisten, — How they burn and glow! [71] J rowing GOLDEN NUMBERS Green O for the burning lilies, Things rpj^g tgjjjg^ Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies. That in our garden grow! Thomas Bailey Aldrich. r To the Fringed Gentian * Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest, when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night; Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines in purple dressed. Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late, and com'st alone. When woods are bare, and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged Year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky. Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. * By cowrteay of D. Appleton §■ Co., puhUshsrs of Bryanfs Complete Poetical Works. [72] GOLDEN NUMBERS I would that thus, when I shall see Green The hour of death draw near to me, Things Hope, blossoming within my heart, " May look to heaven as I depart. f William Cullen Bryant. r To a Mountain Daisy On Twming One Down With the Plmxgh in April, Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem ; To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonnie gem ! Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet. The bonnie lark, companion meet! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, Wi' spreekl'd breast. When upward-springing, blithe, to greet The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, humble birth ; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the parent earth Thy tender form. [73] Green Things Growing GOLDEN NUMBERS The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield ; But thou, beneath the random bield O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread. Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies. Robert Burns. r Bind-Weed In the deep shadow of the porch A slender bind-weed springs. And climbs, like airy acrobat. The trellises, and swings And dances in the golden sun In fairy loops and rings. Its cup-shaped blossoms, brimmed with dew. Like pearly chalices. Hold cooling fountains, to refresh The butterflies and bees ; [74] GOLDEN NUMBERS And humming-birds on vibrant wings Hover, to drink at ease. And up and down the garden-beds, Mid box and thyme and yew, And spikes of purple lavender. And spikes of larkspur blue. The bind-weed tendrils win their way. And find a passage through. With touches coaxing, delicate. And arts that never tire, They tie the rose-trees each to each, The lilac to the brier, Making for graceless things a grace, With steady, sweet desire. Till near and far the garden growths. The sweet, the frail, the rude, Draw close, as if with one consent. And find each other good, Held by the bind-weed's pliant loops, In a dear brotherhood. Like one fair sister, slender, arch, A flower in bloom and poise. Gentle and merry and beloved. Making no stir or noise. But swaying, linking, blessing all A family of boys. Susan Coolidge. [Ti] Green Things Growing r GOLDEN NUMBERS Green The Rhodora Gromns ^^ ^^7' when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, to, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, ' Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook : The purple petals, fallen in the pool Made the black waters with their beauty gay ; PIcrc might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, Dear, tell them, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then beauty is its own excuse for being. Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! I never thought to ask ; I never knew, But in my simple ignorance suppose The selfsame Power that brought me there, brought you. Ralph Waldo Emerson. A Song of Clover I wonder what the Clover thinks, — Intimate friend of Bob-o'-links, Lover of Daisies slim and white, Waltzer with Buttercups at night; Keeper of Inn for traveling Bees, Serving to them wine-dregs and lees, [T6] GOLDEN NUMBERS Left by the Royal Humming Birds, Who sip and pay with fine-spun words ; Fellpw with all the lowliest, Peer of the gayest and the best; Comrade of winds, beloved of sun, Kissed by the Dew-di-ops, one by one; Prophet of Good-Luck mysterj' By sign of four which few may see; Symbol of Nature's magic zone, One out of three, and three in one; Emblem of comfort in the speech Which poor men's babies early reach; Sweet by the roadsides, sweet by rills. Sweet in the meadows, sweet on hills, Sweet in its white, sweet in its red, — Oh, half its sweetness cannot be said ; — Sweet in its every living breath. Sweetest, perhaps, at last, in death ! Oh ! who knows what the Clover thinks ? No one ! unless the Bob-o'-links ! " Saxe Holm.' Green Things G(rordng r To the Dandelion (Extract) Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way. Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold. First pledge of blithesome IMay, GOLDEN NUMBERS Green Which children pluck, and, full of pride uphold, Things High-hearted buccaneers, o'er joyed that they An Eldorado in the grass have found, ¥ Which not the rich earth's ample round May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. James Russell Lowell. r To Daffodils Fair Daifodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon ; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained his noon. Stay, stay. Until the hastening day Has run But to the even-song ; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay, As you, or anything. We die As your hours do, and dry Away, [78] r GOLDEN NUMBERS Like to the summer's rain ; Green Or as the pearls of morning's dew, Things Ne'er to be found again. ® ROBEKT HeRRICK. The Daffodils I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills. When all at once I saw a crowd, — A host, of golden daffodils, Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee ; A poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company. I gazed, and gazed, but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, [79] GOLDEN NUMBERS Green They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of sohtude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. William Wokdswoeth. Growing The White ■ Anemone 'Tis the white anemone, fashioned so Like to the stars of the winter snow. First thinks, " If I come too soon, no doubt I shall seem but the snow that stayed too long, So 'tis I that will be Spring's unguessed scout," And wide she wanders the woods among. Then, from out of the mossiest hiding-places, Smile meek moonlight-colored faces Of pale primroses puritan. In maiden sisterhood demure; Each virgin floweret faint and wan With the bliss of her own sweet breath so pure. Owen Meeedith. (Edward Robert Bulwer-Lytton . ) [80] GOLDEN NUMBERS The Grass Green The grass so little has to do,— J^'V . brotmng A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, * And bees to entertain, And stir all day to pretty tunes The breezes fetch along, And hold the sunshine in its lap And bow to everything; And thread the dews all night, like pearls, And make itself so fine, — A duchess were too common For such a noticing. And even when it dies, to pass In odors so divine. As lowly spices gone to sleep. Or amulets of pine. And then to dwell in sovereign barns, And dream the days away, — The gTass so little has to do, I wish I were the hay ! Emily Dickinson. r [81] GOLDEN NUMBERS Green The Corn-Song Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard! Heap high the golden com! