Sanctuary Sunshine House Sonnets

by Bliss Carman

Illustrations by Whitman Bailey


 

THE FLUTE OF GOLD


 

Just on the verge of summer, when the air
Of our warm May is redolent with bloom
Of honeysuckle and flaunting peonies
And the white pear tree shedding spicy balm,
With the first heat there falls a waiting hush,—
5
A faint sweet stillness, as if Nature swooned
At the on-coming of her own desire,
With sense of things too lovely to be borne.
For the blue door of Heaven is left ajar,
And all the dreamful ardor of the spring
10
Is spent for rapture in a moment now.
And where the dogwood spreads its drifts like snow
Among the greenery of the forest dim,
The first swamp-robin tries his flute of gold.