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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3238-0.txt b/3238-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9448e36 --- /dev/null +++ b/3238-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3828 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Poems of Cheer, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox + + +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: Poems of Cheer + + +Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox + + + +Release Date: July 13, 2014 [eBook #3238] +[This file was first posted on February 5, 2001] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF CHEER*** + + +Transcribed from the 1914 Gay and Hancock edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Book cover] + + + + + + POEMS OF CHEER + + + BY + ELLA WHEELER WILCOX + + [Picture: Decorative graphic] + + GAY AND HANCOCK, LTD. + 12 and 13, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN + LONDON + 1914 + + [_All rights reserved_] + + * * * * * + +THIS Volume contains the poems published under the title “Poems of Life,” +with the exception of about half a dozen, which appear in my other +volumes. I have also added a few new verses. + +Any edition of my Poems published in Great Britain by any firm except +Messrs. Gay and Hancock is pirated and not authentic. + + ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. + +_April_ 12_th_, 1910. + + * * * * * + + _I step across the mystic border-land_, + _And look upon the wonder-world of Art_. + _How beautiful_, _how beautiful its hills_! + _And all its valleys_, _how surpassing fair_! + + _The winding paths that lead up to the heights_ + _Are polished by the footsteps of the great_. + _The mountain-peaks stand very near to God_: + _The chosen few whose feet have trod thereon_ + _Have talked with Him_, _and with the angels walked_. + + _Here are no sounds of discord—no profane_ + _Or senseless gossip of unworthy things—_ + _Only the songs of chisels and of pens_, + _Of busy brushes_, _and ecstatic strains_ + _Of souls surcharged with music most divine_. + _Here is no idle sorrow_, _no poor grief_ + _For any day or object left behind—_ + _For time is counted precious_, _and herein_ + _Is such complete abandonment of Self_ + _That tears turn into rainbows_, _and enhance_ + _The beauty of the land where all is fair_. + _Awed and afraid_, _I cross the border-land_. + _Oh_, _who am I_, _that I dare enter here_ + _Where the great artists of the world have trod—_ + _The genius-crowned aristocrats of Earth_? + _Only the singer of a little song_; + _Yet loving Art with such a mighty love_ + _I hold it greater to have won a place_ + _Just on the fair land’s edge_, _to make my grave_, + _Than in the outer world of greed and gain_ + _To sit upon a royal throne and reign_. + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + WORTH WHILE 1 + THE HOUSE OF LIFE 3 + A SONG OF LIFE 6 + PRAYER 8 + IN THE LONG RUN 10 + AS YOU GO THROUGH LIFE 12 + TWO SUNSETS 14 + UNREST 18 + ARTIST’S LIFE 20 + NOTHING BUT STONES 22 + INEVITABLE 24 + THE OCEAN OF SONG 26 + “IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN” 29 + MOMUS, GOD OF LAUGHTER 30 + I DREAM 32 + THE SONNET 34 + THE PAST 35 + A DREAM 36 + USELESSNESS 37 + WILL 38 + WINTER RAIN 39 + LIFE 40 + BURDENED 41 + LET THEM GO 42 + FIVE KISSES 44 + RETROSPECTION 48 + HELENA 50 + NOTHING REMAINS 52 + COMRADES 54 + WHAT GAIN? 56 + TO THE WEST 58 + THE LAND OF CONTENT 60 + WARNING 62 + AFTER THE BATTLES ARE OVER 63 + AND THEY ARE DUMB 71 + NIGHT 73 + ALL FOR ME 75 + INTO SPACE 77 + THROUGH DIM EYES 79 + THE PUNISHED 81 + HALF FLEDGED 82 + THE YEAR 84 + THE UNATTAINED 85 + IN THE CROWD 87 + LIFE AND I 89 + GUERDON 91 + SNOWED UNDER 92 + “LEUDEMANNS-ON-THE-RIVER” 94 + LITTLE BLUE HOOD 97 + NO SPRING 99 + MIDSUMMER 101 + A REMINISCENCE 103 + A GIRL’S FAITH 105 + TWO 107 + SLIPPING AWAY 109 + IS IT DONE? 111 + A LEAF 113 + ÆSTHETIC 115 + POEMS OF THE WEEK 117 + GHOSTS 120 + FLEEING AWAY 122 + ALL MAD 124 + HIDDEN GEMS 126 + BY-AND-BYE 127 + OVER THE MAY HILL 129 + FOES 131 + FRIENDSHIP 133 + TWO SAT DOWN 135 + BOUND AND FREE 137 + AQUILEIA 139 + WISHES FOR A LITTLE GIRL 142 + ROMNEY 144 + MY HOME 146 + TO MARRY OR NOT TO MARRY? 148 + AN AFTERNOON 150 + RIVER AND SEA 152 + WHAT HAPPENS? 153 + POSSESSION 154 + + + + +WORTH WHILE + + + It is easy enough to be pleasant + When life flows by like a song, + But the man worth while is the one who will smile + When everything goes dead wrong. + For the test of the heart is trouble, + And it always comes with the years, + And the smile that is worth the praises of earth + Is the smile that shines through tears. + + It is easy enough to be prudent + When nothing tempts you to stray, + When without or within no voice of sin + Is luring your soul away; + But it’s only a negative virtue + Until it is tried by fire, + And the life that is worth the honour on earth + Is the one that resists desire. + + By the cynic, the sad, the fallen, + Who had no strength for the strife, + The world’s highway is cumbered to-day— + They make up the sum of life; + But the virtue that conquers passion, + And the sorrow that hides in a smile— + It is these that are worth the homage on earth, + For we find them but once in a while. + + + + +THE HOUSE OF LIFE + + + All wondering, and eager-eyed, within her portico + I made my plea to Hostess Life, one morning long ago. + + “Pray show me this great house of thine, nor close a single door; + But let me wander where I will, and climb from floor to floor! + + For many rooms, and curious things, and treasures great and small + Within your spacious mansion lie, and I would see them all.” + + Then Hostess Life turned silently, her searching gaze on me, + And with no word, she reached her hand, and offered up the key. + + It opened first the door of Hope, and long I lingered there, + Until I spied the room of Dreams, just higher by a stair. + + And then a door whereon the one word “Happiness” was writ; + But when I tried the little key I could not make it fit. + + It turned the lock of Pleasure’s room, where first all seemed so + bright— + But after I had stayed awhile it somehow lost its light. + + And wandering down a lonely hall, I came upon a room + Marked “Duty,” and I entered it—to lose myself in gloom. + + Along the shadowy halls I groped my weary way about, + And found that from dull Duty’s room, a door of Toil led out. + + It led out to another door, whereon a crimson stain + Made sullenly against the dark these words: “The Room of Pain.” + + But oh the light, the light, the light, that spilled down from above + And upward wound, the stairs of Faith, right to the Tower of Love! + + And when I came forth from that place, I tried the little key— + And lo! the door of Happiness swung open, wide and free. + + + + +A SONG OF LIFE + + + In the rapture of life and of living, + I lift up my heart and rejoice, + And I thank the great Giver for giving + The soul of my gladness a voice. + In the glow of the glorious weather, + In the sweet-scented, sensuous air, + My burdens seem light as a feather— + They are nothing to bear. + + In the strength and the glory of power, + In the pride and the pleasure of wealth + (For who dares dispute me my dower + Of talents and youth-time and health?), + I can laugh at the world and its sages— + I am greater than seers who are sad, + For he is most wise in all ages + Who knows how to be glad. + + I lift up my eyes to Apollo, + The god of the beautiful days, + And my spirit soars off like a swallow, + And is lost in the light of its rays. + Are you troubled and sad? I beseech you + Come out of the shadows of strife— + Come out in the sun while I teach you + The secret of life. + + Come out of the world—come above it— + Up over its crosses and graves, + Though the green earth is fair and I love it, + We must love it as masters, not slaves. + Come up where the dust never rises— + But only the perfume of flowers— + And your life shall be glad with surprises + Of beautiful hours. + Come up where the rare golden wine is + Apollo distills in my sight, + And your life shall be happy as mine is, + And as full of delight. + + + + +PRAYER + + + I do not undertake to say + That literal answers come from Heaven, + But I know this—that when I pray + A comfort, a support is given + That helps me rise o’er earthly things + As larks soar up on airy wings. + + In vain the wise philosopher + Points out to me my fabric’s flaws, + In vain the scientists aver + That “all things are controlled by laws.” + My life has taught me day by day + That it availeth much to pray. + + I do not stop to reason out + The why and how. I do not care, + Since I know this, that when I doubt, + Life seems a blackness of despair, + The world a tomb; and when I trust, + Sweet blossoms spring up in the dust. + + Since I know in the darkest hour, + If I lift up my soul in prayer, + Some sympathetic, loving Power + Sends hope and comfort to me there. + Since balm is sent to ease my pain, + What need to argue or explain? + + Prayer has a sweet, refining grace, + It educates the soul and heart. + It lends a lustre to the face, + And by its elevating art + It gives the mind an inner sight + That brings it near the Infinite. + + From our gross selves it helps us rise + To something which we yet may be. + And so I ask not to be wise, + If thus my faith is lost to me. + Faith, that with angel’s voice and touch + Says, “Pray, for prayer availeth much.” + + + + +IN THE LONG RUN + + + In the long run fame finds the deserving man. + The lucky wight may prosper for a day, + But in good time true merit leads the van + And vain pretence, unnoticed, goes its way. + There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate, + But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait, + In the long run. + + In the long run all godly sorrow pays, + There is no better thing than righteous pain, + The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days, + Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain. + Unmeaning joys enervate in the end, + But sorrow yields a glorious dividend + In the long run. + + In the long run all hidden things are known, + The eye of truth will penetrate the night, + And good or ill, thy secret shall be known, + However well ’tis guarded from the light. + All the unspoken motives of the breast + Are fathomed by the years and stand confess’d + In the long run. + + In the long run all love is paid by love, + Though undervalued by the hosts of earth; + The great eternal Government above + Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth. + Give thy love freely; do not count the cost; + So beautiful a thing was never lost + In the long run. + + + + +AS YOU GO THROUGH LIFE + + + Don’t look for the flaws as you go through life; + And even when you find them, + It is wise and kind to be somewhat blind, + And look for the virtue behind them; + For the cloudiest night has a hint of light + Somewhere in its shadows hiding; + It’s better by far to hunt for a star, + Than the spots on the sun abiding. + + The current of life runs ever away + To the bosom of God’s great ocean. + Don’t set your force ’gainst the river’s course, + And think to alter its motion. + Don’t waste a curse on the universe, + Remember, it lived before you; + Don’t butt at the storm with your puny form, + But bend and let it go o’er you. + + The world will never adjust itself + To suit your whims to the letter, + Some things must go wrong your whole life long, + And the sooner you know it the better. + It is folly to fight with the Infinite, + And go under at last in the wrestle. + The wiser man shapes into God’s plan, + As water shapes into a vessel. + + + + +TWO SUNSETS + + + In the fair morning of his life, + When his pure heart lay in his breast, + Panting, with all that wild unrest + To plunge into the great world’s strife + + That fills young hearts with mad desire, + He saw a sunset. Red and gold + The burning billows surged and rolled, + And upward tossed their caps of fire. + + He looked. And as he looked, the sight + Sent from his soul through breast and brain + Such intense joy, it hurt like pain. + His heart seemed bursting with delight. + + So near the Unknown seemed, so close + He might have grasped it with his hands + He felt his inmost soul expand, + As sunlight will expand a rose + + One day he heard a singing strain— + A human voice, in bird-like trills. + He paused, and little rapture-rills + Went trickling downward through each vein. + + And in his heart the whole day long, + As in a temple veiled and dim, + He kept and bore about with him + The beauty of that singer’s song. + + And then? But why relate what then? + His smouldering heart flamed into fire— + He had his one supreme desire, + And plunged into the world of men. + + For years queen Folly held her sway. + With pleasures of the grosser kind + She fed his flesh and drugged his mind, + Till, shamed, he sated, turned away. + + He sought his boyhood’s home. + That hour Triumphant should have been, in sooth, + Since he went forth, an unknown youth, + And came back crowned with wealth and power. + + The clouds made day a gorgeous bed; + He saw the splendour of the sky + With unmoved heart and stolid eye; + He only knew the West was red. + + Then suddenly a fresh young voice + Rose, bird-like, from some hidden place, + He did not even turn his face— + It struck him simply as a noise. + + He trod the old paths up and down. + Their rich-hued leaves by Fall winds whirled— + How dull they were—how dull the world— + Dull even in the pulsing town. + + O! worst of punishments, that brings + A blunting of all finer sense, + A loss of feelings keen, intense, + And dulls us to the higher things. + + O! penalty most dire, most sure, + Swift following after gross delights, + That we no more see beauteous sights, + Or hear as hear the good and pure. + + O! shape more hideous and more dread + Than Vengeance takes in creed-taught minds, + This certain doom that blunts and blinds, + And strikes the holiest feelings dead. + + + + +UNREST + + + In the youth of the year, when the birds were building, + When the green was showing on tree and hedge, + And the tenderest light of all lights was gilding + The world from zenith to outermost edge, + My soul grew sad and longingly lonely! + I sighed for the season of sun and rose, + And I said, “In the Summer and that time only + Lies sweet contentment and blest repose.” + + With bee and bird for her maids of honour + Came Princess Summer in robes of green. + And the King of day smiled down upon her + And wooed her, and won her, and made her queen. + Fruit of their union and true love’s pledges, + Beautiful roses bloomed day by day, + And rambled in gardens and hid in hedges + Like royal children in sportive play. + + My restless soul for a little season + Revelled in rapture of glow and bloom, + And then, like a subject who harbours treason, + Grew full of rebellion and grey with gloom. + And I said, “I am sick of the summer’s blisses, + Of warmth and beauty, and nothing more. + The full fruition my sad soul misses + That beauteous Fall-time holds in store!” + + But now when the colours are almost blinding, + Burning and blending on bush and tree, + And the rarest fruits are mine for the finding, + And the year is ripe as a year can be, + My soul complains in the same old fashion; + Crying aloud in my troubled breast + Is the same old longing, the same old passion. + O where is the treasure which men call rest? + + + + +“ARTIST’S LIFE” + + + Of all the waltzes the great Strauss wrote, + Mad with melody, rhythm—rife + From the very first to the final note. + Give me his “Artist’s Life!” + + It stirs my blood to my finger-ends, + Thrills me and fills me with vague unrest, + And all that is sweetest and saddest blends + Together within my breast. + + It brings back that night in the dim arcade, + In love’s sweet morning and life’s best prime, + When the great brass orchestra played and played, + And set our thoughts to rhyme. + + It brings back that Winter of mad delights, + Of leaping pulses and tripping feet, + And those languid moon-washed Summer nights + When we heard the band in the street. + + It brings back rapture and glee and glow, + It brings back passion and pain and strife, + And so of all the waltzes I know, + Give me the “Artist’s Life.” + + For it is so full of the dear old time— + So full of the dear old friends I knew. + And under its rhythm, and lilt, and rhyme, + I am always finding—_you_. + + + + +NOTHING BUT STONES + + + I think I never passed so sad an hour, + Dear friend, as that one at the church to-night. + The edifice from basement to the tower + Was one resplendent blaze of coloured light. + Up through broad aisles the stylish crowd was thronging, + Each richly robed like some king’s bidden guest. + “Here will I bring my sorrow and my longing,” + I said, “and here find rest.” + + I heard the heavenly organ’s voice of thunder, + It seemed to give me infinite relief. + I wept. Strange eyes looked on in well-bred wonder. + I dried my tears: their gaze profaned my grief. + Wrapt in the costly furs, and silks, and laces, + Beat alien hearts, that had no part with me. + I could not read, in all those proud cold faces, + One thought of sympathy. + + I watched them bowing and devoutly kneeling, + Heard their responses like sweet waters roll + But only the glorious organ’s sacred pealing + Seemed gushing from a full and fervent soul. + I listened to the man of holy calling, + He spoke of creeds, and hailed his own as best; + Of man’s corruption and of Adam’s-falling, + But naught that gave me rest: + + Nothing that helped me bear the daily grinding + Of soul with body, heart with heated brain; + Nothing to show the purpose of this blinding + And sometimes overwhelming sense of pain. + And then, dear friend, I thought of thee, so lowly, + So unassuming, and so gently kind, + And lo! a peace, a calm serene and holy, + Settled upon my mind. + + Ah, friend, my friend! one true heart, fond and tender, + That understands our troubles and our needs, + Brings us more near to God than all the splendour + And pomp of seeming worship and vain creeds. + One glance of thy dear eyes so full of feeling, + Doth bring me closer to the Infinite + Than all that throng of worldly people kneeling + In blaze of gorgeous light. + + + + +INEVITABLE + + + To-day I was so weary and I lay + In that delicious state of semi-waking, + When baby, sitting with his nurse at play, + Cried loud for “mamma,” all his toys forsaking. + + I was so weary and I needed rest, + And signed to nurse to bear him from the room. + Then, sudden, rose and caught him to my breast, + And kissed the grieving mouth and cheeks of bloom. + + For swift as lightning came the thought to me, + With pulsing heart-throes and a mist of tears, + Of days inevitable, that are to be, + If my fair darling grows to manhood’s years; + + Days when he will not call for “mamma,” when + The world, with many a pleasure and bright joy, + Shall tempt him forth into the haunts of men + And I shall lose the first place with my boy; + + When other homes and loves shall give delight, + When younger smiles and voices will seem best. + And so I held him to my heart to-night, + Forgetting all my need of peace and rest. + + + + +THE OCEAN OF SONG + + + In a land beyond sight or conceiving, + In a land where no blight is, no wrong, + No darkness, no graves, and no grieving, + There lies the great ocean of song. + And its waves, oh, its waves unbeholden + By any save gods, and their kind, + Are not blue, are not green, but are golden, + Like moonlight and sunlight combined. + + It was whispered to me that their waters + Were made from the gathered-up tears + That were wept by the sons and the daughters + Of long-vanished eras and spheres. + Like white sands of heaven the spray is + That falls all the happy day long, + And whoever it touches straightway is + Made glad with the spirit of song. + + Up, up to the clouds where their hoary + Crowned heads melt away in the skies, + The beautiful mountains of glory + Each side of the song-ocean rise. + Here day is one splendour of sky-light— + Of God’s light with beauty replete. + Here night is not night, but is twilight, + Pervading, enfolding, and sweet. + + Bright birds from all climes and all regions, + That sing the whole glad summer long, + Are dumb, till they flock here in legions + And lave in the ocean of song. + It is here that the four winds of heaven, + The winds that do sing and rejoice, + It is here they first came and were given + The secret of sound and a voice. + + Far down along beautiful