THE WAKING.
Over his head the chafer hummeth,
Under his feet shut daisies bend:
Waken, man! the enemy cometh,
Thy neighbor, counted so long a friend.
He cannot waken--and firm, and steady,
The enemy comes with lowering brow;
He looks for war, his heart is ready,
His thoughts are bitter--he will not bow.
He fronts the seat,--the dream is flinging
A spell that his footsteps may not break,--
But one in the garden of hops is singing--
The dreamer hears it, and starts awake.
V. A SONG.
Walking apart, she thinks none listen;
And now she carols, and now she stops;
And the evening star begins to glisten
Atween the lines of blossoming hops.
Sweetest Mercy, your mother taught you
All uses and cares that to maids belong;
Apt scholar to read and to sew she thought you--
She did not teach you that tender song--
"The lady sang in her charmed bower,
Sheltered and safe under roses blown--
'_Storm cannot touch me, hail, nor shower,
Where all alone I sit, all alone.
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