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+Project Gutenberg's A Woman's Love Letters, by Sophie M. Almon-Hensley
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Woman's Love Letters
+
+Author: Sophie M. Almon-Hensley
+
+Release Date: May 8, 2006 [EBook #18351]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WOMAN'S LOVE LETTERS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Thierry Alberto, Christine D. and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions
+(www.canadiana.org))
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+The Fleur de Lis Poets.
+
+A WOMAN'S
+
+LOVE LETTERS.
+
+BY SOPHIE M. ALMON-HENSLEY
+
+
+
+    NEW YORK. J. SELWIN TAIT
+    AND SONS, NUMBER SIXTY-FIVE
+    FIFTH AVENUE.
+
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1895
+
+    BY
+    J. SELWIN TAIT & SONS
+    NEW YORK
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+    A Dream,                         1
+    Dream-Song,                      8
+    Doubt,                           9
+    Song,                           13
+    Anticipation,                   14
+    Song,                           18
+    Misunderstanding,               19
+    Shadow-Song,                    23
+    Revulsion,                      24
+    A Song of Dawn,                 27
+    Weariness,                      28
+    A Song of Rest,                 31
+    Death,                          33
+    Battle-Song,                    38
+    Content,                        39
+    Sea-Song,                       42
+    Gratitude,                      44
+    Song,                           48
+    Prayer,                         49
+    Song,                           53
+    Loneliness,                     54
+    Sea-Song,                       57
+    Incompleteness,                 59
+    Song,                           65
+    Life's Joys,                    65
+    Song,                           70
+    Barter,                         72
+    Song,                           76
+    To-morrow,                      78
+    Song,                           82
+
+
+
+
+A Dream.
+
+    I stood far off above the haunts of men
+      Somewhere, I know not, when the sky was dim
+      From some worn glory, and the morning hymn
+    Of the gay oriole echoed from the glen.
+      Wandering, I felt earth's peace, nor knew I sought
+      A visioned face, a voice the wind had caught.
+
+    I passed the waking things that stirred and gazed,
+      Thought-bound, and heeded not; the waking flowers
+      Drank in the morning mist, dawn's tender showers,
+    And looked forth for the Day-god who had blazed
+      His heart away and died at sundown. Far
+      In the gray west faded a loitering star.
+
+    It seemed that I had wandered through long years,
+      A life of years, still seeking gropingly
+      A thing I dared not name; now I could see
+    In the still dawn a hope, in the soft tears
+      Of the deep-hearted violets a breath
+      Of kinship, like the herald voice of Death.
+
+    Slow moved the morning; where the hill was bare
+      Woke a reluctant breeze. Dimly I knew
+      My Day was come. The wind-blown blossoms threw
+    Their breath about me, and the pine-swept air
+      Grew to a shape, a mighty, formless thing,
+      A phantom of the wood's imagining.
+
+    And as I gazed, spell-bound, it seemed to move
+      Its tendril limbs, still swaying tremulously
+      As if in spirit-doubt; then glad and free
+    Crystalled the being won from waiting grove
+      Into a human likeness. There he stood,
+      The vine-browed shape of Nature's mortal mood.
+
+    "Now have I found thee, Vision I have sought
+      These years, unknowing; surely thou art fair
+      And inly wise, and on thy tasselled hair
+    Glows Heaven's own light. Passion and fame are naught
+      To thy clear eyes, O Prince of many lands,--
+      Grant me thy joy," I cried, and stretched my hands.
+
+    No answer but the flourish of the breeze
+      Through the black pines. Then, slowly, as the wind
+      Parts the dense cloud-forms, leaving naught behind
+    But shapeless vapor, through the budding trees
+      Drifted some force unseen, and from my sight
+      Faded my god into the morning light.
+
+    Again alone. With wistful, straining eyes
+      I waited, and the sunshine flecked the bank
+      Happy with arbutus and violets where I sank
+    Hearing, near by, a host of melodies,
+      The rapture of the woodthrush; soft her mood
+      The love-mate, with such golden numbers woo'd.
+
+    He ceased; the fresh moss-odors filled the grove
+      With a strange sweetness, the dark hemlock boughs
+      Moved soft, as though they heard the brooklet rouse
+    To its spring soul, and whisper low of love.
+      The white-robed birches stood unbendingly
+      Like royal maids, in proud expectancy.
+
+    Athwart the ramage where the young leaves press
+      It came to me, ah, call it what you will
+      Vision or waking dream, I see it still!
+    Again a form born of the woodland stress
+      Grew to my gaze, and by some secret sign
+      Though shadow-hid, I knew the form was thine.
+
+    The glancing sunlight made thy ruddy hair
+      A crown of gold, but on thy spirit-face
+      There was no smile, only a tender grace
+    Of love half doubt. Upon thy hand a rare
+      Wild bird of Paradise perched fearlessly
+      With radiant plumage and still, lustrous eye.
+
+    And as I gazed I saw what I had deemed
+      A shadow near thy hand, a dusky wing,
+      A bird like last year's leaves, so dull a thing
+    Beside its fellow; as the sunshine gleamed
+    Each breast showed letters bright as crystalled rain,
+      The fair bird bore "Delight," the other "Pain."
+
+    Then came thy voice: "O Love, wilt have my gift?"
+      I stretched my glad hands eagerly to grasp
+      The heaven-blown bird, gold-hued, and longed to clasp
+    It close and know it mine. Ere I might lift
+      The shining thing and hold it to my breast
+      Again I heard thy voice with vague unrest.
+
+    "These are twin birds and may not parted be."
+      Full in thine eyes I gazed, and read therein
+      The paradox of life, of love, of sin,
+    As on a night of cloud and mystery
+      One darting flash makes bright the hidden ways,
+      And feet tread knowingly though thick the haze.
+
+    Thy gift, if so I chose,--no other hand
+      Save thine.--I reached and gathered to my heart
+      The quivering, sentient things.--Sometimes I start
+    To know them hidden there.--If I should stand
+      Idly, some day, and _one_,--God help me!--breast
+      A homing breeze,--my _brown_ bird knows _its_ nest.