beeches, + By night and by glorious day, + The throng of the gifted ones reaches, + Their foreheads made white with the spray, + And a few of the sons and the daughters + Of this kingdom, cloud-hidden from sight, + Go down in the wonderful waters, + And bathe in those billows of light. + + And their souls evermore are like fountains, + And liquid and lucent and strong, + High over the tops of the mountains + Gush up the sweet billows of song. + No drouth-time of waters can dry them. + Whoever has bathed in that sea, + All dangers, all deaths, they defy them, + And are gladder than gods are, with glee. + + + + +“IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN” + + + We will be what we could be. Do not say, + “It might have been, had not or that, or this.” + No fate can keep us from the chosen way; + He only might, who _is_. + + We will do what we could do. Do not dream + Chance leaves a hero, all uncrowned to grieve. + I hold, all men are greatly what they seem; + He does, who could achieve. + + We will climb where we could climb. Tell me not + Of adverse storms that kept thee from the height. + What eagle ever missed the peak he sought? + He always climbs who might. + + I do not like the phrase, “It might have been!” + It lacks all force, and life’s best truths perverts + For I believe we have, and reach, and win, + Whatever our deserts. + + + + +MOMUS, GOD OF LAUGHTER + + + Though with gods the world is cumbered, + Gods unnamed, and gods unnumbered, + Never god was known to be + Who had not his devotee. + So I dedicate to mine, + Here in verse, my temple-shrine. + + ’Tis not Ares,—mighty Mars, + Who can give success in wars. + ’Tis not Morpheus, who doth keep + Guard above us while we sleep, + ’Tis not Venus, she whose duty + ’Tis to give us love and beauty; + Hail to these, and others, after + Momus, gleesome god of laughter. + + Quirinus would guard my health, + Plutus would insure me wealth; + Mercury looks after trade, + Hera smiles on youth and maid. + All are kind, I own their worth, + After Momus, god of mirth. + + Though Apollo, out of spite, + Hides away his face of light, + Though Minerva looks askance, + Deigning me no smiling glance, + Kings and queens may envy me + While I claim the god of glee. + + Wisdom wearies, Love has wings— + Wealth makes burdens, Pleasure stings, + Glory proves a thorny crown— + So all gifts the gods throw down + Bring their pains and troubles after; + All save Momus, god of laughter. + He alone gives constant joy. + Hail to Momus, happy boy. + + + + +I DREAM + + + Oh, I have dreams. I sometimes dream of Life + In the full meaning of that splendid word. + Its subtle music which few men have heard, + Though all may hear it, sounding through earth’s strife. + Its mountain heights by mystic breezes kissed + Lifting their lovely peaks above the dust; + Its treasures which no touch of time can rust, + Its emerald seas, its dawns of amethyst, + Its certain purpose, its serene repose, + Its usefulness, that finds no hour for woes, + This is my dream of Life. + + Yes, I have dreams. I ofttimes dream of Love + As radiant and brilliant as a star. + As changeless, too, as that fixed light afar + Which glorifies vast worlds of space above. + Strong as the tempest when it holds its breath, + Before it bursts in fury; and as deep + As the unfathomed seas, where lost worlds sleep, + And sad as birth, and beautiful as death. + As fervent as the fondest soul could crave, + Yet holy as the moonlight on a grave. + This is my dream of Love. + + Yes, yes, I dream. One oft-recurring dream + Is beautiful and comforting and blest, + Complete with certain promises of rest, + Divine content, and ecstasy supreme. + When that strange essence, author of all faith, + That subtle something, which cries for the light, + Like a lost child who wanders in the night, + Shall solve the mighty mystery of Death, + Shall find eternal progress, or sublime + And satisfying slumber for all time. + This is my dream of Death. + + + + +THE SONNET + + + Alone it stands in Poesy’s fair land, + A temple by the muses set apart; + A perfect structure of consummate art, + By artists builded and by genius planned, + Beyond the reach of the apprentice hand, + Beyond the ken of the untutored heart, + Like a fine carving in a common mart, + Only the favoured few will understand. + A _chef-d’œvre_ toiled over with great care, + Yet which the unseeing careless crowd goes by, + A plainly set, but well-cut solitaire, + An ancient bit of pottery, too rare + To please or hold aught save the special eye, + These only with the sonnet can compare. + + + + +THE PAST + + + Fling my past behind me, like a robe + Worn threadbare in the seams, and out of date. + I have outgrown it. Wherefore should I weep + And dwell up on its beauty, and its dyes + Of Oriental splendour, or complain + That I must needs discard it? I can weave + Upon the shuttles of the future years + A fabric far more durable. Subdued, + It may be, in the blending of its hues, + Where sombre shades commingle, yet the gleam + Of golden warp shall shoot it through and through, + While over all a fadeless lustre lies, + And starred with gems made out of crystalled tears, + My new robe shall be richer than the old. + + + + +A DREAM + + + That was a curious dream; I thought the three + Great planets that are drawing near the sun + With such unerring certainty begun + To talk together in a mighty glee. + They spoke of vast convulsions which would be + Throughout the solar system—the rare fun + Of watching haughty stars drop, one by one, + And vanish in a seething vapour sea. + + I thought I heard them comment on the earth— + That small dark object—doomed beyond a doubt. + They wondered if live creatures moved about + Its tiny surface, deeming it of worth. + And then they laughed—’twas such a singing shout + That I awoke and joined too in their mirth. + + + + +USELESSNESS + + + Let mine not be that saddest fate of all + To live beyond my greater self; to see + My faculties decaying, as the tree + Stands stark and helpless while its green leaves fall. + Let me hear rather the imperious call, + Which all men dread, in my glad morning time, + And follow death ere I have reached my prime, + Or drunk the strengthening cordial of life’s gall. + The lightning’s stroke or the fierce tempest blast + Which fells the green tree to the earth to-day + Is kinder than the calm that lets it last, + Unhappy witness of its own decay. + May no man ever look on me and say, + “She lives, but all her usefulness is past.” + + + + +WILL + + + There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, + Can circumvent or hinder or control + The firm resolve of a determined soul. + Gifts count for nothing; will alone is great; + All things give way before it, soon or late. + What obstacle can stay the mighty force + Of the sea-seeking river in its course, + Or cause the ascending orb of day to wait? + + Each well-born soul must win what it deserves. + Let the fool prate of luck. The fortunate + Is he whose earnest purpose never swerves, + Whose slightest action or inaction serve. + The one great aim. + Why, even Death stands still, + And waits an hour sometimes for such a will. + + + + +WINTER RAIN + + + Falling upon the frozen world last + I heard the slow beat of the Winter rain— + Poor foolish drops, down-dripping all in vain; + The ice-bound Earth but mocked their puny might, + Far better had the fixedness of white + And uncomplaining snows—which make no sign, + But coldly smile, when pitying moonbeams shine— + Concealed its sorrow from all human sight. + Long, long ago, in blurred and burdened years, + I learned the uselessness of uttered woe. + Though sinewy Fate deals her most skilful blow, + I do not waste the gall now of my tears, + But feed my pride upon its bitter, while + I look straight in the world’s bold eyes, and smile. + + + + +LIFE + + + Life, like a romping schoolboy, full of glee, + Doth bear us on his shoulder for a time. + There is no path too steep for him to climb. + With strong, lithe limbs, as agile and as free, + As some young roe, he speeds by vale and sea, + By flowery mead, by mountain peak sublime, + And all the world seems motion set to rhyme, + Till, tired out, he cries, “Now carry me!” + In vain we murmur; “Come,” Life says, “Fair play!” + And seizes on us. God! he goads us so! + He does not let us sit down all the day. + At each new step we feel the burden grow, + Till our bent backs seem breaking as we go, + Watching for Death to meet us on the way. + + + + +BURDENED + + + “Genius, a man’s weapon, a woman’s burden.”—Lamartine. + + Dear God! there is no sadder fate in life + Than to be burdened so that you can not + Sit down contented with the common lot + Of happy mother and devoted wife. + + To feel your brain wild and your bosom rife + With all the sea’s commotion; to be fraught + With fires and frenzies which you have not sought, + And weighed down with the wild world’s weary strife; + + To feel a fever always in your breast; + To lean and hear, half in affright, half shame, + A loud-voiced public boldly mouth your name; + To reap your hard-sown harvest in unrest, + And know, however great your meed of fame, + You are but a weak woman at the best. + + + + +LET THEM GO + + + Let the dream go. Are there not other dreams + In vastness of clouds hid from thy sight + That yet shall gild with beautiful gold gleams, + And shoot the shadows through and through with light? + What matters one lost vision of the night? + Let the dream go!! + + Let the hope set. Are there not other hopes + That yet shall rise like new stars in thy sky? + Not long a soul in sullen darkness gropes + Before some light is lent it from on high; + What folly to think happiness gone by! + Let the hope set! + + Let the joy fade. Are there not other joys, + Like frost-bound bulbs, that yet shall start and bloom? + Severe must be the winter that destroys + The hardy roots locked in their silent tomb. + What cares the earth for her brief time of gloom + Let the joy fade! + + Let the love die. Are there not other loves + As beautiful and full of sweet unrest, + Flying through space like snowy-pinioned doves? + They yet shall come and nestle in thy breast, + And thou shalt say of each, “Lo, this is best!” + Let the love die! + + + + +FIVE KISSES + + +THE MOTHER’S KISS +I + + + Love breathed a secret to her listening heart, + And said “Be silent.” Though she guarded it, + And dwelt as one within a world apart, + Yet sun and star seemed by that secret lit. + And where she passed, each whispering wind ablow, + And every little blossom in the sod, + Called joyously to her, “We know, we know, + For are we not the intimates of God?” + Life grew so radiant, and so opulent, + That when her fragile body and her brain + By mortal throes of agony were rent, + She felt a curious rapture in her pain. + Then, after anguish, came the supreme bliss— + They brought the little baby, for her kiss! + + + +THE BETROTHAL +II + + + There was a little pause between the dances; + Without, somewhere, a tinkling fountain played. + The dusky path was lit by ardent glances + As forth they fared, a lover and a maid. + He chose a nook, from curious eyes well hidden— + All redolent with sweet midsummer charm, + And by the great primeval instinct bidden, + He drew her in the shelter of his arm. + The words that long deep in his heart had trembled + Found sudden utterance; she at first dissembled, + Refused her lips, and half withdrew her hand, + Then murmured “Yes,” and yielded, woman fashion, + Her virgin mouth to young love’s kiss of passion. + + + +THE BRIDAL KISS +III + + + As fleecy clouds trail back across the skies, + Showing the sweet young moon in azure space, + The lifted veil revealed her shining face— + A sudden wonder to his eager eyes. + In that familiar beauty lurked surprise: + For now the wife stood in the maiden’s place— + With conscious dignity, and woman’s grace, + And love’s large pride grown trebly fair and wise. + + The world receded, leaving them alone. + The universe was theirs, from sphere to sphere, + And life assumed new meaning, and new worth. + Love held no privilege they did not own, + And when they kissed each other without fear, + They understood why God had made the earth. + + + +DOMESTIC BLISS +IV + + + Sequestered in their calm domestic bower, + They sat together. He in manhood’s prime + And she a matron in her fullest flower. + The mantel clock gave forth a warning chime. + She put her work aside; his bright cigar + Grew pale, and crumbled in an ashen heap. + The lights went out, save one remaining star + That watched beside the children in their sleep. + She hummed a little song and nestled near, + As side by side they went to their repose. + His arm about her waist, he whispered “Dear,” + And pressed his lips upon her mouth’s full rose— + The sacred sweetness of their wedded life + Breathed in that kiss of husband and of wife. + + + +OLD AGE +V + + + The young see heaven—but to the old who wait + The final call, the hills of youth arise + More beautiful than shores of Paradise. + Beside a glowing and voracious grate + A dozing couple dream of yesterday; + The islands of a vanished past appear, + Bringing forgotten names and faces near; + While lost in mist, the present fades away. + The fragrant winds of tender memories blow + Across the gardens of the “Used-to-be!” + They smile into each other’s eyes, and see + The bride and bridegroom of the long ago. + And tremulous lips, pressed close to faded cheek + Love’s silent tale of deathless passion speak. + + + + +RETROSPECTION + + + I look down the lengthening distance + Far back to youth’s valley of hope. + How strange seemed the ways of existence, + How infinite life and its scope! + + What dreams, what ambitions came thronging + To people a world of my own! + How the heart in my bosom was longing, + For pleasures and places unknown. + + But the hill-tops of pleasure and beauty + Were covered with mist at the dawn; + And only the rugged road Duty + Shone clear, as my feet wandered on. + + I loved not the path and its leading, + I hated the rocks and the dust; + But a Voice from the Silence was pleading, + It spoke but one syllable—“Trust.” + + I saw, as the morning grew older, + The fair flowered hills of delight; + And the feet of my comrades grew bolder, + They hurried away from my sight. + + And when on the pathway I faltered, + And when I rebelled at my fate, + The Voice with assurance unaltered, + Again spoke one syllable—“Wait.” + + Along the hard highway I travelled + And saw, with dim vision, how soon + The morning’s gold locks were unravelled, + By fingers of amorous noon. + + A turn in the pathway of duty— + I stood in the perfect day’s prime, + Close, close to the hillside of beauty + The Voice from the Silence said “Climb” + + The road to the beautiful Regions + Lies ever through Duty’s hard way. + Oh ye who go searching in legions, + Know this and be patient to-day. + + + + +HELENA + + + Last night I saw Helena. She whose praise + Of late all men have sounded. She for whom + Young Angus rashly sought a silent tomb + Rather than live without her all his days. + + Wise men go mad who look upon her long, + She is so ripe with dangers. Yet meanwhile + I find no fascination in her smile, + Although I make her theme of this poor song. + + “Her golden tresses?” yes, they may be fair, + And yet to me each shining silken tress + Seems robbed of beauty and all lustreless— + Too many hands have stroked Helena’s hair. + + (I know a little maiden so demure + She will not let her one true lover’s hands + In playful fondness touch her soft brown bands + So dainty-minded is she, and so pure.) + + “Her great dark eyes that flash like gems at night? + Large, long-lashed eyes and lustrous?” that may be, + And yet they are not beautiful to me. + Too many hearts have sunned in their delight. + + (I mind me of two tender blue eyes, hid + So underneath white curtains, and so veiled + That I have sometimes plead for hours, and failed + To see more than the shyly lifted lid.) + + “Her perfect mouth so liked a carved kiss?” + “Her honeyed-mouth, where hearts do, fly-like, drown?” + I would not taste its sweetness for a crown; + Too many lips have drank its nectared bliss. + + (I know a mouth whose virgin dew, undried, + Lies like a young grape’s bloom, untouched and sweet, + And though I plead in passion at her feet, + She would not let me brush it if I died.) + + In vain, Helena! though wise men may vie + For thy rare smile, or die from loss of it, + Armoured by my sweet lady’s trust, I sit, + And know thou are not worth her faintest sigh. + + + + +NOTHING REMAINS + + + Nothing remains of unrecorded ages + That lie in the silent cemetery time; + Their wisdom may have shamed our wisest sages, + Their glory may have been indeed sublime. + How weak do seem our strivings after power, + How poor the grandest efforts of our brains, + If out of all we are, in one short hour + Nothing remains. + + Nothing remains but the Eternal Spaces, + Time and decay uproot the forest trees. + Even the mighty mountains leave their places, + And sink their haughty heads beneath strange seas + The great earth writhes in some convulsive spasms + And turns the proudest cities into plains. + The level sea becomes a yawning chasm— + Nothing remains. + + Nothing remains but the Eternal Forces, + The sad seas cease complaining and grow dry, + Rivers are drained and altered in their courses, + Great stars pass out and vanish from the sky. + Ideas die and old religions perish, + Our rarest pleasures and our keenest pains + Are swept away with all we hate or cherish— + Nothing remains. + + Nothing remains but the Eternal Nameless + And all-creative spirit of the Law, + Uncomprehended, comprehensive, blameless, + Invincible, resistless, with no flaw; + So full of love it must create for ever, + Destroying that it may create again, + Persistent and perfecting in endeavour, + It yet must bring forth angels, after men— + This, this remains! + + + + +COMRADES + + + I and my Soul are alone to-day, + All in the shining weather; + We were sick of the world, and put it away, + So we could rejoice together. + + Our host, the Sun, in the blue, blue sky + Is mixing a rare, sweet wine, + In the burnished gold of this cup on high, + For me, and this Soul of mine. + + We find it a safe and royal drink, + And a cure for every pain; + It helps us to love, and helps us to think, + And strengthens body and brain. + + And sitting here, with my Soul alone, + Where the yellow sun-rays fall, + Of all the friends I have ever known + I find it the _best_ of all. + + We rarely meet when the world is near, + For the World hath a pleasing art + And brings me so much that is bright and dear + That my Soul it keepeth apart. + + But when I grow weary of mirth and glee, + Of glitter, glow, and splendour, + Like a tried old friend it comes to me, + With a smile that is sad and tender. + + And we walk together as two friends may, + And laugh and drink God’s wine. + Oh, a royal comrade any day + I find this Soul of mine. + + + + +WHAT GAIN? + + + Now, while thy rounded cheek is fresh and fair, + While beauty lingers, laughing, in thine eyes, + Ere thy young heart shall meet the stranger, “Care,” + Or thy blithe soul become the home of sighs, + Were it not kindness should I give thee rest + By plunging this sharp dagger in thy breast? + Dying so young, with all thy wealth of youth, + What part of life wouldst thou not claim, in sooth? + Only the woe, + Sweetheart, that sad souls know. + + Now, in this sacred hour of supreme trust, + Of pure delight and palpitating joy, + Ere change can come, as come it surely must, + With jarring doubts and discords, to destroy + Our far too perfect peace, I pray thee, Sweet, + Were it not best for both of us, and meet, + If I should bring swift death to seal our bliss? + Dying so full of joy, what could we miss? + Nothing but tears, + Sweetheart, and weary years. + + How slight the action! Just one well-aimed blow + Here, where I feel thy warm heart’s pulsing beat, + And then another through my own, and so + Our perfect union would be made complete: + So, past all parting, I should claim thee mine. + Dead with our youth, and faith, and love divine, + Should we not keep the best of life that way? + What shall we gain by living day on day? + What shall we gain, + Sweetheart, but bitter pain? + + + + +TO THE WEST + + +[In an interview with Lawrence Barrett, he said: “The literature of the +New World must look to the West for its poetry.”] + + Not to the crowded East, + Where, in a well-worn groove, + Like the harnessed wheel of a great machine, + The trammelled