Jean Blewett Poems

'Once they were lovers,' says the world, 'with young hearts all aglow;
They have forgotten,' says the world, 'forgotten long ago.'
Between ourselves-just whisper it-the old world does not know.
...

The glad, glad days, and the pleasant ways-
Ho! for the fields and the wildwood!
The scents, the sights, and the dear delights-
Ho! for our care-free childhood!
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The harvest moon in yellow haze
Is steeping all the sea and land,
Is kindling paths and shining ways
Around the hills, across the sand.
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Who is it says May is the crown of the year?
Who is it says June is the gladdest?
Who is it says Autumn is withered and sere,
The gloomiest season and saddest?
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Your presence is a psalm of praise,
And as its measure grandly rings
God's finger finds my heart and plays
A te deum upon its strings.
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I was your lover long ago, sweet June,
Ere life grew hard; I am your lover still,
And follow gladly to the wondrous tune
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The sunset has faded, there's but a tinge,
Saffron pale, where a star of white
Has tangled itself in the trailing fringe
Of the pearl-gray robe of the summer night.
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The day she came we were planting corn,
The west eighty-acre field,-
These prairie farms are great for size,
And they're sometimes great for yield.
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He frowned and shook his snowy head.
'Those clanging bells! they deafen quite
With their unmeaning song,' he said.
'I'm weary of it all to-night-
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O Radiance of life's morning! O gold without alloy!
O love that lives through all the years! O full, O perfect joy!
The hills of earth touch heaven, the heaven of blue and gold,
And angel voices swell the song of love and peace untold!
...