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Title: A Little Window

Author: Jean M. Snyder

Release date: September 16, 2007 [eBook #22637]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by David Edwards, Sam W. and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE WINDOW *** 


A LITTLE WINDOW


JEAN M. SNYDER


A LITTLE WINDOW


VERSES BY


JEAN M. SNYDER


“In good sooth, my masters this is
no door, yet it is a little window
that looketh upon a great world.”


FOSTER & STEWART

PUBLISHING CORPORATION

Buffalo, New York




All but two of the verses in this volume
originally appeared in The Christian Science
Monitor, and are reprinted by permission.


The two exceptions are “Joy” (page
46) and “Triumph” (page 49), which
are also copyrighted and reprinted by
permission.




TABLE OF CONTENTS





Stars
7




The Brook
8




In Eden Valley
9




Benediction
10




A Moment
11




The Month of Moonlight
12




Wings
13




Heart’s Ease
14




The Sign Reads—“To Troutbeck”
15




I, Too
16




In Early Evening
17




Fearless Winging
18




Whimsey
19




Remembering
20




Aloofness
21




Listening
22




September’s End
23




Content
24




Rhythm
25




Contrast
26




Surety
27




Guests
28




Storm
30




A Reminder
31




Buffalo Harbor
32




From a Train Window
34




Scotland
35




Friends
36




A Poem of Color
37




Dream
38




Escape
39




Question
40




When You Were a Little Girl
42




Flight
44




Petit Trianon
45




Joy
46




Twilight Song Service
48




Triumph
49







 A Little Window


[Pg 7]


 Stars


(At Locheven)







Have you walked in the woods

When twilight wraps a veil of mist

Around the gray-green trees

In early spring?

It is then the snow-white trillium

Gleam like stars from the carpet

Of last year’s leaves:

And tall white violets glow

Like clouds of nebulæ along the path.

And flecked, like points of light

In the quiet pools of water

Among the gray-green boles,

Are the stars of heaven.








[Pg 8]


 The Brook


(Westfield, N. Y.)







Curling and humming its cadences,

It slips past me under the rim of the gorge,

As I peer down through the scarlet sumacs.

Sparkling in the sunlight,

Shimmering in the moonlight,

On and on it goes,

A silvery sheet of song.








[Pg 9]


 In Eden Valley







I saw





A spray of orange berries etched against the silver of a stone wall:





A scarlet vine encircling a golden sapling;





On the ground, a carmine robe that had slipped from the shoulders of a maple.





A sweep of meadow,

A curve of bronzy hill,

A glow of ruby and amethyst

And the evergreens making deep quiet spots in it.








[Pg 10]


 Benediction







Silent, I stood in the forest—

Lured by the liquid song

Of a thrush.

Clear, it was, then fading

And softly echoed,

As he slipped into the embrace

Of the night.

So pure, so holy, was his song

That my heart was calmed

And I was filled

With serenity.








[Pg 11]


 A Moment







The beaten silver waters cut

By the prow of our ship,

Send off stars of phosphorous

To vie with the stars overhead.

Nothing but sky and the starlight,

And a stretch of limitless sea,

Nothing but peace and dominion,—

Silence, immensity.








[Pg 12]


 The Month of Moonlight







Moonlight is not cold!

It is tender and benignant,

Softening all it touches,

Hiding the roughness,

Covering the coarseness,

With a glow of silver splendor

And a lucent flood

Of beauty.








[Pg 13]


 Wings







There come to the flowers

In my garden

Butterflies, golden-spotted tawny,

Blue-spangled and sulphur;

Glistening dragon-flies, zooming bumble bees,

Droning honey-bees.





Softly whirring comes

The vivid humming-bird,

Sipping, sipping all day long.

At nightfall I hear the flutter of the

Luna’s wings, as

She caresses the velvet cheek

Of the lily.








[Pg 14]


 Heart’s Ease


 (Locheven)







I love to tread a winding path

Through the woods,

And, world weary, pause upon it.

The trees bend and enclose me

In brooding calm;

I feel the presence of Deity.





I hear the cadence of the stillness—

A stillness so alive.

The whisper of the leaves,

The song of the brook over golden stone

The whir of a bird’s wings;

And I know the presence of Deity.








[Pg 15]


 The Sign Reads—“To Troutbeck”


(English Lakes)







An upcurving lane, hedged high,

An ancient stile,

A rambling path,

A brook,

And musk,—

Golden bells of fragrance,

Fusing all the odors

Of English earth.








[Pg 16]


 I, Too







Robin, robin,

Shouting your song,

Your throat swelling

With joy!

Yes, I hear, I know

What you say.

For I, too,

Would sing

My praise and

Gratitude

To God!