mind must move— + Where Thought must follow the fashion of Thought, + Or be counted vulgar and set at naught. + + Not to the languid South, + Where the mariners of the brain + Are lured by the Sirens of the Sense, + And wrecked upon its main— + Where Thought is rocked, on the sweet wind’s breath + To a torpid sleep that ends in death. + + But to the mighty West, + That chosen realm of God, + Where Nature reaches her hands to men, + And Freedom walks abroad— + Where mind is King, and fashion is naught, + There shall the New World look for thought + + To the West, the beautiful West, + She shall look, and not in vain— + For out of its broad and boundless store + Come muscle, and nerve, and brain. + Let the bards of the East and the South be dumb— + For out of the West shall the Poets come. + + They shall come with souls as great + As the cradle where they were rocked; + They shall come with brows that are touched with fire + Like the gods with whom they have walked; + They shall come from the West in royal state, + The Singers and Thinkers for whom we wait. + + + + +THE LAND OF CONTENT + + + I set out for the Land of Content, + By the gay crowded pleasure-highway, + With laughter, and jesting, I went + With the mirth-loving throng for a day; + Then I knew I had wandered astray, + For I met returned pilgrims, belated, + Who said, “We are weary and sated, + But we found not the Land of Content.” + + I turned to the steep path of fame, + I said, “It is over yon height— + This land with the beautiful name— + Ambition will lend me its light.” + But I paused in my journey ere night, + For the way grew so lonely and troubled; + I said—my anxiety doubled— + “This is not the road to Content.” + + Then I joined the great rabble and throng + That frequents the moneyed world’s mart; + But the greed, and the grasping and wrong, + Left me only one wish—to depart. + And sickened, and saddened at heart, + I hurried away from the gateway, + For my soul and my spirit said straightway. + “This is not the road to Content.” + + Then weary in body and brain, + An overgrown path I detected, + And I said “I will hide with my pain + In this byway, unused and neglected.” + Lo! it led to the realm God selected + To crown with His best gifts of beauty, + And through the dark pathway of duty + I came to the land of Content. + + + + +WARNING + + + High in the heavens I saw the moon this morning, + Albeit the sun shone bright; + Unto my soul it spoke, in voice of warning, + “Remember Night!” + + + + +AFTER THE BATTLES ARE OVER + + +[Read at Reunion of the G. A. T., Madison, Wis., July 4, 1872.] + + After the battles are over, + And the war drums cease to beat, + And no more is heard on the hillside + The sound of hurrying feet, + Full many a noble action, + That was done in the days of strife + By the soldier is half forgotten, + In the peaceful walks of life. + + Just as the tangled grasses, + In Summer’s warmth and light, + Grow over the graves of the fallen + And hide them away from sight, + So many an act of valour, + And many a deed sublime, + Fade from the mind of the soldier + O’ergrown by the grass of time + + Not so should they be rewarded, + Those noble deeds of old! + They should live for ever and ever, + When the heroes’ hearts are cold. + Then rally, ye brave old comrades, + Old veterans, reunite! + Uproot Time’s tangled grasses— + Live over the march, and the fight. + + Let Grant come up from the White House, + And clasp each brother’s hand, + First chieftain of the army, + Last chieftain of the land. + Let him rest from a nation’s burdens, + And go, in thought, with his men, + Through the fire and smoke of Shiloh, + And save the day again. + + This silent hero of battles + Knew no such word as defeat. + It was left for the rebels’ learning, + Along with the word—retreat. + He was not given to talking, + But he found that guns would preach + In a way that was more convincing + Than fine and flowery speech + + Three cheers for the grave commander + Of the grand old Tennessee! + Who won the first great battle— + Gained the first great victory. + His motto was always “Conquer,” + “Success” was his countersign, + And “though it took all Summer,” + He kept fighting upon “that line.” + + Let Sherman, the stern old General, + Come rallying with his men; + Let them march once more through Georgia + And down to the sea again. + Oh! that grand old tramp to Savannah, + Three hundred miles to the coast, + It will live in the heart of the nation, + For ever its pride and boast. + + As Sheridan went to the battle, + When a score of miles away, + He has come to the feast and banquet, + By the iron horse to-day. + Its pace is not much swifter + Than the pace of that famous steed + Which bore him down to the contest + And saved the day by his speed. + + Then go over the ground to-day, boys + Tread each remembered spot. + It will be a gleesome journey, + On the swift-shod feet of thought; + You can fight a bloodless battle, + You can skirmish along the route, + But it’s not worth while to forage, + There are rations enough without. + + Don’t start if you hear the cannon, + It is not the sound of doom, + It does not call to the contest— + To the battle’s smoke and gloom. + “Let us have peace,” was spoken, + And lo! peace ruled again; + And now the nation is shouting, + Through the cannon’s voice, “Amen.” + + O boys who besieged old Vicksburgh, + Can time e’er wash away + The triumph of her surrender, + Nine years ago to-day? + Can you ever forget the moment, + When you saw the flag of white, + That told how the grim old city + Had fallen in her might? + + Ah, ’twas a bold, brave army, + When the boys, with a right good will, + Went gaily marching and singing + To the fight at Champion Hill. + They met with a warm reception, + But the soul of “Old John Brown” + Was abroad on that field of battle, + And our flag did NOT go down. + + Come, heroes of Look Out Mountain, + Of Corinth and Donelson, + Of Kenesaw and Atlanta, + And tell how the day was won! + Hush! bow the head for a moment— + There are those who cannot come. + No bugle-call can arouse them— + No sound of fife or drum. + + Oh, boys who died for the country, + Oh, dear and sainted dead! + What can we say about you + That has not once been said? + Whether you fell in the contest, + Struck down by shot and shell, + Or pined ’neath the hand of sickness + Or starved in the prison cell, + + We know that you died for Freedom, + To save our land from shame, + To rescue a perilled Nation, + And we give you deathless fame. + ’Twas the cause of Truth and Justice + That you fought and perished for, + And we say it, oh, so gently, + “Our boys who died in the war.” + + Saviours of our Republic, + Heroes who wore the blue, + We owe the peace that surrounds us— + And our Nation’s strength to you. + We owe it to you that our banner, + The fairest flag in the world, + Is to-day unstained, unsullied, + On the Summer air unfurled. + + We look on its stripes and spangles, + And our hearts are filled the while + With love for the brave commanders, + And the boys of the rank and file. + The grandest deeds of valour + Were never written out, + The noblest acts of virtue + The world knows nothing about. + + And many a private soldier, + Who walks his humble way, + With no sounding name or title, + Unknown to the world to-day, + In the eyes of God is a hero + As worthy of the bays + As any mighty General + To whom the world gives praise. + + Brave men of a mighty army, + We extend you friendship’s hand + I speak for the “Loyal Women,” + Those pillars of our land. + We wish you a hearty welcome, + We are proud that you gather here + To talk of old times together + On this brightest day in the year. + + And if Peace, whose snow-white pinions + Brood over our land to-day, + Should ever again go from us, + (God grant she may ever stay!) + Should our Nation call in her peril + For “Six hundred thousand more,” + The loyal women would hear her, + And send you out as before. + + We would bring out the treasured knapsack, + We would take the sword from the wall, + And hushing our own hearts’ pleadings, + Hear only the country’s call. + For next to our God is our Nation; + And we cherish the honoured name + Of the bravest of all brave armies + Who fought for that Nation’s fame. + + + + +AND THEY ARE DUMB + + + I have been across the bridges of the years. + Wet with tears + Were the ties on which I trod, going back + Down the track + To the valley where I left, ’neath skies of Truth, + My lost youth. + + As I went, I dropped my burdens, one and all— + Let them fall; + All my sorrows, all my wrinkles, all my care, + My white hair, + I laid down, like some lone pilgrim’s heavy pack, + By the track. + + As I neared the happy valley with light feet, + My heart beat + To the rhythm of a song I used to know + Long ago, + And my spirits gushed and bubbled like a fountain + Down a mountain. + + On the border of that valley I found you, + Tried and true; + And we wandered through the golden Summer-Land + Hand in hand. + And my pulses beat with rapture in the blisses + Of your kisses. + + And we met there, in those green and verdant places, + Smiling faces, + And sweet laughter echoed upward from the dells + Like gold bells. + And the world was spilling over with the glory + Of Youth’s story. + + It was but a dreamer’s journey of the brain; + And again + I have left the happy valley far behind; + And I find + Time stands waiting with his burdens in a pack + For my back. + + As he speeds me, like a rough, well-meaning friend, + To the end, + Will I find again the lost ones loved so well? + Who can tell! + But the dead know what the life will be to come— + And they are dumb! + + + + +NIGHT + + + As some dusk mother shields from all alarms + The tired child she gathers to her breast, + The brunette Night doth fold me in her arms, + And hushes me to perfect peace and rest. + Her eyes of stars shine on me, and I hear + Her voice of winds low crooning on my ear. + O Night, O Night, how beautiful thou art! + Come, fold me closer to thy pulsing heart. + + The day is full of gladness, and the light + So beautifies the common outer things, + I only see with my external sight, + And only hear the great world’s voice which rings. + But silently from daylight and from din + The sweet Night draws me—whispers, “Look within!” + And looking, as one wakened from a dream, + I see what _is_—no longer what doth seem. + + The Night says, “Listen!” and upon my ear + Revealed, as are the visions to my sight, + The voices known as “Beautiful” come near + And whisper of the vastly Infinite. + Great, blue-eyed Truth, her sister Purity, + Their brother Honour, all converse with me, + And kiss my brow, and say, “Be brave of heart!” + O holy three! how beautiful thou art! + + The Night says, “Child, sleep that thou may’st arise + Strong for to-morrow’s struggle.” And I feel + Her shadowy fingers pressing on my eyes: + Like thistledown I float to the Ideal— + The Slumberland, made beautiful and bright + As death, by dreams of loved ones gone from sight, + O food for souls, sweet dreams of pure delight, + How beautiful the holy hours of Night! + + + + +ALL FOR ME + + + The world grows green on a thousand hills— + By a thousand willows the bees are humming, + And a million birds by a million rills, + Sing of the golden season coming. + But, gazing out on the sun-kist lea, + And hearing a thrush and a blue-bird singing, + I feel that the summer is all for me, + And all for me are the joys it is bringing. + + All for me the bumble-bee + Drones his song in the perfect weather; + And, just on purpose to sing to me, + Thrush and blue-bird came North together. + Just for me, in red and white, + Bloom and blossom the fields of clover; + And all for me and my delight + The wild Wind follows and plays the lover. + + The mighty sun, with a scorching kiss + (I have read, and heard, and do not doubt it) + Has burned up a thousand worlds like this, + And never stopped to think about it. + And yet I believe he hurries up + Just on purpose to kiss my flowers— + To drink the dew from the lily-cup, + And help it to grow through golden hours. + + I know I am only a speck of dust, + An individual mite of masses, + Clinging upon the outer crust + Of a little ball of cooling gases. + And yet, and yet, say what you will, + And laugh, if you please, at my lack of reason, + For me wholly, and for me still, + Blooms and blossoms the Summer season. + + Nobody else has ever heard + The story the Wind to me discloses; + And none but I and the humming-bird + Can read the hearts of the crimson roses. + Ah, my Summer—my love—my own! + The world grows glad in your smiling weather; + Yet all for me, and me alone, + You and your Court came North together. + + + + +INTO SPACE + + + If the sad old world should jump a cog + Sometime, in its dizzy spinning, + And go off the track with a sudden jog, + What an end would come to the sinning, + What a rest from strife and the burdens of life + For the millions of people in it, + What a way out of care, and worry and wear, + All in a beautiful minute. + + As ’round the sun with a curving sweep + It hurries and runs and races, + Should it lose its balance, and go with a leap + Into the vast sea-spaces, + What a blest relief it would bring to the grief, + And the trouble and toil about us, + To be suddenly hurled from the solar world + And let it go on without us. + + With not a sigh or a sad good-bye + For loved ones left behind us, + We would go with a lunge and a mighty plunge + Where never a grave should find us. + What a wild mad thrill our veins would fill + As the great earth, like a feather, + Should float through the air to God knows where, + And carry us all together. + + No dark, damp tomb and no mourner’s gloom, + No tolling bell in the steeple, + But in one swift breath a painless death + For a million billion people. + What greater bliss could we ask than this, + To sweep with a bird’s free motion + Through leagues of space to a resting place, + In a vast and vapoury ocean— + To pass away from this life for aye + With never a dear tie sundered, + And a world on fire for a funeral pyre, + While the stars looked on and wondered? + + + + +THROUGH DIM EYES + + + Is it the world, or my eyes, that are sadder? + I see not the grace that I used to see + In the meadow-brook whose song was so glad, or + In the boughs of the willow tree. + The brook runs slower—its song seems lower + And not the song that it sang of old; + And the tree I admired looks weary and tired + Of the changeless story of heat and cold. + + When the sun goes up, and the stars go under, + In that supreme hour of the breaking day, + Is it my eyes, or the dawn, I wonder, + That finds less of the gold, and more of the gray + I see not the splendour, the tints so tender, + The rose-hued glory I used to see; + And I often borrow a vague half-sorrow + That another morning has dawned for me. + + When the royal smile of that welcome comer + Beams on the meadow and burns in the sky, + Is it my eyes, or does the Summer + Bring less of bloom than in days gone by? + The beauty that thrilled me, the rapture that filled me, + To an overflowing of happy tears, + I pass unseeing, my sad eyes being + Dimmed by the shadow of vanished years. + + When the heart grows weary, all things seem dreary; + When the burden grows heavy, the way seems long. + Thank God for sending kind death as an ending, + Like a grand Amen to a minor song. + + + + +THE PUNISHED + + + Not they who know the awful gibbet’s anguish, + Not they who, while sad years go by them, in + The sunless cells of lonely prisons languish, + Do suffer fullest penalty for sin. + + ’Tis they who walk the highways unsuspected, + Yet with grim fear for ever at their side, + Who hug the corpse of some sin undetected, + A corpse no grave or coffin-lid can hide— + + ’Tis they who are in their own chambers haunted + By thoughts that like unbidden guests intrude, + And sit down, uninvited and unwanted, + And make a nightmare of the solitude. + + + + +HALF FLEDGED + + + I feel the stirrings in me of great things. + New half-fledged thoughts rise up and beat their wings, + And tremble on the margin of their nest, + Then flutter back, and hide within my breast. + + Beholding space, they doubt their untried strength. + Beholding men, they fear them. But at length, + Grown all too great and active for the heart + That broods them with such tender mother art, + Forgetting fear, and men, and all, that hour, + Save the impelling consciousness of power + That stirs within them—they shall soar away + Up to the very portals of the Day. + + Oh, what exultant rapture thrills me through + When I contemplate all those thoughts may do; + Like snow-white eagles penetrating space, + They may explore full many an unknown place, + And build their nests on mountain heights unseen, + Whereon doth lie that dreamed-of rest serene. + Stay thou a little longer in my breast, + Till my fond heart shall push thee from the nest + Anxious to see thee soar to heights divine— + Oh, beautiful but half-fledged thoughts of mine. + + + + +THE YEAR + + + What can be said in New Year rhymes, + That’s not been said a thousand times? + + The new years come, the old years go, + We know we dream, we dream we know. + + We rise up laughing with the light, + We lie down weeping with the night. + + We hug the world until it stings, + We curse it then and sigh for wings. + + We live, we love, we woo, we wed, + We wreathe our brides, we sheet our dead. + + We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear, + And that’s the burden of the year. + + + + +THE UNATTAINED + + + A vision beauteous as the morn, + With heavenly eyes and tresses streaming, + Slow glided o’er a field late shorn + Where walked a poet idly dreaming. + He saw her, and joy lit his face, + “Oh, vanish not at human speaking,” + He cried, “thou form of magic grace, + Thou art the poem I am seeking. + + “I’ve sought thee long! I claim thee now— + My thought embodied, living, real.” + She shook the tresses from her brow. + “Nay, nay!” she said, “I am ideal. + I am the phantom of desire— + The spirit of all great endeavour, + I am the voice that says, ‘Come higher,’ + That calls men up and up for ever. + + “’Tis not alone thy thought supreme + That here upon thy path has risen; + I am the artist’s highest dream, + The ray of light he cannot prison. + I am the sweet ecstatic note + Than all glad music gladder, clearer, + That trembles in the singer’s throat, + And dies without a human hearer. + + “I am the greater, better yield, + That leads and cheers thy farmer neighbour, + For me he bravely tills the field + And whistles gaily at his labour. + Not thou alone, O poet soul, + Dost seek me through an endless morrow, + But to the toiling, hoping whole + I am at once the hope and sorrow. + + “The spirit of the unattained, + I am to those who seek to name me, + A good desired but never gained: + All shall pursue, but none shall claim me.” + + + + +IN THE CROWD + + + How happy they are, in all seeming, + How gay, or how smilingly proud, + How brightly their faces are beaming, + These people who make up the crowd! + How they bow, how they bend, how they flutter, + How they look at each other and smile, + How they glow, and what _bon mots_ they utter! + But a strange thought has found me the while! + + It is odd, but I stand here and fancy + These people who now play a part, + All forced by some strange necromancy + To speak, and to act, from the heart. + What a hush would come over the laughter! + What a silence would fall on the mirth! + And then what a wail would sweep after, + As the night-wind sweeps over the earth! + + If the secrets held under and hidden + In the intricate hearts of the crowd + Were suddenly called to, and bidden + To rise up and cry out aloud, + How strange one would look to another! + Old friends of long standing and years— + Own brothers would not know each other, + Robed new in their sorrows and fears. + + From broadcloth, and velvet, and laces, + Would echo the groans of despair, + And there would be blanching of faces + And wringing of hands and of hair. + That man with his record of honour, + That lady down there with the rose, + That girl with Spring’s freshness upon her, + Who knoweth the secrets of those? + + Smile on, O ye maskers, smile sweetly! + Step lightly, bow low and laugh loud! + Though the world is deceived and completely, + I know ye, O sad-hearted crowd! + I watch you with infinite pity: + But play on, play ever your part, + Be gleeful, be joyful, be witty! + ’Tis better than showing the heart. + + + + +LIFE AND I + + + Life and I are lovers, straying + Arm in