+
+
+
+
+Dream-Song.
+
+    Cam'st thou not nigh to me
+    In that one glimpse of thee
+    When thy lips, tremblingly,
+        Said: "My Beloved."
+    'Twas but a moment's space,
+    And in that crowded place
+    I dared not scan thy face
+        O! my Beloved.
+
+    Yet there may come a time
+    (Though loving be a crime
+    Only allowed in rhyme
+        To us, Beloved),
+    When safe 'neath sheltering arm
+    I may, without alarm,
+    Hear thy lips, close and warm,
+        Murmur: "Beloved!"
+
+
+
+
+Doubt.
+
+    I do not know if all the fault be mine,
+      Or why I may not think of thee and be
+      At peace with mine own heart. Unceasingly
+    Grim doubts beset me, bygone words of thine
+      Take subtle meaning, and I cannot rest
+      Till all my fears and follies are confessed.
+
+    Perhaps the wild wind's questioning has brought
+      My heart its melancholy, for, alone
+      In the night stillness, I can hear him moan
+    In sobbing gusts, as though he vainly sought
+      Some bygone bliss. Against the dripping pane
+      In storm-blown torrents beats the driving rain.
+
+    Nay I will tell thee all, I will not hide
+      One thought from thee, and if I do thee wrong
+      So much the more must I be brave and strong
+    To show my fault. And if thou then shouldst chide
+      I will accept reproof most willingly
+      So it but bringeth peace to thee and me.
+
+    I dread thy past. Phantoms of other days
+      Pursue my vision. There are other hands
+      Which thou hast held, perchance some slender bands
+    That draw thee still to other woodland ways
+      Than those which _we_ have known, some blissful hours
+      I do not share, of love, and June, and flowers.
+
+    I dread her most, that woman whom thou knewest
+      Those years ago,--I cannot bear to think
+      That she can say: "My lover praised the pink
+    Of palm, or ear," "The violets were bluest
+      In that dear copse," and dream of some fair day
+      When thou didst while her summer hours away.
+
+    I dread them too, those light loves and desires
+      That lie in the dim shadow of the years;
+      I fain would cheat myself of all my fears
+    And, as a child watching warm winter fires,
+      Dream not of yesterday's black embers, nor
+      To-morrow's ashes that may strew the floor.
+
+    I did not dream of this while thou wert near,
+      But now the thought that haunts me day by day
+      Is that the things I love, the tender way
+    Of mastery, the kisses that are dear
+      As Heaven's best gifts, to other lips and arms
+      Owe half their blessedness and all their charms.
+
+    Tell me that I am wrong, O! Man of men,
+      Surely it is not hard to comfort me,
+      Laugh at my fears with dear persistency,
+    Nay, if thou must, lie to me! There, again,
+      I hear the rain, and the wind's wailing cry
+      Stirs with wild life the night's monotony.
+
+
+
+
+Song.
+
+              If I had known
+    That when the morrow dawned the roses would be dead
+    I would have filled my hands with blossoms white and red.
+              If I had known!
+
+              If I had known
+    That I should be to-day deaf to all happy birds
+    I would have lain for hours to listen to your words.
+              If I had known!
+
+              If I had known
+    That with the morning light you would be gone for aye
+    I would have been more kind;--sweet Love had won his way
+              If I had known.
+
+
+
+
+Anticipation.
+
+    Let us peer forward through the dusk of years
+      And force the silent future to reveal
+      Her store of garnered joys; we may not kneel
+    For ever, and entreat our bliss with tears.
+      Somewhere on this drear earth the sunshine lies,
+      Somewhere the air breathes Heaven-blown harmonies.
+
+    Some day when you and I have fully learned
+      Our waiting-lesson, wondering, hand in hand
+      We shall gaze out upon an unknown land,
+    Our thoughts and our desires forever turned
+      From our old griefs, as swallows, home warding,
+      Sweep ever southward with unwearied wing.
+
+    We shall fare forth, comrades for evermore.
+      Though the ill-omened bird Time loves to bear
+      Has brushed this cheek and left an impress there
+    I shall be fierce and dauntless as of yore,
+      Free as a bird o'er the wide world to rove,
+      And strong and fearless, O my Love, to love.
+
+    What have we now? The haunting, vague unrest
+      Of incompleted measures; and we dream
+      Vainly, of the Musician and His theme,
+    How the great Master in a day most blest
+      Shall strike some mighty chords in harmony,
+      And make an end, and set the music free!
+
+    We snatch from Fate our moments of delight,
+      Few as, in April hours, the wooing calls
+      Of orioles, or when the twilight falls
+    First o'er the forest ere the approach of night
+      The eyes of evening;--and Love's song is sung
+      But once, Dear Heart, but once, and we are young.
+
+    Over the seas together, you and I,
+      'Neath blue Italian skies, or on the hills
+      Of storied Greece,--where the warm sunlight fills
+    Spain's mellow vineyards,--wandering reverently
+      O'er the green plains of Palestine,--our days
+      A golden holiday in Old World ways.
+
+    Yet would we linger not by southern shores;
+      The bracing breath of Scandinavian snows
+      Would draw us from our dreams. The North wind blows
+    Upon thy cheek, my Norseman, and the roars
+      Of the wild Baltic sound within my ears
+      When to my dreams thy stalwart form appears.
+
+    This will the future bring. See! Thou hast given
+      From out the fulness of thy strength and will
+      This courage to me. Though the rugged hill
+    Looms high, and fronts our vision, yet our heaven
+      (I see it when I sleep) with portals wide
+      And shining towers, gleams on the farther side.
+
+
+
+
+Song.
+
+    "Tshirr!" scolds the oriole
+      Where the elms stir,
+    Flaunting her gourd-like nest
+    On the tree's swaying crest:
+    "May's here, I cannot rest,
+      Go away; tshirr!"
