Classic Poem

I. CHILDREN'S KISSES

S O ; it is nightfall then.
The valley flush
That beckoned home the way for herds and men,
Is hardly spent.
Down the bright pathway winds, through veils of hush
And wonderment.
Unuttered yet, the chime
That tells of folding-time;
Hardly the sun has set.
The trees are sweetly troubled with bright words
From new-alighted birds; —
And yet, ...
Here, — round my neck, are come to cling and twine,
The arms, the folding arms, close, close and fain,
All mine! —
I pleaded to, in vain,
I reached for, only to their dimpled scorning,
Down the blue halls of Morning;

Where all things else could lure them on and on,
Now here, now gone, —
From bush to bush, from beckoning bough to bough,
With bird-calls of Come Hither! —
... Ah, but now,
Now it is dusk. — And from his heaven of mirth,
A wilding skylark, sudden dropt to earth
Along the last low sunbeam yellow-moted,
Athrob with joy, —
There pushes here, a little golden Boy,
Still-gazing with great eyes.
And wonder-wise,
All fragrancy, all valor silver-throated,
My daughterling, my swan,
My Alison!

Closer than homing lambs against the bars
At folding-time, that crowd, all mother-warm,
They crowd, — they cling, they wreathe;
And thick as sparkles of the thronging stars,
Their kisses swarm.

O Rose of being, at whose heart I breathe,
Fold over; hold me fast
In the dark Eden of a blinding kiss.
And lightning heart's-desire, be still at last!
Heart can no more, —
Life can no more,
Than this.