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diff --git a/27700.txt b/27700.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7344102 --- /dev/null +++ b/27700.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1515 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Rose-Jar, by Thomas S. (Thomas Samuel) +Jones + + +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: The Rose-Jar + + +Author: Thomas S. (Thomas Samuel) Jones + + + +Release Date: January 4, 2009 [eBook #27700] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROSE-JAR*** + + +E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Barbara Tozier, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) + + + +THE ROSE-JAR + +by + +THOMAS S. JONES, JR. + +Author of _The Path o' Dreams_, etc. + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + +Clinton, New York +George William Browning + +Copyrighted 1906 by Thomas S. Jones, Jr. + + +The author desires to thank the editors of Appleton's Magazine, +Everybody's Magazine, Lippincott's Magazine, The New York Times, The +Smart Set, and the other publications in which the verses in this +collection originally appeared, for their kind permission to reprint. + + + + +_This Edition of_ The Rose-Jar _Printed by George William Browning at +Clinton New York during the Summer of 1906 consists of Three Hundred +copies on Deckle-Edged Paper, with Twelve additional copies on +Imperial Japan Vellum (Insetsu Kioku)._ + + _NUMBER 258_ + + [Illustration: Author's signature] + + + + +To the Memory of My Mother + + + + +CONTENTS + + + As in a Rose-Jar + The Island + You and I + A Ballade of Old Romance + A Voice from the Far Away + April + A Yesterday + Violets + A Song of Life + As a Still Brook + At the Window + A Sea Spell + The Silent Country + The Sport of a God + Remembrance + In Days of Old + We Once Built a House o' Dreams + A Song of the Way + In Trinity Church-Yard at Sunset + Where Cross-Roads Part + Saida + In Arcady + The Summer Rain + Impression + Derelicts + The End of the Day + Tristesse + Interlude + To You, Dear Heart + Twilight + The Poet + The Hunchback + The Little Ghosts + I Know a Quiet Vale + Song + Immutability + In the Fall o' Year + Love's Song + The Golden Hour + The Dream-Way + The Spirit of Autumn + On the Long Road + A Postlude + An Old Song + Old Roses + + + + +_The Rose-Jar_ + + + + +As in a Rose-Jar + + + As in a rose-jar filled with petals sweet + Blown long ago in some old garden place, + Mayhap, where you and I, a little space, + Drank deep of love and knew that love was fleet-- + Or leaves once gathered from a lost retreat + By one who never will again retrace + Her silent footsteps--one, whose gentle face + Was fairer than the roses at her feet; + + So, deep within the vase of memory, + I keep my dust of roses fresh and dear + As in the days before I knew the smart + Of time and death. Nor aught can take from me + The haunting fragrance that still lingers here-- + As in a rose-jar, so within my heart! + + + + +The Island + + + There is an island in the silent sea, + Whose marge the wistful waves lap listlessly-- + An isle of rest for those who used to be. + + For ne'er an echo wakes that towering wall, + Whose blackened crags answer none other call + Save the lone ocean's rhythmic rise and fall. + + Only the song the sea sings as she laves + That sleep-bound shore with sad caressing waves, + The while the dead sleep sweeter in their graves. + + 'Tis oh! so still they sleep within each tomb, + Cool in long shadows of the cypress gloom, + Breathing in death the moon-flower's rank perfume. + + They know not when slow barges on the mere + Enter the portals of that place austere-- + Enter and so forever disappear! + + And in this island of a silent sea, + Whose marge e'er wistful waves lap listlessly, + Is rest,--is peace for all eternity. + + + + +You and I + + + Over the hills where the pine-trees grow, + With a laugh to answer the wind at play. + Why do I laugh? I do not know, + But you and I once passed this way. + + Down in the hollow now white with snow + My heart is singing a song today. + Why do I sing? I do not know, + But you and I were here in May. + + + + +A Ballade of Old Romance + + + When April spreads her mantle green + Across the pasture-lands of snow, + And Spring's first scarlet breasts are seen + Where treetops rustle to and fro; + Then come fair fragrant dreams as though + Our lightest fancy to entrance + And paint us what we fain would know + Adown the lanes of Old Romance. + + Anon, we see the golden sheen + Of burnished mail the sunbeams throw, + Flashing the poplars tall between, + As knights ride by to meet the foe; + Or, mayhap, shepherd lads who blow + On slender pipes, a pastoral dance-- + Ah, strong were they in weal and woe + Adown the lanes of Old Romance! + + But