Lit2Go

Comes slumb’rous haze to cloudless sky;
Come Northern birds—that hither fly
Autmnally!
—Naught else—comes here, ‘midst tropic dream
That might to heart-sick North-man seem
—As used to be.

My yellowed fruit’midst glossy leaves;
My orchid bloom!—Each prize receives
Cold care from me.
For autumn comes!—Of all the year
One time that tropics fail tocheer,And heaven be.

The bamboos’ spell;—palms’ sirensong;—
All green hot things—just now seem wrong!
...Cold-gleaming star!
Rare tangs—rich glows—rush back to me!
And dully now, I feel to be
—Exiled a-far.

Within a cypress jungle near
Barbaric palms proud tufts uprear
Through strangling vine.
And, strangely, here sparse maple trees
Despondent,—breate an alien breeze.
—I call them mene.

If borne on birds south-winging flight;
Or Nature-sown,—to mock their plight:—
No one can know…
To keep from them dank growths away
That, reptile-armed, reach out to slay,—
—I often go.

The pilgrim flocks are ‘lighting now
At far-sought goal by jungle slough;
—November’s sign!
...From growth that but one colour know,
I turn—to my brave maples’ glow
—As to a shrine!

And now to me those maples seem
As friendly door to far-off dream
—No more to be.
Now, as I dabble in their leaves
I feel with me a spirit grieves
—In sympathy.

They seem to draw themselves apart
From Leavage cursed with savage art
Of Greenery!
In allen land of unknown speech—
My maples now a lesson teach
—Of canstancy.

For, when the birds in jungle trees
Shed norhter speech on tropic breeze
—My maples know!
...And do a brave and honest thing!
...Though savage-clutched in green-fraught ring,—
—They strive to glow!

And gumbo-limbo, palm, and bay;—
The reptile vines—the moss green-gray;
The wonder see!
And as my maples bravely flare,—
I fancy, now, the live-oaks stare
—In jealousy!

The breeze that lilts their starving reds
Stirs murm’ring, deep-despondent heads
To memory.
...And then I’m sure my maples dream
Of far ancestral woods;—a-gleam
Like golden sea.

Of kindred trees by rushing run
Where flashing trout greet cooper sun’Mongst mighty mounds.
—Of brother leaves—like painted ship—
That down Canadian rivers slip
To’wards roaring sounds!

Of sister rows;—by quiet street
Where homeward children yelling greet
Fresh garment-heaps!
And grandly plunge through flaming mounds,
In engines huge—propelled by sounds,
Up fancied steeps!

Of kinkdly kin by trysting lane;
Where glowing Jack, and star-eyed Jane
Stroll Happily.
...My maples then as spinsters seem,—
When hope is fled,—yet helpless dream
Maternally….

Now, poignant night comes rushing down,
In green-gray nauve my maples drown;
—ASs flaming star.
...Like leaving dead,—I turn away…
Ah! Deeply, now, I feel today—Exiled a-far.