+
+    "Tshirr!" scolds the oriole
+      Where the leaves blur,
+    Giving her threads a jerk,
+    Spying where rivals lurk,
+    "May's here, and I'm at work.
+      Go away, tshirr!"
+
+
+
+
+Misunderstanding.
+
+    Spring's face is wreathed in smiles. She had been driven
+      Hither and thither at the surly will
+      Of treacherous winds till her sweet heart was chill.
+    Into her grasp the sceptre has been given
+      And now she touches with a proud young hand
+      The earth, and turns to blossoms all the land.
+
+    We catch the smile, the joyousness, the pride,
+      And share them with her. Surely winter gloom
+      Is for the old, and frost is for the tomb.
+    Youth must have pleasure, and the tremulous tide
+      Of sun-kissed waves, and all the golden fire
+      Of Summer's noontide splendor of desire.
+
+    I have forgotten,--for the breath of buds
+      Is on my temples, if in former days
+      I have known sorrow; I remember praise,
+    And calm content, and joy's great ocean-floods,
+      And many dreams so sweet that, in their place,
+      We would not welcome even Truth's fair face.
+
+    O Man to whom my heart hast leaned, dost know
+      Aught of my life? Sometimes a strong despair
+      Enters my soul and finds a lodging there;
+    Thou dost not know me, and the years will go
+      As these last months have gone, and I shall be
+      Still far, still a strange woman unto thee.
+
+    I do not blame thee. If there is a fault
+      Let it be mine, for surely had I tried
+      The door of my heart's home to open wide
+    No need had been for even Love's assault.
+      And yet, methinks, somewhere there is a key
+      Thou mightest have found, and entered happily.
+
+    I am no saint niched in a hallowed wall
+      For men to worship, but I would compel
+      A level gaze. You teachers who would tell
+    A woman's place I do defy you all!
+      While justice lives, and love with joy is crowned
+      Woman and man must meet on equal ground.
+
+    The deepest wrong is falsehood. She who sells
+      Her soul and body for a little gain
+      In ease, or the world's notice, has a stain
+    Upon her soul no lighter for the bells
+      Of marriage rites, and purer far is she
+      Who gives her all for love's sad ecstasy.
+
+    Canst thou not understand a nature strong
+      And passionate, with impulses that sway,
+      With yearning tenderness that must have way,
+    Yet knows no ill desire, no touch of wrong?
+      If thou canst not then in God's name I pray
+      See me no more forever from this day.
+
+
+
+
+Shadow Song.
+
+    The night is long
+      And there are no stars,--
+        Let me but dream
+        That the long fields gleam
+    With sunlight and song,
+    Then I shall not long
+      For the light of stars.
+
+    Let me but dream,--
+      For there are no stars,--
+        Dream that the ache
+        And the wild heart-break
+    Are but things that seem.
+    Ah! let me dream
+      For there are no stars.
+
+
+
+
+Revulsion.
+
+    I see the starting buds, I catch the gleam
+      In the near distance of a sun-kissed pool,
+      The blessed April air blows soft and cool,
+    Small wonder if all sorrow grows a dream,
+      And we forget that close around us lie
+      A city's poor, a city's misery.
+
+    Of every outward vision there is some
+      Internal counterpart. To-day I know
+      The blessedness of living, and the glow
+    Of life's dear spring-tide. I can bid thee come
+      In thought and wander where the fields are fair
+      With bursting life, and I, rejoicing, there.
+
+    Yet have I passed, Beloved, through the vale
+      Of dark dismay, and felt the dews of death
+      Upon my brow, have measured out my breath
+    Counting my hours of joy, as misers quail
+      At every footfall in the quiet night
+      And clutch their gold and count it in affright.
+
+    I learned new lessons in that school of fear,
+      Life took a fresh perspective; sad and brave
+      The view is from the threshold of the grave.
+    In that long, backward glance I saw her clear
+      From fogs of gathering night, and all the show
+      Of small things that seemed great a while ago.
+
+    Our dreams of fame, the stubborn power we call
+      Our self-respect, our hopes of worldly good,
+      Our jealousies and fears, how in the flood
+    Of this new light they faded, poor and small;
+      Showing our pettiness beside God's truth,
+      Besides His age our poor, unlearned youth.
+
+    The earth yearns forth, impatient for the days
+      Of its maturity, the ample sweets
+      Of Summer's fulness; and its great heart beats
+    With a fierce restlessness, for Spring delays
+      Seeing her giddy reign end all too soon,
+      Her bud-crown ravished by the hand of June.
+
+    And I,--I shall be happy,--promise me
+      This one small thing, Beloved, for I long
+      For happiness as the caged bird for song.
+    Not where four walls close in the melody
+      I want the fresh, sweet air, the water's gush,
+      The strong, sane life with thee, the summer hush.
+
+
+
+
+A Song of Dawn.
+
+    In the east a lightening;
+    Where the woods are chill
+    Moves an unseen finger,
+    Wakes a sudden thrill;
+
+    In my soul a glimmer,
+    Hush! no words are heard!
+    In heart-ambush hidden
+    Chirrup of a bird;
+
+    Tremble heart and forest
+    Like a frightened fawn,
+    Gleam the distant tree-tops,
+    Hither comes the dawn!
+
+
+
+
+Weariness.
+
+    This April sun has wakened into cheer
+      The wintry paths of thought, and tinged with gold
+      These threadbare leaves of fancy brown and old.
+    This is for us the wakening of the year
+      And May's sweet breath will draw the waiting soul
+      To where in distance lies the longed-for goal.
+
+    The summer life will still all questioning,
+      The leaves will whisper peace, and calm will be
+      The wild, vast, blue, illimitable sea.
+    And we shall hush our murmurings, and bring
+      To Nature, green below and blue above,
+      A whole life's worshipping, a whole life's love.
+
+    We will not speak of sometime fretting fears,
+      We will not think of aught that may arise
+      In future hours to cloud our golden skies.