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn! Let other lands, exulting, glean The apple from the pine. The orange from its glossy green, The cluster from the vine; We better love the hardy gift Our rugged vales bestow, To cheer us when the storm shall drift Our harvest-fields with snow. Through vales of grass and meads of flowers, Our ploughs their furrows made, While on the hills the sun and showers Of changeful April played. We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain. Beneath the sun of May, And frightened from our sprouting grain The robber crows away. All through the long, bright days of June Its leaves grew green and fair. And waved in hot midsummer's noon Its soft and yellow hair. [821 GOLDEN NUMBERS And now with autumn's moonlit eves, Green Its harvest-time has come, Things We pluck away the frosted leaves. And bear the treasure home. 9 There richer than the fabled gift Apollo showered of old, Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, And knead its meal of gold. Let vapid idlers loll in silk Around their costly board; Give us the bowl of samp and milk, By homespun beauty poured! Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth Sends up its smoky curls. Who will not thank the kindly earth, And bless our farmer girls! Then shame on all the proud and vain, Whose folly laughs to scorn Thfe blessing of our hardy grain. Our wealth of golden corn! o^ Let earth withhold her goodly root. Let mildew blight the rye, Give to the worm the orchard's fruit, The wheat field to the fly: [83] Green Things Growing GOLDEN NUMBERS But let the good old crop adorn The hills our fathers trod; Still let us for his golden com, Send up our thanks to God! John Greenleaf Whittier. Columbia's Emblem Blazon Columbia's emblem The bounteous, golden Corn! Eons ago, of the great sun's glow And the joy of the earth, 'twas born. From Superior's shore to Chili, From the ocean of dawn to the west. With its banners of green and silken sheen It sprang at the sun's behest; And by dew and shower, from its natal hour. With honey and wine 'twas fed. Till on slope and plain the gods were fain To share the feast outspread: For the rarest boon to the land they loved Was the Corn so rich and fair. Nor star nor breeze o'er the farthest seas Could find its like elsewhere. In their holiest temples the Incas Offered the heaven-sent Maize — Grains wrought of gold, in a silver fold, For the sun's enraptured gaze ; [8+] GOLDEN NUMBERS And its harvest came to the wandering tribes Green As the gods' own gift and seal, rhtngs And Montezuma's festal bread ^ Was made of its sacred meal. * Narrow their cherished fields ; but ours Are broad as the continent's breast, And, lavish as leaves, the rustling sheaves Bring plenty and joy and rest; For they strew the plains and crowd the wains When the reapers meet at morn. Till blithe cheers ring and west winds sing A song for the garnered Corn. The rose may bloom for England, The lily for France unfold; Ireland may honor the shamrock, Scotland her thistle bold; But the shield of the great Republic, The glory of the West, Shall bear a stalk of the tasseled Corn — The sun's supreme bequest! The arbutus and the golden rod The heart of the North may cheer. And the mountain laurel for Maryland Its royal clusters rear, And jasmine and magnolia The crest of the South adorn; But the wide Republic's emblem Is the bounteous, golden Corn! Edna Dean Proctob. [85] GOLDEN NUMBERS Green Scythe Song * Gromns Mowers, weary and brown, and blithe, to. What is the word methinks ye know, Endless over-word that the Scythe Sings to the blades of the grass below? Scythes that swing in the grass and clover. Something, still, they say as they pass ; What is the word that, over and over. Sings the Scythe to the flowers and grass? Hush, ah hush, the Scythes are saying. Hush, an^ heed not, and fall asleep; Hush, they say to the grasses swaying. Hush, they sing to the clover deep! Hush — 'tis the lullaby Time is singing — Hush, and heed not, for all things pass. Hush, ah hush! and the Scythes are swinging Over the clover, over the grass! Andrew Lang. Time to Go They know the time to go! The fairy clocks strike their inaudible hour In field and woodland, and each punctual flower Bows at the signal an obedient head And hastes to bed. * By courtesy of Longrrw/na, Oreen S[ Co. [86] GOLDEN NUMBERS The pale Anemone Green Glides on her way with scarcely a good-night ; Things The Violets tie their purple nightcaps tight; ^ Hand clasped in hand, the dancing Columbines, t In blithesome lines. Drop their last courtesies. Flit from the scene, and couch them for their rest; The Meadow Lily folds her scarlet vest And hides it 'neath the Grasses' lengthening green; Fair and serene. Her sister Lily floats On the blue pond, and raises golden eyes To court the golden splendor of the skies, — The sudden signal comes, and down she goes To find repose In the cool depths below. A little later, and the Asters blue Depart in crowds, a brave and cheery crew; While Golden-rod, still wide awake and gay, Turns him away, Furls his bright parasol. And, like a little hero, meets his fate. The Gentians, very proud to sit up late. Next follow. Every Fern is tucked and set 'Neath coverlet, [87] GOLDEN NUMBERS Green Downy and soft and warm. Things j^Q little seedling voice is heard to grieve ° Or make complaints the folding woods beneath ; T No lingerer dares to stay, for well they know . The time to go. Teach us your patience, brave. Dear flowers, till we shall dare to part like you, Willing God's will, sure that his clock strikes true, That his sweet day augurs a sweeter morrow. With smiles, not sorrow. Susan Coolidge. The Death of the Flowers * The melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the withered leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay. And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the gloomy day. * By eowtesy ofD. Appleton ^ Go., publishers of Bryant's Complete Poetical Works. [88] GOLDEN NUMBERS Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, Green that lately sprang and stood Things In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous ^'"^'^^ sisterhood ? T Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold, November rain. Calls not, from out the gloomy earth, the lovely ones again. The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago. And the brier-rose and the orchids died amid the summer glow; But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague on men. And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen. And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come. To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; [89] GOLDEN NUMBERS Green When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, Things though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the ^ rill. The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. William Cullen Bryant. r Autumn's Mirth 'Tis all a myth that Autumn grieves, For, watch the rain among the leaves ; With silver fingers dimly seen It makes each leaf a tambourine, And swings and leaps with elfin mirth To kiss the brow of mother earth; Or, laughing 'mid the trembling grass, It nods a greeting as you pass. Oh! hear the rain amid the leaves, 'Tis all a myth that Autumn grieves! 