VIGIL

There is a glen beneath a lonely hill, Where the deep tangles of the red brake fern Huddle to death and beautifully burn, While maiden birches flame along the sunset still. Like morning lamps they fade; their gold expires Among the silvery shadows of each stem. Delicious light gently departs from them Where winter bloweth out the autumn’s final fires. Furzes, all agate-budded for the spring, Hedge round about the coomb and, higher still, A mist of naked branches hides the hill, And pines bring warmth and scent and dusky sheltering. How oft have I within this vernal wood Watched the green mantle and the sweet sap mount. Trees are mine own familiars; them I count Among the changeless hearts that make my chiefest good. How often, when the first of blossoms come, Do I behold the opening of their eyes. Mine is the worship; theirs the shy surprise That I so well should know each punctual haunt and home. Here have I watched full many a night from far Like lover shadowy, ere set of sun, Dark-eyed steal hither, and when day was done, Mist meet the gentle moon; dew, the eternal star. Once more the stroke of every madcap wind Doth shake the bough and dash the ripe fruit down, Or shower red leaves and berries for a crown, October’s stormy hair to glorify and bind. Again I see; again I sigh to see The fading, flaming year sink to her end, Another summer—sure another friend— Decline and die and pass with music solemnly. Farewell, ye happy, rainbow-winged hours; The autumn’s dew and bitter, silver breath Shall freeze your rosy feet, and strike to death Your spirits where ye drowse amid the withered flowers. Farewell ye domes and canopies of June Raining upon the earth in red and gold; Hiding the sodden bosom of the wold; Flying like little ghosts, beneath the hunter’s moon. Beside the passing year my watch I keep And mark the sad-eyed gloamings steal away, And feel the low and lemon light of day Fade, like an aching care, upon the fringe of sleep.