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<h2>In Lover’s Lane</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> O, ranting bully with clamorous breath, O, vandal, why come you down from the North With frost in your breath, and wrath in your voice, And force in your arms to level and toss? You rush through the wood and threaten the trees— The giants of oak, of beech, and of elm, Playmates of yours ere age had o’ertaken, Stolen their vigor, their sap, and their life. The tender child-trees, the slender child-trees You worry, you beat, you fling to the earth, Lithe and supple are they to defy you, Swiftly they spring up as soon as you pass, Trembling a little with fear and anger, But whole and unhurt—the slender young things! </div> <div class="stanza"> Is it not enough that you bend and you break, And make you a path wherever you go, But you must enter this quiet old lane, Shut out from the world by lattice of vines, Where Eve, pretty Eve, so prim and demure{161} Is walking with someone, taking the air? You rest behind them plotting new mischief, Rest till a soft hush falls down on the world, Rest till the growing things listen and laugh Thinking you gone to your lair in the North, Then you begin to stir and to mutter, Growing in anger, till, big with your wrath, On you come rushing—vandal how can you Liberties take with a maiden so fair? </div> <div class="stanza"> Eve, as you walk so primly beside him, Keeping your distance, nor heeding his sighs. Chin tilted forward, eyes straight before you, Parasol swinging in one little hand, Blue gown all flounces, ribbons a-flutter, Dainty, and winsome, and proud as a queen! </div> <div class="stanza"> There is no time—the boorish thing takes you— You and your ruffles, your ribbons and curls, You and your primness, your blushes, and airs, Straight to the arms of the man at your side. You have no conscience swaggering north wind, Else would you hasten and leave them alone; Why must you push her yet nearer to him? Buffet and beat her—you ruffian strong! She has to hide her face on his bosom, While you go whirling in ecstasy round,{162} Then you loosen her bronze hair and fling it, Warm and electric, up over his cheek, Hair soft and shiny, full of allurement, Tempting a mortal to feel of its gold. </div> <div class="stanza"> Down you go soberly over the fields, Making believe you have left them for good, Driving the cattle and scaring the flocks, Shaking the cedars that stand on the hill; Then, when she loosens herself from his grasp, Laughing and blushing, and red as a rose, Back you come flying on mischief intent Pleased to torment the fair maid in the lane. </div> <div class="stanza"> Oh, how you buffet her, boor that you are! Oh, how you flutter her garments abroad! Clutch at her flounces, so pretty and neat! Worry the ribbons that hang at her waist! Then growing fiercer, you roar and you rage, Whirling and twirling to show off your strength, Pay no attention to prayer—or mishap— Drive her to shelter again in his arms. Watching so closely the glances she gives, Wondering greatly how much she regrets, All that has happened, since, prim and demure, Out from the farmhouse she started at noon.{163} “Maidens are queer things,” you laugh to yourself, “Hiding their faces and owning to naught; Why must she whimper? </div> <div class="stanza"> She’s glad to be there, Glad to be holding so closely to him, Glad to feel round her his care-taking arms, Glad to be list’ning to all that he tells, Glad that I rumpled her shiny bronze hair, Making her fairer in somebody’s eyes; Glad that I thrashed out her primness and pride, Glad! she’ll not own it—mark her distress now— Oh! but these maidens are curious things!” </div> <div class="stanza"> Listen, old North Wind, listen and peer, You have no manners, no conscience, no shame, Words of the lovers you greedily seize— Seize, and go shrieking them out to the world! She is an angel! so fair, and so tender! Too good for mortal—the loveliest, best! </div> <div class="stanza"> O, you prying, inquisitive meddler! One thing you miss though—the sweetest of all— Not even a breath of love’s first warm kiss Is wasted on you—O boor of the North! </div> </div></div> {164} <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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