Brother, lost brother! 
Thou of mine ancient kin! 
Thou of the swift will that no ponderings smother! 
The dumb life in me fumbles out to the shade
Thou lurkest in. 
In vain—­evasive ever through the glade
Departing footsteps fail;
And only where the grasses have been pressed,
Or by snapped twigs I follow a fruitless trail. 
So—­give o’er the quest! 
Sprawl on the roots and moss! 
Let the lithe garter squirm across my throat! 
Let the slow clouds and leaves above me float
Into mine eyeballs and across,—­
Nor think them further!  Lo, the marvel! now,
Thou whom my soul desireth, even thou
Sprawl’st by my side, who fled’st at my pursuit. 
I hear thy fluting; at my shoulder there
I see the sharp ears through the tangled hair,
And birds and bunnies at thy music mute.

A FAUN’S SONG.

Cool! cool! cool! 
Cool and sweet
The feel of the moss at my feet! 
And sweet and cool
The touch of the wind, of the wind!

Cool wind out of the blue,
At the touch of you
A little wave crinkles and flows
All over me down to my toes.

“Coo-loo!  Coo-loo!”
Hear the doves in the tree-tops croon. 
“Coo-loo!  Coo-loo!”
Love comes soon.

“June!  June!”
The veery sings,
Sings and sings,
“June!  June!”—­
A pretty tune!

Wind with your weight of perfume,
Bring me the bluebells’ bloom!

Quince to Lilac:  To G. H.

Dear Lilac, how enchanting
To hear of you this way! 
The Man who comes a-mouching
To visit me each day

Says you too have a lover
Far lovelier than I.
And from his rapt description,
She loves you gloriously.

The Man prowls out each morning
To see if spring’s begun. 
What infinite amusement
These creatures offer one!

He asks me such conundrums
As no one ever heard: 
The name of April’s father,
The trail of every bird,

What keeps me warm in winter,
Who wakes me up in time,
And why procrastination
Is such a fearful crime.

And yet, who knows?  He may be
Our equal ages hence—­
With such pathetic glimmers
Of weird intelligence!

But this your blessed alien,
Why strays she roving here? 
Was Orpheus not her brother,
Persephone her peer?

Was she not once a dryad
Whom Syrinx lulled to sleep
Beside the Dorian water,
And still her eyelids keep

The glad unperished secret
From centuries of joy,
And memories of the morning
When Helen sailed for Troy?

Is her name Gertrude, Kitty,
Hypatia, or what? 
I seem to half remember,
And yet have quite forgot.

That soft Hellenic laughter! 
I marvel you don’t make
An effort to be early
In budding for her sake.