now the vast years intervene, + The fountain long has ceased its flow, + And silence rules the lone demesne + That once held such a goodly show; + Yet time, at least, does this bestow + Nor leave the best to fleeting chance-- + They live again in fancy's glow + Adown the lanes of Old Romance. + + + ENVOY + + Sweet, still for us some blossoms grow + From out that dim and dear expanse-- + Come, take my hand and we shall go + Adown the lanes of Old Romance! + + + + +A Voice From the Far Away + + + I heard a voice from the far away + Softly say this to me-- + "You will find the heart of the world some day + And the why of the things that be; + You will see the grief of the yea and nay + And the price of frailty. + + "And upon your lute you will weave a theme + Which the world will harken and know; + For every note of the song will teem + With a great soul's overflow-- + You will speak the meaning within a dream + And the pain in the afterglow. + + "But for all of this there's a price-- + 'Tis the price of minstrelsy-- + You will never have of the things you play, + Sad singer of poetry, + And throughout your life you will go for aye, + Heart-hungry and silently!" + I heard a voice from the far away + Softly say this to me. + + + + +April + + + Throughout the vale again Narcissus cries + And Echo answers from her dark retreat, + While Zephyr heavy-laden with the sweet, + Fresh scent of blooms across the pasture hies; + Above, the blueness of the April skies, + Matched by the lure unto the wandering feet + That e'er must go ere Spring could be complete + To the green wood where laughing Eros lies. + + O April lover, hear the pipes that call, + The pipes of Pan a-blowing lustily, + They call to you and me, and he who hears + Must ever after be Young April's thrall-- + So, faring thus together, we shall see + The Islands of the Blest between the Spheres! + + + + +A Yesterday + + + I held you in my arms--so happy I, + Who quite forgot the while that moments fly; + Nor ever dreamed that they could pass away, + Till it was yesterday. + + Yet, just because that hour was long ago + And seems to me so near--well, this I know + That sometime I shall clasp your hand and say: + Was there a yesterday? + + + + +Violets + + + 'Twas just at sundown, when the leaves were wet + With evening dew, + Far in the fields where sky and violet + Blend rifts of blue-- + + But for a moment, deep among the flowers + And rain-sweet grass, + I saw her--loved her--and as April showers + Beheld her pass. + + O, the lone vastness of the afterglow, + Unknown before; + Shall e'er I see that face where violets grow, + Perchance, once more! + + Yet no one comes save night, with wild regrets + And silent pain-- + Only sometimes the scent of violets + On wind-blown rain. + + + + +A Song of Life + + + _What if the song is sung, I say, + As long as the song was sung!_ + + Did we not meet with the blood's best play + The lash of the winds and the rain that stung, + And the tang of the salty spray? + + Did we not drink the last drop that clung + To the golden bowl with its glowing fire, + Yet so cool to our burning tongue? + + Did we not love with a love entire + That made up for all and a world of clay + In a moment of wild desire? + + _What if the song is sung, I say, + As long as the song was sung!_ + + + + +As a Still Brook + + + As a still brook within the woodland's green + Sings softly to itself the live-long day, + Unconscious of its gentle roundelay, + Its open purity and silver sheen-- + Knowing not how in all that wild demesne, + Its music is a strain the angels play + And its fair face a jewel amid the gray, + Beshadowed places that it flows between; + + So your dear love, a simple forest stream, + Bearing the wealth of all that life can hold,-- + Nor ever dreaming of the worth that lies + Deep in your heart--why, you have made it seem + That every empty hour is wrought of gold + And this tear-sodden world, a Paradise! + + + + +At the Window + + + I looked out of my window tall + And laughed to see the May, + For everything both great and small + Was on a holiday. + + Then Love came by and laughed at me, + And I forgot the Spring-- + Only I knew the ecstasy + Of madly listening. + + And now the branches all again + Are red with vernal May, + But tears have dimmed the window-pane-- + And no one comes my way. + + + + +A Sea Spell + + + The sunset sea--a goblet thick inlaid + With jewels wrought in golden filigree, + An opal from some elfin treasury + Burning with fire and flashing every shade; + While round the dim horizon, wide displayed + The clouds pile up their largess tenderly + As if to clothe the beauty of the sea + In filmy gossamer and soft brocade. + + And far away I think I almost hear + A horn's faint echo through the dusk-hour's veil + As in the happy, golden