+    Some souls there are who love their woes and tears,
+      Gaining their joy by contrast, but for thee
+      And me, Beloved, peace is ecstasy.
+
+    It was not always so, there was a time
+      When I would choose the rocky mountain way,
+      And climb the hills of doubt to find the day.
+    Fresh effort brought fresh zest, and winter's rime
+      Chilled not but crowned endeavor, and the heat
+      Of summer thrilled, and made the pulses beat.
+
+    But now I am so weary that I turn
+      From labor with a shudder, and from pain
+      As from an enemy; I see no gain
+    In suffering, and cleansing fires must burn
+      As keenly as desire, so let me know
+      Quiet with thee, and twilight's afterglow.
+
+    I, who have boasted of my strength and will,
+      And ventured daring flights, and stood alone
+      In fearless, flushed defiance, I have grown
+    Humble, and seek another hand to fill
+      Life's cup, and other eyes to pierce the skies
+      Of Wisdom's dear, sad, mighty mysteries.
+
+    Ah! I will lie so quiet in thine arms
+      I will not stir thee; and thy whisperings
+      Shall teach me patience, and so many things
+    I have not learned as yet. And all alarms
+      Will melt in peace when, safe from tempest's rage
+      My wind-tossed ship has found its anchorage.
+
+
+
+
+A Song of Rest.
+
+    The world may rage without,
+        Quiet is here;
+    Statesmen may toil and shout,
+        Cynics may sneer;
+    The great world--let it go--
+    June warmth be March's snow,
+    I care not--be it so
+        Since I am here.
+
+    Time was when war's alarm
+        Called for a fear,
+    When sorrow's seeming harm
+        Hastened a tear;
+    Naught care I now what foe
+    Threatens, for scarce I know
+    How the year's seasons go
+        Since I am here.
+
+    This is my resting-place
+        Holy and dear,
+    Where Pain's dejected face
+        May not appear.
+    This is the world to me,
+    Earth's woes I will not see
+    But rest contentedly
+        Since I am here.
+
+    Is't your voice chiding, Love,
+        My mild career?
+    My meek abiding, Love,
+        Daily so near?
+    "Danger and loss" to me?
+    Ah, Sweet, I fear to see
+    No loss but loss of _Thee_
+        And I am here.
+
+
+
+
+Death.
+
+    If days should pass without a written word
+      To tell me of thy welfare, and if days
+      Should lengthen out to weeks, until the maze
+    Of questioning fears confused me, and I heard.
+      Life-sounds as echoes; and one came and said
+      After these weeks of waiting: "He is dead!"
+
+    Though the quick sword had found the vital part,
+      And the life-blood must mingle with the tears,
+      I think that, as the dying soldier hears
+    The cries of victory, and feels his heart
+      Surge with his country's triumph-hour, I could
+      Hope bravely on, and feel that God was good.
+
+    I could take up my thread of life again
+      And weave my pattern though the colors were
+      Faded forever. Though I might not dare
+    Dream often of thee, I should know that when
+      Death came to thee upon thy lips my name
+      Lingered, and lingers ever without blame.
+
+    Aye, lingers ever. Though we may not know
+      Much that our spirits crave, yet is it given
+      To us to feel that in the waiting Heaven
+    Great souls are greater, and if God bestow
+      A mighty love He will not let it die
+      Through the vast ages of eternity.
+
+    But if some day the bitter knowledge swept
+      Down on my life,--bearing my treasured freight
+      To founder on the shoals of scorn,--what Fate
+    Smiling with awful irony had kept
+      Till life grew sweeter,--that my god was clay,
+      That 'neath thy strength a lurking weakness lay;
+
+    That thou, whom I had deemed a man of men
+      Faulty, as great men are, but with no taint
+      Of baseness,--with those faults that shew the saint
+    Of after days, perhaps,--wert even then
+      When first I loved thee but a spreading tree
+      Whose leaves shewed not its roots' deformity;
+
+    I should not weep, for there are wounds that lie
+      Too deep for tears,--and Death is but a friend
+      Who loves too dearly, and the parting end
+    Of Love's joy-day a paltry pain, a cry
+      To God, then peace,--beside the torturing grief
+      When honor dies, and trust, and soul's belief.
+
+    Travellers have told that in the Java isles
+      The upas-tree breathes its dread vapor out
+      Into the air; there needs no hand about
+    Its branches for the poison's deadly wiles
+      To work a strong man's hurt, for there is death
+      Envenomed, noisome, in his every breath.
+
+    So would I breathe thy poison in my soul,
+      Till all that had been wholesome, pure, and true
+      Shewed its decay, and stained and wasted grew.
+    Though sundered as the distant Northern Pole
+      From his far sister, I should bear thy blight
+      Upon me as I passed into the night.
+
+    Didst dream thy truth and honor meant so much
+      To me, Dear Heart? Oh! I am full of tears
+      To-night, of longing, love and foolish fears.
+    Would I might see thee, know thy tender touch,
+      For Time is long, and though I may not will
+      To question Fate, I am a woman still.
+
+
+
+
+Battle Song.
+
+    Clear sounds the call on high:
+    "To arms and victory!"
+    Brave hearts that win or die,
+        Dying, may win;
+    Proudly the banners wave,
+    What though the goal's the grave?
+    Death cannot harm the brave,--
+        Through death they win.
+
+    Softly the evening hush
+    Stilling strife's maddened rush
+    Cools the fierce battle flush,--
+        See the day die;
+    A thousand faces white
+    Mirror the cold moonlight
+    And glassy eyes are bright
+        With Victory.
+
+
+
+
+Content.
+
+    I have been wandering where the daisies grow,
+      Great fields of tall, white daisies, and I saw
+      Them bend reluctantly, and seem to draw
+    Away in pride when the fresh breeze would blow
+      From timothy and yellow buttercup,
+      So by their fearless beauty lifted up.
