Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/113

Rh 'T is the bird that was heard

On the fields drenched with blood

By the dark southern flood

When they died in the night.

V

But you cannot split granite

Howsoe'er you may plan it,

Without bringing blood;

(There's a drop of mine there

On that block four-square).

Certain oaths, I'm aware,

Sudden, hot, and not good

(May Heaven cleanse the guilt!)

In these stone walls are built;—

With the wind through the pine-wood blowing,

The creak of tree on tree,

Child-laughter, and the lowing

Of the homeward-driven cattle,

The sound of wild birds singing,

Of steel on granite ringing,

The memory of battle,

And tales of the roaring sea.

VI

For my chimney was builded

By a Plymouth County sailor,

An old North Sea whaler.

In the warm noon spell

'T was good to hear him tell

Of the great September blow

A dozen years ago:—

How at dawn of the day

The wind began to play,