arm along: + Often like two children Maying, + Full of mirth and song, + + Life plucks all the blooming hours + Growing by the way; + Binds them on my brow like flowers, + Calls me Queen of May. + + Then again, in rainy weather, + We sit vis-à-vis, + Planning work we’ll do together + In the years to be. + + Sometimes Life denies me blisses, + And I frown or pout; + But we make it up with kisses + Ere the day is out. + + Woman-like, I sometimes grieve him, + Try his trust and faith, + Saying I shall one day leave him + For his rival, Death. + + Then he always grows more zealous, + Tender, and more true; + Loves the more for being jealous, + As all lovers do. + + Though I swear by stars above him, + And by worlds beyond, + That I love him—love him—love him; + Though my heart is fond; + + Though he gives me, doth my lover, + Kisses with each breath— + I shall one day throw him over, + And plight troth with Death. + + + + +GUERDON + + + Upon the white cheek of the Cherub Year + I saw a tear. + Alas! I murmured, that the Year should borrow + So soon a sorrow. + Just then the sunlight fell with sudden flame: + The tear became + A wondrous diamond sparkling in the light— + A beauteous sight. + + Upon my soul there fell such woeful loss, + I said, “The Cross + Is grievous for a life as young as mine.” + Just then, like wine, + God’s sunlight shone from His high Heavens down; + And lo! a crown + Gleamed in the place of what I thought a burden— + My sorrow’s guerdon. + + + + +SNOWED UNDER + + + Of a thousand things that the Year snowed under— + The busy Old Year who has gone away— + How many will rise in the Spring, I wonder, + Brought to life by the sun of May? + Will the rose-tree branches, so wholly hidden + That never a rose-tree seems to be, + At the sweet Spring’s call come forth unbidden, + And bud in beauty, and bloom for me? + + Will the fair green Earth, whose throbbing bosom + Is hid like a maid’s in her gown at night, + Wake out of her sleep, and with blade and blossom + Gem her garments to please my sight? + Over the knoll in the valley yonder + The loveliest buttercups bloomed and grew; + When the snow has gone that drifted them under, + Will they shoot up sunward, and bloom anew? + + When wild winds blew, and a sleet-storm pelted, + I lost a jewel of priceless worth; + If I walk that way when snows have melted, + Will the gem gleam up from the bare brown Earth? + I laid a love that was dead or dying, + For the year to bury and hide from sight; + But out of a trance will it waken, crying, + And push to my heart, like a leaf to the light? + + Under the snow lie things so cherished— + Hopes, ambitions, and dreams of men— + Faces that vanished, and trusts that perished, + Never to sparkle and glow again. + The Old Year greedily grasped his plunder, + And covered it over and hurried away: + Of the thousand things that he did, I wonder + How many will rise at the call of May? + O wise Young Year, with your hands held under + Your mantle of ermine, tell me, pray! + + + + +“LEUDEMANNS-ON-THE-RIVER.” + + + Toward even, when the day leans down + To kiss the upturned face of night, + Out just beyond the loud-voiced town + I know a spot of calm delight. + Like crimson arrows from a quiver + The red rays pierce the waters flowing, + While we go dreaming, singing, rowing + To Leudemanns-on-the-River. + + The hills, like some glad mocking-bird, + Send back our laughter and our singing, + While faint—and yet more faint is heard + The steeple bells all sweetly ringing. + Some message did the winds deliver + To each glad heart that August night, + All heard, but all heard not aright, + By Leudemanns-on-the-River. + + Night falls as in some foreign clime, + Between the hills that slope and rise. + So dusk the shades at landing-time, + We could not see each other’s eyes. + We only saw the moonbeams quiver + Far down upon the stream! that night + The new moon gave but little light + By Leudemanns-on-the-River. + + How dusky were those paths that led + Up from the river to the hall. + The tall trees branching overhead + Invite the early shades that fall. + In all the glad blithe world, oh, never + Were hearts more free from care than when + We wandered through those walks, we ten, + By Leudemanns-on-the-River. + + So soon, so soon, the changes came. + This August day we two alone, + On that same river, not the same, + Dream of a night for ever flown. + Strange distances have come to sever + The hearts that gaily beat in pleasure, + Long miles we cannot cross or measure— + From Leudemanns-on-the-River. + + We’ll pluck two leaves, dear friend, to-day. + The green, the russet! seems it strange + So soon, so soon, the leaves can change! + Ah me! so runs all life away. + This night-wind chills me, and I shiver; + The Summer-time is almost past. + One more good-bye—perhaps the last + To Leudemanns-on-the-River. + + + + +LITTLE BLUE HOOD + + + Every morning and every night + There passes our window near the street, + A little girl with an eye so bright, + And a cheek so round and a lip so sweet! + The daintiest, jauntiest little miss + That ever any one longed to kiss, + + She is neat as wax, and fresh to view, + And her look is wholesome, and clean, and good. + Whatever her gown, her hood is blue, + And so we call her our “Little Blue Hood,” + For we know not the name of the dear little lass, + But we call to each other to see her pass, + + “Little Blue Hood is coming now!” + And we watch from the window while she goes by, + She has such a bonny, smooth, white brow, + And a fearless look in her long-lashed eye! + And a certain dignity wedded to grace + Seems to envelop her form and face. + + Every morning, in sun or rain, + She walks by the window with sweet, grave air, + And never guesses behind the pane + We two are watching and thinking her fair; + Lovingly watching her down the street, + Dear little Blue Hood, bright and sweet. + + Somebody ties that hood of blue + Under the face so fair to see, + Somebody loves her, beside we two, + Somebody kisses her—why can’t we? + Dear Little Blue Hood fresh and fair, + Are you glad we love you, or don’t you care? + + + + +NO SPRING + + + Up from the South come the birds that were banished, + Frightened away by the presence of frost. + Back to the vale comes the verdure that vanished, + Back to the forest the leaves that were lost. + Over the hillside the carpet of splendour, + Folded through Winter, Spring spreads down again; + Along the horizon, the tints that were tender, + Lost hues of Summer-time, burn bright as then. + + Only the mountains’ high summits are hoary, + To the ice-fettered river the sun gives a key. + Once more the gleaming shore lists to the story + Told by an amorous Summer-kissed sea. + All things revive that in Winter time perished, + The rose buds again in the light o’ the sun, + All that was beautiful, all that was cherished, + Sweet things and dear things and all things—save one. + + Late, when the year and the roses were lying + Low with the ruins of Summer and bloom, + Down in the dust fell a love that was dying, + And the snow piled over it, and made it a tomb. + Lo! now the roses are budded for blossom— + Lo! now the Summer is risen again. + Why dost thou bud not, O Love of my bosom? + Why dost thou rise not, and thrill me as then? + + Life without love is a year without Summer, + Heart without love is a wood without song. + Rise then, revive then, thou indolent comer: + Why dost thou lie in the dark earth so long? + Rise! ah, thou can’st not! the rose-tree that sheddest + Its beautiful leaves, in the Springtime may bloom, + But of cold things the coldest, of dead things the deadest, + Love buried once, rises not from the tomb. + Green things may grow on the hillside and heather, + Birds seek the forest and build there and sing. + All things revive in the beautiful weather, + But unto a dead love there cometh no Spring. + + + + +MIDSUMMER + + + After the May time, and after the June time, + Rare with blossoms and perfumes sweet, + Cometh the round world’s royal noon time, + The red midsummer of blazing heat. + When the sun, like an eye that never closes, + Bends on the earth its fervid gaze, + And the winds are still, and the crimson roses + Droop and wither and die in its rays. + + Unto my heart has come that season, + O my lady, my worshipped one, + When over the stars of Pride and Reason + Sails Love’s cloudless, noonday sun. + Like a great red ball in my bosom burning + With fires that nothing can quench or tame. + It glows till my heart itself seems turning + Into a liquid lake of flame. + + The hopes half shy, and the sighs all tender, + The dreams and fears of an earlier day, + Under the noontide’s royal splendour, + Droop like roses and wither away. + From the hills of doubt no winds are blowing, + From the isle of pain no breeze is sent. + Only the sun in a white heat glowing + Over an ocean of great content. + + Sink, O my soul, in this golden glory, + Die, O my heart, in thy rapture-swoon, + For the Autumn must come with its mournful story, + And Love’s midsummer will fade too soon. + + + + +A REMINISCENCE + + + I saw the wild honey-bee kissing a rose + A wee one, that grows + Down low on the bush, where her sisters above + Cannot see all that’s done + As the moments roll on. + Nor hear all the whispers and murmurs of love. + + They flaunt out their beautiful leaves in the sun, + And they flirt, every one, + With the wild bees who pass, and the gay butterflies. + And that wee thing in pink— + Why, they never once think + That she’s won a lover right under their eyes. + + It reminded me, Kate, of a time—you know when! + You were so petite then, + Your dresses were short, and your feet were so small. + Your sisters, Maud-Belle + And Madeline—well, + They _both_ set their caps for me, after that ball. + + How the blue eyes and black eyes smiled up in my face! + ’Twas a neck-and-neck race, + Till that day when you opened the door in the hall, + And looked up and looked down, + With your sweet eyes of brown, + And _you_ seemed so tiny, and _I_ felt so tall. + + Your sisters had sent you to keep me, my dear, + Till they should appear. + Then you were dismissed like a child in disgrace. + How meekly you went! + But your brown eyes, they sent + A thrill to my heart, and a flush to my face. + + We always were meeting some way after that. + You hung up my hat, + And got it again, when I finished my call. + Sixteen, and _so_ sweet! + Oh, those cute little feet! + Shall I ever forget how they tripped down the hall? + + Shall I ever forget the first kiss by the door, + Or the vows murmured o’er, + Or the rage and surprise of Maud-Belle? Well-a-day, + How swiftly time flows, + And who would suppose + That a _bee_ could have carried me so far away. + + + + +A GIRL’S FAITH + + + Across the miles that stretch between, + Through days of gloom or glad sunlight, + There shines a face I have not seen + Which yet doth make my world more bright. + + He may be near, he may be far, + Or near or far I cannot see, + But faithful as the morning star + He yet shall rise and come to me. + + What though fate leads us separate ways, + The world is round, and time is fleet. + A journey of a few brief days, + And face to face we two shall meet. + + Shall meet beneath God’s arching skies, + While suns shall blaze, or stars shall gleam, + And looking in each other’s eyes + Shall hold the past but as a dream. + + But round and perfect and complete, + Life like a star shall climb the height, + As we two press with willing feet + Together toward the Infinite. + + And still behind the space between, + As back of dawns the sunbeams play, + There shines the face I have not seen, + Whose smile shall wake my world to-day. + + + + +TWO + + + One leaned on velvet cushions like a queen— + To see him pass, the hero of an hour, + Whom men called great. She bowed with languid mien, + And smiled, and blushed, and knew her beauty’s power. + + One trailed her tinselled garments through the street, + And thrust aside the crowd, and found a place + So near, the blooded courser’s prancing feet + Cast sparks of fire upon her painted face. + + One took the hot-house blossoms from her breast, + And tossed them down, as he went riding by, + And blushed rose-red to see them fondly pressed + To bearded lips, while eye spoke unto eye. + + One, bold and hardened with her sinful life, + Yet shrank and shivered painfully, because + His cruel glance cut keener than a knife, + The glance of him who made her what she was. + + One was observed, and lifted up to fame, + Because the hero smiled upon her! while + One who was shunned and hated, found her shame + In basking in the death-light of his smile. + + + + +SLIPPING AWAY + + + Slipping away—slipping away! + Out of our brief year slips the May; + And Winter lingers, and Summer flies; + And Sorrow abideth, and Pleasure dies; + And the days are short, and the nights are long; + And little is right, and much is wrong. + + Slipping away is the Summer time; + It has lost its rhythm and lilting rhyme— + For the grace goes out of the day so soon, + And the tired head aches in the glare of noon, + And the way seems long to the hills that lie + Under the calm of the western sky. + + Slipping away are the friends whose worth + Lent a glow to the sad old earth: + One by one they slip from our sight; + One by one their graves gleam white; + Or we count them lost by the crueller death + Of a trust betrayed, or a murdered faith. + + Slipping away are the hopes that made + Bliss out of sorrow, and sun out of shade, + Slipping away is our hold on life; + And out of the struggle and wearing strife, + From joys that diminish, and woes that increase, + We are slipping away to the shores of Peace. + + + + +IS IT DONE? + + + It is done! in the fire’s fitful flashes, + The last line has withered and curled. + In a tiny white heap of dead ashes + Lie buried the hopes of your world. + There were mad foolish vows in each letter, + It is well they have shrivelled and burned, + And the ring! oh, the ring was a fetter, + It was better removed and returned. + + But ah, is it done? In the embers + Where letters and tokens were cast, + Have you burned up the heart that remembers, + And treasures its beautiful past? + Do you think in this swift reckless fashion + To ruthlessly burn and destroy + The months that were freighted with passion, + The dreams that were drunken with joy? + + Can you burn up the rapture of kisses + That flashed from the lips to the soul, + Or the heart that grows sick for lost blisses + In spite of its strength of control? + Have you burned up the touch of warm fingers + That thrilled through each pulse and each vein, + Or the sound of a voice that still lingers + And hurts with a haunting refrain? + + Is it done? is the life drama ended? + You have put all the lights out, and yet, + Though the curtain, rung down, has descended, + Can the actors go home and forget? + Ah, no! they will turn in their sleeping + With a strange restless pain in their hearts, + And in darkness, and anguish, and weeping, + Will dream they are playing their parts. + + + + +A LEAF + + + Somebody said, in the crowd, last eve, + That you were married, or soon to be. + I have not thought of you, I believe, + Since last we parted. Let me see: + Five long Summers have passed since then— + Each has been pleasant in its own way— + And you are but one of a dozen men + Who have played the suitor a Summer day. + + But, nevertheless, when I heard your name, + Coupled with some one’s, not my own, + There burned in my bosom a sudden flame, + That carried me back to the day that is flown. + I was sitting again by the laughing brook, + With you at my feet, and the sky above, + And my heart was fluttering under your look— + The unmistakable look of Love. + + Again your breath, like a South wind, fanned + My cheek, where the blushes came and went; + And the tender clasp of your strong, warm hand + Sudden thrills through my pulses sent. + Again you were mine by Love’s own right— + Mine for ever by Love’s decree: + So for a moment it seemed last night, + When somebody mentioned your name to me. + + Just for the moment I thought you mine— + Loving me, wooing me, as of old. + The tale remembered seemed half divine— + Though I held it lightly enough when told. + The past seemed fairer than when it was near, + As “blessings brighten when taking flight;” + And just for the moment I held you dear— + When somebody mentioned your name last night. + + + + +ÆSTHETIC + + + In a garb that was guiltless of colours + She stood, with a dull, listless air— + A creature of dumps and of dolours, + But most undeniably fair. + + The folds of her garment fell round her, + Revealing the curve of each limb; + Well proportioned and graceful I found her, + Although quite alarmingly slim. + + From the hem of her robe peeped one sandal— + “High art” was she down to her feet; + And though I could not understand all + She said, I could see she was sweet. + + Impressed by her limpness and languor, + I proffered a chair near at hand; + She looked back a mild sort of anger— + Posed anew, and continued to stand. + + Some praises I next tried to mutter + Of the fan that she held to her face; + She said it was “utterly utter,” + And waved it with languishing grace. + + I then, in a strain quite poetic, + Begged her gaze on the bow in the sky, + She looked—said its curve was “æsthetic.” + But the “tone was too dreadfully high.” + + Her lovely face, lit by the splendour + That glorified landscape and sea, + Woke thoughts that were daring and tender: + Did _her_ thoughts, too, rest upon me? + + “Oh, tell me,” I cried, growing bolder, + “Have I in your musings a place?” + “Well, yes,” she said over her shoulder: + “I was thinking of nothing in space.” + + + + +POEMS OF THE WEEK + + +SUNDAY + + + Lie still and rest, in that serene repose + That on this holy morning comes to those + Who have been burdened with the cares which make + The sad heart weary and the tired head ache. + Lie still and rest— + God’s day of all is best. + + + +MONDAY + + + Awake! arise! Cast off thy drowsy dreams! + Red in the East, behold the Morning gleams. + “As Monday goes, so goes the week,” dames say. + Refreshed, renewed, use well the initial day. + And see! thy neighbour + Already seeks his labour. + + + +TUESDAY + + + Another morning’s banners are unfurled— + Another day looks smiling on the world. + It holds new laurels for thy soul to win; + Mar not its grace by slothfulness or sin, + Nor sad, away, + Send it to yesterday. + + + +WEDNESDAY + + + Half-way unto the end—the week’s high noon. + The morning hours do speed away so soon! + And, when the noon is reached, however bright, + Instinctively we look toward the night. + The glow is lost + Once the meridian cross’d. + + + +THURSDAY + + + So well the week has sped, hast thou a friend, + Go spend an hour in converse. It will lend + New beauty to thy labours and thy life + To pause a little sometimes in the strife. + Toil soon seems rude + That has no interlude. + + + +FRIDAY + + + From feasts abstain; be temperate, and pray; + Fast if thou wilt; and yet, throughout the day, + Neglect no labour and no duty shirk: + Not many hours are left thee for thy work— + And it were meet + That all should be complete. + + + +SATURDAY + + + Now with the almost finished task make haste. + So near the night thou hast no time to waste. + Post up accounts, and let thy Soul’s eyes look + For flaws and errors in Life’s ledger-book. + When labours cease, + How sweet the sense of peace! + + + + +GHOSTS + + + There are ghosts in the room. + As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there + They come out of the gloom, + And they stand at my side and they lean on my chair. + + There’s the ghost of a Hope + That lighted my days with a fanciful glow. + In her hand is the rope + That strangled her life out. Hope was slain long ago. + + But her ghost comes to-night, + With its skeleton face and expressionless eyes, + And it stands in the light, + And mocks me, and jeers me with sobs and with sighs. + + There’s the ghost of a Joy, + A frail, fragile thing, and I prized it too much, + And the hands that destroy + Clasped it close, and it died at the withering touch. + + There’s the ghost of a Love, + Born with joy, reared with hope, died in pain and unrest, + But he towers above + All the others—this ghost: yet a ghost at the best. + + I am weary, and fain + Would forget all these dead: but the gibbering host + Make my struggle in vain, + In each shadowy corner there lurketh a ghost. + + + + +FLEEING AWAY + + + My thoughts soar not as they ought to soar, + Higher and higher on soul-lent wings; + But ever and