Page:The Poet in the Desert.djvu/62



Down into the caverns of the sky,

And all was freedom.

The little birds fluttered in and out the leafy coverts ;

The hawks slanted to the breeze,

And the squirrels ran about,

Sitting erect, suddenly, questioning.

The flowers blossomed without a governor,

And the beautiful madrona-trees.

With limbs smooth as the limbs of nymphs,

Whispered to the roving winds.

But you, my brothers and my sisters.

Cannot watch the depthless blue

From under a wide-spreading oak.

There are hills for all and oaks for all.

And the airy blue covers the world ;

But you may not lie at ease awhile upon a hill-top.

And examine your souls.

You sit under a dark roof through which

Filters neither sun, nor stars.

You are robbed of your inheritance.

From the hill-top may be seen the skyey threads

Which are the rivers.

I may go down to them and lie by them.

Refilling the vessels of my soul;

But what to you, oh work-worn, weary ones.

Are the secret conversations of the waters?

Do they carry you afar, enchanted and enthralled.

Like half-heard, mystic, murmured incantations

Of soft-shod, hushed magicians

Who lift you, sleeping, and in Lethean langour

Bear you unto the perfect meadows?

Do the white-handed nymphs await your coming

And hide within the fragrant fringes.

Slender rushes, mint and mallow?

Do you. Life-cheated brothers.

Hear the continuous warble of the hidden nymphs?

Their far, faint laughter?

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