'Tis all a myth that Autumn grieves, For, list the wind among the sheaves; i Far sweeter than the breath of May, Or storied scents of old Cathay, [90] GOLDEN NUMBERS It blends the perfumes rare and good Of spicy pine and hickory wood And with a voice in gayest chime, It prates of rifled mint and thyme. Oh ! scent the wind among the sheaves, 'Tis all a myth that Autumn grieves! 'Tis all a myth that Autumn grieves, Behold the wondrous web she weaves ! By viewless hands her thread is spun Of evening vapors shyly won. Across the grass from side to side A myriad unseen shuttles glide Throughout the night, till on the height Aurora leads the laggard light. Behold the wondrous web she weaves, 'Tis all a myth that Autumn grieves ! Samuel Minturn Peck. r Green Things Growing I 91] IV ON THE WING r r Smg On, Blithe Bird! I'VE plucfced the berry from the bush, the brown nut from the tree, But heart of happy httle bird ne'er broken was by me. I saw them in their curious nests, close couching, slyly peer With their wild eyes, like glittering beads, to note if harm were near; I passed them by, and blessed them all; I felt that it was good To leave unmoved the creatures small whose home was in the wood. And here, even now, above my head, a lusty rogue doth sing; He pecks his swelling breast and neck, and trims his little wing. He wiU not fly ; he knows full well, while chirping on that spray, I would not harm him for a world, or interrupt his lay. [93] GOLDEN NUMBERS On the Sing on, sing on, blithe bird ! and fill my heart *"^ with summer gladness; f" It has been aching many a day with measures full of sadness! William Motherwell. To a Skylark Hail to thee, bUthe spirit! Bird thou never wert — That from heaven or near it Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden light'ning Of the sunken sun. O'er which clouds are bright'ning. Thou dost float and run. Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun- The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven [94] GOLUE^ NUMBERS In the broad daylight, On the Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill ^"^ delight — S^ Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel, that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare. From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflow'd. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody : — Like a poet hidden In the light of thought. Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden [95] GOLDEN NT?MBERS On the Soul in secret hour *"^ With music sweet as love which overflows her '^ bower : Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view: Like a rose embow'red By its own green leaves, By warm winds deflow'red. Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy- winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awak'ned flowers, — All that ever was, Joyous and clear and fresh, — thy music doth surpass. Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine: I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 196] GOLDEN NUMBERS Chorus hymeneal On the Or triumphal chant, tVing Matched with thine, would be all f^ But an empty vaunt — A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What jSelds, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. Waking or asleep, Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream. Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream ? We look before and after. And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter GOLDEN NUMBERS On the With some pain is fraught; "^ Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest 9 thought. Yet, if we could scorn Hate and pride and fear, If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found. Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know; Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow The world should listen then as I am listening now. Pekcy Bysshe Shelley. [98] Wing GOLDEN NUMBERS Sir Lark and King Sun: A Parable On the " Good morrow, my lord ! " in the sky alone, Sang the lark as the sun ascended his throne. " Shine on me, my lord ; I only am come, Of all your servants, to welcome you home. I have flown right up, a whole hour, I. swear, To catch the first shine of your golden hair." " Must I thank you then," said the king, " Sir Lark, For flying so high and hating the dark.? You ask a full cup for half a thirst: Half was love of me, and half love to be first. There's many a bird makes no such haste. But waits till I come : that's as much to my taste." And King Sun hid his head in a turban of cloud. And Sir Lark stopped singing, quite vexed and cowed ; But he flew up higher, and thought, " Anon The wrath of the king will be over and gone; And his crown, shining out of its cloudy fold, Will change my brown feathers to a glory of gold." So he flew — with the strength of a lark he flew ; But, as he rose, the cloud rose too ; And not one gleam of the golden hair Came through the depths of the misty air; [99] GOLDEN NUMBERS On the Till, weary with flying, with sighing sore, Wing The strong sun-seeker could do no more. His wings had had no chrism of gold ; And his feathers felt withered and worn and old ; He faltered, and sank, and dropped like a stone. And there on his nest, where he left her, alone Sat his little wife on her little eggs. Keeping them warm with wings and legs. Did I say alone? Ah, no such thing! Full in her face was shining the king. " Welcome, Sir Lark ! You look tired," said he ; " Up is not always the best way to me. While you have been singing so high and away, I've been shining to your little wife all day." He had set his crown all about the nest. And out of the midst shone her little brown breast ; And so glorious was she in russet gold. That for wonder and awe Sir Lark grew cold. He popped his head under her wing, and lay As still as a stone, till King Sun was away. George MacDonald. [100] GOLDEN NUMBERS The Skylark * On the Wing How the blithe Lark rups xip the golden stair ^ That leans thro' cloudy gates from Heaven ' to Earth, And all alone in the empyreal air Fills it with jubilant sweet songs of mirth; How far he seems, how far With the light upon his wings, Is it a bird or star That shines and sings? And now he dives into a rainbow's rivers ; In streams of gold and purple he is drown'd; Shrilly the arrows of his song he shivers, As tho' the stormy drops were turned to sound : And now he issues thro'. He scales a cloudy tower; Faintly, like falling dew. His fast notes shower. Frederick Tennyson. * By eowrtesy of John Lwne. [ion GOLDEN NUMBERS On the The Skylark Bird of the wilderness, * Blithesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place, — Oh, to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay and loud Far in the downy cloud. Love gives it energy, love gave it birth ! Where, on thy dewy wing. Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen. O'er moor and mountain green. O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim. Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! Then, when the gloaming comes. Low in the heather blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Emblem of happiness. Blest is thy dwelling-place — Oh, to abide in the desert with thee ! James Hogg. (The Ettrick Shepherd.) [102] r GOLDEN NUMBERS The Bobolinks On the Wing Wlien Nature had made all her birds, With no more cares to think on, She gave a rippling laugh, and out There flew a Bobolinkon. She laughed again ; out flew a mate ; A breeze of Eden bore them Across the fields of Paradise, The sunrise reddening o'er them. Incarnate sport and holiday, They flew and sang forever ; Their souls through June were all in tune, Their wings were weary never. Their tribe, still drunk with air and light, And perfume of the meadow. Go reeling up and down the sky. In sunshine and in shadow. One springs from out the dew-wet grass ; Another follows after; The morn is thrilling with their songs And peals of fairy laughter. From out the marshes and the brook, They set the tall reeds swinging, And meet and frolic in the air, Half prattling and half singing. [103] GOLDEN NUMBERS On the When morning winds sweep meadow-lands *"^ In green and russet billows, ^ And toss the lonely elm-tree's boughs, And silver all the willows, I see you buffeting the breeze, Or with its motion swaying. Your notes half drowned against the wind, Or down the current playing. When far away o'er grassy flats. Where the thick wood commences. The white-sleeved mowers look like specks. Beyond the zigzag fences. And noon is hot, and barn-roofs gleam White in the pale blue distance, I hear the saucy minstrels still In chattering persistence. When eve her domes of opal fire Piles round the blue horizon, Or thunder rolls from hiU to hill A Kyrie Eleison, Still merriest of the merry birds, Your sparkle is unfading, — Pied harlequins of June, — no end Of song and masquerading. Hope springs with you : I dread no more Despondency and dulness; [104] GOLDEN NUMBERS For Good Supreme can never fail On the That gives such perfect fulness. *"^ The life that floods the happy fields With song and light and color Will shape our lives to richer states, And heap our measures fuller. CHEISTOPHiER PeARSE CrANCH. r To a Waterfowl * Whither 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day. Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, Or where the rocky billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean-side.'' There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — * By courtesy of D. AppUton ^ Co., publishers of Bryant's Complete Poetical Works. [105] GOLDEN NUMBERS On the The desert and illimitable air, — Wing Lone wanderiAg, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thift atmosphere. Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land. Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest. And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend. Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given. And shall not soon depart. He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight. In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. William Cullen Beyant. [106] GOLDEN NUMBERS Goldfinches On the Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop *"'' From low-hung branches ; little space they stop, ? But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek, Then ofF at once, as in a i^anton freak ; Or perhaps, to show their black and golden wrings. Pausing upon their yellow flutterings. Were I in such a place, I sure should pray That naught less sweet might call my thoughts away Than the soft rustle of a maiden's gown Fanning away the dandelion's down. John Keats, The Sandpiper Across the narrow beach we flit. One little sandpiper and I ; And fast I gather, bit by bit. The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry. The wild waves reach their hands for it. The wild wind raves, the tide runs high. As up and down the beach we flit, — One little sandpiper and I. Above our heads the sullen clouds Scud black and swift across the sky ; Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds Stand out the white lighthfeuses high. [ 107 ] GOLDEN NUMBERS On ike Almost as far as eye can reach yrtng J ggg ^]^g close-reefed vessels fly, 9 As fast we flit along the beach, — One little sandpiper and I. I watch him as he skims along, Uttering his sweet and mournful cry; He starts not at my fitful song. Or flash of fluttering drapery. He has no thought of any wrong; He scans me with a fearless eye ; Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong, The little sandpiper and I. Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night When the loosed storm breaks furiously? My driftwood fire will burn so I To what warm shelter canst thou I do not fear for thee, though wi The tempest rushes through the sKy; For are we not God's children both, Thou, little sandpiper, and I? Celia Thaxtee. r [108] GOLDEN NUMBERS The Eagle On the Wing (Fragment) He clasps the crag with hooked hands ; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls ; And like a thunderbolt he falls. Alfked, Loud Tennyson. Child's Talk in April I wish you were a pleasant wren. And I your small accepted mate; How we'd look down on toilsome men! We'd rise and go to bed at eight Or it may be not quite so late. Then you should see the nest I'd build, The wondrous nest for you and me; The outside rough perhaps, but filled With wool and down ; ah, you should see The cosy nest that it would be. We'd have our change of hope and fear, Some quarrels, reconcilements sweet : I'd perch by you to chirp and cheer, Or hop about on active feet. And fetch you dainty bits to eat. [109] GOLDEN NUMBERS 0» the We'd be so happy by the day, Wmg gp gg^fg g^jjjj happy through the night, ^ We both should feel, and I should say, It's all one season of delight, And we'U make merry whilst we may. Perhaps some day there'd be an egg When spring had blossomed from the snow: I'd stand triumphant on one leg ; Like chanticleer I'd almost crow To let our little neighbours know. Next you should sit and I would sing Through lengthening days of sunny spring ; Till, if you wearied of the task, I'd sit; and you should spread your wing From bough to bough; I'd sit and bask. Fancy the breaking of the shell. The chirp, the chickens wet and bare, The untried proud paternal swell; And you with housewife-matron