Stray Pebbles from the Shores of Thought. Gould Elizabeth Porter

      Blow breezes, fresh breezes, on Love's swiftest wing,

      And bear her the message my heart dares to sing.

      Pause not on the highways where gathers earth's dust,

      Nor in the fair heavens, though cloudlets say must.

      But blow through the valleys where flowers await

      To give of their essence ere yielding to fate;

      Or blow on the hill tops where atmospheres lie

      Imbued with the health which no money can buy.

      But fail not, O breezes, on Love's swiftest wing

      To bear her the message my heart dares to sing.

      The breezes, thus ladened, sped on in their flight,

      As, cradled in hammock, I sang in delight,

      On that blest summer day in the years long ago,

      When life was all sunshine and youth all aglow.

      The sweets of the valleys, the breath of the hills

      Were gathered – the best that our loved earth distills —

      As, obedient still to my wish, on they flew

      To the home of my darling they now so well knew.

      Alas for the breezes, alas for my heart,

      Alas for my message, so full of love's art!

      If only the breezes had followed their will,

      And loitered among the pure cloudlets so still,

      They'd have met a fair soul from the earth just set free

      In search of their help for its message to me;

      The message my darling, with last fleeting breath,

      In vain tried to utter, o'ertaken by death.

      The breezes, fresh breezes, have blown on since then,

      With messages laden again and again.

      As for me, I send none. I wait only their will

      To bring me that message my lone heart to fill.

      They'll find it some day in a light zephyr chase,

      For nothing is lost in pure love's boundless space.

      The sovereign mountains bask in sunset rays,

      The valleys rest in peace;

      The lingering clouds melt into twilight haze,

      The birds their warbling cease;

      The villagers' hour of welcome sleep is near,

      The cattle wander home,

      While wrapped in summer-scented atmosphere,

      Calm evening comes to roam

      With gentle pace

      Through star-lit space,

      Till moon-kissed Night holds all in her embrace,

      And Morning waits to show her dawn-flushed face.

      The lovely valleys nestling in the arms

      Of glorious mountain peaks;

      The purple tint of sunset hour, and charms

      The evening hour bespeaks;

      The monarch peak kissed by the rising sun,

      While clouds keep guard below;

      Grand, restful views, with foliage autumn-won,

      And Northern lights rare glow, —

      Will e'er recall,

      In memory's hall,

      The happy days when on fair "Look-Off's" height,

      Sweet friendship cast her hues of golden light.

      Buttercups and daisies,

      Clover red and white,

      Ferns and crown-topped grasses

      Waving with delight,

      Dainty locust-blossoms,

      All that glad June yields,

      Welcome me with gladness

      To dearly-loved "Fairfields."

      But where's my happy collie dog,

      My Rosa?

      The orioles sing greeting,

      The butterflies come near,

      The hens cease not their cackling,

      The horses neigh "I'm here,"

      The cows nod "I have missed you,"

      The pigs' eyes even shine,

      And from the red-house hearth-stone

      Comes pet cat Valentine.

      But where's my happy collie dog,

      My Rosa?

      I miss her joyful greeting,

      Her handsome, high-bred face,

      Her vigorous, playful action

      In many a fair field chase.

      Not even lively Sancho

      Can fill for me her place.

      O Rosa, happy Rosa,

      Gone where the good dogs go,

      Dost find such fields as "Fairfields,"

      More love than we could show?

      Blossoms floating through the air,

      Bearing perfumes rich and rare,

      Free from trouble, toil, and care.

      Would I were a blossom!

      Robins singing in the trees,

      Feeling every velvet breeze,

      Free from knowledge that bereaves.

      Would I were a robin!

      Violets peaceful in the vale,

      Telling each its happy tale,

      Free from worldly noise and sale.

      Would I were a violet!

      Blessed day of needed wealth,

      Full of Nature's perfect health,

      Fill me with thy power.

      Then like blossoms I shall be,

      Wafting only purity,

      Or like robins, singing free

      'Midst the deepening mystery,

      Or like violets, caring naught

      Only to reflect God's thought."

      Who

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