often, and more and more + They are dragged down earthward by little things, + By little troubles and little needs, + As a lark might be tangled among the weeds. + + My purpose is not what it ought to be, + Steady and fixed, like a star on high, + But more like a fisherman’s light at sea; + Hither and thither it seems to fly— + Sometimes feeble, and sometimes bright, + Then suddenly lost in the gloom of night. + + My life is far from my dream of life— + Calmly contented, serenely glad; + But, vexed and worried by daily strife, + It is always troubled, and ofttimes sad— + And the heights I had thought I should reach one day + Grow dimmer and dimmer, and farther away. + + My heart finds never the longed-for rest; + Its worldly striving, its greed for gold, + Chilled and frightened the calm-eyed guest, + Who sometimes sought me in days of old; + And ever fleeing away from me + Is the higher self that I long to be. + + + + +ALL MAD + + + “He is mad as a hare, poor fellow, + And should be in chains,” you say. + I haven’t a doubt of your statement, + But who isn’t mad, I pray? + Why, the world is a great asylum, + And people are all insane, + Gone daft with pleasure or folly, + Or crazed with passion and pain. + + The infant who shrieks at a shadow, + The child with his Santa Claus faith, + The woman who worships Dame Fashion, + Each man with his notions of death, + The miser who hoards up his earnings, + The spendthrift who wastes them too soon, + The scholar grown blind in his delving, + The lover who stares at the moon. + + The poet who thinks life a pæan, + The cynic who thinks it a fraud, + The youth who goes seeking for pleasure, + The preacher who dares talk of God, + All priests with their creeds and their croaking, + All doubters who dare to deny, + The gay who find aught to wake laughter, + The sad who find aught worth a sigh, + Whoever is downcast or solemn, + Whoever is gleeful and glad, + Are only the dupes of delusions— + We are all of us—all of us mad. + + + + +HIDDEN GEMS + + + We know not what lies in us, till we seek; + Men dive for pearls—they are not found on shore, + The hillsides most unpromising and bleak + Do sometimes hide the ore. + + Go, dive in the vast ocean of thy mind, + O man! far down below the noisy waves, + Down in the depths and silence thou mayst find + Rare pearls and coral caves. + + Sink thou a shaft into the mine of thought; + Be patient, like the seekers after gold; + Under the rocks and rubbish lieth what + May bring thee wealth untold. + + Reflected from the vastly Infinite, + However dulled by earth, each human mind + Holds somewhere gems of beauty and of light + Which, seeking, thou shalt find. + + + + +BY-AND-BYE + + + “By-and-bye,” the maiden sighed—“by-and-bye + He will claim me for his bride, + Hope is strong and time is fleet; + Youth is fair, and love is sweet, + Clouds will pass that fleck my sky, + He will come back by-and-bye—by-and-bye.” + + “By-and-bye,” the soldier said—“by-and-bye, + After I have fought and bled, + I shall go home from the wars, + Crowned with glory, seamed with scars. + Joy will flash from some one’s eye + When she greets me by-and-bye—by-and-bye.” + + “By-and-bye,” the mother cried—“by-and-bye, + Strong and sturdy at my side, + Like a staff supporting me, + Will my bonnie baby be. + Break my rest, then, wail and cry— + Thou’lt repay me by-and-bye—by-and-bye.” + + Fleeting years of time have sped—hurried by— + Still the maiden is unwed: + All unknown the soldier lies, + Buried under alien skies; + And the son, with blood-shot eye, + Saw his mother starve and die. + God in Heaven! dost Thou on high, + Keep the promised “by-and-bye”—by-and-bye? + + + + +OVER THE MAY HILL + + + All through the night time, and all through the day time, + Dreading the morning and dreading the night, + Nearer and nearer we drift to the May time + Season of beauty and season of blight, + Leaves on the linden, and sun on the meadow, + Green in the garden, and bloom everywhere, + Gloom in my heart, and a terrible shadow, + Walks by me, sits by me, stands by my chair. + + Oh, but the birds by the brooklet are cheery, + Oh, but the woods show such delicate greens, + Strange how you droop and how soon you are weary— + Too well I know what that weariness means. + But how could I know in the crisp winter weather + (Though sometimes I noticed a catch in your breath), + Riding and singing and dancing together, + How could I know you were racing with death? + + How could I know when we danced until morning, + And you were the gayest of all the gay crowd— + With only that shortness of breath for a warning, + How could I know that you danced for a shroud? + Whirling and whirling through moonlight and starlight. + Rocking as lightly as boats on the wave, + Down in your eyes shone a deep light—a far light, + How could I know ’twas the light to your grave? + + Day by day, day by day, nearing and nearing, + Hid under greenness, and beauty and bloom, + Cometh the shape and the shadow I’m fearing, + “Over the May hill” is waiting your tomb. + The season of mirth and of music is over— + I have danced my last dance, I have sung my last song, + Under the violets, under the clover, + My heart and my love will be lying ere long + + + + +FOES + + + Thank Fate for foes! I hold mine dear + As valued friends. He cannot know + The zest of life who runneth here + His earthly race without a foe. + + I saw a prize. “Run,” cried my friend; + “’Tis thine to claim without a doubt.” + But ere I half-way reached the end, + I felt my strength was giving out. + + My foe looked on the while I ran; + A scornful triumph lit his eyes. + With that perverseness born in man, + I nerved myself, and won the prize. + + All blinded by the crimson glow + Of sin’s disguise, I tempted Fate. + “I knew thy weakness!” sneered my foe, + I saved myself, and balked his hate. + + For half my blessings, half my gain, + I needs must thank my trusty foe; + Despite his envy and disdain, + He serves me well where’er I go. + + So may I keep him to the end, + Nor may his enmity abate: + More faithful than the fondest friend, + He guards me ever with his hate. + + + + +FRIENDSHIP + + + Dear friend, I pray thee, if thou wouldst be proving + Thy strong regard for me, + Make me no vows. Lip-service is not loving; + Let thy faith speak for thee. + + Swear not to me that nothing can divide us— + So little such oaths mean. + But when distrust and envy creep beside us + Let them not come between. + + Say not to me the depths of thy devotion + Are deeper than the sea; + But watch, lest doubt or some unkind emotion + Embitter them for me. + + Vow not to love me ever and for ever, + Words are such idle things; + But when we differ in opinions, never + Hurt me by little stings. + + I’m sick of words: they are so lightly spoken, + And spoken, are but air. + I’d rather feel thy trust in me unbroken + Than list thy words so fair. + + If all the little proofs of trust are heeded, + If thou art always kind, + No sacrifice, no promise will be needed + To satisfy my mind. + + + + +TWO SAT DOWN + + + Two sat down in the morning time, + One to sing and one to spin. + All men listened the song sublime— + But no one listened the dull wheel’s din. + + The singer sat in a pleasant nook, + And sang of a life that was fair and sweet, + While the spinner sat with a steadfast look, + Busily plying her hands and feet. + + The singer sang on with a rose in her hair, + And all men listened her dulcet tone; + And the spinner spun on with a dull despair + Down in her heart as she sat alone. + + But lo! on the morrow no one said + Aught of the singer or what she sang. + Men were saying: “Behold this thread,” + And loud the praise of the spinner rang. + + The world has forgotten the singer’s name— + Her rose is faded, her songs are old; + But far o’er the ocean the spinner’s fame + Yet is blazoned in lines of gold. + + + + +BOUND AND FREE + + + Come to me, Love! Come on the wings of the wind! + Fly as the ring-dove would fly to his mate! + Leave all your cares and your sorrows behind! + Leave all the fears of your future to Fate! + Come! and our skies shall be glad with the gold + That paled into gray when you parted from me. + Come! but remember that, just as of old, + You must be bound, Love, and I must be free. + + Life has lost savour since you and I parted; + I have been lonely, and you have been sad. + Youth is too brief to be sorrowful-hearted— + Come! and again let us laugh and be glad. + Lips should not sigh that are fashioned to kiss— + Breasts should not ache that joy’s secrets have found. + Come! but remember, in spite of all this, + I must be free, Love, while you must be bound. + + You must be bound to be true while you live, + And I keep my freedom for ever, as now. + You must ask only for that which I give— + Kisses and love-words, but never a vow. + Come! I am lonely, and long for your smile, + Bring back the lost lovely Summer to me! + Come! but remember, remember the while, + That you must be bound, Love, and I must be free. + + + + +AQUILEIA + + +[On the election of the Roman Emperor Maximus, by the Senate, A.D. 238, a +powerful army, headed by the Thracian giant Maximus, laid siege to +Aquileia. Though poorly prepared for war, the constancy of her citizens +rendered her impregnable. The women of Aquileia cut off their hair to +make ropes for the military engines. The small body of troops was +directed by Chrispinus, a Lieutenant of the Senate. Apollo was the deity +supposed to protect them.—_Gibbon’s Roman History_.] + + “The ropes, the ropes! Apollo send us ropes,” + Chrispinus cried, “or death attends our hopes.” + Then panic reigned, and many a mournful sound + Hurt the cleft air; for where could ropes be found? + + Up rose a Roman mother; tall was she + As her own son, a youth of noble height. + A little child was clinging to her knee— + She loosed his twining arms and put him down, + And her dark eyes flashed with a sudden light. + + How like a queen she stood! her royal crown, + The rich dark masses of her splendid hair. + Just flecked with spots of sunshine here and there, + Twined round her brow; ’twas like a coronet, + Where gems of gold lie bedded deep in jet. + + She loosed the comb that held the shining strands, + And threaded out the meshes with her hands. + The purple mass fell to her garment’s hem. + A queen new clothed without her diadem + She stood before her subjects. + + “Now,” she cried, + “Give me thy sword, Julianus!” And her son + Unsheathed the blade (that had not left his side + Save when it sought a foeman’s blood to shed), + Awed by her regal bearing, and obeyed. + + With the white beauty of her firm fair hand + She clasped the hilt; then severed, one by one, + Her gold-flecked purple tresses. Strand on strand, + Free e’en as foes had fallen by that blade, + Robbed of its massive wealth of curl and coil, + Yet like some antique model, rose her head + In all its classic beauty. + + “See!” she said, + And pointed to the shining mound of hair; + “Apollo makes swift answer to thy prayer, + Chrispinus. Quick! now, soldiers, to thy toil!” + Forth from a thousand throats what seemed one voice + Rose shrilly, filling all the air with cheer. + “Lo!” quoth the foe, “our enemies rejoice!” + Well might the Thracian giant quake with fear! + For while skilled hands caught up the gleaming threads + And bound them into cords, a hundred heads + Yielded their beauteous tresses to the sword, + And cast them down to swell the precious hoard. + + Nor was the noble sacrifice in vain + Another day beheld the giant slain. + + + + +WISHES FOR A LITTLE GIRL + + + What would I ask the kindly fates to give + To crown her life, if I could have my way? + My strongest wishes would be negative, + If they would but obey. + + Give her not greatness. For great souls must stand + Alone and lonely in this little world: + Cleft rocks that show the great Creator’s hand, + Thither by earthquakes hurled. + + Give her not genius. Spare her the cruel pain + Of finding her whole life a prey for daws; + Of hearing with quickened sense and burning brain + The world’s sneer-tinged applause. + + Give her not perfect beauty’s gifts. For then + Her truthful mirror would infuse her mind + With love for self, and for the praise of men, + That lowers woman-kind. + + But make her fair and comely to the sight, + Give her more heart than brain, more love than pride. + Let her be tender-thoughted, cheerful, bright, + Some strong man’s star and guide. + + Not vainly questioning why she was sent + Into this restless world of toil and strife, + Let her go bravely on her way, content + To make the best of life. + + + + +ROMNEY + + + Nay, Romney, nay—I will not hear you say + Those words again: “I love you, love you sweet!” + You are profane—blasphemous. I repeat, + You are no actor for so grand a play. + + You love with all your heart? Well, that may be; + Some cups are fashioned shallow. Should I try + To quench my thirst from one of those, when dry— + I who have had a full bowl proffered me— + + A new bowl brimming with a draught divine, + One single taste thrilled to the finger-tips? + Think you I even care to bathe my lips + With this poor sweetened water you call wine? + + And though I spilled the nectar ere ’twas quaffed, + And broke the bowl in wanton folly, yet + I would die of my thirst ere I would wet + My burning lips with any meaner draught. + + So leave me, Romney. One who has seen a play + Enacted by a star cannot endure + To see it rendered by an amateur. + You know not what Love is—now go away! + + + + +MY HOME + + + This is the place that I love the best, + A little brown house like a ground-bird’s nest, + Hid among grasses, and vines, and trees, + Summer retreat of the birds and bees. + + The tenderest light that ever was seen + Sifts through the vine-made window screen— + Sifts and quivers, and flits and falls + On home-made carpets and gray-hung walls. + + All through June, the west wind free + The breath of the clover brings to me. + All through the languid July day + I catch the scent of the new-mown hay. + + The morning glories and scarlet vine + Over the doorway twist and twine; + And every day, when the house is still, + The humming-bird comes to the window-sill. + + In the cunningest chamber under the sun + I sink to sleep when the day is done; + And am waked at morn, in my snow-white bed, + By a singing-bird on the roof o’erhead. + + Better than treasures brought from Rome + Are the living pictures I see at home— + My aged father, with frosted hair, + And mother’s face like a painting rare + Far from the city’s dust and heat, + I get but sounds and odours sweet. + Who can wonder I love to stay, + Week after week, here hidden away, + In this sly nook that I love the best— + The little brown house, like a ground-bird’s nest? + + + + +TO MARRY OR NOT TO MARRY? +A GIRL’S REVERIE + + + Mother says, “Be in no hurry, + Marriage oft means care and worry.” + + Auntie says, with manner grave, + “Wife is synonym for slave.” + + Father asks, in tones commanding, + “How does Bradstreet rate his standing?” + + Sister crooning to her twins, + Sighs, “With marriage care begins.” + + Grandma, near life’s closing days, + Murmurs, “Sweet are girlhood’s ways.” + + Maud, twice widowed (“sod and grass”) + Looks at me and moans “Alas!” + + They are six, and I am one, + Life for me has just begun. + + They are older, calmer, wiser: + Age should aye be youth’s adviser. + + They must know—and yet, dear me, + When in Harry’s eyes I see + + All the world of love there burning— + On my six advisers turning, + + I make answer, “Oh, but Harry + Is not like most men who marry. + + “Fate has offered me a prize, + Life with love means Paradise. + + “Life without it is not worth + All the foolish joys of earth.” + + So, in spite of all they say, + I shall name the wedding day. + + + + +AN AFTERNOON + + + I am stirred by the dream of an afternoon + Of a perfect day—though it was not June; + The lilt of winds, and the droning tune + That a busy city was humming. + + And a bronze-brown head, and lips like wine + Leaning out through the window-vine + A-list for steps that were maybe mine— + Eager steps that were coming. + + I can see it all, as a dreamer may— + The tender smile on your lips that day, + And the glow on your cheek as we rode away + Into the golden weather. + + And a love-light shone in your eyes of brown— + I swear there did!—as we drove down + The crowded avenue out of the town, + Through shadowy lanes, together: + + Drove out into the sunset-skies + That glowed with wonderful crimson dyes; + And with soul and spirit, and heart and eyes, + We silently drank their splendour. + + But the golden glory that lit the place + Was not alone from the sunset’s grace— + For I saw in your fair, uplifted face + A light that was wondrously tender. + + I say I saw it. And yet to-day + I ask myself, in a cynical way, + Was it only a part you had learned to play, + To see me act the lover? + + And I curse myself for a fool. And yet + I would willingly die without one regret + Could I bring back the day whose sun has set— + And you—and live it over. + + + + +RIVER AND SEA + + + We stood by the river that swept + In its glory and grandeur away; + But never a pulse o’ me leapt, + And you wondered at me that day. + + We stood by the lake as it lay + With its dimpled face turned to the light; + Was it strange I had nothing to say + To so fair and enchanting a sight? + + I look on your tresses of gold— + You are fair and a thing to be loved— + Do you think I am heartless and cold + That I look and am wholly unmoved? + + One answer, dear friend, I will make + To the questions your eyes ask of me: + “Talk not of the river or lake + To those who have looked on the sea” + + + + +WHAT HAPPENS? + + + When thy hand touches mine, through all the mesh + Of intricate and interlacèd veins + Shoot swift delights that border on keen pains: + Flesh thrills to thrilling flesh. + + When in thine eager eyes I look to find + A comrade to my thought, thy ready brain + Delves down and makes its inmost meaning plain: + Mind answers unto mind. + + When hands and eyes are hid by seas that roll + Wide wastes between us, still so near thou art + I count the very pulses of thy heart: + Soul speaketh unto soul. + + So every law, or human or divine, + In heart and brain and spirit makes thee mine. + + + + +POSSESSION + + + That which we had we still possess, + Though leaves may drop and stars may fall; + No circumstance can make it less, + Or take it from us, all in all. + + That which is lost we did not own; + We only held it for a day— + A leaf by careless breezes blown; + No fate could take our own away. + + I hold it as a changeless law + From which no soul can sway or swerve, + We have that in us which will draw + Whate’er we need or most deserve. + + Even as the magnet to the steel + Our souls are to our best desires; + The Fates have hearts and they can feel— + They know what each true life requires. + + We think we lose when we most gain; + We call joys ended ere begun; + When stars fade out do skies complain, + Or glory in the rising sun? + + No fate could rob us of our own— + No circumstance can make it less; + What time removes was but a loan, + For what was ours we still possess. + + * * * * * + + * * * * * + + _Printed by Hazell_, _Watson & Viney_, _Ld._, _London and Aylesbury_. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF CHEER*** + + +******* This file should be named 3238-0.txt or 3238-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/2/3/3238 + + + +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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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: Poems of Cheer + + +Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox + + + +Release Date: July 13, 2014 [eBook #3238] +[This file was first posted on February 5, 2001] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF CHEER*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1914 Gay and Hancock edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" +src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>POEMS OF CHEER</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +ELLA WHEELER WILCOX</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" +src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">GAY AND HANCOCK, LTD.<br /> +12 and 13, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN<br /> +LONDON<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">1914</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>All rights reserved</i>]</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. v</span><span +class="smcap">This</span> Volume contains the poems published +under the title “Poems of Life,” with the exception +of about half a dozen, which appear in my other volumes. I +have also added a few new verses.