Parnassus

THE pines were dark on Ramoth hill,

Their song was soft and low; The blossoms in the sweet May wind

Were falling like the snow.

The blossoms drifted at our feet,
The orchard birds sang clear:
The sweetest and the saddest day
It seemed of all the year.

For, more to me than birds
flowers,

ΟΙ

My playmate left her home, And took with her the laughing spring,

The music and the bloom.

She kissed the lips of kith and kin,
She laid her hand in mine:
What more could ask the bashful
boy

Who fed her father's kine?

She left us in the bloom of May:
The constant years told o'er
Their seasons with as sweet May
morns;

But she came back no more.

I walk with noiseless feet the round
Of uneventful years:

Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring
And reap the autumn ears.

She lives where all the golden year
Her summer roses blow:
The dusky children of the sun
Before her come and go.

There haply with her jewelled hands
She smooths her silken gown, -
No more the homespun lap wherein
I shook the walnuts down.

The wild grapes wait us by the brook,
The brown nuts on the hill,
And still the May-day flowers make

sweet

The woods of Follymill.

The lilies blossom in the pond;

The bird builds in the tree; The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill The slow song of the sea.

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