WOODCRAFT. He makes his way with speed and ease The tameless bee he follows home; The gnarly vine no vintner binds, Lacks he a roof? the withe he bends, Lacks he a fire?- the kindling spark He bids the chafed wood reveal;
He frames a lightsome keel. WOOD CRAFT. And that he may not savage be, He carves a flute whose yearning tones, Wake love in clods and stones. 51 A FLUTE. "How shall I liken thee, reed of my choice, Spirit-like, fugitive, wavering voice?" "I am an oread lost to the hills, rills; Sick for the mountain wind tossing my Looked from their watch-towers, far on the sea." "How wast thou taken, sweet, lost to the hills, Footprints of thine no more seen by the rills?" "Quickly I answer thee: Sorrow came by, Made me her foster-child, loving my cry!" THE WILD SOWER. UP and down the land I go, Farmer goes with leathern scrip, Fills the harrowed earth with seed; In the selfsame score I slip Germs of many a lusty weed. He sows wheat, and I sow tare, Rain and sunshine second toil; Tame and wild these acres share, Wrestling for the right of soil. I stand by and clap my hands, Cheering on my urchin bands. Mine the cockle in the rye, 54 THE WILD SOWER. And the daisy's white-fringed eye, Mine the lilies, hot and bright, Whoso fleeth to the woods, Whoso buildeth on the plains, Many serve me, unaware, Shaggy herds that ceaseless roam, And the rovers of the air Passing to their winter home; Thus, a sower wild, I go, Trafficking with every clime; That shall vex your harvest-time; |