</p> +<p>Any edition of my Poems published in Great Britain by any firm +except Messrs. Gay and Hancock is pirated and not authentic.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Ella Wheeler +Wilcox</span>.</p> +<p><i>April</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1910.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p class="poetry"><a name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vi</span><i>I step across the mystic border-land</i>,<br /> +<i>And look upon the wonder-world of Art</i>.<br /> +<i>How beautiful</i>, <i>how beautiful its hills</i>!<br /> +<i>And all its valleys</i>, <i>how surpassing fair</i>!</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>The winding paths that lead up to the +heights</i><br /> +<i>Are polished by the footsteps of the great</i>.<br /> +<i>The mountain-peaks stand very near to God</i>:<br /> +<i>The chosen few whose feet have trod thereon</i><br /> +<i>Have talked with Him</i>, <i>and with the angels +walked</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Here are no sounds of discord—no +profane</i><br /> +<i>Or senseless gossip of unworthy things—</i><br /> +<i>Only the songs of chisels and of pens</i>,<br /> +<i>Of busy brushes</i>, <i>and ecstatic strains</i><br /> +<i>Of souls surcharged with music most divine</i>.<br /> +<i>Here is no idle sorrow</i>, <i>no poor grief</i><br /> +<i>For any day or object left behind—</i><br /> +<i>For time is counted precious</i>, <i>and herein</i><br /> +<i>Is such complete abandonment of Self</i><br /> +<i>That tears turn into rainbows</i>, <i>and enhance</i><br /> +<i>The beauty of the land where all is fair</i>.<br /> +<i>Awed and afraid</i>, <i>I cross the border-land</i>.<br /> +<i>Oh</i>, <i>who am I</i>, <i>that I dare enter here</i><br /> +<i>Where the great artists of the world have trod—</i><br +/> +<i>The genius-crowned aristocrats of Earth</i>?<br /> +<i>Only the singer of a little song</i>;<br /> +<i>Yet loving Art with such a mighty love</i><br /> +<i>I hold it greater to have won a place</i><br /> +<i>Just on the fair land’s edge</i>, <i>to make my +grave</i>,<br /> +<i>Than in the outer world of greed and gain</i><br /> +<i>To sit upon a royal throne and reign</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Worth while</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The House of +Life</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page3">3</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">A Song of +Life</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page6">6</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Prayer</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page8">8</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In the Long +Run</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page10">10</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As you go through +Life</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page12">12</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Two Sunsets</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page14">14</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Unrest</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Artist’s +life</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page20">20</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Nothing but +Stones</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page22">22</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Inevitable</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page24">24</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The Ocean of +Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page26">26</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><a name="pageviii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. viii</span>“<span class="smcap">It might +have been</span>”</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page29">29</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Momus, God of +Laughter</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page30">30</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">I Dream</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page32">32</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The Sonnet</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page34">34</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The Past</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page35">35</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">A Dream</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page36">36</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Uselessness</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page37">37</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Will</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page38">38</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Winter Rain</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Life</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page40">40</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Burdened</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page41">41</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Let them go</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page42">42</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Five Kisses</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page44">44</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Retrospection</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page48">48</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Helena</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page50">50</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Nothing +Remains</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Comrades</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page54">54</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What Gain</span>?</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page56">56</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><a name="pageix"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. ix</span><span class="smcap">To the +West</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page58">58</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The Land of +Content</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page60">60</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Warning</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page62">62</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">After the Battles are +over</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page63">63</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">And they are +dumb</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page71">71</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Night</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page73">73</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">All for me</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page75">75</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Into Space</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page77">77</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Through Dim +Eyes</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page79">79</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The Punished</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page81">81</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Half Fledged</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page82">82</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The Year</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page84">84</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The +Unattained</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page85">85</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In the crowd</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page87">87</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Life and I</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Guerdon</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page91">91</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Snowed Under</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page92">92</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">“<span +class="smcap">Leudemanns-on-the-river</span>”</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><a name="pagex"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. x</span><span class="smcap">Little Blue +Hood</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page97">97</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">No Spring</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page99">99</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Midsummer</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page101">101</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">A +Reminiscence</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page103">103</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">A Girl’s +Faith</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page105">105</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Two</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page107">107</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Slipping +Away</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page109">109</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Is it done</span>?</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page111">111</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">A Leaf</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page113">113</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Æsthetic</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page115">115</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Poems of the +Week</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page117">117</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ghosts</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page120">120</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fleeing away</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page122">122</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">All mad</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page124">124</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Hidden Gems</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page126">126</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">By-and-bye</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page127">127</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Over the May +Hill</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page129">129</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Foes</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><a name="pagexi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xi</span><span +class="smcap">Friendship</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page133">133</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Two sat down</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page135">135</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bound and +free</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page137">137</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Aquileia</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page139">139</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Wishes for a little +girl</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page142">142</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Romney</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page144">144</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My Home</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page146">146</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To marry or not to +marry</span>?</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page148">148</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">An Afternoon</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page150">150</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">River and +Sea</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page152">152</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What +happens</span>?</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page153">153</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Possession</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page154">154</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>WORTH +WHILE</h2> +<p class="poetry">It is easy enough to be pleasant<br /> + When life flows by like a song,<br /> +But the man worth while is the one who will smile<br /> + When everything goes dead wrong.<br /> +For the test of the heart is trouble,<br /> + And it always comes with the years,<br /> +And the smile that is worth the praises of earth<br /> + Is the smile that shines through tears.</p> +<p class="poetry">It is easy enough to be prudent<br /> + When nothing tempts you to stray,<br /> +When without or within no voice of sin<br /> + Is luring your soul away;<br /> +But it’s only a negative virtue<br /> + Until it is tried by fire,<br /> +And the life that is worth the honour on earth<br /> + Is the one that resists desire.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +2</span>By the cynic, the sad, the fallen,<br /> + Who had no strength for the strife,<br /> +The world’s highway is cumbered to-day—<br /> + They make up the sum of life;<br /> +But the virtue that conquers passion,<br /> + And the sorrow that hides in a smile—<br /> +It is these that are worth the homage on earth,<br /> + For we find them but once in a while.</p> +<h2><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>THE +HOUSE OF LIFE</h2> +<p class="poetry">All wondering, and eager-eyed, within her +portico<br /> +I made my plea to Hostess Life, one morning long ago.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Pray show me this great house of thine, +nor close a single door;<br /> +But let me wander where I will, and climb from floor to +floor!</p> +<p class="poetry">For many rooms, and curious things, and +treasures great and small<br /> +Within your spacious mansion lie, and I would see them +all.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Hostess Life turned silently, her +searching gaze on me,<br /> +And with no word, she reached her hand, and offered up the +key.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +4</span>It opened first the door of Hope, and long I lingered +there,<br /> +Until I spied the room of Dreams, just higher by a stair.</p> +<p class="poetry">And then a door whereon the one word +“Happiness” was writ;<br /> +But when I tried the little key I could not make it fit.</p> +<p class="poetry">It turned the lock of Pleasure’s room, +where first all seemed so bright—<br /> +But after I had stayed awhile it somehow lost its light.</p> +<p class="poetry">And wandering down a lonely hall, I came upon a +room<br /> +Marked “Duty,” and I entered it—to lose myself +in gloom.</p> +<p class="poetry">Along the shadowy halls I groped my weary way +about,<br /> +And found that from dull Duty’s room, a door of Toil led +out.</p> +<p class="poetry">It led out to another door, whereon a crimson +stain<br /> +Made sullenly against the dark these words: “The Room of +Pain.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>But oh the light, the light, the light, that spilled down +from above<br /> +And upward wound, the stairs of Faith, right to the Tower of +Love!</p> +<p class="poetry">And when I came forth from that place, I tried +the little key—<br /> +And lo! the door of Happiness swung open, wide and free.</p> +<h2><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>A SONG +OF LIFE</h2> +<p class="poetry">In the rapture of life and of living,<br /> + I lift up my heart and rejoice,<br /> +And I thank the great Giver for giving<br /> + The soul of my gladness a voice.<br /> +In the glow of the glorious weather,<br /> + In the sweet-scented, sensuous air,<br /> +My burdens seem light as a feather—<br /> + They are nothing to bear.</p> +<p class="poetry">In the strength and the glory of power,<br /> + In the pride and the pleasure of wealth<br /> +(For who dares dispute me my dower<br /> + Of talents and youth-time and health?),<br /> +I can laugh at the world and its sages—<br /> + I am greater than seers who are sad,<br /> +For he is most wise in all ages<br /> + Who knows how to be glad.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>I lift up my eyes to Apollo,<br /> + The god of the beautiful days,<br /> +And my spirit soars off like a swallow,<br /> + And is lost in the light of its rays.<br /> +Are you troubled and sad? I beseech you<br /> + Come out of the shadows of strife—<br /> +Come out in the sun while I teach you<br /> + The secret of life.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come out of the world—come above +it—<br /> + Up over its crosses and graves,<br /> +Though the green earth is fair and I love it,<br /> + We must love it as masters, not slaves.<br /> +Come up where the dust never rises—<br /> + But only the perfume of flowers—<br /> +And your life shall be glad with surprises<br /> + Of beautiful hours.<br /> +Come up where the rare golden wine is<br /> + Apollo distills in my sight,<br /> +And your life shall be happy as mine is,<br /> + And as full of delight.</p> +<h2><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>PRAYER</h2> +<p class="poetry">I do not undertake to say<br /> + That literal answers come from Heaven,<br /> +But I know this—that when I pray<br /> + A comfort, a support is given<br /> +That helps me rise o’er earthly things<br /> +As larks soar up on airy wings.</p> +<p class="poetry">In vain the wise philosopher<br /> + Points out to me my fabric’s flaws,<br /> +In vain the scientists aver<br /> + That “all things are controlled by +laws.”<br /> +My life has taught me day by day<br /> +That it availeth much to pray.</p> +<p class="poetry">I do not stop to reason out<br /> + The why and how. I do not care,<br /> +Since I know this, that when I doubt,<br /> + Life seems a blackness of despair,<br /> +The world a tomb; and when I trust,<br /> +Sweet blossoms spring up in the dust.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span>Since I know in the darkest hour,<br /> + If I lift up my soul in prayer,<br /> +Some sympathetic, loving Power<br /> + Sends hope and comfort to me there.<br /> +Since balm is sent to ease my pain,<br /> +What need to argue or explain?</p> +<p class="poetry">Prayer has a sweet, refining grace,<br /> + It educates the soul and heart.<br /> +It lends a lustre to the face,<br /> + And by its elevating art<br /> +It gives the mind an inner sight<br /> +That brings it near the Infinite.</p> +<p class="poetry">From our gross selves it helps us rise<br /> + To something which we yet may be.<br /> +And so I ask not to be wise,<br /> + If thus my faith is lost to me.<br /> +Faith, that with angel’s voice and touch<br /> +Says, “Pray, for prayer availeth much.”</p> +<h2><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>IN THE +LONG RUN</h2> +<p class="poetry">In the long run fame finds the deserving +man.<br /> + The lucky wight may prosper for a day,<br /> +But in good time true merit leads the van<br /> + And vain pretence, unnoticed, goes its way.<br /> +There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate,<br /> +But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait,<br /> + In the long run.</p> +<p class="poetry">In the long run all godly sorrow pays,<br /> + There is no better thing than righteous pain,<br /> +The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days,<br /> + Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain.<br /> +Unmeaning joys enervate in the end,<br /> +But sorrow yields a glorious dividend<br /> + In the long run.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +11</span>In the long run all hidden things are known,<br /> + The eye of truth will penetrate the night,<br /> +And good or ill, thy secret shall be known,<br /> + However well ’tis guarded from the light.<br +/> +All the unspoken motives of the breast<br /> +Are fathomed by the years and stand confess’d<br /> + In the long run.