[Pg 17]


 In Early Evening







When I drive through

The villages and the countryside

In early evening,

And see people sitting in gardens

Or at their doors

In peace and contentment,

I long to stop and speak to them.

They might tell me of a loved one

Doing some great work

In a big city,

Or of a deep sorrow,

And I might say a word

To help lighten it.

They might show me treasured china

Or a bit of lace, handmade;

Once some one did.

And I could talk with the children.

I long to do this,

But it always seems

That there is a hurry

To get to the next place.








[Pg 18]


 Fearless Winging







Into Niagara’s abyss of blackness,

Into its cavernous chaos,

I saw birds wing.

Sweeping down

Through the mist

Of its mighty waters,

Undaunted by the roar,

Unmindful of the churning,

Of the terror of its power,

On sure pinions

And happy in flight

They dipped and soared and

Mounted, upward and upward.

Into the light

And the rainbow

Above them.








[Pg 19]


 Whimsey







In spring my hemlock

Dances gayly in flounces

Of jade green lace.





In summer moonlight

When a soft wind stirs

She dances with a delicate sapling.

They sway and bend in the wind,

And bow to the trees encircling.

I hear the laughter of their leaves.





In autumn she dances

With beech leaves in her hair,





But in winter I have found her still,

Crouching under a blanket of snow.








[Pg 20]


 Remembering


(Locheven)







There is a spot in the woods

That is “forever England” to me.

A clump of beech trees

Steeped in silence,

Whose shade and solitude

Shuts me in with my dreams.

The sunshine slants through

Their limpid leaves

And turns them to translucent jade,

Just as it does in an English spring.

Violets are there, and I pluck them,

Remembering the bluebells

In the beech wood

At Sevenoaks.








[Pg 21]


 Aloofness







Down among the docks and elevators and railroad tracks

On the way out of the city,

I pass a tiny cottage so rickety

That its neighbors crowd close

To hold it up. But there it is,

Its one window shining clean, and glowing

With a plant in a tin can and pure white curtains.

Hanging over the fence and filling the whole place

With its beauty and almost hiding the cottage

Is a peach tree in full bloom.

In the doorway I glimpse a girl

In a purple dress.

But what matters the smoke and the noise and the fog

To the peach tree?








[Pg 22]


 Listening


(Eden, N. Y.)







Atop Aries hill am I,

The lone flyer, throbbing

Against the sunset

Is higher.

He sees more than I,

But he cannot hear

What I hear.





I hear the wood-thrush

And the veery,

Answer each other.

I hear the voices

Of happy children

And the baying of hounds

Float up from the valley;

The chirp of the cricket

At my feet, and, then,

The silence of nightfall.





He sees more than I,

But he cannot hear

What I hear.








[Pg 23]


 September’s End







In the ash tree

There is a soft rustling,

Lingering, like

A silken whisper,

Quite different

Than sound the other trees;

As if the bronzy leaves

Had much to say

Before they part,

And were loath

To bid farewell.








[Pg 24]


 Content


(Westfield, N. Y.)







When I linger in my garden

And see black swallowtails hovering

Over white phlox and orange zinnias,

And morning glories, in a heavenly blue mass

Surge upward on their trellis;

When I watch the scintillating humming-bird

Sip from the trumpet blossoms across my doorway,

I feel no urge of travel to behold

More of earth’s beauty.

Here in my little garden I have it all—

And here I am content.








[Pg 25]


 Rhythm







Firelight, and strains of a symphony

Wafting in.

Outside, bare trees

Against leaden skies

Weave their own music

That throbs with the rhythm

Of the orchestra.

The wind moans, and

Strong, black branches

Sway slowly,

Mark the beat,

Then stop.

The wind hums,

Delicate, lacelike tops

Quiver and ripple

With the quick response

Of the violins.

With the shriek of the wind

They writhe and toss,

Measuring the crescendo

Of the brasses.








[Pg 26]


 Contrast







In an old world palace,

Room after room

Is filled with treasures—

Old masters, jewels, glass.

Yet all I remember

Is the stark whiteness of a gardenia

Blowing against a wall,

And the fairy music of a fountain

In the patio.








[Pg 27]


 Surety







I needed the dawn, but

My eyes beheld only clouds

And a valley filled with mists

And a mountain shutting out the east.

I needed the dawn, so

I could but wait.

Surely,

Slowly

Through the clouds

The light came,

Like a presence

Dispelling mist and cloud:

Even the mountain

Could not hide it.

My eyes beheld all clear,

And in the roseate glow,

Like a diamond,

Hung the morning star.








[Pg 28]


 Guests







There was emptiness

When the birds left in the fall.

