All in long grass the piper stands,
Goodly and grave is he;

Outside the tower, at dawn of day,
The notes of his pipe ring free.

A thought from his heart doth reach to hers:
"Come down, O lady! to me."

She lifts her head, she dons her gown:
Ah! the lady is fair;

She ties the girdle on her waist,

And binds her flaxen hair,

And down she stealeth, down and down,
Down the turret stair.

Behold him! With the flock he wons
Along yon grassy lea.

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'My shepherd lord, my shepherd love,
What wilt thou, then, with me?

My heart is gone out of my breast,
And followeth on to thee."

II

"The white lambs feed in tender grass;
With them and thee to bide,
How good it were," she saith at noon;
"Albeit the meads are wide.

Oh! well is me," she saith when day

Draws on to eventide.

Hark! hark! the shepherd's voice. Oh, sweet!

Her tears drop down like rain.

"Take now this crook, my chosen, my fere,

And tend the flock full fain;

Feed them, O lady, and lose not one,

Till I shall come again."

Right soft her speech: "My will is thine,
And my reward thy grace!"
Gone are his footsteps over the hill,
Withdrawn his goodly face;

The mournful dusk begins to gather,
The daylight wanes apace.

III

On sunny slopes, ah! long the lady
Feedeth her flock at noon;

She leads it down to drink at eve
Where the small rivulets croon.
All night her locks are wet with dew,
Her eyes outwatch the moon.

Beyond the hills her voice is heard,
She sings when life doth wane:
"My longing heart is full of love,
Nor shall my watch be vain.
My shepherd lord, I see him not,
But he will come again."

O

SLEEP

(A Woman Speaks)

SLEEP, we are beholden to thee, sleep,
Thou bearest angels to us in the night,

Saints out of heaven with palms. Seen by thy light
Sorrow is some old tale that goeth not deep;

Love is a pouting child. Once I did sweep

Through space with thee, and, lo, a dazzling sight— Stars! They came on, I felt their drawing and

might;

And some had dark companions. Once (I weep

When I remember that) we sailed the tide,
And found fair isles, where no isles used to bide,
And met there my lost love, who said to me,
That 'twas a long mistake: he had not died.
Sleep, in the world to come how strange 'twill be
Never to want, never to wish for thee!

THE LONG WHITE SEAM

SI came round the harbor buoy,

As

The lights began to gleam,

No wave the land-locked water stirred,
The crags were white as cream;
And I marked my love by candle-light
Sewing her long white seam,

It's aye sewing ashore, my dear;
Watch and steer at sea,

It's reef and furl, and haul the line,
Set sail and think of thee.

Fair full the lights, the harbor-lights,

That brought me in to thee.

And peace drop down on that low roof
For the sight that I did see,

And the voice, my dear, that rang so clear
And for the love of me.

For O, for O, with brows bent low
By the candle's flickering gleam,
Her wedding-gown it was she wrought,
Sewing the long white seam.

WHEN SPARROWS BUILD

WHEN

HEN sparrows build, and the leaves break forth,

My old sorrow wakes and cries,

For I know there is dawn in the far, far north,
And a scarlet sun doth rise;

Like a scarlet fleece the snow-field spreads,
And the icy fount runs free;

And the bergs begin to bow their heads,
And plunge and sail in the sea.

, my lost love, and my own, own love, And my love that loved me so! Is there never a chink in the world above

Where they listen for words from below?
Nay, I spoke once, and I grieved thee sore;
I remembered all that I said;

And now thou wilt hear me no more-no more
Till the sea gives up her dead.

Thou didst set thy foot on the ship, and sail
To the ice-fields and the snow;

Thou wert sad, for thy love did not avail,
And the end I could not know.

How could I tell I should love thee to-day,
Whom that day I held not dear?
How could I tell I should love thee away
When I did not love thee anear?

We shall walk no more through the sodden plain,
With the faded bents o'erspread;

We shall stand no more by the seething main

While the dark wrack drives o'erhead;

We shall part no more in the wind and the rain Where thy last farewell was said;

But perhaps I shall meet thee and know thee again When the sea gives up her dead.

I

SAND MARTINS

PASSED an inland cliff precipitate;

From tiny caves peeped many a sooty poll; In each a mother-martin sat elate,

And of the news delivered her small soul.

Fantastic chatter! hasty, glad, and gay, Whereof the meaning was not ill to tell: "Gossip, how wags the world with you to-day? Gossip, the world wags well, the world wags well."

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And hearkening, I was sure their little ones
Were in the bird-talk, and discourse was made
Concerning hot sea-bights and tropic suns,
For a clear sultriness the tune conveyed;

And visions of the sky as of a cup

Hailing down light on pagan Pharaoh's sand, And quivering air-waves trembling up and up, And blank stone faces marvelously bland.

When should the young be fledged, and with them hie

Where costly day drops down in crimson light? (Fortunate countries of the firefly

Swarm with blue diamonds all the sultry night,

"And the immortal moon takes turn with them.) When should they pass again by that red land, Where lovely mirage works a broidered hem

To fringe with phantom palms a robe of sand?

"When should they dip their breasts again and play
In slumbrous azure pools clear as the air,
Where rosy-winged flamingoes fish all day,
Stalking amid the lotus blossoms fair?