Ave Atque Vale

I

You found the green before the Spring was sweet
And in the boughs the color of a rose,
The haunting fragrance that the south-wind knows
When May has wandered far on questing feet;

And in your heart — a wild note, full and fleet,
The first cry of a gladdened bird that goes
North to the fields of winter-laden snows,
Joyous against the blast and stinging sleet.

And now the Spring is here, the snows are gone,
The apple-blossoms fall from every tree
And all the branches throb with love and Spring;
But never comes one note to greet the dawn,
Never again a wild-glad melody —
God speed, great soul, your valiant wandering!

II

Your hand that traced these lines, and now is dust!
How strange, to-night, this thing of life and death
Where my low candle-flame o'ershadoweth
What once knew youth in its first joyous trust;

So simple and so near, as if you must
Still linger somewhere — yet no answer saith
Its golden word, no magic-freighted breath,
Only a heart-beat stilled in rainbow-rust.

Stilled in the music of a yester-year
That ever echoes its sweet instrument,
And richly sings across an unknown sea;
But these dim lines — so vital they appear,
So full of youth and joy and life's intent,
Ah, this it is that seems so strange to me!

III

How quiet are their voices on the wind
As they toss sadly in a darkened sky,
And yet, mayhap, to you old words imply
That all my questing days I shall not find;
For never more may earthly vestures bind,
But stripped away from things that needs must die,
Deep in that youth where death's strange secrets lie
And whose faint whispers fall on us behind.

Therefore to you the voices harbor peace,
Their ancient patience do you know at last, —
Yet more, the inmost murmuring of these;
And in that mystic lore beyond release,
In one full instant from a treasured past,
Mayhap, you heard the Message of the Trees!

IV

I stood to-day upon time's border-land
And looked far off across each rolling year.
Yet scarcely their great thunder did I hear
Nor marked the wreckage of the changing sand;
For one soft note persuasive did command
All other tones that reached my quickened ear.
And in that note a message low and clear
That I so plainly seemed to understand,

As in the saddened passing of fair things
The sorrow of the sunset and the dawn;
For death that comes when life's hour least should fail —
Ever the moment's hush of lifted wings,
A gleam of wonder ere the flood is gone. . . .
The host uncovered from its mortal veil!

V

October almost holds her golden sway
Across these hills and through the slopes between,
As if for you some sacrament unseen
Were now unfolded in a silent way, —
As if for you pale memory astray
Had touched each spot of misted summer green,
And in the coolness where the shadows lean
Had whispered of a cherished yesterday.

For one to whom you gave your youth's full praise
Now takes you back into her hallowed rest
With all the loveliness that is your due,
Yielding the precious beauty of her days
To your deep sleep upon her tranquil breast, —
Giving you back her deathless love of you!