OUR
LADY OF THE RAIN
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Across
the purple valleys,
Along the misty hills,
By murmur-haunted rivers
And silver-gurgling rills,
By woodland, swamp and barren,
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By road
and field and plain,
Arrives the Green Enchantress,
Our Lady of the Rain.
Her pure and mystic planet
Is lighted in the west;
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In ashy-rose
and lilac
Of melting evening dressed,
With golden threads of sunset
Inwoven in her gown,
With glamour of the springtime
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| She
has bewitched the town.
Her look is soft with dreaming
On old forgotten years;
Her eyes are grave and tender
With unpermitted tears;
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For
she has known the sorrows
Of all this weary earth,
Yet ever brings it gladness,
Retrieval and new birth.
And when her splendid pageant,
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Sidereal
and slow,
With teeming stir and import
Sweeps up from line to snow,
There's not an eager mortal
But would arise and make |
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Some
brave unpromised venture
For her immortal sake.
For no man knows what power
Is sleeping in the seed,
What destiny may slumber
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Within
the smallest deed.
In calm no fret can hurry,Nor any fear detain,
She brings our own to meet us—
Our Lady of the Rain. |
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She saw the red clay moulded
And quickened into man;
The sweetness of her spirit
Within his pulses ran;
The ardour of her being
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Was
in his veins like fire,
The unreluctant passion,
The unallayed desire.
'Twas
she who brought rejoicing
To Babylon and Ur.
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To Carthage
and to Sidon
Men came to worship her.
Her soft spring rites were honoured
At Argolis and Troy,
And dark Caldean women
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Gave
thanks to her for joy.
With
cheer and exaltation
With hope for all things born,
To hearten the disheartened,
To solace the forlorn, |
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Too
gentle and all-seeing
For judgment or disdain,
She comes with loving kindness—
Our Lady of the Rain.
With
magical resurgence
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For
all the sons of men
She crosses winter's frontier,
They know not whence nor when.
Yet silently as sunlight
Along the forest floor
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Her
step is on the threshold,
Her shadow at the door.
On
many a lonely clearing
Among the timbered hills
She calls across the distance,
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Until
the twilight fills
With voice of loosened waters,
And from the marshy ground
The frogs begin refilling
Their flutes with joyous sound. |
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Then note by note is lifted
The chorus clear and shrill,
And all who hear her summons
Must answer to her will;
For she will not abandon
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The
old Pandean strain
That called the world from chaos—
Our Lady of the Rain.
And
still her wondrous music
Comes up with early spring,
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And
meadowland and woodland
With silver wildness ring;
The sparrow by the roadside,
The wind among the reeds,
Whoever hears that piping
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Must
follow where it leads.
Though
no man knows the reason,
Nor how the rumour spread,
Through canyon-streeted cities
Her message has been sped; |
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And
some forgotten longing
To hear a bluebird sing
Bids folk from open windows
Look forth—and it is spring.
Come
out into the sunshine,
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You
dwellers of the town,
Put by your anxious dolors,
And cast your sorrows down.
O, starved and pampered people,
How futile is your gain!
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Behold,
there comes to heal you
Our Lady of the Rain.
Go
where the buds are breaking
Upon the cherry bough,
And the strong sap is mounting
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In every
tree-trunk now;
Where orchards are in blossom
On every spray and spire,
Go hear the orioles whistle
And pass like flecks of fire. |
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Go find the first arbutus
Within the piney wood,
And learn from that shy dweller
How sweet is solitude;
Go listen to the white-throat
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In
some remote ravine
Rehearse in tranquil patience
His ecstasy serene.
Go
down along the beaches
And borders of the sea,
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When
golden morning kindles
That blue immensity,
And watch the white sails settle
Below the curving rim
Of this frail vast of colour,
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| Diaphanous
and dim.
Go watch by brimming river
Or reedy-marged lagoon
The wild geese row their galley
Across the rising moon,
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That
comes up like a bubble
Out of the black fir-trees,
And ask what mind invented
Such miracles as these.
Who
came when we were sleeping
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And
wrought this deathless lure,
This vivid vernal wonder
Improbable and sure?
Where Algol and Bootes
Mark their enormous range,
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What
seraph passed in power
To touch the world with change?
What
love's unerring purpose
Reveals itself anew
In these mysterious transports
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Of tone
and shape and hue?
Doubt not the selfsame impulse
Throbs in thy restless side,
Craves at the gates of being,
And would not be denied.
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Be thou the west wind's brother,
And kin to bird and tree,
The soul of spring may utter
Her oracles to thee;
Her breath shall give thee courage, |
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Her
tan shall touch thy cheek,
The words of sainted lovers
Be given thee to speak.
Fear
not the mighty instinct,
The great Aprilian Creed;
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The
House of Spring is open
And furnished for thy need.
But fear the little wisdom,
The paltry doubt and vain,
And trust without misgiving
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Our
Lady of the Rain.
What
foot would fail to meet her,
And who would stay indoor,
When April in her glory
Comes triumphing once more— |
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When
adder-tongue and tulip
Put on their coats of gold,
And all the world goes love-mad
For beauty as of old?
At
every year's returning
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The
swallows will be here,
The stalls be gay with jonquils,
The dogwood reappear;
And up from the southwestward
Come back to us again
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With
sorceries of gladness—
Our Lady of the Rain. |
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