The Withered Leaf in June / W.M. MacKeracher

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The Withered Leaf in June

It cannot be; it is not nearly
Midsummer yet, my eye deceives;
But, yes, it is; I see it clearly –
A bit of red among the leaves.

'Tis so with youth: her dearest pleasures
Her fragrant boughs like green leaves deck;
But yet among the green she treasures,
With equal care, some withered speck.

~~

W.M. MacKeracher (1871-1913)

from Songs of a Sophomore, 1892 

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

W.M. MacKeracher biography

Rondeau: An April Day / W.M. MacKeracher

Rondeau: An April Day

An April day, when skies are blue,
And earth rejoices to renew
     Her vernal youth by lawn and lea,
     And sap mounts upward in the tree,
And ruddy buds come bursting through;

When violets of tender hue
And trilliums keep the morning dew
     Through all the sweet forenoon give me
          An April day;

When surly Winter's roystering crew
Have said the last of their adieux,
     And left the fettered river free,
     And buoyant hope and ecstasy
Of life awake, my wants are few:
          An April day.

~~
W.M. MacKeracher (1871-1913)
from Sonnets, and other verse, 1909

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

W.M. MacKeracher biography

Before Harvest / W.M. MacKeracher

Before Harvest 

And now 'tis time for Harvest. Hark! and lo,
     With ringing sound of full melodious horn,
Over yon eastern hill-top all aglow,—
     Her sickle gleaming in the golden morn,
     Her arm upraised with sheaf of yellow corn,—
She comes elate with light, elastic pace;
     Her neck and zone full-clustered vines adorn;
Her saffron locks, fruit-crowned; her luscious grace;
Her round and ripened form; her fair, benignant face.

And now the fields, when suns serenely greet,
     A rich and mellow, wanton joy afford:
The russet pease vines, and the burnished wheat
     And whiter barley,— hating to be stored,
     Guarding with jealous spears their precious hoard,—
The tapering oat-stalk, dangling beads of gold:
     In brilliant sea of beauty all outpoured,
With dazzling depth of splendor all untold,
Where fleets of zephyrs skip in fold that follows fold

Like to a dream I had but yesternight,
     Of pure, transporting, childlike playfulness.
The presence of a fair-haired, blue-eyed, bright,
     Thoughtless and laughing.— Words can not express
     In poet phrase the fulness that did bless
Entrancingly my vision. I advanced
     Behind to worship. Straight each golden tress
Was ruffled and about my face they danced,
Smoth'ring with beauty, while the maiden gleeful glanced.

~~

W.M. MacKeracher (1871-1913)

from Vacation Verse, 1891 

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

W.M. MacKeracher biography