Classic Poem

Lured as the Earth lures Summer,
Wooing as Sunlight the Seed—
I am the mystical Comer,
I am the Will and the Deed!

Over and over forever
The glad sad story is told;
Fleeing, escaping me never,
I am your Shower of Gold.

Subtle as April creeping
Flower-shod out of the South,
I am the dream of your sleeping,
Fever am I at your mouth.

I am the sap-lift singing
The hope of a last glad birth:
I am the May-Fog clinging—
You are the Earth!

And mine are the pangful kisses
That waken the Dream in the Dust;
Bringer of aching blisses,
Cruel I seem as Lust.

I come like a wind of disaster,
Flinging the whips of the rain;
O, I am a pitiless Master—
I am glorified Pain.

This is the Story of stories—
(The Rain and the Seed and the Sod)—
Awful with glooms and glories,
These are the rites of the god!

But O, when the storm and its riot
Sleeps in the after-hush,
I am the dawn-filled quiet—
I am the thrush.

I am the sun to cherish,
I am the dew to feed
You with your blooms that perish,
Martyrs unto the seed.

Ancient and ending never,
This is the Law and the Plan.
O, you are the Woman forever—