+
+    Yet must they bend at the strong breeze's will,
+      Bright, flawless things, whether in wrath he sweep
+      Or, as oftimes, in mood caressing, creep
+    Over the meadows and adown the hill.
+      So Love in sport or truth, as Fates allow,
+      Blows over proud young hearts, and bids them bow.
+
+    So beautiful is it to live, so sweet
+      To hear the ripple of the bobolink,
+      To smell the clover blossoms white and pink,
+    To feel oneself far from the dusty street,
+      From dusty souls, from all the flare and fret
+      Of living, and the fever of regret.
+
+    I have grown younger; I can scarce believe
+      It is the same sad woman full of dreams
+      Of seven short weeks ago, for now it seems
+    I am a child again, and can deceive
+      My soul with daisies, plucking one by one
+      The petals dazzling in the noonday sun.
+
+    Almost with old-time eagerness I try
+      My fate, and say: "un peu," a soft "beaucoup,"
+      Then, lower, "passionément, pas du tout;"
+    Quick the white petals fall, and lovingly
+      I pluck the last, and drop with tender touch
+      The knowing daisy, for he loves me "much."
+
+    I can remember how, in childish days,
+      I deemed that he who held my heart in thrall
+      Must love me "passionately" or "not at all."
+    Poor little wilful ignorant heart that prays
+      It knows not what, and heedlessly demands
+      The best that life can give with out-stretched hands!
+
+    Now I am wiser, and have learned to prize
+      Peace above passion, and the summer life
+      Here with the flowers above the ceaseless strife
+    Of armed ambitions. They alone are wise
+      Who know the daisy-secrets, and can hold
+      Fast in their eager hands her heart of gold.
+
+
+
+
+Sea-Song.
+
+    A dash of spray,
+    A weed-browned way,--
+    My ship's in the bay,
+    In the glad blue bay,--
+    The wind's from the west
+    And the waves have a crest,
+    But my bird's in the nest
+    And my ship's in the bay!
+
+    At dawn to stand
+    Soft hand to hand,
+    Bare feet on the sand,--
+    On the hard brown sand,--
+    To wait, dew-crowned,
+    For the tarrying sound
+    Of a keel that will ground
+    On the scraping sand.
+
+    A glad surprise
+    In the wind-swept skies
+    Of my wee one's eyes,--
+    Those wondering eyes.
+    He will come, my sweet,
+    And will haste to meet
+    Those hurrying feet
+    And those sea-blue eyes.
+
+    I know the day
+    Must weary away,
+    And my ship's in the bay,--
+    In the clear, blue bay,--
+    Ah! there's wind in the west,
+    For the waves have a crest,
+    But my bird's in the nest
+    And my ship's in the bay!
+
+
+
+
+Gratitude.
+
+    There are some things, dear Friend, are easier far
+      To say in written words than when we sit
+      Eye answering eye, or hand to hand close knit.
+    Not that there is between us any bar
+      Of shyness or reserve; the day is past
+      For that, and utter trust has come at last.
+
+    Only, when shut alone and safe inside
+      These four white walls,--hearing no sound except
+      Our own heart-beatings, silences have crept
+    Stealthily round us,--as the incoming tide
+      Quiet and unperceived creeps ever on
+      Till mound and pebble, rock and reef are gone.
+
+    Or out on the green hillside, even there
+      There is a hush, and words and thoughts are still.
+      For the trees speak, and myriad voices fill
+    With wondrous echoes all the waiting air.
+      We listen, and in listening must forget
+    Our own hearts' murmur, and our spirits' fret;
+
+    Even our joys,--thou knowest;--when the air
+      Is full to overflowing with the sense
+      Of hope fulfilled and passion's vehemence.
+    There is no place for words; we do not dare
+      To break Love's stillness, even though the power
+      Were ours by speech to lengthen out the hour.
+
+    But here in quietness I can recall
+      All I would tell thee, how thou art to me
+      Impulse and inspiration, and with thee
+    I can but smile though all my idols fall.
+      I wait my meed as others who have known
+      Patience till to their utmost stature grown.
+
+    As when the heavens are draped in gloomy gray
+      And earth is tremulous with a vague unrest
+      A glory fills the tender, troubled West
+    That glads the closing of November's day,
+      So breaks in sun-smiles my beclouded sky
+      When day is over and I know thee nigh.
+
+    Thou art so much, all this and more, to me,
+      And what am I to thee? Can I repay
+      These many gifts? Is there no royal way
+    Of recompense, so I may proudly see
+      The man my heart delights to praise renowned
+      For wealth and honor, and with rapture crowned?
+
+    Ah! though there is no recompense in love
+      Yet have I paid thee, given these gifts to thee,
+      Joy, riches, worship. Thou hast joy in me,
+    Is it not so, Beloved? Who shall prove
+      No worship of thee by my soul confessed?
+      And riches? Ah! a wealth of love is best.
+
+
+
+
+Song.
+
+    I have known a thousand pleasures,--
+            Love is best--
+    Ocean's songs and forest treasures,
+            Work and rest,
+    Jewelled joys of dear existence,
+    Triumph over Fate's resistance,
+    But to prove, through Time's wide distance,
+            Love is best.
+
+
+
+
+Prayer.
+
+    I stood upon a hill, and watched the death
+      Of the day's turmoil. Still the glory spread
+      Cloud-top to cloud-top, and each rearing head
+    Trembled to crimson. So a mighty breath
+      From some wild Titan in a rising ire
+      Might kindle flame in voicing his desire.
+
+    Soft stirred the evening air; the pine-crowned hills
+      Glowed in an answering rapture where the flush
+      Grew to a blood-drop, and the vesper hush
+    Moved in my soul, while from my life all ills
+      Faded and passed away. God's voice was there
+      And in my heart the silence was a prayer.
+
+    There was a day when to my fearfulness
+      Was born a joy, when doubt was swept afar
+      A shadow and a memory, and a star
+    Gleamed in my sky more bright for the distress.