</p> +<p class="poetry">In the long run all love is paid by love,<br /> + Though undervalued by the hosts of earth;<br /> +The great eternal Government above<br /> + Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth.<br +/> +Give thy love freely; do not count the cost;<br /> +So beautiful a thing was never lost<br /> + In the long run.</p> +<h2><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>AS YOU +GO THROUGH LIFE</h2> +<p class="poetry">Don’t look for the flaws as you go +through life;<br /> + And even when you find them,<br /> +It is wise and kind to be somewhat blind,<br /> + And look for the virtue behind them;<br /> +For the cloudiest night has a hint of light<br /> + Somewhere in its shadows hiding;<br /> +It’s better by far to hunt for a star,<br /> + Than the spots on the sun abiding.</p> +<p class="poetry">The current of life runs ever away<br /> + To the bosom of God’s great ocean.<br /> +Don’t set your force ’gainst the river’s +course,<br /> + And think to alter its motion.<br /> +Don’t waste a curse on the universe,<br /> + Remember, it lived before you;<br /> +Don’t butt at the storm with your puny form,<br /> + But bend and let it go o’er you.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>The world will never adjust itself<br /> + To suit your whims to the letter,<br /> +Some things must go wrong your whole life long,<br /> + And the sooner you know it the better.<br /> +It is folly to fight with the Infinite,<br /> + And go under at last in the wrestle.<br /> +The wiser man shapes into God’s plan,<br /> + As water shapes into a vessel.</p> +<h2><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>TWO +SUNSETS</h2> +<p class="poetry">In the fair morning of his life,<br /> + When his pure heart lay in his breast,<br /> + Panting, with all that wild unrest<br /> +To plunge into the great world’s strife</p> +<p class="poetry">That fills young hearts with mad desire,<br /> + He saw a sunset. Red and gold<br /> + The burning billows surged and rolled,<br /> +And upward tossed their caps of fire.</p> +<p class="poetry">He looked. And as he looked, the sight<br +/> + Sent from his soul through breast and brain<br /> + Such intense joy, it hurt like pain.<br /> +His heart seemed bursting with delight.</p> +<p class="poetry">So near the Unknown seemed, so close<br /> + He might have grasped it with his hands<br /> + He felt his inmost soul expand,<br /> +As sunlight will expand a rose</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>One day he heard a singing strain—<br /> + A human voice, in bird-like trills.<br /> + He paused, and little rapture-rills<br /> +Went trickling downward through each vein.</p> +<p class="poetry">And in his heart the whole day long,<br /> + As in a temple veiled and dim,<br /> + He kept and bore about with him<br /> +The beauty of that singer’s song.</p> +<p class="poetry">And then? But why relate what then?<br /> + His smouldering heart flamed into fire—<br /> + He had his one supreme desire,<br /> +And plunged into the world of men.</p> +<p class="poetry">For years queen Folly held her sway.<br /> + With pleasures of the grosser kind<br /> + She fed his flesh and drugged his mind,<br /> +Till, shamed, he sated, turned away.</p> +<p class="poetry">He sought his boyhood’s home.<br /> + That hour Triumphant should have been, in sooth,<br +/> + Since he went forth, an unknown youth,<br /> +And came back crowned with wealth and power.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>The clouds made day a gorgeous bed;<br /> + He saw the splendour of the sky<br /> + With unmoved heart and stolid eye;<br /> +He only knew the West was red.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then suddenly a fresh young voice<br /> + Rose, bird-like, from some hidden place,<br /> + He did not even turn his face—<br /> +It struck him simply as a noise.</p> +<p class="poetry">He trod the old paths up and down.<br /> + Their rich-hued leaves by Fall winds +whirled—<br /> + How dull they were—how dull the +world—<br /> +Dull even in the pulsing town.</p> +<p class="poetry">O! worst of punishments, that brings<br /> + A blunting of all finer sense,<br /> + A loss of feelings keen, intense,<br /> +And dulls us to the higher things.</p> +<p class="poetry">O! penalty most dire, most sure,<br /> + Swift following after gross delights,<br /> + That we no more see beauteous sights,<br /> +Or hear as hear the good and pure.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>O! shape more hideous and more dread<br /> + Than Vengeance takes in creed-taught minds,<br /> + This certain doom that blunts and blinds,<br /> +And strikes the holiest feelings dead.</p> +<h2><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>UNREST</h2> +<p class="poetry">In the youth of the year, when the birds were +building,<br /> + When the green was showing on tree and hedge,<br /> +And the tenderest light of all lights was gilding<br /> + The world from zenith to outermost edge,<br /> +My soul grew sad and longingly lonely!<br /> + I sighed for the season of sun and rose,<br /> +And I said, “In the Summer and that time only<br /> + Lies sweet contentment and blest repose.”</p> +<p class="poetry">With bee and bird for her maids of honour<br /> + Came Princess Summer in robes of green.<br /> +And the King of day smiled down upon her<br /> + And wooed her, and won her, and made her queen.<br +/> +Fruit of their union and true love’s pledges,<br /> + Beautiful roses bloomed day by day,<br /> +And rambled in gardens and hid in hedges<br /> + Like royal children in sportive play.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>My restless soul for a little season<br /> + Revelled in rapture of glow and bloom,<br /> +And then, like a subject who harbours treason,<br /> + Grew full of rebellion and grey with gloom.<br /> +And I said, “I am sick of the summer’s blisses,<br /> + Of warmth and beauty, and nothing more.<br /> +The full fruition my sad soul misses<br /> + That beauteous Fall-time holds in store!”</p> +<p class="poetry">But now when the colours are almost +blinding,<br /> + Burning and blending on bush and tree,<br /> +And the rarest fruits are mine for the finding,<br /> + And the year is ripe as a year can be,<br /> +My soul complains in the same old fashion;<br /> + Crying aloud in my troubled breast<br /> +Is the same old longing, the same old passion.<br /> + O where is the treasure which men call rest?</p> +<h2><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>“ARTIST’S LIFE”</h2> +<p class="poetry">Of all the waltzes the great Strauss wrote,<br +/> + Mad with melody, rhythm—rife<br /> +From the very first to the final note.<br /> + Give me his “Artist’s Life!”</p> +<p class="poetry">It stirs my blood to my finger-ends,<br /> + Thrills me and fills me with vague unrest,<br /> +And all that is sweetest and saddest blends<br /> + Together within my breast.</p> +<p class="poetry">It brings back that night in the dim arcade,<br +/> + In love’s sweet morning and life’s best +prime,<br /> +When the great brass orchestra played and played,<br /> + And set our thoughts to rhyme.</p> +<p class="poetry">It brings back that Winter of mad delights,<br +/> + Of leaping pulses and tripping feet,<br /> +And those languid moon-washed Summer nights<br /> + When we heard the band in the street.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>It brings back rapture and glee and glow,<br /> + It brings back passion and pain and strife,<br /> +And so of all the waltzes I know,<br /> + Give me the “Artist’s Life.”</p> +<p class="poetry">For it is so full of the dear old +time—<br /> + So full of the dear old friends I knew.<br /> +And under its rhythm, and lilt, and rhyme,<br /> + I am always finding—<i>you</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>NOTHING BUT STONES</h2> +<p class="poetry">I think I never passed so sad an hour,<br /> + Dear friend, as that one at the church to-night.<br +/> +The edifice from basement to the tower<br /> + Was one resplendent blaze of coloured light.<br /> +Up through broad aisles the stylish crowd was thronging,<br /> + Each richly robed like some king’s bidden +guest.<br /> +“Here will I bring my sorrow and my longing,”<br /> + I said, “and here find rest.”</p> +<p class="poetry">I heard the heavenly organ’s voice of +thunder,<br /> + It seemed to give me infinite relief.<br /> +I wept. Strange eyes looked on in well-bred wonder.<br /> + I dried my tears: their gaze profaned my grief.<br +/> +Wrapt in the costly furs, and silks, and laces,<br /> + Beat alien hearts, that had no part with me.<br /> +I could not read, in all those proud cold faces,<br /> + One thought of sympathy.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>I watched them bowing and devoutly kneeling,<br /> + Heard their responses like sweet waters roll<br /> +But only the glorious organ’s sacred pealing<br /> + Seemed gushing from a full and fervent soul.<br /> +I listened to the man of holy calling,<br /> + He spoke of creeds, and hailed his own as best;<br +/> +Of man’s corruption and of Adam’s-falling,<br /> + But naught that gave me rest:</p> +<p class="poetry">Nothing that helped me bear the daily +grinding<br /> + Of soul with body, heart with heated brain;<br /> +Nothing to show the purpose of this blinding<br /> + And sometimes overwhelming sense of pain.<br /> +And then, dear friend, I thought of thee, so lowly,<br /> + So unassuming, and so gently kind,<br /> +And lo! a peace, a calm serene and holy,<br /> + Settled upon my mind.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, friend, my friend! one true heart, fond and +tender,<br /> + That understands our troubles and our needs,<br /> +Brings us more near to God than all the splendour<br /> + And pomp of seeming worship and vain creeds.<br /> +One glance of thy dear eyes so full of feeling,<br /> + Doth bring me closer to the Infinite<br /> +Than all that throng of worldly people kneeling<br /> + In blaze of gorgeous light.</p> +<h2><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>INEVITABLE</h2> +<p class="poetry">To-day I was so weary and I lay<br /> + In that delicious state of semi-waking,<br /> +When baby, sitting with his nurse at play,<br /> + Cried loud for “mamma,” all his toys +forsaking.</p> +<p class="poetry">I was so weary and I needed rest,<br /> + And signed to nurse to bear him from the room.<br /> +Then, sudden, rose and caught him to my breast,<br /> + And kissed the grieving mouth and cheeks of +bloom.</p> +<p class="poetry">For swift as lightning came the thought to +me,<br /> + With pulsing heart-throes and a mist of tears,<br /> +Of days inevitable, that are to be,<br /> + If my fair darling grows to manhood’s +years;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>Days when he will not call for “mamma,” +when<br /> + The world, with many a pleasure and bright joy,<br +/> +Shall tempt him forth into the haunts of men<br /> + And I shall lose the first place with my boy;</p> +<p class="poetry">When other homes and loves shall give +delight,<br /> + When younger smiles and voices will seem best.<br /> +And so I held him to my heart to-night,<br /> + Forgetting all my need of peace and rest.</p> +<h2><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>THE +OCEAN OF SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry">In a land beyond sight or conceiving,<br /> + In a land where no blight is, no wrong,<br /> +No darkness, no graves, and no grieving,<br /> + There lies the great ocean of song.<br /> +And its waves, oh, its waves unbeholden<br /> + By any save gods, and their kind,<br /> +Are not blue, are not green, but are golden,<br /> + Like moonlight and sunlight combined.</p> +<p class="poetry">It was whispered to me that their waters<br /> + Were made from the gathered-up tears<br /> +That were wept by the sons and the daughters<br /> + Of long-vanished eras and spheres.<br /> +Like white sands of heaven the spray is<br /> + That falls all the happy day long,<br /> +And whoever it touches straightway is<br /> + Made glad with the spirit of song.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span>Up, up to the clouds where their hoary<br /> + Crowned heads melt away in the skies,<br /> +The beautiful mountains of glory<br /> + Each side of the song-ocean rise.<br /> +Here day is one splendour of sky-light—<br /> + Of God’s light with beauty replete.<br /> +Here night is not night, but is twilight,<br /> + Pervading, enfolding, and sweet.</p> +<p class="poetry">Bright birds from all climes and all +regions,<br /> + That sing the whole glad summer long,<br /> +Are dumb, till they flock here in legions<br /> + And lave in the ocean of song.<br /> +It is here that the four winds of heaven,<br /> + The winds that do sing and rejoice,<br /> +It is here they first came and were given<br /> + The secret of sound and a voice.</p> +<p class="poetry">Far down along beautiful beeches,<br /> + By night and by glorious day,<br /> +The throng of the gifted ones reaches,<br /> + Their foreheads made white with the spray,<br /> +And a few of the sons and the daughters<br /> + Of this kingdom, cloud-hidden from sight,<br /> +Go down in the wonderful waters,<br /> + And bathe in those billows of light.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +28</span>And their souls evermore are like fountains,<br /> + And liquid and lucent and strong,<br /> +High over the tops of the mountains<br /> + Gush up the sweet billows of song.<br /> +No drouth-time of waters can dry them.<br /> + Whoever has bathed in that sea,<br /> +All dangers, all deaths, they defy them,<br /> + And are gladder than gods are, with glee.</p> +<h2><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>“IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN”</h2> +<p class="poetry">We will be what we could be. Do not +say,<br /> + “It might have been, had not or that, or +this.”<br /> +No fate can keep us from the chosen way;<br /> + He only might, who <i>is</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">We will do what we could do. Do not +dream<br /> + Chance leaves a hero, all uncrowned to grieve.<br /> +I hold, all men are greatly what they seem;<br /> + He does, who could achieve.</p> +<p class="poetry">We will climb where we could climb. Tell +me not<br /> + Of adverse storms that kept thee from the height.<br +/> +What eagle ever missed the peak he sought?<br /> + He always climbs who might.</p> +<p class="poetry">I do not like the phrase, “It might have +been!”<br /> + It lacks all force, and life’s best truths +perverts<br /> +For I believe we have, and reach, and win,<br /> + Whatever our deserts.</p> +<h2><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>MOMUS, +GOD OF LAUGHTER</h2> +<p class="poetry">Though with gods the world is cumbered,<br /> +Gods unnamed, and gods unnumbered,<br /> +Never god was known to be<br /> +Who had not his devotee.<br /> +So I dedicate to mine,<br /> +Here in verse, my temple-shrine.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis not Ares,—mighty Mars,<br /> +Who can give success in wars.<br /> +’Tis not Morpheus, who doth keep<br /> +Guard above us while we sleep,<br /> +’Tis not Venus, she whose duty<br /> +’Tis to give us love and beauty;<br /> +Hail to these, and others, after<br /> +Momus, gleesome god of laughter.</p> +<p class="poetry">Quirinus would guard my health,<br /> +Plutus would insure me wealth;<br /> +Mercury looks after trade,<br /> +Hera smiles on youth and maid.<br /> +All are kind, I own their worth,<br /> +After Momus, god of mirth.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>Though Apollo, out of spite,<br /> +Hides away his face of light,<br /> +Though Minerva looks askance,<br /> +Deigning me no smiling glance,<br /> +Kings and queens may envy me<br /> +While I claim the god of glee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wisdom wearies, Love has wings—<br /> +Wealth makes burdens, Pleasure stings,<br /> +Glory proves a thorny crown—<br /> +So all gifts the gods throw down<br /> +Bring their pains and troubles after;<br /> +All save Momus, god of laughter.<br /> +He alone gives constant joy.<br /> +Hail to Momus, happy boy.</p> +<h2><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>I +DREAM</h2> +<p class="poetry">Oh, I have dreams. I sometimes dream of +Life<br /> + In the full meaning of that splendid word.<br /> + Its subtle music which few men have heard,<br /> +Though all may hear it, sounding through earth’s strife.<br +/> +Its mountain heights by mystic breezes kissed<br /> + Lifting their lovely peaks above the dust;<br /> + Its treasures which no touch of time can rust,<br /> +Its emerald seas, its dawns of amethyst,<br /> + Its certain purpose, its serene repose,<br /> + Its usefulness, that finds no hour for woes,<br /> + This is my dream of Life.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, I have dreams. I ofttimes dream of +Love<br /> + As radiant and brilliant as a star.<br /> + As changeless, too, as that fixed light afar<br /> +Which glorifies vast worlds of space above.<br /> +<a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>Strong as +the tempest when it holds its breath,<br /> + Before it bursts in fury; and as deep<br /> + As the unfathomed seas, where lost worlds sleep,<br +/> +And sad as birth, and beautiful as death.<br /> + As fervent as the fondest soul could crave,<br /> + Yet holy as the moonlight on a grave.<br /> + This is my dream of Love.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, yes, I dream. One oft-recurring +dream<br /> + Is beautiful and comforting and blest,<br /> + Complete with certain promises of rest,<br /> +Divine content, and ecstasy supreme.<br /> +When that strange essence, author of all faith,<br /> + That subtle something, which cries for the light,<br +/> + Like a lost child who wanders in the night,<br /> +Shall solve the mighty mystery of Death,<br /> + Shall find eternal progress, or sublime<br /> + And satisfying slumber for all time.<br /> + This is my dream of Death.</p> +<h2><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>THE +SONNET</h2> +<p class="poetry">Alone it stands in Poesy’s fair land,<br +/> + A temple by the muses set apart;<br /> + A perfect structure of consummate art,<br /> +By artists builded and by genius planned,<br /> +Beyond the reach of the apprentice hand,<br /> + Beyond the ken of the untutored heart,<br /> + Like a fine carving in a common mart,<br /> +Only the favoured few will understand.<br /> +A <i>chef-d’œvre</i> toiled over with great care,<br +/> + Yet which the unseeing careless crowd goes by,<br /> +A plainly set, but well-cut solitaire,<br /> +An ancient bit of pottery, too rare<br /> + To please or hold aught save the special eye,<br /> +These only with the sonnet can compare.</p> +<h2><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>THE +PAST</h2> +<p class="poetry">Fling my past behind me, like a robe<br /> +Worn threadbare in the seams, and out of date.<br /> +I have outgrown it. Wherefore should I weep<br /> +And dwell up on its beauty, and its dyes<br /> +Of Oriental splendour, or complain<br /> +That I must needs discard it? I can weave<br /> +Upon the shuttles of the future years<br /> +A fabric far more durable. Subdued,<br /> +It may be, in the blending of its hues,<br /> +Where sombre shades commingle, yet the gleam<br /> +Of golden warp shall shoot it through and through,<br /> +While over all a fadeless lustre lies,<br /> +And starred with gems made out of crystalled tears,<br /> +My new robe shall be richer than the old.</p> +<h2><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>A +DREAM</h2> +<p class="poetry">That was a curious dream; I thought the +three<br /> + Great planets that are drawing near the sun<br /> + With such unerring certainty begun<br /> +To talk together in a mighty glee.<br /> +They spoke of vast convulsions which would be<br /> + Throughout the solar system—the rare fun<br /> + Of watching haughty stars drop, one by one,<br /> +And vanish in a seething vapour sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">I thought I heard them comment on the +earth—<br /> + That small dark object—doomed beyond a +doubt.<br /> + They wondered if live creatures moved about<br /> +Its tiny surface, deeming it of worth.<br /> + And then they laughed—’twas such a +singing shout<br /> +That I awoke and joined too in their mirth.</p> +<h2><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +37</span>USELESSNESS</h2> +<p class="poetry">Let mine not be that saddest fate of all<br /> + To live beyond my greater self; to see<br /> + My faculties decaying, as the tree<br /> +Stands stark and helpless while its green leaves fall.