days of yore-- + Mayhap, e'en now upon this magic mere + Frail shallops will flit by and mermaids pale + Will lure us back to fairy-land once more! + + + + +The Silent Country + + + Wave, wave sweet blooms of May and on your wings + Bear me away with drowsy winnowings + To some far twilight land where steals a stream + From out the cool and soundless groves of Dream. + + For in the Spring is such a bitter smart + Even the thought of it will break my heart, + So take me softly to a leafy bed + Where I shall dream and dream you are not dead! + + + + +The Sport of a God + + + Though they say Jove laughs at the lover's vow-- + At the lover's vow that must break some day-- + Still we smiled as we loved in a distant May + When the blooms were heavy upon the bough. + + O, the mocking difference of then and now! + It isn't a thought that will make one gay, + Though they say Jove laughs at the lover's vow-- + At the lover's vow that must break some day. + + Yet, perhaps, the god knows the best way how + To carry a mask when the feet are clay; + So I too shall laugh at the merry play, + For down in his heart there's a knife, I trow, + Though they say Jove laughs at the lover's vow. + + + + +Remembrance + + + Sweet rosemary within the lane + The while the day is warm and clear, + And ne'er a thought of bitter rain + Or the road-side sere. + + But there are flowers more dear to me + That time can never set apart-- + The fragrant blooms of memory + That grow within the heart. + + + + +In Days of Old + + + Of all the ages' gain, the ages' loss, + A wealth of wonders and so much away-- + When now hears one the woodland elves at play, + Or angry dryads where tall tree-tops toss. + No more they lightly tread the dewy moss + As danced they through cool haunts in ecstasy; + But rank and lost the paths in lone decay + Where fairy footsteps once were wont to cross. + + O, happy Greeks, who knew the gods so well, + To you I burn my sacrificial fire! + Again reveal the mystic hidden rune + Whereby to find the slopes of asphodel-- + Ah, then to hear Apollo charm his lyre + And see Diana 'neath the sickle moon. + + + + +We Once Built a House o' Dreams + + + We once built a house o' dreams + At the break o' day + Made from out the first gold beams + On the sward astray. + + Little did we think or care + 'Twas not safe nor strong; + We were very happy there + And the day was long. + + Now we leave our house o' dreams, + Why, we do not know; + Only this--so strange it seems + And so hard to go! + + + + +A Song of the Way + + + Give me the road, the great broad road, + That wanders over the hill; + Give me a heart without a care + And a free, unfettered will-- + Ah, thus to journey, thus to fare, + With only the skies to frown, + And happy I, if the ways but lie + Away, away from the town. + + Give me the path, the wild-wood path + That wanders deep in a dell, + Where silence sleeps and sunbeams fain + Would waken the slumber spell-- + For there the gods find the world again, + Immortals of ancient lore, + And time is gone, and a mad-glad faun + Knows the glades of Greece once more. + + + + +In Trinity Church-Yard at Sunset + + + How still they sleep within the city moil + In their old church-yard with its sighing trees, + Where sometimes through the din a twilight breeze + Makes one forget the busy streets of toil; + But they have little thought of worldly spoil + Or the great gain of mortal victories, + Their hopes, their dreams, are cold and dead as these + Quaint, time-worn gravestones crumbling on the soil. + + Yet they once lived and struggled years ago; + Their hearts beat madly as these hearts of ours-- + And now is all undone in dreamless rest? + See, a great city stands against the glow-- + Their city, they who here beneath the flowers + Have known so long God's gift of peace, most blest! + + + + +Where Cross-Roads Part + + + Glad roads of Spring--O lanes of laughing May + As fleeting as the shadow-clouds at play + With sunbeams rife upon the grassy green; + O golden lanes--through roads that lie between + Amid what darkened sweep lost I the way? + + Or was't the stripling Youth, whose roundelay + Awoke the echoes of the throbbing day + And changed to gladness all the world's dull mien, + Glad roads of Spring? + + Apart I stand, distraught with lone dismay, + No more Youth's gladsome biddings to obey, + No more with him Love's strewings lost to glean; + The hills of years now ever intervene, + And bid me say good-bye to you for aye, + Glad roads of Spring! + + + + +Saida + + + We passed along the high-road, you and I, + Though I remember not the place nor when; + Only the wonder of your face, and then + That you passed by. + + But that was long ago, and I forget; + Perhaps 'twere better that I went alone, + You might not e'er have loved me had you