+      The stillness breathed thanksgiving, and the air
+      Wafted, methought, the incense of a prayer.
+
+    Heaven sets no bounds of bead-roll or appeal;
+      And when the fiery heart with mute embrace
+      Bends, tremblingly, but for a moment's space
+    It needs no words that cry, no limbs that kneel.
+      As meteors flash, so, in a moment's light,
+      Life, darting forth, touches the Infinite.
+
+    All my prayers wordless? Nay, I can recall
+      A night not so long past but that each thought
+      Lives at this hour, and throbs again unsought
+    When Silence broods, and Night's chill shadows fall;
+      Then Darkness' thousand pulses thrilled and stirred
+      With the dear grace of a remembered word;
+
+    And I was still, thy voice enshrouding me.
+      Like the strong sweep of ocean-breath the power
+      Of one resistless thought transformed my hour
+    Of love-dreams to a fear. All hopelessly
+      I knew love's impotence, and my despair
+      Stretched soul-hands forth, and quivered to a prayer.
+
+    My passionate heart cried out: "If his dear life
+      Through stress of keen temptation merits aught
+      Of penance or requital, be it wrought
+    Upon _my_ life. If only through the strife
+      Is won the peace, through drudgery the gain,
+      Give him the issue, and to me the pain!"
+
+    Some day, in our soul's course o'er trackless lands,
+      Swayed oft by adverse winds, or swept along
+      In Fate's wild current with the fluttering throng
+    Towards Sin's engulfing maelstrom, spirit hands
+      Will brace our trembling wings, and through the night
+      Point and upbear in our last trembling flight.
+
+
+
+
+Song.
+
+    Red gleams the mountain ridge,
+      Slow the stream creeps
+    Under the old bent bridge,
+      And labor sleeps.
+
+    There are no restless birds,
+      No leaves that stir,
+    Dusk her gray mantle girds,
+      Night's harbinger.
+
+    The storm-soul's change and start
+      Pause, lull, and cease;
+    In my unquiet heart
+      Is born a peace.
+
+
+
+
+Loneliness.
+
+    Dear, I am lonely, for the bay is still
+      As any hill-girt lake; the long brown beach
+      Lies bare and wet. As far as eye can reach
+    There is no motion. Even on the hill
+      Where the breeze loves to wander I can see
+      No stir of leaves, nor any waving tree.
+
+    There is a great red cliff that fronts my view
+      A bare, unsightly thing; it angers me
+      With its unswerving-grim monotony.
+    The mackerel weir, with branching boughs askew
+      Stands like a fire-swept forest, while the sea
+      Laps it, with soothing sighs, continually.
+
+    There are no tempests in this sheltered bay,
+      The stillness frets me, and I long to be
+      Where winds sweep strong and blow tempestuously,
+    To stand upon some hill-top far away
+      And face a gathering gale, and let the stress
+      Of Nature's mood subdue my restlessness.
+
+    An impulse seizes me, a mad desire
+      To tear away that red-browed cliff, to sweep
+      Its crest of trees and huts into the deep;
+    To force a gap by axe, or storm, or fire,
+      And let rush in with motion glad and free
+      The rolling waves of the wild wondrous sea.
+
+    Sometimes I wonder if I am the child
+      Of calm, law-loving parents, or a stray
+      From some wild gypsy camp. I cannot stay
+    Quiet among my fellows; when this wild
+      Longing for freedom takes me I must fly
+      To my dear woods and know my liberty.
+
+    It is this cringing to a social law
+      That I despise, these changing, senseless forms
+      Of fashion! And until a thousand storms
+    Of God's impatience shall reveal the flaw
+      In man's pet system, he will weave the spell
+      About his heart and dream that all is well.
+
+    Ah! Life is hard, Dear Heart, for I am left
+      To battle with my old-time fears alone
+      I must live calmly on, and make no moan
+    Though of my hoped-for happiness bereft.
+      Thou wilt not come, and still the red cliff lies
+      Hiding my ocean from these longing eyes.
+
+
+
+
+Sea-Song.
+
+    It sings to me, it sings to me,
+    The shore-blown voice of the blithesome sea!
+      Of its world of gladness all untold,
+      Of its heart of green, and its mines of gold,
+    And desires that leap and flee.
+
+    It moans to me, it moans to me!
+    The storm-stirred voice of the restive sea!
+      Of the vain dismay and the yearning pain
+      For hopes that will never be born again
+    From the womb of the wavering sea.
+
+    It calls to me, it calls to me,
+    The luring voice of the rebel sea!
+      And I long with a love that is born of tears
+      For the wild fresh life, and the glorying fears,
+    For the quest and the mystery.
+
+    It wails to me, it wails to me,
+    Of the deep dark graves in the yawning sea;
+      And I hear the voice of a boy that is gone.
+      But the lad sleeps sound till the judgment-dawn
+    In the heart of the wind-swept sea.
+
+
+
+
+Incompleteness.
+
+    Since first I met thee, Dear, and long before
+      I knew myself beloved, save by the sense
+      All women have, a shadowy confidence
+    Half-fear, that _feels_ its bliss nor asks for more,
+      I have learned new desires, known Love's distress
+      Sounded the deepest depths of loneliness.
+
+    I was a child at heart, and lived alone,
+      Dreaming my dreams, as children may, at whiles,
+      Between their hours of play, and Earth's broad smiles
+    Allured my heart, and ocean's marvellous tone
+      Woke no strange echoes, and the woods' complain
+      Made chants sonorous, stirred no thoughts of pain.
+
+    And if, sometimes, dear Nature spoke to me
+      In tones mysterious, I had learned so much
+      Dwelling beside her daily, that her touch
+    Made me discerning. Though I might not see
+      Her purpose nor her meaning, I had part
+      In the proud throbbing of that mighty heart.
+
+    But now the earth has put a tiring-cloth
+      About her face; even in the mountains' cheer
+      There is a lack, and in the sea a fear,
+    The glad, rash sea, whose every mood, if wroth
+      Or soothing mild, is dear to me as are
+      Joy's new-born kisses on the lips of Care.
