Wind of the East,

Wind of the sunrise seas,

Wind of the clinging mists and gray, harsh rains,

Blow moist and chill across the wastes of brine,

And shut the sun out, and the moon and stars,

In fairy bays where water-lilies float; To hear your reel's whirr echoed by the throat

Of a wild mocking-bird, or round some turn To chance upon a wood-duck's brood that churn

Swift passage toward their mother's warn ing note,

This is to rule a realm that nevermore May aught but restful weariness invade; This is to live again the old days o'er, When nymph and dryad haunted stream and glade;

To dream sweet, idle dreams of having strayed

To Arcady, with all its golden lore.

HEART OF OAK

LEAN close and set thine ear against the bark;

Then tell me what faint, murmurous sounds are heard:

Hath not the oak stored up the song of bird, Whisper of wind and rain-lisp? Ay, and

hark!

The shadowy elves that fret the summer dark,

With clash of horny winglets swiftly whirred,

blurred,

The glory passed from bough to bough –
The maple was in blossom now,
And then the oak, remembering
The crimson hint it gave in spring,
And every tree its branches swayed
And offered its inviting shade;
Where'er a bough detained him long,
A slender, silver thread of song
Was lightly, merrily unspun.
From early morn till day was done

The vision flitted to and fro.
At last the wood was all alone;
But, ere the restless flame had flown,
He left a secret with each bough,
And in the Fall, where one is now,

A thousand tanagers will glow.

MY LITTLE NEIGHBOR My little neighbor's table 's set, And slyly he comes down the tree, Ilis feet firm in each tiny fret

The bark has fashioned cunningly.

He pauses on a favorite knot;

Beneath the oak his feast is spread; He asks no friend to share his lot,

Or dine with him on acorn bread.

He keeps his whiskers trim and neat,
His tail with care he brushes through;
He runs about on all four feet —
When dining he sits up on two.

He has the latest stripe in furs,
And wears them all the year around;
He does not mind the prick of burs
When there are chestnuts to be found.

I watch his home and guard his store, A cozy hollow in a tree;

He often sits within his door

And chatters wondrous things to me.

THE LAMP

HAST thou a lamp, a little lamp,

Put in that hand of thine ?

And did He say, who gave it thee,
The world hath need this light should be,
Now, therefore, let it shine?

And dost thou say, with bated breath,
It is a little flame;

I'll let the lamps of broader wick
Seck out the lost and cheer the sick,
While I seck wealth and fame ?

But on the shore where thy small house Stands dark, stands dark, this night, Full many a wanderer, thither tossed,

Is driven on that rock and lost,
Where thou hast hid thy light.

Though but a candle thou didst have, ·
Its trimmed and glowing ray
Is infinite. With God, no light
Is great or small, but only bright,
As is his perfect day.

The world hath sorrow, nothing more,
To give or keep for thee;
Duty is in that hidden flame,
And scaring joy: then rise for shame
That thou so dark shouldst be.

Rise, trim thy lamp; the feeble past
Behind thee put and spurn.

As I came down Mount Tamalpais,
To north the fair Sonoma Hills
Lay like a trembling thread of blue
Beneath a sky of daffodils;
Through tules green a silver stream
Ran south to meet the tranquil bay,
Whispering a dreamy, tender talo

Of vales and valleys far away.

As I came down Mount Tamalpais,
To south the city brightly shone,
Touched by the sunset's good-night kiss
Across the golden ocean blown;
I saw its hills, its tapering masts,

I almost heard its tramp and tread, And saw against the sky the cross Which marks the City of the Dead.

As I came down Mount Tamalpais
To cast San Pablo's water lay,
Touched with a holy purple light,
The benediction of the day;

No ripple on its twilight tido,
No parting of its evening veil,
Save dimly in the far-off linze

One dreamy, yellow sunset sail.

As I came down Mount Tamalpais,

To west Heaven's gateway opened wide, And through it, freighted with day-cares, The cloud-ships floated with the tide; Then, silently through stilly air,

Starlight flew down from Paradise, Folded her silver wings and slept Upon the slopes of Tamalpais.

BLONDEL

WITHIN my heart I long have kept
A little chamber cleanly swept,
Embroidered with a fleur-de-lis,
And lintel boughs of redwood-tree;
A bed, a book, a crucifix,
Two little copper candlesticks
With tapers ready for the match
The moment I his footfall catch,

That when in thought he comes to me He straightway at his ease may be. This guest I love so to allureBlondel, King Richard's Troubadour !

He often comes, but sings no more
(He says his singing days are o'er !);
Still, sweet of tongue and filled with tales
Of knights and ladies, bowers and vales,
He caps our frugal meal with talk
Of langue d'oil and langue d'oc,
Of Picardy and Aquitaine,
Blanche of Castile and Charlemagne,
Of ménestrel, trouvère, conteur,
Mime, histrion, and old harpeur-

Small wonder that I love him well,
King Richard's troubadour, Blondel!
Still, as he comes at candle-light
And goes before the east is bright,
I have no heart to beg him keep
Late hour with me when wooed by sleep;
But one request I ever make,
And ever no for answer take:
He will not make the secret mine,
What song he sang at Dürrenstein!
Sleep, troubadour! Enough that thou
With that sweet lay didst keep thy vow
And link thy name by deathless art
With Richard of the Lion Heart!