At daybreak came a gusty song: 
  “Shout! the winds are strong. 
  The little people of the leaves are fled. 
  Shout!  The Autumn is dead!”

III

  The storm is ended!  The impartial sun
  Laughs down upon the battle lost and won,
  And crowns the triumph of the cloudy host
  In rolling lines retreating to the coast.

  But we, fond lovers of the woodland shade,
  And grateful friends of every fallen leaf,
  Forget the glories of the cloud-parade,
  And walk the ruined woods in quiet grief.

  For ever so our thoughtful hearts repeat
  On fields of triumph dirges of defeat;
  And still we turn on gala-days to tread
  Among the rustling memories of the dead.

1874.

A SNOW-SONG

  Does the snow fall at sea? 
    Yes, when the north winds blow,
    When the wild clouds fly low,
    Out of each gloomy wing,
    Silently glimmering,
    Over the stormy sea
      Falleth the snow.

  Does the snow hide the sea? 
    Nay, on the tossing plains
    Never a flake remains;
    Drift never resteth there;
    Vanishing everywhere,
    Into the hungry sea
      Falleth the snow.

  What means the snow at sea? 
    Whirled in the veering blast,
    Thickly the flakes drive past;
    Each like a childish ghost
    Wavers, and then is lost;
    In the forgetful sea
      Fadeth the snow.

1875.

ROSLIN AND HAWTHORNDEN

  Fair Roslin Chapel, how divine
  The art that reared thy costly shrine! 
  Thy carven columns must have grown
  By magic, like a dream in stone.

  Yet not within thy storied wall
  Would I in adoration fall,
  So gladly as within the glen
  That leads to lovely Hawthornden.

  A long-drawn aisle, with roof of green
  And vine-clad pillars, while between,
  The Esk runs murmuring on its way,
  In living music night and day.

  Within the temple of this wood
  The martyrs of the covenant stood,
  And rolled the psalm, and poured the prayer,
  From Nature’s solemn altar-stair.

Edinburgh, 1877.

SONGS OUT OF DOORS

LATER POEMS

WHEN TULIPS BLOOM

I

  When tulips bloom in Union Square,
  And timid breaths of vernal air
    Go wandering down the dusty town,
  Like children lost in Vanity Fair;

  When every long, unlovely row
  Of westward houses stands aglow,
    And leads the eyes to sunset skies
  Beyond the hills where green trees grow;