+
+    Since I have known thee, Dear, all life has grown
+      An expectation. As the swelling grain
+      Trembles to harvesting, and earth in pain
+    Travails till Spring is born, so felt alone
+      Is the dumb reaching out of things unborn,
+      The night's gray promise of the amber morn.
+
+    I long to taste my pleasures through thy lips,
+      To sail with thee o'er foaming waves and feel
+      Our spirits rise together with the reel
+    Of waters and the wavering land's eclipse;
+      To see thy fair hair damp with salt sea-spray
+      And in thine eyes the wildness of the way.
+
+    I long to share my woods with thee, to fly
+      To some black-hearted forest where the trail
+      Of mortals lingers not,--to hear the gale.
+    Sweep round us with a shuddering ecstasy,
+      To feel, night's tumult passed, the cool soft hand
+      Of the untroubled dawn move o'er the land.
+
+    To swim with thee far out into the bay,
+      A trembling glitter on the waves, the shore
+      Glowing with noontide fervor, nevermore
+    To fear the treacherous depths, though long the way.
+      Sweet beyond words the sighs that breathe and blow,
+      The moist salt kisses, and the glad warm glow.
+
+    And when the unrest, the vague desires that rush
+      Over our lives and may not be denied,--
+      Gone in the tasting,--lure us where the tide
+    Of men sweeps on, let us forget the hush
+      Together, and in city madness drain
+      Our cup of pleasure to its dregs of pain.
+
+    Ever I need thee. Incomplete and poor
+      This life of mine. Yet never dream my soul
+      Craves the old peace. Till I may have the whole
+    My joy is my abiding, and what more
+      Of dreams and waking bliss the Fates allow
+      Comes as a gift of Love's great overflow.
+
+
+
+
+Song.
+
+    Deep in the green bracken lying,
+      Close by the welcoming sea,
+    Dream I, and let all my dreaming
+      Drift as it will, Love, to thee.
+
+    Sated with splendid caresses
+      Showered by the sun in his pride,
+    Scorched by his passionate kisses
+      Languidly ebbs the tide.
+
+
+
+
+Life's Joys.
+
+    I have been pondering what our teachers call
+      The mystery of Pain; and lo! my thought
+      After it's half-blind reaching out has caught
+    This truth and held it fast. We may not fall
+      Beyond our mounting; stung by life's annoy,
+      Deeper we feel the mystery of Joy.
+
+    Sometimes they steal across us like a breath
+      Of Eastern perfume in a darkened room,
+      These joys of ours; we grope on through the gloom
+    Seeking some common thing, and from its sheath
+      Unloose, unknowing, some bewildering scent
+      Of spice-thronged memories of the Orient.
+
+    Sometimes they dart across our turbid sky
+      Like a quick flash after a heated day.
+      A moment, where the sombrous shadows lay
+    We see a glory. Though it passed us by
+      No earthly power can filch that dazzling glow
+      From memory's eye, that instant's shine and show.
+
+    Life is so full of joys. The alluring sea,
+      This morning clear and placid, may, ere night,
+      Toss like a petulant child, and when the light
+    Of a new morning dawns sweep grand and free
+      A mighty power. If fierce, or mild, or bright,
+      With every tide flows in a fresh delight.
+
+    I can remember well when first I knew
+      The fragrance of white clover. There I lay
+      On the warm July grass and heard the play
+    Of sun-browned insects, and the breezes blew
+      To my drowsed sense the scent the blossoms had;
+      The subtle sweetness stayed, and I was glad.
+
+    Nor passed the gladness. Though the years have gone
+      (A many years, Beloved, since that day,)
+      Whenever by the roadside or away
+    In radiant summer fields, wandering alone
+      Or with glad children, to my restless sight
+      Shows that pale head, comes back the old delight.
+
+    Oh! the dark water, and the filling sail!
+      The scudding like a sea-mew, with the hand
+      Firm on the tiller! See, the red-shored land
+    Receding, as we brave the hastening gale!
+      White gleam the wave-tops, and the breakers' roar
+      Sounds thunderingly on the far distant shore.
+
+    This mad hair flying in the breeze blows wild
+      Across my face. See, there, the gathering squall,
+      That dark line to the eastward, watch it crawl
+    Stealthily towards us o'er the snow-wreaths piled
+      Close on each other! Ah! what joy to be
+      Drunk with salt air, in battle with the sea!
+
+    So many joys, and yet I have but told
+      Of simple things, the joys of air and sea!
+      Not all these things are worth one hour with thee,
+    One moment, when thy daring arms enfold
+      My body, and all other, meaner joys,
+      Fade from me like a child's forgotten toys.
+
+    One thought is ever with me, glorying all
+      Life's common aims. Surely will dawn a day
+      Bright with an unknown rapture, when thy way
+    Will be _my_ journey-road, and I can call
+      These joys _our_ joys, for thou wilt walk with me
+      Down budding pathways to the abounding sea.
+
+
+
+
+Song.
+
+    Low laughed the Columbine,
+    Trembled her petals fine
+      As the breeze blew;
+    In her dove-heart there stirred
+    Murmurs the dull bee heard,
+    And Love, Life's wild white bird,
+      Straightway she knew.
+
+    Resting her lilac cheek
+    Gently, in aspect meek,
+      On the gray stone,
+    The morning-glory, free,
+    Welcomed the yellow bee,
+    Heard the near-rolling sea
+      Murmur and moan.
+
+    Calm lay the tawny sand
+    Stretching a long wet hand
+      To the far wave.
+    Swift to her warm waiting breast
+    Longing to be possessed
+    Leaps 'neath his billowy crest
+      Her Lover brave.
+
+
+
+
+Barter
+
+    There is a long thin line of fading gold
+      In the far West, and the transfigured leaves
+      On some slight, topmost bough that sways and heaves
+    Hang limp and tremulous. Nor warm, nor cold
+      The pungent air, and, 'neath the yellow haze,
+      Show flushed and glad the wild, October ways.
