For evergreen my joy is, Like any cedar tree; It makes a tune of ice and snow And whispers it to me. TANAGER Scarlet bird! Whence have you fluttered into my green gloom, My sleepy solitude, on quiet wing, Your voice unheard? Why do you linger there upon the tree. And still forbear to sing, As if your message were a silent doom? O torch of fire; Enkindled at the flame of heart’s desire. In some enchanted land! O wingèd rose. Blown from the living garden of delight! O flash of joy Deliriously bright. Escaping from the heart of some fierce boy, Or girl who thrills and glows! O dream incarnadine Out of the jeweled past; red rapture that was mine! Why sent to torture me? You cut the shadow like an open wound; The forest bleeds with your intensity, In a mysterious anguish unrelieved by sound. And when you flit away, Back to your radiant realm, your vivid day, And shivering I shall gaze Down the dim alley empty of your blaze, The darkness will be darker evermore, The silence stiller than it was before. Then faded peace will brood— A moment stirred In the transfigured wood, O scarlet bird! SONG Oh, yes, I love you still, my lad, For that is woman’s way; A whole life long of tenderness For the fancy of a day. I gave you golden loyalty And starry faith to wear. You gave me pearls that were my tears, And silver in my hair. You gave me something less than good, I gave the best I had. But yes—the man I thought you were, I love him still, my lad. THE KNOCK Did you knock at the door, my Dear? Knock, and I fail to hear? Was I so eager to bind my hair, And fasten a flower to make me fair; Study a book that I might be wise, Or make you a song for a sweet surprise? Mixing a cake, Saying a prayer, All for your sake, All for your care— So busily happy I did not hear When you knocked, my Dear! Will you pass to another door, And knock at my own no more?