THE VALLEY’S SINGING DAY The sound of the closing outside door was all. You made no sound in the grass with your footfall, As far as you went from the door, which was not far; But you had awakened under the morning star The first song-bird that awakened all the rest. He could have slept but a moment more at best. Already determined dawn began to lay In place across a cloud the slender ray For prying beneath and forcing the lids of sight, And loosing the pent-up music of over-night. But dawn was not to begin their “pearly-pearly” (By which they mean the rain is pearls so early, Before it changes to diamonds in the sun), Neither was song that day to be self-begun. You had begun it, and if there needed proof— I was asleep still under the dripping roof, My window curtain hung over the sill to wet; But I should awake to confirm your story yet; I should be willing to say and help you say That once you had opened the valley’s singing day. MISGIVING All crying “We will go with you, O Wind!” The foliage follow him, leaf and stem; But a sleep oppresses them as they go, And they end by bidding him stay with them. Since ever they flung abroad in spring The leaves had promised themselves this flight, Who now would fain seek sheltering wall, Or thicket, or hollow place for the night. And now they answer his summoning blast With an ever vaguer and vaguer stir, Or at utmost a little reluctant whirl That drops them no further than where they were. I only hope that when I am free As they are free to go in quest Of the knowledge beyond the bounds of life It may not seem better to me to rest. A HILLSIDE THAW To think to know the country and not know The hillside on the day the sun lets go Ten million silver lizards out of snow! As often as I’ve seen it done before I can’t pretend to tell the way it’s done. It looks as if some magic of the sun Lifted the rug that bred them on the floor And the light breaking on them made them run. But if I thought to stop the wet stampede, And caught one silver lizard by the tail, And put my foot on one without avail, And threw myself wet-elbowed and wet-kneed In front of twenty others’ wriggling speed,— In the confusion of them all aglitter, And birds that joined in the excited fun By doubling and redoubling song and twitter, I have no doubt I’d end by holding none.