Changelings

THE ghosts of flowers went sailing

Through the dreamy autumn air,--

The gossamer wings of the milkweed brown,

And the sheeny silk of the thistle-down;

But there was no bewailing,

And never a hint of despair.

From the mountain-ash was swinging

A gray, deserted nest;

Scarlet berries where eggs had been;

Softly the flower-wraiths floated in:

And the brook and the breeze were singing

When the sun sank down in the west.

Mary Thacher Higginson

In The Dark

THE fields were silent, and the woodland drear,

The moon had set, and clouds hid all the stars;

And blindly, when a footfall met my ear,

I reached across the bars.

And swift as thought this hand was clasped in thine,

Though darkness hung around us and above;

Not guided by uncertain fate to mine,

But by the law of love.

I know not which of us may first go hence

And leave the other to be brave alone,

Unable to dispel the shadows dense

That veil the life unknown;

But if I linger last, and stretch once more

A longing hand when fades this earthly day,

Again it will be grasped by thine, before

My steps can lose the way.

Mary Thacher Higginson

Ghost-Flowers

(Monotropa Uniflora)

IN shining groups, each stem a pearly ray,

Weird flecks of light within the shadowed wood,

They dwell aloof, a spotless sisterhood.

No Angelus, except the wild bird's lay,

Awakes these forest nuns; yet night and day

Their heads are bent, as if in prayerful mood.

A touch will mar their snow, and tempests rude

Defile; but in the mist fresh blossoms stray

From spirit-gardens just beyond our ken.

Each year we seek their virgin haunts, to look

Upon new loveliness, and watch again

Their shy devotions near the singing brook;

Then, mingling in the dizzy stir of men,

Forget the vows made in that cloistered nook.

Mary Thacher Higginson

Inheritance

WE wondered why he always turned aside

When mirth and gladness filled the brimming days:

Who else so fit as he for pleasure's ways?

Men thought him frozen by a selfish pride;

But that his voice was music none denied,

Or that his smile was like the sun's warm rays.

One day upon the sands he spoke in praise

Of swimmers who were buffeting the tide:

"The swelling waves of life they dare to meet.

I may not plunge where others safely go,--

Unbidden longings in my pulses beat."

O blind and thoughtless world! you little know

That ever round this hero's steadfast feet

Surges and tugs the dreaded undertow.

Mary Thacher Higginson