Thomas R. Lounsbury, ed. (1838–1915). Yale Book of American Verse. 1912.
Rose Terry Cooke 18271892
Rose Terry Cooke167 The Two Villages
O
Lieth a village white and still;
All around it the forest-trees
Shiver and whisper in the breeze;
Over it sailing shadows go
Of soaring hawk and screaming crow,
And mountain grasses, low and sweet,
Grow in the middle of every street.
Another village lieth still; There I see in the cloudy night Twinkling stars of household light, Fires that gleam from the smithy’s door, Mists that curl on the river-shore; And in the roads no grasses grow, For the wheels that hasten to and fro. Never is sound of smithy or mill; The houses are thatched with grass and flowers; Never a clock to toll the hours; The marble doors are always shut, You cannot enter in hall or hut; All the villagers lie asleep; Never a grain to sow or reap; Never in dreams to moan or sigh; Silent and idle and low they lie. When the night is starry and still, Many a weary soul in prayer Looks to the other village there, And weeping and sighing, longs to go Up to that home from this below; Longs to sleep in the forest wild, Whither have vanished wife and child, And heareth, praying, this answer fall: “Patience! that village shall hold ye all!”