air Enacting choicer bills of fare. Fancy the embryo coats of down. The gradual feathers soft and sleek ; Till clothed and strong from tail to crown. With virgin warblings in their beak, They too go forth to soar and seek. [110] GOLDEN NUMBERS So would it last an April through On the And early summer fresh with dew, Wing Then should we part and live as twain: ^ Love-time would bring me back to you And build our happy nest again. Cheistina G. Rossetti. The Flight of the Birds Whither away, Robin, Whither away? Is it through envy of the maple-leaf, Whose blushes mock the crimson of thy breast. Thou wilt not stay? The summer days were long, yet all too brief The happy season thou hast been our guest : Whither away? Whither away, Bluebird, Whither away? The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky Thou still canst find the color of thy wing. The hue of May. Warbler, why speed thy southern flight? ah, why. Thou too, whose song first told us of the Spring? Whither away? Whither away, Swallow, Whither away? - [Ill] GOLDEN NUMBERS On the Canst thou no longer tarry in the North, Wing jjepe, where our roof so well hath screened thy ^ nest? Not one short day? Wilt thou — as if thou human wert — go forth And wanton far from them who love thee best? Whither away? ■Edmund Clarence Stedman. The Shepherd's Home My banks they are furnished with bees, Whose murmur invites one to sleep ; My grottoes are shaded with trees, And my hills are white over with sheep. I seldom have met with a loss, Such health do my fountains bestow ; My fountains all bordered with moss, Where the harebells and violets blow. Not a pine in the grove is there seen. But with tendrils of woodbine is bound; Not a beech's more beautiful green, But a sweetbrier entwines it around. Not my fields in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold ; Not a brook that is limpid and clear. But it glitters with fishes of gold. [112] GOLDEN NUMBERS I have found out a gift for my fair, On ike I have found where the wood pigeons breed, l^tng But let me such plunder forbear, ^ She will say 'twas a barbarous deed ; For he ne'er could be true, she averred, Who would rob a poor bird of its young; And I loved her the more when I heard Such tenderness fall from her tongue. William Shenstone. To a Cricket Voice of Summer, keen and shrill, Chirping round my winter fire, Of thy song I never tire. Weary others as they wiU; For thy song with Summer's filled — Filled with sunshine, filled with June ; Firelight echo of that noon Heard in fields when all is stilled In the golden light of May, Bringing scents of new-mown hay, Bees, and birds, and flowers away : Prithee, haunt my fireside still. Voice of Summer, keen and shrill ! William C. Bennett. r tU3] GOLDEN NUMBERS On the On the Grasshopper and Cricket Wing tov The poetry of earth is never dead: ' When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead; That is the Grasshopper's — ^he takes the lead In summer luxury, — ^he has never done With his delights ; for when tired out with fun, He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. The poetry of earth is ceasing never: On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever. And seems to one, in drowsiness half lost, The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills. John Keats. r The Tax-Gatherer " And pray, who are you ? " Said the violet blue To the Bee, with surprise At his wonderful size. In her eye-glass of dew. [114] GOLDEN NUMBERS " I, madam," quoth he, On the "Am a publican Bee, ^««^ Collecting the tax §^ Of honey and wax. Have you nothing for me ? " John B. Tabb. r To the Grasshopper and the Cricket Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of June, — Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon. When even the bees lag at the summoning brass ; And you, warm little housekeeper, who class With those who think the candles come too soon, Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune Nick the glad silent moments as they pass ! O sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, One to the fields, the other to the hearth, Both have your sunshine ; both, though small, are strong At your clear hearts ; and both seem given to earth To sing in thoughtful ears their natural song, — In doors and out, summer and winter, Mirth. Leigh Hunt. [115] GOLDEN NUMBERS On the The Bee ° Like trains of cars on tracks of plush 9 I hear the level bee : A jar across the flowers goes, Their velvet masonry Withstands until the sweet assault Their chivalry consumes, While he, victorious, tilts away To vanquish other blooms. His feet are shod with gauze, His helmet is of gold; His breast, a single onyx With chrysoprase, inlaid. His labor is a chant. His idleness a tune; Oh, for a bee's experience Of clovers and of noon! Emily Dickinson. The Humble-Bee Burly, dozing humble-bee, Where thou art is clime for me. Let them sail for Porto Rique, Far-off heats through seas to seek; I will follow thee alone, Thou animated torrid zone! [116] GOLDEN NUMBERS Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer, On the Let me chase thy waving Hnes; Wmg Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, <^ Singing over shrubs and vines. Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion ! Sailor of the atmosphere; Swimmer through the waves of air; Voyager of light and noon ; Epicurean of June, — Wait, I prithee, till I come Within earshot of thy hum, — All without is martyrdom. When the south wind, in May days. With a net of shining haze Silvers the horizon wall. And with softness touching all. Tints the human countenance With a color of romance. And, infusing subtle heats. Turns the sod to violets. Thou, in sunny solitudes. Rover of the underwoods. The green silence dost displace With thy mellow, breezy bass. Hot midsummer's petted crone. Sweet to me thy drowsy tone [117] GOLDEN NUMBERS On the Tells of countless sunny hours, '^'■ng Long days, and solid banks of flowers ; ^f Of gulfs of sweetness without bound In Indian wildernesses found; Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure. Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure. Aught unsavory or unclean Hath my insect never seen; But violets and bilberry bells, Maple-sap and dafFodels, Grass with green flag half-mast high, Succory to match the sky. Columbine with horn of honey, Scented fern, and agrimony. Clover, catchfly, adder's-tongue And brier-roses, dwelt among; All beside was unknown waste. All was picture as he passed. Wiser far than human seer, Yellow-breeched philosopher ! Seeing only what is fair, Sipping only what is sweet. Thou dost mock at fate and care. Leave the chaff" and take the wheat; When the fierce northwestern blast Cools sea and land so far and fast. Thou already slumberest deep; Woe and want thou canst outsleep: [118] GOLDEN NUMBERS Want and woe, which torture us, On the Thy sleep makes ridiculous. tVtng Ralph Waldo Emerson. ^f All Things Wait Upon Thee Innocent eyes not ours And made to look on flowers, Eyes of small birds, and insects small; Mom after summer morn The sweet rose on her thorn Opens her bosom to them all. The last and least of things, That soar on quivering wings. Or crawl among the grass blades out of sight, Have just as clear a right To their appointed portion of delight As queens or kings. Christina G. Rossetti. Providence Lo, the lilies of the field. How their leaves instruction yield! Hark to Nature's lesson given By the blessed birds of heaven! Every bush and tufted tree Warbles sweet philosophy: [119] GOLDEN NUMBERS On the Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow, "^'"■S God provideth for the morrow. r Say, with richer crimson glows The kingly mantle than the rose? Say, have kings more wholesome fare Than we citizens of air? Barns nor hoarded grain have we. Yet we carol merrily. Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow, God provideth for the morrow. One there lives, whose guardian eye Guides our humble destiny; One there lives, who, Lord of all. Keeps our feathers lest they fall. Pass we blithely then the time. Fearless of the snare and lime. Free from doubt and faithless sorrow : God provideth for the morrow. Reginald Heber. r [130] INTERLEAVES The Inglenook " With Ms flute of reeds a stranger Wanders piping thnmgh the milage, Bepkons to the fairest maiden. And she follows where he leads her. Leaving all things for the stranger." The ancient arrowmaker is left standing lonely at the door of his wigwam, but Laughing Water and Hiawatha have gone to make a new household among the myriad homes of ^arth. It matters' not whether the inglenook be in wigwam or cabin, cottage or palace, if Love Dwells Within be graven upon the threshold, for " where a true wife comes, there home is always around her." She is the Domina or House Lady, and under the benediction of her gaze arise sweet order, peace, and restful charm. The " gudeman," too; "his very foot has music in't when he comes up the stair," and like the pre on the hearth he diffuses warmth and comfort and good cheer. By and by a cradle swings to and fro in the sheltered corner of the fireside; baby feet have come to stray on life's untrodden brink; baby eyes whose speech make dumb the wise smile up into the mother's as she sings her lullaby: " The Queen has sceptre, crown, and ball. You are -my sceptre, crown, and all. And ifs O ! sweet, sweet, and a lullaby." The dog and the cat snooze peacefully on the hearth, the kettle hums, the kitchen clock ticks drowsily. The circle of love widens to take in all who are helping to make home beautiful — the farm boy, the milkmaid, and even the whinnying mare and friendly cow. The poetry of the inglenook is simple, unpretentious, humble, but it has a tender charm of its own because it sings of a heaven far on this side of the stars: " By men called home." V THE INGLENOOK r A New Household O FORTUNATE, O happy day, When a new household finds its place Among the myriad homes of earth, Like a new star just sprung to birth, And rolled on its harmonious way Into the boundless realms of space ! Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. From " The Hanging of the Crime." r Two Heavens For there are two heavens, sweet, Both made of love, — one, inconceivable Ev'n by the other, so divine it is; The other, far on this side of the stars, By men called home. ' Leigh Hunt. r [121] GOLDEN NUMBERS Tht A Song of Love Inglenook ^ Say, what is the spell, when her fledglings are cheeping. That lures the bird home to her nest? Or wakes the tired mother, whose infant is weep- ings To cuddle and croon it to rest? What the magic that charms the glad babe in her arms, Till it cooes with the voice of the doveP 'Tis a secret, and so let us whisper it low — And the name of the secret is Love! For I think it is Love, For I feel it is Love, For I'm sure it is nothing but Love! Say, whence is the voice that when anger is burn- ing, Bids the whirl of the tempest to cease? That stirs the vexed soul with an aching — a yearning For the brotherly hand-grip of peace ? Whence the music that fills all our being — that thrills Around us, beneath, and above? 'Tis a secret: none knows how it comes, or it goes — [122] GOLDEN NUMBERS But the name of the secret is Love ! The For I think it is Love, Inglenook For I feel it is Love, ^ For I'm sure it is nothing but Love! Say, whose is the skill that paints valley and hill. Like a picture so fair to the sight? That flecks the green meadow with sunshine and shadow. Till the little lambs leap with delight? 'Tis a secret untold to hearts cruel and cold, Though 'tis sung, by the angels above. In notes that ring clear for the ears that can hear — And the name of the secret is Love! For I think it is Love, For I feel it is Love, For I'm sure it is nothing but Love! Lewis Carroli.. r Mother's Song My heart is like a fountain true That flows and flows with love to you. As chirps the lark unto the tree So chirps my pretty babe to me. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. There's not a rose where'er I seek, As comely as my baby's cheek. [123] GOLDEN NUMBERS The There's not a comb of honey-bee, Inglenook g^ f^^ ^f g^gg^g ^g ^^^^6 to me. ^ And it's O! SAveet, sweet! and a lullaby. There's not a star that shines on high, Is brighter than my baby's eye. There's not a boat upon the sea, Can dance as baby does to me. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. No silk was ever spun so fine As is the hair of baby mine — My baby smells more sweet to me Than smells in spring the elder tree. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. A little fish swims in the well. So in my heart does baby dwell. A little flower blows on the tree, My baby is the flower to me. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. The Queen has sceptre, crown and ball, You are my sceptre, crown and aU. For all her robes of royal silk, More fair your skin, as white as milk. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. Ten thousand parks where deer run, Ten thousand roses in the sun, [124] GOLDEN NUMBERS Ten thousand pearls beneath the sea, The My baby more precious is to me. Ingknook And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a, lullaby. ^ West or England Lullaby. r The Bonniest Bairn in a' the Warl' The bonniest bairn in a' the warl' Has skin like the drifted snaw, An' rosy wee cheeks sae saft an' sleek — There never was ither sic twa; Its een are just bonnie wee wander'd stars, Its leggies are plump like a farl, An' ilk ane maun see't, an' a' maun declare't The cleverest bairn, The daintiest bairn, The rosiest, cosiest, cantiest bairn, The dearest, queerest. Rarest, fairest. Bonniest bairn in a' the warl'. The bonniest bairn in a' the warl' Ye ken whaur the ferlie lives? It's doon in yon howe, it's owre yon knowe — In the laps o' a thousand wives; It's up an' ayont in yon castle brent, The heir o' the belted earl ; [125 1 GOLDEN NUMBERS The It's sookin its thoomb in yon gipsy tent— Inglemok rpj^g cleverest bairn, ^ The daintiest bairn, The