known, + And yet, and yet-- + + + + +In Arcady + + + Although 'tis but a memory, + Still in the days of long ago + We tended sheep in Arcady. + + Then were we both of fancy free + And laughing Youth had much to show, + Although 'tis but a memory. + + Again the pasture lands we see + Where in the golden summer glow + We tended sheep in Arcady. + + And hear the tender harmony + Of shepherd pipes that softly blow, + Although 'tis but a memory. + + Nor thought of any end had we + As through the grasses to and fro + We tended sheep in Arcady. + + So, what if life now empty be, + Of all the past this do we know, + Although 'tis but a memory, + We tended sheep in Arcady! + + + + +The Summer Rain + + + As one who listens to the summer rain + Against the roof when all the night is still, + Save for the wind beneath the window-sill, + Crooning its homely, comforting refrain,-- + And listening feels that neither joy nor pain + Can trouble now--only the faint sweet thrill + Of drowsiness and peace and rest until + The barque glides softly into sleep's domain; + + So I, whose empty way leads wandering + Between high garden-walls that hide the sun, + Hear sometimes on the breeze a simple strain + Of an old song you once were wont to sing-- + And then forgetting all, I seem as one + Who listens spell-bound to the summer rain. + + + + +Impression + + + A little stone o'ercrept with moss, + And red wild roses flaunting by, + A wistful breeze that seems to sigh + Where the tall grasses toss. + + To sigh for one who went away, + Thus it is writ upon the stone-- + Nothing can ever make atone + And tears shall fall for aye. + + Oh, irony of human vow, + Even the stone is crumbling too, + And tears,--none save the evening dew, + For who remembers now? + + + + +Derelicts + + + A year, a year, and then to miss + That which was all in all for aye; + O Love as fleeting as your kiss, + O Love forever and a day, + To this. + + How such a change in one short year, + I cannot, cannot understand; + Oh, why to cast upon Love's bier, + Whose name was written in the sand, + This tear? + + Why, when the fields were red with May + When you and I together swore; + Is May so very far away, + Was all so different then, before + Today? + + And did the gods above then smile + When we believed that love would last, + Counting its heart-beats on the dial + Of hours that have too soon slipped past, + The while. + + Two boats upon a sea of glass-- + A little strength, a little trust; + Yet let the hand of Fate but pass, + Could they withstand the storm-cloud's gust, + Alas! + + So, though not knowing, yet must I + Forget one day and feel no more + Your love, which dreamed not e'er to die. + Thank God for that--I close my door. + Good-bye. + + + + +The End of the Day + + + The day is done and every hour is spent + And now it lies a-dying in the west, + Yet with what wonder those last moments blest + Crown all with the chaste kiss of sweet content; + For nature's minstrels sing a carol pent + With the soft music of the spheres suppressed + In one great strain--the while upon night's breast + The dying day sinks down in languishment. + + And in those last faint breaths as 'twere in sooth + The halo of some saint, a glowing light + Of purest gold streams through the darkened sky, + A light more wondrous than the dawn of youth-- + For 'tis a flame cleft out the veil of night + From that eternal dawn that ne'er can die! + + + + +Tristesse + + + If you were not away + These trees, this south-wind and this dreary day + Would all be mad with joyous ecstasy; + But you are gone, so mourning they with me + Find bitter-sweet in idle fantasy. + How glad, how mad, how gay, + If you were not away! + + + + +Interlude + + + Sometimes from out the rush of pulsing days, + These days whose poetry was lost in prose + So long ago, left desolate on those + Far childhood paths--yet, sometimes from the haze + Of half-forgotten years, fall on our ways + Now drear, a strain of song, a June-blown rose. + Ah, sweet, so sweet unto a heart that knows + The memory of once-remembered Mays! + + Only a moment's interlude, and yet + How the heart quaffs the draught that thrills and thrills + Its soul, finding again youth's mysteries. + What matter if tomorrow we forget-- + Today the stillness of the sun-lit hills + And the low drowsy hum of summer bees! + + + + +To You, Dear Heart + + + To you, dear heart, whom I have never known + I sing my little songs all wonderingly + That sometime you may hear,--the sweet atone + For all the years and years of search alone-- + That sometime you may hear and come to me. + + So on I go a-singing down my way + With ne'er a thought of all the journey past, + For this I know--that on one perfect day + When everything is, oh, so glad and gay, + You'll hear and come and claim your own, at