Their blue in diamond.

Oft from some dusty locust, that thick weaves
With crescent pulse-pods its thin foliage gray,
Thou,--o'er the shambling lane, which past the sheaves
Of sun-tanned oats winds, red with rutty clay,
One league of rude rail-fence,--some panting day,
When each parched meadow quivering vapor grieves,
Nature's Astrologist, dost promise rain,
In seeping language of the thirsty plain,
Cool from the burning leaves.

And, in good faith, aye! best of faith, art true;
And welcome that rune-chuckled forecasting,
When up the faded fierceness of scorched blue
Strong water-carrier winds big buckets bring,
Black with stored freshness: how their dippers ring
And flash and rattle! lavishing large dew
On tall, good-humored corn that, streaming wet,
Laughs long; while woods and leas, shut in a net
Of mist, dream vague in view.

And thou, safe-housed in some pawpaw bower
Of close, broad, gold-green leaves, contented art
In thy prediction, fall'n within the hour;
While fuss the brown bees hiveward from the heart
Of honey-filtering bloom; beneath the cart
Droop pompous barnyard cocks damped by the shower:
And deep-eyed August, bonnetless, a beech
Hugs in disheveled beauty, safe from reach
On starry moss and flower.

LOVELINESS.

I.

When I fare forth to kiss the eyes of Spring,
On ways, which arch gold sunbeams and pearl buds
Embraced, two whispers we search--wandering
By goblin forests and by girlish floods
Deep in the hermit-holy solitudes--
For stalwart Dryads romping in a ring;
Firm limbs an oak-bark-brown, and hair--wild woods
Have perfumed--loops of radiance; and they,
Most coyly pleasant, as we linger by,
Pout dimpled cheeks, more rose than rosiest sky,
Honeyed; and us good-hearted laughter fling
Like far-out reefs that flute melodious spray.

II.

Then we surprise each Naiad ere she slips--
Nude at her toilette--in her fountain's glass,
With damp locks dewy, and large godlike hips
Cool-glittering; but discovered, when--alas!
From green, indented moss and plushy grass,--
Her great eyes' pansy-black reproaching,--dips
She white the cloven waters ere we pass:
And a broad, orbing ripple makes to hide
From our desirous gaze provoked what path
She gleaming took; what haunt she bashful hath
In minnow