But to fill it came late butterflies,

Dawdling flocks of brilliant things

In clouds of scintillating beauty,

Covering every bush and flower.

As silently as they came did they disappear

And in their place came the music

Of the katydid and the cricket.

Day and night the cheerful songs

Of these tiny insects were our company.





[Pg 29]
An early blizzard

Buried every green blade and bent to earth

Great trees and slender saplings

Under a thick weight of snow.

To our door came the thrushes

That we thought were gone,—

Shy thrushes, that had turned their backs

Upon us in summer and slipped

Into the depth of the woods,—

And whitethroats and tree sparrows,

Unafraid, waiting for food.

Even now the stillness is alive

With the memory of these friendly folk.








[Pg 30]


 Storm







When the storm rushes upon the deep woods,

It lets down curtains of mist

And sheets of rain, that drip

Crystal beads among the trees.

Way above, the branches lash and moan

And weave. Below, it is still,

Still as the undersea.

Soft fern and feathery bracken

Loom through the mist

Like branching coral,

And drifting leaves float down

Like snowy fishes,

Lazily moving.








[Pg 31]


 A Reminder







Down beneath the office windows

In a chestnut clump,

A robin sings all day long,

“Joyously, joyously!”





Above the whir of traffic,

The bands and the sirens,

Floats his song all day,

“Joyously, joyously!”





The lilting song brings to me,

The peace of field and merry brook,

And I myself, sing all day, too,

“Joyously, joyously!”








[Pg 32]


 Buffalo Harbor







Some say that it is ugly and hurry on through,

But I love these impressive symbols

Of man’s ingenuity.

Here are the great grain elevators, looming

In tones and shades of grey, veiled

In the clouds of black smoke from the

Tugs at their feet;

Puffing engines shifting strings of cars,

And huge ships nosed in against each other

Or riding at anchor, and canal boats

In straight lines at the docks.

Farther on, across a slip, there are

Mountains of ore in reds and brown,

And pile upon pile of gravel and slag,

And sand in soft saffron hues,

Heaped up for the steel mills to devour;

[Pg 33]
Those gigantic mills whose tall stacks

Belch varicolored gases, against

The deep blue of the inner harbor,

Where the waves pound in

Over the sea wall.

All this cupped by the towering

City skyscrapers, and outlined against

The peaceful Eden hills,

Miles to the south.

And when I wait for the big bridge to lift

For a freighter with its important tugs,

I pull out of line, off to the side,

And let the other cars go by,

And look, and look.

I never seem to get enough.








[Pg 34]


 From a Train Window







Once, before dawn,

In the Mohawk valley,

Dots of light flashed

And floated off

Into the blackness,

Like sparks of flame

Blasted from the engine.

Then more and more,

Mile after mile,

Almost never ending—

Millions of fire-flies,

Like tiny torches,

Dancing over swamp lands

In the night air.








[Pg 35]


 Scotland


(The Highlands)







Mountains,

Veiled in shifting vapors,

Mountains,

Bleak, foreboding,

Mountains,

Stark and overpowering.

Torrents,

Tumbling, crashing,

Dragging boulders

In their rushing,

Lakes,

Forlorn and lonesome

Heather

In magenta patches,

Sheep, and cattle

Black and somber,

Winding roads

Through massive passes.

Rain,

Sun,

Flowers,

Mist,

Rain,—

Loved Scotland!








[Pg 36]


 Friends


(At Lake Windermere, England)







Across the lake

Lying calm and black

Under the night,

Floats the wail

Of the pipes:

And beyond, loom

Langdale Pikes, dim,

Shadowy sentinels.

Over all, the stars,

Like friends, faithful

And changeless.








[Pg 37]


 A Poem of Color







Stretched on the ground beneath the Hawthorn,

The perfume of its blossoms mingled with falling petals, floats down to me.

Winged things alight there on the blanket of fragrance above,—a bunting, blue as the sky, a warbler, all gold, an Admiral, wings banded with crimson,

Make a poem of color of the Hawthorn tree.








[Pg 38]


 Dream


(Stratford-on-Avon)







One warm June evening

I sat in the churchyard

Of old Trinity. I sat there for hours

On an ancient stone, forgetting time.

The Avon, as silent as the centuries it had known,

Glided past, carrying me on with its memories.

From the lush meadow across the river came the bleating of lambs,

And from the limes floated the song of blackbirds.

All about the scent of roses hung heavy.

Then, over the roof of Trinity, the moon arose.

Shakespeare saw the Avon, thus, and loved it,—

Winding on in the moonlight.








[Pg 39]


 Escape







How simple life can be!

A cabin,

Mountains, afar and near,

A brook,

Deer, blowing at night.

Perchance,

Rain on the roof,

Then,

The loved books,

A fire on the hearth,

And endless time

To think.