+
+    There is a soft enchantment in the air,
+      A mystery the Summer knows not, nor
+      The sturdy, frost-crowned Winter. Nature wore
+    Her blandest smile to-day, as here and there
+      I wandered, elf-beset, through wood and field
+      And gleaned the glories of the autumn yield.
+
+    A bunch of purple aster, golden-rod
+      Darkened by the first frost, a drooping spray
+      Of scarlet barberry, and tall and gray
+    The silk-cored cotton with its bursting pod,
+      Some tarnished maple-boughs, and, like a flash
+      Of sudden flame, a branch of mountain ash.
+
+    She smiled, but it was not the welcoming smile
+      Of frank surrender. As a witching maid
+      In gorgeous garments cunningly arrayed
+    Might smile and draw them closer, hers the guile
+      To let men hope, pray, labor in love's stress
+      Ere they her hidden beauties may possess.
+
+    Deep in the heart of earth where the springs rise,
+      Down with the sweet linnæa and the moss,
+      In the brown thrush's throat, where the pines toss
+    In Winter's harrying storms her secret lies.
+      Ours the chill night-dews and the waiting pain
+      Ere we her fairy wealth may hope to gain.
+
+    'Tis so with knowledge. Eagerly we turn
+      Great Wisdom's page, and when our clear eyes grow
+      Dim in the dusk of years, and heads bend low
+    Weary at last, the truth we strove to learn
+      Is ours forever. But its joy of sight
+      Is dearly bought, methinks, with Youth's delight.
+
+    Fate, too, with chaffering voice and beckoning hand
+      Doles out our happiness; we snatch at wealth
+      And pay with anxious care and fading health.
+    We call for Love, and dream that we shall stand
+      On ground enchanted, but, though sweet the way,
+      The rocks are sharp, and grief comes with the Day.
+
+    Even in love, Dear Heart, there is exchange
+      Of gifts and griefs, and so I render thee
+      Vows for thy vows, and pay unfalteringly
+    What love demands, nor ever deem it strange.
+      And when the snow drifts fast, and north-winds sting
+      I make no murmur, but await the Spring.
+
+
+
+
+Song.
+
+    Joy came in youth as a humming-bird,
+      (Sing hey! for the honey and bloom of life!)
+    And it made a home in my summer bower
+    With the honeysuckle and the sweet-pea flower.
+      (Sing hey! for the blossoms and sweets of life!)
+
+    Joy came as a lark when the years had gone,
+      (Ah! hush, hush still, for the dream is short!)
+    And I gazed far up to the melting blue
+    Where the rare song dropped like a golden dew.
+      (Ah! sweet is the song tho' the dream be short!)
+
+    Joy hovers now in a far-off mist,
+      (The night draws on and the air breathes snow!)
+    And I reach, sometimes, with a trembling hand
+    To the red-tipped cloud of the joy-bird's land.
+      (Alas! for the days of the storm and the snow!)
+
+
+
+
+To-Morrow.
+
+    But one short night between my Love and me!
+      I watch the soft-shod dusk creep wistfully
+      Through the slow-moving curtains, pausing by
+    And shrouding with its spirit-fingers free
+      Each well-known chair. There is a growing grace
+      Of tender magic in this little place.
+
+    Comes through half-opened windows, soft and cool
+      As Spring's young breath, the vagrant evening air,
+      My day-worn soul is hushed. I fain would bear
+    No burdens on my brain to-night, no rule
+      Of anxious thought; the world has had my tears,
+      My thoughts, my hopes, my aims these many years;
+
+    This is Thy hour, and I shall sink to sleep
+      With a glad weariness, to know that when
+      The new day dawns I shall lay by my pen
+    Needed no more. If I, perchance, should weep
+      A few quick tears, so doing, who would guess
+      'Twas the last throb of my soul's loneliness?
+
+    Not even thou, Dear Heart, canst ever know
+      How I have yearned these many months, these years
+      For love, for thee. As the calm boatman steers
+    His slender shallop where he fain would go,
+      Tempests and rocks before, so through the dark
+      To this dim, far-off day has set my bark.
+
+    To-morrow! I can hear the quick-closed door,
+      The approaching steps, my pained heart's fluttering,
+      Thy voice, then Thee! And all the storm and sting
+    Of bygone griefs are passed forevermore,
+      Swept from my life as the resistless wind
+      Scatters the chaff, nor leaves a mote behind.
+
+    As long-imprisoned captives reach the light,
+      And gaze with greedy eyes on field and tree,
+      Drinking the beauties of the sky and sea
+    Half fearful of their bliss; so from the night
+      Of dreams and shades, half doubting, we awake
+      And grasp the joy we almost fear to take.
+
+    Thou hidest in thy warm ones my cold hand,
+      Reading my soul in these unwavering eyes.
+      Nay, thou hast known my hopes, my agonies
+    Through written words, and thou canst understand.
+      I have kept nothing back of all the streams
+      Of my heart-flowings--doubts, nor fears, nor dreams.
+
+    So long my life has followed no control
+      But mine own impulse; now, I pray thee, bend
+      My will to thine, and so, unhindered, tend
+    My soul's wild garden. I have laid the whole
+      Bare to thy sowing; and life's precious wine
+      Is of thy pouring, and thy way is mine.
+
+
+
+
+Song
+
+    Where is the waiting-time?
+      Where are the fears?
+    Gone with the winter's rime,
+      The bygone years.
+
+    O'er life's plain, lone and vast,
+      Slow treads the morn,
+    Night shades have moved and passed,
+      Joy's day is born.
+
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's A Woman's Love Letters, by Sophie M. Almon-Hensley
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WOMAN'S LOVE LETTERS ***
+
+***** This file should be named 18351-8.txt or 18351-8.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/3/5/18351/
+
+Produced by Thierry Alberto, Christine D. and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
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+
+
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