Moon in heaven’s garden, among the clouds that wander, Crescent moon so young to see, above the April ways, Whiten, bloom not yet, not, yet, within the twilight yonder; All my spinning is not done, for all the loitering days. Oh, my heart has two wild wings that ever would be flying! Oh, my heart’s a meadow-lark that ever would be free! Well it is that I must spin until the light be dying; Well it is the little wheel must turn all day for me! All the hill-tops beckon, and beyond the western meadows Something calls me ever, calls me ever, low and clear: A little tree as young as I, the coming summer shadows,— The voice of running waters that I ever thirst to hear. Oftentime the plea of it has set my wings a-beating; Oftentime it coaxes, as I sit in weary wise, Till the wild life hastens out to wild things all entreating, And leaves me at the spinning-wheel, with dark, unseeing eyes. The poem has several other stanzas equally charming, but which detract from the artistic structure of the song by over-spinning the thought. Among the simple, sincere lyrics which prevail more by their feeling than mechanism, are “One That Followed,” “Horizon,” “Dew-Fall,” “Befriended,” “The Song of A Shepherd-Boy at Bethlehem,” and the two stanzas called, “After Music,” whose intimate beauty renders them personally interpretative. I saw not they were strange, the ways I roam, Until the music called, and called me thence, And tears stirred in my heart as tears may come To lonely children straying far from home, Who know not how they wandered so, nor whence. If I might follow far and far away Unto the country where these songs abide, I think my soul would wake and find it day, Would tell me who I am, and why I stray,— Would tell me who I was before I died. There is a mystical touch here in note with the opening reference to the subtlety of Miss Peabody’s sources of inspiration. In the first volume is also a sonnet from the heart and to the heart, for who has not known the weariness that comes of long striving to image, or interpret the beautiful, and yet is loth to commit his unfulfilled dream to the oblivion of sleep. The sonnet is called, “To the Unsung.” Stay by me, Loveliness; for I must sleep. Not even desire can lift such wearied eyes; The day was heavy and the sun will rise On day as heavy, weariness as deep. Be near, though you be silent. Let me steep A sad heart in that peace, as a child tries To hold his comfort fast, in fingers wise With imprint of a joy that’s yet to reap. Leave me that little light; for sleep I must, —And put off blessing to a doubtful day— Too dull to listen or to understand. But only let me close the eyes of trust On you unchanged. Ah, do not go away, Nor let a dream come near, to loose my hand.