The First Courtship

When the world was as maids are for sweetness,

         And strange rivers rolled down to strange seas,

And when trees were unscarred by the woodman,

         And blossoms waved high as the knees

Of a tall man, and ever and ever

         The smooth monotone of the tide

Sang softly by morn and by evening,

         And the voices of breezes replied,

And never a sailing ship breasted

         The waves of the ocean, nor clave

The green, rolling breast of the billows

         The steamship; and never the wave

Upbore the huge rafts of the loggers,

         Such as the St. Lawrence brings down,

Or Puget Sound gives the Pacific

         For the mills of coast hamlet and town,

Was born a strange monster and hairy,

         With wild eyes the coverts to scan,

As tall and erect as a pine was;

         And it grimaced and said, “I’m a man!”

At about the same time, by a streamlet,

         As a day pushed the covers of night

Back off from the world and stood blushing

         And rubbing its eyes in the light,

A copse where dogwoods were in blossom,

         And jasmine and roses were wet

With the crystalline dews of the morning,

         And poppies and sweet mignonette,

And violets, cosmos, and lilies,

         And trumpet blooms, snuggled and hid,

Stirred and shook till the dew in the blossoms

         Came down like a largess and hid

The grasses with gems all a-sparkle,

         And stepped from the covert a fay

With eyes the same hue as the skies were,

         With skin e’en as white as the day!

And springily stepped to the streamlet,

         And saw there reflected each curl,

And smiled with red lips upward curving,

         And said, “I declare!  I’m a girl!”

Then the girl, with a graceful abandon,

         Sat on a huge rock by the tide,

With some thorns she had broke from a shrub near,

         In a neat little pile by her side,

And caught in her white hands her tresses

         And gave them a pat and a twist,

And viewed the result in the water,

         And pressed her red lips all unkissed,

And pouted and laughed and kept trying,

         And paused—tired—and paused just to scold;

But the ringlets would know no confining,

         And tumbled in cascades of gold

Down over her shoulders uncovered

         And kissed every dimple, and flung

On each wee little breeze that was passing;

         And the girl splashed the water and sung

Till the woodland re-echoed her singing,

         And the hills caught each cadence and threw

It back and abroad, till the morning

         Seemed softly dissolving in dew.

And then there stepped down through the morning

         The man, and all wary his pace!

And he bore a big stick on his shoulder!

         And out of the hair on his face

Gazed his wild eyes, half daring, half frightened!

         And soft, through the pebble and scrub,

He sneaked down to where she sat singing,

         And felled her to earth with the club!

Then quick faced about and stood snarling

         Defensively over his prize!

With the lust of desire and of battle

         As red as red coals in his eyes!

Then, no other claiming the maiden,

         He stooped and up-bore her and drave

Through thorn bush and hindering thicket

         Till he reached his lone den in a cave;

And she, coming to, gazed upon him

         And smiled, and cooed, “Why, it’s a man!”*

And loved him for all his courtship

         Was on the aboriginal plan.

*She also said, “And I’ll bet my hair looks just hor-

rid.”

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