Noëra, when sad fall
Has grayed the fallow,
Leaf-cramped the wood-brook’s brawl
In pool and shallow;
When, by the wood-side, tall
Stands sere the mallow:
Noëra, when gray gold
And golden gray
The crackling hollows fold
By every way,
Shall I thy face behold,
Dear bit of May?
When webs are cribs for dew,
And gossamers
Streak past you, silver-blue;
When silence stirs
One leaf, of rusty hue,
Among the burrs:
Noëra, thro’ the wood,
Or thro’ the grain,
Come, with the hoiden mood
Of wind and rain
Fresh in thy sunny blood,
Sweetheart, again!
Noëra, when the corn,
Heaped on the fields,
The asters’ stars adorn—
And purple shields
Of ironweeds lie torn
Among the wealds:
Noëra, haply then,
Thou being with me,
Each ruined greenwood glen
Will bud and be
Spring’s with the spring again,
The spring in thee.
Thou of the breezy tread,
Feet of the breeze:
Thou of the sunbeam head,
Heart like a bee’s:
Face like a woodland-bred
Anemone’s.
Thou to October bring
An April part!
Come, make the wild-birds sing,
The blossoms start!
Noëra, with the spring
Wild in thy heart!
Come with our golden year;
Come as its gold:
With the same laughing, clear,
Loved voice of old:
In thy cool hair one dear
Wild marigold.