last. + + + + +Twilight + + + When twilight falls and all the land is still, + The purple shadows steal across the hill, + And one lone star above a pine-tree's crest + Shines ever brighter, while from out its nest + There breaks the low cry of the whip-poor-will. + + And softly grows the ladened hush until + E'en winds list o'er the fields of daffodil + They all day wafted,--'tis so sweet to rest + When twilight falls. + + Let not one drop of this rare nectar spill, + But with the beryl wine your goblet fill. + Drink with me, Love, the golden of the west, + For all is made for love and love is best,-- + And, oh, the wonder of the moment's thrill + When twilight falls! + + + + +The Poet + + + For one great Queen who sits in majesty, + Untouched, austere, upon a golden throne, + The like whose loveliness was never known + Of ebony and rose and ivory,-- + For her you weave a broidered tapestry, + Rife with rich stains of every color-tone + Inwrought; while she immovable as stone + But watches pitiless and silently. + + Yet, should this Queen of Beauty lift her arm + And take your broidered web,--ah, then the prize, + The vast reward of all the scars and shame, + For in the moment as a mystic charm + The cloth is changed to porphyry, and lies + Forever on her breast a frozen flame! + + + + +The Hunchback + + + He never knew the golden thrall of youth, + The ringing step, the rumpled wind-tossed hair, + The reckless laugh untouched of pain or ruth,-- + Youth without pity and without a care. + + Not his the swift lithe strength that ever slays, + And in its joyous slaying doubly sweet, + Like some young god adown immortal ways, + Crushing the blossoms 'neath unheeding feet. + + A twisted back, a face year-scarred and grim, + A very mockery to love's caress, + These were the only birthright given him,-- + What should he know, except of ugliness? + + But in his fettered heart in longing pent + A wealth of tenderness and, stranger too, + Youth full of pity,--ah, the wonderment,-- + He never knew, and yet how well he knew! + + + + +The Little Ghosts + + + Where are they gone, and do you know + If they come back at fall o' dew, + The little ghosts of long ago, + That long ago were you? + + And all the songs that ne'er were sung, + And all the dreams that ne'er came true, + Like little children dying young,-- + Do they come back to you? + + + + +I Know a Quiet Vale + + + I know a quiet vale where faint winds blow + The silver poplar branches all awry, + And ne'er another sound comes drifting by + Save where the stream's cool waters softly flow; + Wild roses riot there and violets throw + Their perfume recklessly, the while on high + Great snowy clouds pillow the smiling sky + And cast frail shadows on the grass below. + + All is the same, the summer stillness dreams + In idleness across the sunny leas, + Until for very drowsiness it seems + The wind has gone to sleep within the trees-- + Yet we once laughed at what the years might bring, + And now I am alone, remembering. + + + + +Song + + + Blurred is the moon in a yellow stain, + And the clouds are flying before the wind, + The leaves fall fast in a ghostly rain,-- + Summer is left behind. + + And left behind the long nights of June, + When the lights were soft in the waters' shine-- + Softer your lips when they first met mine-- + Blurred is the Autumn moon. + + _Blurred is the moon in a yellow stain, + And oh, for the warmth of your arms again!_ + + + + +Immutability + + + Within your hands you hold the wealth of years, + Old Time,--yes, all the gold of yesterday, + All of love's sunshine and the bitter gray + Of tears--oh, the great multitude of tears; + For everything is yours within the spheres + To give or take, or break, or keep for aye, + Nor heed you e'en one wild cry of dismay, + But gather on until all disappears. + + Yet love is sweet and we are not so old, + Nor did the gods mean us to separate. + O Time you cannot take my love from me, + Life has so much, so very much to hold + For each,--I must not dream it is too late + And that we'll dwell no more in Arcady. + + + + +In the Fall o' Year + + + I went back an old-time lane + In the fall o' year, + There was wind and bitter rain + And the leaves were sere. + + Once the birds were lilting high + In a far-off May-- + I remember, you and I + Were as glad as they. + + But the branches now are bare + And the lad you knew, + Long ago was buried there-- + Long ago with you! + + + + +Love's Song + + + If I had never known + How far would I have wandered wistfully alone, + Hearing no echo of that wondrous song + Whose music lingers long. + + Beside whose sweetness pale + Even the soft notes of the nightingale, + Whose theme is wrought of laughter and of tears + From all the deathless years. + + Ah, better thus by far + To once have felt the