“ Come, for it is April, and her hands have loosed the tether
That has bound for long her children.—who her children more than we?
Hark! hear you not how the strong waters thunder
Down through the alders with the word they have to bring?
Even now they win the meadow and the withered turf is under,
And, above, the willows quiver with foreknowledge of the spring. ”

“ Between the midnight and the dawn
We came out on the farther side;
—What if the wood was dark and wide?
Its shadows now here far withdrawn,
And O the white stars in the sky!
And O the glitter of the snow!—
Henceforth we know our feet should know
Fair ways to travel—she and I—
For One—Whose shadow is the Night—
Unwound them where the Great Bear swung
And wide across the darkness flung
The ribbons of the Northern Light.
XI. THE LODGER.
What! and do you find it good,
Sitting here alone with me?
Hark! the wind goes through the wood
And the snow drifts heavily ”

“ Where our little house loomed dark against the snow.
And that night, too—remember?—outside our quiet house,
Just before the dawn we heard the moaning wind:
Only then its wings were weighted with the storm itself created
And it hid the very things it came to find.
In the morn, when we arose, and looked out across the fields,
(Hark the branches! how they shatter overhead!) ”

“ Only three of our old days, and—should she help to choose them
Would the first not be in April, beside the sudden streams?......
Once, upon a morning, up the path that we had taken,
We saw Spring come where the willow-buds are grey;
Heard the high hills, as with tread of armies, shaken;
Felt the strong sun—O, the glory of that day!
And then—what? one afternoon of quiet summer weather
O, woodlands and meadow-lands along the blue St. John,
My birch finds a path—though your rafts lie close together—
Then O! what starry miles before the grey o' the dawn!........ ”

“ Through the thick alders you will break your way:
Then your hand in mine, and our path is on the waters,—
For us the long shadows and the end of day.
Whither shall we go? See, over to the westward,
An hour of precious gold standeth still for you and me;
Still gleams the grain, all yellow on the uplands;
West is it, or East, O Love that you would be?
West now, or East? For, underneath the moonrise,
Also it is fair; and where the reeds are tall,
And the only little noise is the sound of quiet waters,
Heavy, like the rain, we shall hear the duck-oats fall. ”

“ Pleasant graves we digged them, we the valorous,—
Then to the road again, striving to forget.
Once again upon the road! The seasons passed us by—
Blood-root and mayflowers, grasses straight and tall,
Scarlet banners on the hills, snowdrifts white and high,—
One by one we lived them through, giving thanks for all.
O, the countries that we found in our wandering!
Wide seas without a sail, islands fringed with foam,
Undiscovered till we came, waiting for their king,—
We might tarry but a while, far away from home.
Far away the home we sought,—soon we must be gone ”