How simple life is!








[Pg 40]


 Question


(Locheven)







Would you choose

The formal garden

With lilac hedges

And vistas of velvet lawn

And marble fountain

Shining pool and

Marble bench o’er-topped

By drooping willow;

Massed color in trim beds,

And stately garden house

Festooned with wisteria

And guarded by strutting peacock?





Or,





[Pg 41]
The wood’s garden,

The wild garden,

Tumbling over itself

With pale Jacks, and violets—

Blue and gold, and

Baby ferns, tucked

Within sheltering gnarled roots!

And mossy mounds, starred

With Trillium and Crane’s bill;

And patches of lavender sunlight,

(No, it’s wild Phlox,

In the flickering light)—

And fire-flies and flapping owls,

At twilight, and furry rabbits,

Bobbing ahead up the path.





Which would you choose?








[Pg 42]


 When You Were a Little Girl







When you were a little girl

And you went driving with Grandfather,

If it rained, didn’t he braid up the horse’s tail

Binding it round with a bright silver band,

And fasten on the side curtains of the carriage

And pull the rubber “boot” over the dashboard?

And do you remember how the horse’s feet

Went “Plop, plop,” in and out of the mud,

And you felt the mist blow in on your face

When you managed to peer out over the curtain?

And didn’t you snuggle up close to Grandfather

And hug the Fairy Tale book

Which he was going to listen to

When the rain stopped and you lunched

Beside the road?





[Pg 43]
Didn’t your Grandfather always drive over

To the cheese factory, and bring out

The fresh cheese curd to you?

Can’t you remember the taste, even now?

And sometimes, when it stormed hard, and thundered

And lightened, and the crashing made the horse

Want to run, wouldn’t your Grandfather always say:

“Steady there, now, boy! Steady, boy!” so gently,

That neither you nor the horse were afraid after that

Because Grandfather said everything was all right,

And he knew. And wasn’t your Grandmother

Waiting in the doorway, watching a bit anxiously,

Until you turned into the yard?

Mine was.








[Pg 44]


 Flight







So still lay the city,

So very quietly it slept,

That from high in the west

I heard the honking of geese

Winging southward.

Yearningly I listened

As they swept over,

Yearningly I cried—

O wild things, that I

Could fly as do you!

Then out of the silent darkness,

Like a flying star,

Flashed a plane

With its skyborne humans.

And all of a sudden

I remembered that I, too,

Could take to wings.








[Pg 45]


 Petit Trianon


(Versailles, France)







When the long drawn notes of a bird’s song

Echoes through the trees,

It brings to remembrance the songs

Of the blackbirds at Petit Trianon:

Chiming, reverberating, floating down

From the tops of the tall cedars

As from an invisible, celestial choir.





Nor can I forget the ages-old wisteria

Clambering over gray palace walls,

Nor the gamut of color in the azaleas there—

Pink, orange, cerise, yellow—

In pale green foliage.








[Pg 46]


 Joy







When your heavens are as brass

And joy has fled, and

Every door is shut,

Do not forget the one

That opens inward—

The door of your heart,

Whose handle is on the inside

And which only you can open.

Go out through that door

And find one whose skies

Are darker than yours,

Whose burden is heavier;

Bring him back with you

Into your heart.





[Pg 47]
There can you cleanse him with love,

And clothe him with garments of truth,

And put the ring of his unity

With God upon his hand;

There feed him with the word,

And let him go.

Then will your heavens be

As radiant light,

And your happiness and joy

Such as never were

On land or sea.








[Pg 48]


 Twilight Song Service


(“B.A.” Chestnut Hill, Mass.)







In the deepening twilight there floats

From the chapel above, the loved hymns of healing—

Hymns of comfort, of courage, welling up from grateful hearts

And bringing reassurance of God’s power

To one who listens below in silent prayer and praise.

Great peace of God, be with us all!

Great peace of God encompass us!

Speak to the waves tonight, Father, that they stand.

Stretch forth Thy hand and stay their power,

Calm them, that they overwhelm not.

For Thy voice is “mightier than the noise of many waters,

Yea, than the mighty waves of the sea.”

This Thou canst do, O my God.








[Pg 49]


 Triumph







These are they, O God,

Who came out of great tribulation

And have washed their robes white.

Oh, holy triumph of those

Who have endured the fire

And the tempest’s rage and, delivered,

Stand exalted in this very hour,

Purged, sanctified, and satisfied.

These are they who have surrendered

All the vanities of mortal selfhood,

And serve Thee

Day and night in Thy temple,

Lifting others to behold

The tearless, ageless, deathless reality

Of Thy glory.










Transcriber's Note


Minor typographic errors have been corrected without note.