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After Rain

For three whole days across the sky,

In sullen packs that loomed and broke,

With flying fringes dim as smoke,

The columns of the rain went by;

At every hour the wind awoke;

The darkness passed upon the plain;

The great drops rattled at the pane.

Now piped the wind, or far aloof

by Archibald Lampman

A Re-Assurance

With what doubting eyes, oh sparrow,

Thou regardest me,

Underneath yon spray of yarrow,

Dipping cautiously.

Fear me not, oh little sparrow,

Bathe and never fear,

For to me both pool and yarrow

And thyself are dear.

by Archibald Lampman

To My Wife

Though fancy and the might of rhyme,

That turneth like the tide,

Have borne me many a musing time,

Beloved, from thy side.

Ah yet, I pray thee, deem not, Sweet,

Those hours were given in vain;

Within these covers to thy feet

I bring them back again.

by Archibald Lampman

Lament Of The Winds

We in sorrow coldly witting,

In the bleak world sitting, sitting,

By the forest, near the mould,

Heard the summer calling, calling,

Through the dead leaves falling, falling,

That her life grew faint and old.

And we took her up, and bore her,

With the leaves that moaned before her,

by Archibald Lampman

Among The Millet

The dew is gleaming in the grass,

The morning hours are seven,

And I am fain to watch you pass,

Ye soft white clouds of heaven.

Ye stray and gather, part and fold;

The wind alone can tame you;

I think of what in time of old

The poets loved to name you.

by Archibald Lampman

Comfort of the Fields

What would'st thou have for easement after grief,

When the rude world hath used thee with despite,

And care sits at thine elbow day and night,

Filching thy pleasures like a subtle thief?

To me, when life besets me in such wise,

'Tis sweetest to break forth, to drop the chain,

And grasp the freedom of this pleasant earth,

To roam in idleness and sober mirth,

by Archibald Lampman

April

Pale season, watcher in unvexed suspense,

Still priestess of the patient middle day,

Betwixt wild March's humored petulance

And the warm wooing of green kirtled May,

Maid month of sunny peace and sober grey,

Weaver of flowers in sunward glades that ring

With murmur of libation to the spring:

As memory of pain, all past, is peace,

by Archibald Lampman

Winter-Store

Subtly conscious, all awake,

Let us clear our eyes, and break

Through the cloudy chrysalis,

See the wonder as it is.

Down a narrow alley, blind,

Touch and vision, heart and mind,

Turned sharply inward, still we plod,

Till the calmly smiling god

by Archibald Lampman

By An Autumn Stream

Now overhead,

Where the rivulet loiters and stops,

The bittersweet hangs from the tops

Of the alders and cherries

Its bunches of beautiful berries,

Orange and red.

And the snowbirds flee,

Tossing up on the far brown field,

by Archibald Lampman

A Ballade of Waiting

No girdle hath weaver or goldsmith wrought

So rich as the arms of my love can be;

No gems with a lovelier lustre fraught

Than her eyes, when they answer me liquidly.

Dear lady of love, be kind to me

In days when the waters of hope abate,

And doubt like a shimmer on sand shall be,

In the year yet, Lady, to dream and wait.

by Archibald Lampman

Ballade of Summer's Sleep

Sweet summer is gone; they have laid her away—

The last sad hours that were touched with her grace—

In the hush where the ghosts of the dead flowers play;

The sleep that is sweet of her slumbering space

Let not a sight or a sound erase

Of the woe that hath fallen on all the lands:

Gather, ye dreams, to her sunny face,

Shadow her head with your golden hands.

by Archibald Lampman

April in the Hills

To-day the world is wide and fair

With sunny fields of lucid air,

And waters dancing everywhere;

The snow is almost gone;

The noon is builded high with light,

And over heaven's liquid height,

In steady fleets serene and white,

The happy clouds go on.

by Archibald Lampman