barriers unbar, + And known the moment in a rapt surprise + The song of Paradise! + + + + +The Golden Hour + + + The winds may blow, the sleet may dash the pane + And all our lonely road be clothed in gray, + Yet what care we how dark may be the way, + Or whether e'er we see the sun again; + On shall we journey through the stinging rain, + Our glad hearts beating to a roundelay + Learned long ago in one great, joyous day, + When we first knew we had not lived in vain. + + We two have lived, we drank the ruddy wine + And felt the wonder of its burning kiss-- + Let come what may there is no earthly power + Can take away that rapture, yours and mine. + Others may weep, who would give all for this, + To find what we have found--the golden hour! + + + + +The Dream-Way + + + It did not look so far, and yet, and yet, + The moments were so easy to forget, + For now without your hand to guide, it seems + I seek in vain to find a way of dreams. + + A moon-lit path between aspiring trees, + 'Neath wind-blown leaves rustling in harmonies, + A little song that I may never sing-- + But oh, the wondrous memory lingering. + + And though I never may return until + I clasp your hand beyond these years, why still + There is one guide the path of life along-- + A fleeting end of dream-remembered song. + + + + +The Spirit of Autumn + + + Where the winds low list and the leafless trees + Stand gaunt and gray 'gainst the sullen sky, + The naked boughs whisper melodies + Of Summer spent and of Spring gone by-- + Of days once glad that are gone forever, + Of lips once true that will answer never, + Of life and love that are but as these + Dead leaves of Autumn grown withered and dry. + + But a spirit haunts in the moon's pale glow + And all is changed as she sings a strain, + While the night winds hearken and lightly blow + Her loose-bound hair in a raven-rain-- + And bear her song to the distant closes, + Where many a longing heart reposes, + Waking old love-dreams that overflow + In a rapturous joy and wistful pain. + + Ah, that song 'tis sweet as the pipes of Pan, + Or faint lutes sounding in Arcady + Through the purple dawn,--yea, far sweeter than + The music that wafts from a Southern sea! + Beneath its spell the wastes bloom in flowers, + And back again come the vanished hours, + For she who sings to the soul of man + Is the Autumn spirit of memory. + + + + +On The Long Road + + + Ah, many were they then of yesterday, + Who bore me gifts of attar and of myrrh, + And leaves of roses delicate that were + Sprung from a garden-close in far Cathay; + While I, unheeding, let them pass their way + Nor cared for all the gifts they might confer, + Watching in vain for one dear loiterer, + Who never dreamed adown my path to stray. + + And now out in the lonely road I stand, + Where echoes drearily the ceaseless tread + Of stranger footsteps, slow and burdensome-- + I am forgot and empty is each hand, + Save for the dust of roses withered, + Yet still I wait for you who never come. + + + + +A Postlude + + + If only in your life to live, might I + Perchance those broken chords with my own meet, + Though quite imperfect, yet but thus to try + Were oh, so wondrous sweet. + + Not the broad high-roads which you would have trod, + A lonely wanderer these may not essay, + Still, spirit mine, the by-paths that I plod + Do lead the selfsame way. + + And if a little part I should fulfil + Of those fair deeds which you hoped to pursue-- + Oh, how content to walk the miles until + I reach my home and you. + + + + +An Old Song + + + Low blowing winds from out a midnight sky, + The falling embers and a kettle's croon-- + These three, but oh what sweeter lullaby + Ever awoke beneath the winter's moon. + + We know of none the sweeter, you and I, + And oft we've heard together that old tune-- + Low blowing winds from out a midnight sky, + The falling embers and a kettle's croon. + + + + +Old Roses + + + Spirit of old-time roses, when the glow + Of eventide steals softly through the trees + Like rosy petals falling, and the breeze + Grows hushed until it sings a love-song, low + And sweet and tender, then I seem to know + You too are somewhere near and watching these + Last wondrous sights of day--God's mysteries + We used to watch together long ago. + + And, like a benediction, happiness + Fills all my soul, as if a wandering breath + From that high heaven had wafted down to me-- + As if I felt again your dear caress + And knew you to be waiting e'er in death, + Crowned with the roses of eternity. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROSE-JAR*** + + +******* This file should be named 27700.txt or 27700.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/7/0/27700 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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