rosiest, cosiest, cantiest bairn, The dearest, queerest. Rarest, fairest, Bonniest bairn in a' the warl'. • • • ■ • RoBEUT Ford. Cuddle Doon The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, Wi' muckle faucht an' din; Oh, tpy an' sleep, ye waukrife rogues, Your father's comin' in. They never heed a word I speak ; I try to gi'e a froon. But aye I hap them up, an' cry, " O, bairnies, cuddle doon." Wee Jamie wi' the curly heid — He aye sleeps neist the wa'. Bangs up an' cries, " I want a piece " ; The rascal starts them a'. I rin an' fetch them pieces, drinks. They stop awee the soun' ; Tlien draw the blankets up and cry, " Noo, weanies, cuddle doon." [126] GOLDEN NUMBERS But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab The Cries oot frae 'neatli tlie claes, Inglenook " Mitiier, mak' Tarn gie ower at ance — '^ He's kittlin' wi' his taes." The mischief's in that Tam for tricks, He'd bother half the toon: But aye I hap them up an' cry, " O, bairnies, cuddle doon." At length they hear their father's fit, An', as he steeks the door. They turn their faces to .the wa'. While Tam pretends to snore. " Hae a' the weans been gude ? " he asks, As he pits afF his shoon ; " The bairnies, John, are in their beds. An' lang since Caddled doon." An' just afore we bed oorsel's, We look at oor wee lambs ; Tam has his airm roun' wee Rab's neck. An' Rab his airm roun' Tam's. I lift wee Jamie up the bed. An', as I straik each croon, I whisper, till my heart fills up, " O, bairnies, cuddle doon." The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, Wi' mirth that's dear to me; [ 127 ] GOLDEN NUMBERS The But sune the big warl's cark an' care Inglemok y^[i\ quaten doon their glee. ^ Yet come what will to ilka ane, May He who sits aboon Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld, " O, bairnies, cuddle doon." Alexander Anderson. I Am Lonely The world is great: the birds all fly from me, The stars are golden fruit upon a tree All out of reach: my little sister went, And I am lonely. The world is great: I tried to mount the hill Above the pines, where the light lies so still, But it rose higher: little Lisa went And I am lonely. The world is great: the wind comes rushing by, I wonder where it comes from ; sea birds cry And hurt my heart : my little sister went, And I am lonely. The world is great : the people laugh and talk, And make loud holiday : how fast they walk ! I'm lame, they push me: little Lisa went. And I am lonely. George Eliot. From " The Spanish Gypsy." [128] GOLDEN NUMBERS Brother and Sister But were another childhood-world my share, I would be born a httle sister there. I I cannot choose but think upon the time When our two lives grew like two buds that kiss At lightest thrill from the bee's swinging chime. Because the one so near the other is. He was the elder and a little man Of forty inches, bound to show no dread, And I the girl that puppy-like now ran. Now lagged behind my brother's larger tread. I held him wise, and when he talked to me Of snakes and birds, and which God loved the best, I thought his knowledge marked the boundary Where men grew blind, though angels knew the rest. If he said " Hush ! " I tried to hold my breath ; Wherever he said " Come ! " I stepped in faith. II Long years have left their writing on my brow, But yet the freshness and the dew-fed beam Of those young mornings are about me now. When we two wandered toward the far-off stream [129] The Inglenook GOLDEN NUMBERS The With rod and line. Our basket held a store Inglenook^gj^^^ for us only, and I thought with joy ^ That I should have my share, though he had more, Because he was the elder and a boy. The firmaments of daisies since to me Have had those mornings in their opening eyes. The bunched cowslip's pale transparency Carries that sunshine of sweet memories, And wild-rose branches take their finest scent From those blest hours of infantine content. Ill Our mother bade us keep the trodden ways. Stroked down my tippet, set my brother's frill. Then with the benediction of her gaze Clung to us lessening, and pursued us still Across the homestead to the rookery elms, Whose tall old trunks had each a grassy mound. So rich for us, we counted them as realms With varied products : here were earth-nuts found. And here the Lady-fingers in deep shade; Here sloping toward the Moat the rushes grew. The large to split for pith, the small to braid ; While over all the dark rooks cawing flew, [130] GOLDEN NUMBERS j\.nd made a happy strange solemnity, The A deep-toned chant from life unknown to me. Inglenooh IX We had the selfsame world enlarged for each By loving difFerence of girl and boy : The fruit that hung on high beyond my reach He plucked for me, and oft he must employ A measuring glance to guide my tiny shoe Where lay firm stepping-stones, or call to mind " This thing I like my sister may not do. For she is little, and I must be kind." Thus boyish Will the nobler mastery learned Where inward vision over impulse reigns. Widening its life with separate life discerned, A Like unlike, a Self that self restrains. His years with others must the sweeter be For those brief days he spent in loving me. « ■ • • ■ George Eliot. r Home Falmouth is a fine town with ships in the bay, And I wish from my heart it's there I was to-day ; 1 wish from my heart I was far away from here. Sitting in my parlour and talking to my dear. [131] r GOLDEN NUMBERS The For it's home, dearie, home — it's home I want Inglenook ^^ ^g <^ Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea. O the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree They're all growing green in the old countree. In Baltimore a- walking a lady I did meet With her babe on her arm as she came down the street ; And I thought how I sailed, and the cradle stand- ing ready For the pretty little babe that has never seen its daddie. And it's home, dearie, home, — O, if it be a lass, she shall wear a golden ring ; And if it be a lad, he shall fight for his king ; With his dirk and his hat and his little j acket blue He shall walk the quarter-deck as his daddie used to do. And it's home, dearie, home, — O, there's a wind a-blowing, a-blowing from the west. And that of all the winds is the one I like the best, For it blows at our backs, and it shakes our pennon free. And it soon will blow us home to the old countree. [132] GOLDEN NUMBERS For it's home, dearie, home — it's home I want The to be. Inglenook Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea. ^ the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree They're all growing green in the old countree. William Ernest Henley. Love Will Find Out the Way Over the mountains And over the waves, Under the fountains And under the graves ; Under floods that are deepest, Which Neptune obey, Over rocks that are steepest. Love will find out the way. Where there is no place For the glow-worm to lie. Where there is no space For receipt of a fly ; Where the midge dares not venture Lest herself fast she lay. If Love come, he will enter And will find out the way. • ■ ■ • • Old English. [133] GOLDEN NUMBERS The The Sailor's Wife Inslenook . , ., • i <_ And are ye sure the news is tnier V And are ye sure he's weel? Is this a time to think o' wark? Ye jades, lay by your wheel; Is this the time to spin a thread; When Colin's at the door? Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay, And see him come ashore. For there's nae luck about the houses There's nae luck at a' ; There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa. And gie to me my bigonet, My bishop's satin gown; For I maun tell the baillie's wife That Colin's in the town. My Turkey slippers maun gae on, My stockins pearly blue ; It's a' to pleasure our gudeman, For he's baith leal and true. Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, Put on the muckle pot; Gie little Kate her button gown And Jock his Sunday coat; And mak their shoon as black as slaes, Their hose as white as snaw; [134] GOLDEN NUMBERS It's a' to please my ain gudeman, The For he's been long awa. Inglenook r There's twa fat hens upo' the coop Been fed this month and mair; Mak haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare; And spread the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look braw, For wha can tell how Colin fared When he was far awa? Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech. His breath like caller air; His very foot has music in't As he conies up the stair. And will I see his face again? And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought. In troth I'm like to greet! If Colin's weel, and weel content, I hae nae mair to crave; And gin I live to keep him sae, I'm blest aboon the lave: And will I see his face again? And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought. In troth I'm like to greet. [135] GOLDEN NUMBERS The For there's nae luck about the house, Inglenook There's nae luck at a' ; <^ There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa. William J. Mickle. r Evening at the Farm Over the hill the farm-boy goes. His shadow lengthens along the land, A giant staff in a giant hand ; In the poplar-tree, above the spring, The katydid begins to sing ; The early dews are falling; — Into the stone-heap darts the mink ; The swallows skim the river's brink; And home to the woodland fly the crows. When over the hill the farm-boy goes. Cheerily calling, " Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! co' ! " Farther, farther, over the hill. Faintly calling, calhng still, "Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'!" Into the yard the farmer goes. With grateful heart, at tl^e close of day: Harness and chain are hung away; [136] GOLDEN NUMBERS In the wagon-shed stand yoke and plough, The The straw's in the stack, the hay in the jnow, Inglenook The cooling dews are falling; — ^ The friendly sheep his welcome bleat, The pigs come grunting to his feet, And the whinnying mare her master knows, When into the yard the farmer goes, His cattle calling, — " Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! co' ! " While still the cow-hoy, far away. Goes seeking!- those that have gone astray, — " Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! " Now to her task the milkmaid goes. The cattle come crowding through the gate, Lowing, pushing, little and great; About the trough, by the farm-yard pump. The frolicsome yearlings frisk and jump. While the pleasant dews are falling ; — The new milch heifer is quick and shy. But the old cow waits with tranquil eye. And the white stream into the bright pail flows. When to her task the milkmaid goes. Soothingly calling, " So, boss ! so, boss ! so ! so ! so ! " The cheerful milkmaid takes her stool. And sits and milks in the twilight cool. Saying " So ! so, boss ! so ! so ! " [13T] GOLDEN NUMBERS The To supper at last the farmer goes. Inglenook rj^Y^^ apples are pared, the paper read, ^ The stories are told, then all to bed. Without, the crickets' ceaseless song Makes shrill the silence all night long; The heavy dews are falling. The housewife's hand has turned the lock ; Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock; The household sinks to deep repose. But still in sleep the farm-boy goes Singing, calling, — " Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! co' ! " And oft the milkmaid, in her dreams. Drums in the pail with the flashing streams. Murmuring " So, boss ! so ! " John Townsend Trowbridge. Home Song Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest; Home-keeping hearts are happiest, For those that wander they know not where Are full of trouble and full of care. To stay at home is best. Weary and homesick and distressed. They wander east, they wander west, [138] GOLDEN NUMBERS And are baffled, and beaten and blown about The By the winds of the wilderness of doubt ; Inglenook To stay at home is best. f' Then stay at home, my heart, and rest; The bird is safest in its nest: O'er all that flutter their wings and fly A hawk is hovering in the sky; To stay at home is best. Henry Wadswokth Longfellow. Etude Realiste I A baby's feet, like seashells pink. Might tempt, should heaven see meet. An angel's lips to kiss, we think, — A baby's feet. Like rose-hued sea-flowers toward the Ijeat They stretch and spread and wink Their ten soft buds that part and meet. No flower-bells that expand and shrink Gleam half so heavenly sweet, As shine on life's untrodden brink, — A baby's feet. [139] GOLDEN NUMBERS Inglenook The jj A baby's hands, like rosebuds furled, Where yet no leaf expands, Ope if you touch, though close upcurled, — A baby's hands. Then, even as warriors grip their brands When battle's bolt is hurled, Tliey close, clenched hard like tightening bands. No rose-buds yet by dawn impearled Match, even in loveliest lands. The sweetest flowers in all the world,— A baby's hands. Ill A baby's eyes, ere speech begin, Ere lips learn words or sighs. Bless all things bright enough to win A baby's eyes. Love while the sweet thing laughs and lies, An(J sleep flows out and in. Sees perfect in them Paradise! Their glance might cast out pain and sin. Their speech make dumb the wise. By mute glad godhead felt within A baby's eyes. Algernon Charles Swinburne. LUO] GOLDEN NUMBERS We Are Seven The , . , , ., , Inelenooh -A simple child, That lightly draws its breath, ▼ And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death? I met a little cottage girl: She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad: Her eyes were fair, and very fair; — Her beauty made me glad. " Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be .'' " " How many? Seven in all," she said. And wondering looked at me. " And where are they ? I pray you tell." She answered, " Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell. And two are gone to sea. " Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And, in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother." [141] GOLDEN NUMBERS The " You say that two at Conway dwell, Inglenook ^jj^j ^^^ ^^j.^ gone to sea,