Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/366

350 ALICE GARY. [1840-50. Coquetting all day with the sunbeams, And stealing their golden edge ; Not for the vines on the upland Where the bright red berries rest, Nor the pinks, nor the pale sweet cowslip, It seemeth to me the best. I once had a little brother With eyes that were dark and deep — In the lap of that old dim forest He lieth in peace asleep ; Light as the down of the thistle, Free as the winds that blow, We roved there, the beautiful summers. The summers of long ago ; But his feet on the hills grew weary, And, one of the Autumn eves, I made for my little brother A bed of the yellow leaves. Sweetly his pale arms folded My neck in a meek embrace. As the light of immoi'tal beauty Silently covered his face. And when the arrows of sunset Lodged in the tree-tops bright, He fell, in his saint-like beauty, Asleep by the gates of light. Therefore, of all the pictures That hang on Memory's wall. The one of the dim old forest Seemeth the best of all. HARVEST TIME. God's blessing on the reapers ! all day long A quiet sense of peace my spirit fills, As whistled fragments of untutored song Blend with the rush of sickles on the hills ; And the blue wild flowers and green brier- leaves Are brightly tangled with the yellow sheaves. Where straight and even the new furrows lie, The cornstalks in their rising beauty stand ; Heaven's loving smile upon man's industry Makes beautiful with plenty the wide land. The barns, pressed out with the sweet hay, I see. And feel how more than good God is to me ! In the cool thicket the red robin sings. And merrily before the mower's scythe Chirps the green grasshopper, while slowly swings, In the scarce-swaying air, the willow lithe ; And clouds sail softly through the upper calms, White as the fleeces of the unshorn lambs. Outstretched beneath the venerable trees, Conning his long, hard task, the school- boy lies. And, like a fickle wooer, the light breeze Kisses his brow, then, scarcely sighing, flies; And all about him pinks and lilies stand. Painting with beauty the wide pasture- land. Oh, there are moments when we half for- get The rough, harsh grating of the file of Time ; And I that believe angels come down yet And Avalk with us, as in Eden clime. Binding the heart away from woe and strife. With leaves of healing from the Tree of Life. And they are most unworthy who behold The bountiful provisions of God's care,