Page:The Poems of Henry Kendall (1920).djvu/119

 And, softer than slumber, and sweeter than singing,

The notes of the bell-birds are running and ringing.

The silver-voiced bell-birds, the darlings of day-time,

They sing in September their songs of the May-time.

When shadows wax strong and the thunder-bolts hurtle,

They hide with their fear in the leaves of the myrtle;

When rain and the sunbeams shine mingled together

They start up like fairies that follow fair weather,

And straightway the hues of their feathers unfolden

Are the green and the purple, the blue and the golden.

October, the maiden of bright yellow tresses,

Loiters for love in these cool wildernesses;

Loiters knee-deep in the grasses to listen,

Where dripping rocks gleam and the leafy pools glisten.

Then is the time when the water-moons splendid

Break with their gold, and are scattered or blended

Over the creeks, till the woodlands have warning

Of songs of the bell-bird and wings of the morning.

Welcome as waters unkissed by the summers

Are the voices of bell-birds to thirsty far-comers.

When fiery December sets foot in the forest,

And the need of the wayfarer presses the sorest,

Pent in the ridges for ever and ever.

The bell-birds direct him to spring and to river,

With ring and with ripple, like runnels whose torrents

Are toned by the pebbles and leaves in the currents.

Often I sit, looking back to a childhood

Mixt with the sights and the sounds of the wildwood,

Longing for power and the sweetness to fashion

Lyrics with beats like the heart-beats of passion—

Songs interwoven of lights and of laughters

Borrowed from bell-birds in far forest rafters;

So I might keep in the city and alleys

The beauty and strength of the deep mountain valleys,

Charming to slumber the pain of my losses

With glimpses of creeks and a vision of mosses.