<br /> +Let me hear rather the imperious call,<br /> + Which all men dread, in my glad morning time,<br /> + And follow death ere I have reached my prime,<br /> +Or drunk the strengthening cordial of life’s gall.<br /> +The lightning’s stroke or the fierce tempest blast<br /> + Which fells the green tree to the earth to-day<br /> +Is kinder than the calm that lets it last,<br /> + Unhappy witness of its own decay.<br /> + May no man ever look on me and say,<br /> +“She lives, but all her usefulness is past.”</p> +<h2><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>WILL</h2> +<p class="poetry">There is no chance, no destiny, no fate,<br /> +Can circumvent or hinder or control<br /> +The firm resolve of a determined soul.<br /> +Gifts count for nothing; will alone is great;<br /> +All things give way before it, soon or late.<br /> + What obstacle can stay the mighty force<br /> + Of the sea-seeking river in its course,<br /> +Or cause the ascending orb of day to wait?</p> +<p class="poetry">Each well-born soul must win what it +deserves.<br /> +Let the fool prate of luck. The fortunate<br /> + Is he whose earnest purpose never swerves,<br /> + Whose slightest action or inaction serve.<br /> +The one great aim.<br /> + Why, even Death +stands still,<br /> +And waits an hour sometimes for such a will.</p> +<h2><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>WINTER +RAIN</h2> +<p class="poetry">Falling upon the frozen world last<br /> +I heard the slow beat of the Winter rain—<br /> +Poor foolish drops, down-dripping all in vain;<br /> +The ice-bound Earth but mocked their puny might,<br /> +Far better had the fixedness of white<br /> +And uncomplaining snows—which make no sign,<br /> +But coldly smile, when pitying moonbeams shine—<br /> +Concealed its sorrow from all human sight.<br /> +Long, long ago, in blurred and burdened years,<br /> +I learned the uselessness of uttered woe.<br /> +Though sinewy Fate deals her most skilful blow,<br /> + I do not waste the gall now of my tears,<br /> + But feed my pride upon its bitter, while<br /> +I look straight in the world’s bold eyes, and smile.</p> +<h2><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>LIFE</h2> +<p class="poetry">Life, like a romping schoolboy, full of +glee,<br /> +Doth bear us on his shoulder for a time.<br /> +There is no path too steep for him to climb.<br /> +With strong, lithe limbs, as agile and as free,<br /> +As some young roe, he speeds by vale and sea,<br /> + By flowery mead, by mountain peak sublime,<br /> + And all the world seems motion set to rhyme,<br /> +Till, tired out, he cries, “Now carry me!”<br /> + In vain we murmur; “Come,” Life says, +“Fair play!”<br /> +And seizes on us. God! he goads us so!<br /> + He does not let us sit down all the day.<br /> +At each new step we feel the burden grow,<br /> +Till our bent backs seem breaking as we go,<br /> + Watching for Death to meet us on the way.</p> +<h2><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span>BURDENED</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Genius, a man’s weapon, a +woman’s burden.”—Lamartine.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">Dear God! there is no sadder fate in life<br /> + Than to be burdened so that you can not<br /> + Sit down contented with the common lot<br /> +Of happy mother and devoted wife.</p> +<p class="poetry">To feel your brain wild and your bosom rife<br +/> + With all the sea’s commotion; to be fraught<br +/> + With fires and frenzies which you have not +sought,<br /> +And weighed down with the wild world’s weary strife;</p> +<p class="poetry">To feel a fever always in your breast;<br /> + To lean and hear, half in affright, half shame,<br +/> + A loud-voiced public boldly mouth your name;<br /> +To reap your hard-sown harvest in unrest,<br /> + And know, however great your meed of fame,<br /> +You are but a weak woman at the best.</p> +<h2><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>LET +THEM GO</h2> +<p class="poetry">Let the dream go. Are there not other +dreams<br /> + In vastness of clouds hid from thy sight<br /> +That yet shall gild with beautiful gold gleams,<br /> + And shoot the shadows through and through with +light?<br /> + What matters one lost vision of the night?<br /> + Let the dream +go!!</p> +<p class="poetry">Let the hope set. Are there not other +hopes<br /> + That yet shall rise like new stars in thy sky?<br /> +Not long a soul in sullen darkness gropes<br /> + Before some light is lent it from on high;<br /> + What folly to think happiness gone by!<br /> + Let the hope +set!</p> +<p class="poetry">Let the joy fade. Are there not other +joys,<br /> + Like frost-bound bulbs, that yet shall start and +bloom?<br /> +Severe must be the winter that destroys<br /> + The hardy roots locked in their silent tomb.<br /> + What cares the earth for her brief time of gloom<br +/> + Let the joy +fade!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>Let the love die. Are there not other loves<br /> + As beautiful and full of sweet unrest,<br /> +Flying through space like snowy-pinioned doves?<br /> + They yet shall come and nestle in thy breast,<br /> +And thou shalt say of each, “Lo, this is best!”<br /> + Let the love +die!</p> +<h2><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>FIVE +KISSES</h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Mother’s Kiss</span><br /> +I</h3> +<p class="poetry">Love breathed a secret to her listening +heart,<br /> + And said “Be silent.” Though she +guarded it,<br /> +And dwelt as one within a world apart,<br /> + Yet sun and star seemed by that secret lit.<br /> +And where she passed, each whispering wind ablow,<br /> + And every little blossom in the sod,<br /> +Called joyously to her, “We know, we know,<br /> + For are we not the intimates of God?”<br /> +Life grew so radiant, and so opulent,<br /> + That when her fragile body and her brain<br /> +By mortal throes of agony were rent,<br /> + She felt a curious rapture in her pain.<br /> +Then, after anguish, came the supreme bliss—<br /> +They brought the little baby, for her kiss!</p> +<h3><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span><span +class="smcap">The Betrothal</span><br /> +II</h3> +<p class="poetry">There was a little pause between the dances;<br +/> + Without, somewhere, a tinkling fountain played.<br +/> +The dusky path was lit by ardent glances<br /> + As forth they fared, a lover and a maid.<br /> +He chose a nook, from curious eyes well hidden—<br /> + All redolent with sweet midsummer charm,<br /> +And by the great primeval instinct bidden,<br /> + He drew her in the shelter of his arm.<br /> +The words that long deep in his heart had trembled<br /> +Found sudden utterance; she at first dissembled,<br /> + Refused her lips, and half withdrew her hand,<br /> +Then murmured “Yes,” and yielded, woman fashion,<br +/> +Her virgin mouth to young love’s kiss of passion.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Bridal Kiss</span><br /> +III</h3> +<p class="poetry">As fleecy clouds trail back across the +skies,<br /> + Showing the sweet young moon in azure space,<br /> + The lifted veil revealed her shining face—<br +/> +A sudden wonder to his eager eyes.<br /> +<a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>In that +familiar beauty lurked surprise:<br /> + For now the wife stood in the maiden’s +place—<br /> + With conscious dignity, and woman’s grace,<br +/> +And love’s large pride grown trebly fair and wise.</p> +<p class="poetry">The world receded, leaving them alone.<br /> + The universe was theirs, from sphere to sphere,<br +/> +And life assumed new meaning, and new worth.<br /> +Love held no privilege they did not own,<br /> + And when they kissed each other without fear,<br /> +They understood why God had made the earth.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Domestic Bliss</span><br /> +IV</h3> +<p class="poetry">Sequestered in their calm domestic bower,<br /> + They sat together. He in manhood’s +prime<br /> +And she a matron in her fullest flower.<br /> + The mantel clock gave forth a warning chime.<br /> +She put her work aside; his bright cigar<br /> + Grew pale, and crumbled in an ashen heap.<br /> +The lights went out, save one remaining star<br /> + That watched beside the children in their sleep.<br +/> +She hummed a little song and nestled near,<br /> + As side by side they went to their repose.<br /> +<a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>His arm +about her waist, he whispered “Dear,”<br /> + And pressed his lips upon her mouth’s full +rose—<br /> +The sacred sweetness of their wedded life<br /> + Breathed in that kiss of husband and of wife.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Old Age</span><br /> +V</h3> +<p class="poetry">The young see heaven—but to the old who +wait<br /> + The final call, the hills of youth arise<br /> + More beautiful than shores of Paradise.<br /> +Beside a glowing and voracious grate<br /> + A dozing couple dream of yesterday;<br /> +The islands of a vanished past appear,<br /> +Bringing forgotten names and faces near;<br /> + While lost in mist, the present fades away.<br /> +The fragrant winds of tender memories blow<br /> + Across the gardens of the +“Used-to-be!”<br /> + They smile into each other’s eyes, and see<br +/> +The bride and bridegroom of the long ago.<br /> + And tremulous lips, pressed close to faded cheek<br +/> + Love’s silent tale of deathless passion +speak.</p> +<h2><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +48</span>RETROSPECTION</h2> +<p class="poetry">I look down the lengthening distance<br /> + Far back to youth’s valley of hope.<br /> +How strange seemed the ways of existence,<br /> + How infinite life and its scope!</p> +<p class="poetry">What dreams, what ambitions came thronging<br +/> + To people a world of my own!<br /> +How the heart in my bosom was longing,<br /> + For pleasures and places unknown.</p> +<p class="poetry">But the hill-tops of pleasure and beauty<br /> + Were covered with mist at the dawn;<br /> +And only the rugged road Duty<br /> + Shone clear, as my feet wandered on.</p> +<p class="poetry">I loved not the path and its leading,<br /> + I hated the rocks and the dust;<br /> +But a Voice from the Silence was pleading,<br /> + It spoke but one +syllable—“Trust.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>I saw, as the morning grew older,<br /> + The fair flowered hills of delight;<br /> +And the feet of my comrades grew bolder,<br /> + They hurried away from my sight.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when on the pathway I faltered,<br /> + And when I rebelled at my fate,<br /> +The Voice with assurance unaltered,<br /> + Again spoke one +syllable—“Wait.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Along the hard highway I travelled<br /> + And saw, with dim vision, how soon<br /> +The morning’s gold locks were unravelled,<br /> + By fingers of amorous noon.</p> +<p class="poetry">A turn in the pathway of duty—<br /> + I stood in the perfect day’s prime,<br /> +Close, close to the hillside of beauty<br /> + The Voice from the Silence said +“Climb”</p> +<p class="poetry">The road to the beautiful Regions<br /> + Lies ever through Duty’s hard way.<br /> +Oh ye who go searching in legions,<br /> + Know this and be patient to-day.</p> +<h2><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>HELENA</h2> +<p class="poetry">Last night I saw Helena. She whose +praise<br /> + Of late all men have sounded. She for whom<br +/> + Young Angus rashly sought a silent tomb<br /> +Rather than live without her all his days.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wise men go mad who look upon her long,<br /> + She is so ripe with dangers. Yet meanwhile<br +/> + I find no fascination in her smile,<br /> +Although I make her theme of this poor song.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Her golden tresses?” yes, they may +be fair,<br /> + And yet to me each shining silken tress<br /> + Seems robbed of beauty and all lustreless—<br +/> +Too many hands have stroked Helena’s hair.</p> +<p class="poetry">(I know a little maiden so demure<br /> + She will not let her one true lover’s hands<br +/> + In playful fondness touch her soft brown bands<br /> +So dainty-minded is she, and so pure.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>“Her great dark eyes that flash like gems at +night?<br /> + Large, long-lashed eyes and lustrous?” that +may be,<br /> + And yet they are not beautiful to me.<br /> +Too many hearts have sunned in their delight.</p> +<p class="poetry">(I mind me of two tender blue eyes, hid<br /> + So underneath white curtains, and so veiled<br /> + That I have sometimes plead for hours, and failed<br +/> +To see more than the shyly lifted lid.)</p> +<p class="poetry">“Her perfect mouth so liked a carved +kiss?”<br /> + “Her honeyed-mouth, where hearts do, fly-like, +drown?”<br /> + I would not taste its sweetness for a crown;<br /> +Too many lips have drank its nectared bliss.</p> +<p class="poetry">(I know a mouth whose virgin dew, undried,<br +/> + Lies like a young grape’s bloom, untouched and +sweet,<br /> + And though I plead in passion at her feet,<br /> +She would not let me brush it if I died.)</p> +<p class="poetry">In vain, Helena! though wise men may vie<br /> + For thy rare smile, or die from loss of it,<br /> + Armoured by my sweet lady’s trust, I sit,<br +/> +And know thou are not worth her faintest sigh.</p> +<h2><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>NOTHING REMAINS</h2> +<p class="poetry">Nothing remains of unrecorded ages<br /> + That lie in the silent cemetery time;<br /> +Their wisdom may have shamed our wisest sages,<br /> + Their glory may have been indeed sublime.<br /> +How weak do seem our strivings after power,<br /> + How poor the grandest efforts of our brains,<br /> +If out of all we are, in one short hour<br /> + Nothing +remains.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nothing remains but the Eternal Spaces,<br /> + Time and decay uproot the forest trees.<br /> +Even the mighty mountains leave their places,<br /> + And sink their haughty heads beneath strange seas<br +/> +The great earth writhes in some convulsive spasms<br /> + And turns the proudest cities into plains.<br /> +The level sea becomes a yawning chasm—<br /> + Nothing remains.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>Nothing remains but the Eternal Forces,<br /> + The sad seas cease complaining and grow dry,<br /> +Rivers are drained and altered in their courses,<br /> + Great stars pass out and vanish from the sky.<br /> +Ideas die and old religions perish,<br /> + Our rarest pleasures and our keenest pains<br /> +Are swept away with all we hate or cherish—<br /> + Nothing remains.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nothing remains but the Eternal Nameless<br /> + And all-creative spirit of the Law,<br /> +Uncomprehended, comprehensive, blameless,<br /> + Invincible, resistless, with no flaw;<br /> +So full of love it must create for ever,<br /> + Destroying that it may create again,<br /> +Persistent and perfecting in endeavour,<br /> + It yet must bring forth angels, after men—<br +/> + This, this remains!</p> +<h2><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span>COMRADES</h2> +<p class="poetry">I and my Soul are alone to-day,<br /> + All in the shining weather;<br /> +We were sick of the world, and put it away,<br /> + So we could rejoice together.</p> +<p class="poetry">Our host, the Sun, in the blue, blue sky<br /> + Is mixing a rare, sweet wine,<br /> +In the burnished gold of this cup on high,<br /> + For me, and this Soul of mine.</p> +<p class="poetry">We find it a safe and royal drink,<br /> + And a cure for every pain;<br /> +It helps us to love, and helps us to think,<br /> + And strengthens body and brain.</p> +<p class="poetry">And sitting here, with my Soul alone,<br /> + Where the yellow sun-rays fall,<br /> +Of all the friends I have ever known<br /> + I find it the <i>best</i> of all.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>We rarely meet when the world is near,<br /> + For the World hath a pleasing art<br /> +And brings me so much that is bright and dear<br /> + That my Soul it keepeth apart.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when I grow weary of mirth and glee,<br /> + Of glitter, glow, and splendour,<br /> +Like a tried old friend it comes to me,<br /> + With a smile that is sad and tender.</p> +<p class="poetry">And we walk together as two friends may,<br /> + And laugh and drink God’s wine.<br /> +Oh, a royal comrade any day<br /> + I find this Soul of mine.</p> +<h2><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>WHAT +GAIN?</h2> +<p class="poetry">Now, while thy rounded cheek is fresh and +fair,<br /> + While beauty lingers, laughing, in thine eyes,<br /> +Ere thy young heart shall meet the stranger, +“Care,”<br /> + Or thy blithe soul become the home of sighs,<br /> +Were it not kindness should I give thee rest<br /> +By plunging this sharp dagger in thy breast?<br /> +Dying so young, with all thy wealth of youth,<br /> +What part of life wouldst thou not claim, in sooth?<br /> + Only the woe,<br +/> + Sweetheart, that sad souls +know.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, in this sacred hour of supreme trust,<br +/> + Of pure delight and palpitating joy,<br /> +Ere change can come, as come it surely must,<br /> + With jarring doubts and discords, to destroy<br /> +<a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>Our far +too perfect peace, I pray thee, Sweet,<br /> +Were it not best for both of us, and meet,<br /> +If I should bring swift death to seal our bliss?<br /> +Dying so full of joy, what could we miss?<br /> + Nothing but +tears,<br /> + Sweetheart, and weary years.</p> +<p class="poetry">How slight the action! Just one +well-aimed blow<br /> + Here, where I feel thy warm heart’s pulsing +beat,<br /> +And then another through my own, and so<br /> + Our perfect union would be made complete:<br /> +So, past all parting, I should claim thee mine.<br /> +Dead with our youth, and faith, and love divine,<br /> +Should we not keep the best of life that way?<br /> +What shall we gain by living day on day?<br /> + What shall we +gain,<br /> + Sweetheart, but bitter pain?</p> +<h2><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>TO THE +WEST</h2> +<p>[In an interview with Lawrence Barrett, he said: “The +literature of the New World must look to the West for its +poetry.”]</p> +<p class="poetry">Not to the crowded East,<br /> + Where, in a well-worn groove,<br /> +Like the harnessed wheel of a great machine,<br /> + The trammelled mind must move—<br /> +Where Thought must follow the fashion of Thought,<br /> +Or be counted vulgar and set at naught.</p> +<p class="poetry">Not to the languid South,<br /> + Where the mariners of the brain<br /> +Are lured by the Sirens of the Sense,<br /> + And wrecked upon its main—<br /> +Where Thought is rocked, on the sweet wind’s breath<br /> +To a torpid sleep that ends in death.</p> +<p class="poetry">But to the mighty West,<br /> + That chosen realm of God,<br /> +Where Nature reaches her hands to men,<br /> + And Freedom walks abroad—<br /> +Where mind is King, and fashion is naught,<br /> +There shall the New World look for thought</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>To the West, the beautiful West,<br /> + She shall look, and not in vain—<br /> +For out of its broad and boundless store<br /> + Come muscle, and nerve, and brain.<br /> +Let the bards of the East and the South be dumb—<br /> +For out of the West shall the Poets come.</p> +<p class="poetry">They shall come with souls as great<br /> + As the cradle where they were rocked;<br /> +They shall come with brows that are touched with fire<br /> + Like the gods with whom they have walked;<br /> +They shall come from the West in royal state,<br /> +The Singers and Thinkers for whom we wait.</p> +<h2><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>THE +LAND OF CONTENT</h2> +<p class="poetry">I set out for the Land of Content,<br /> + By the gay crowded pleasure-highway,<br /> +With laughter, and jesting, I went<br /> + With the mirth-loving throng for a day;<br /> + Then I knew I had wandered astray,<br /> +For I met returned pilgrims, belated,<br /> +Who said, “We are weary and sated,<br /> +But we found not the Land of Content.”</p> +<p class="poetry">I turned to the steep path of fame,<br /> + I said, “It is over yon height—<br /> +This land with the beautiful name—<br /> + Ambition will lend me its light.”<br /> + But I paused in my journey ere night,<br /> +For the way grew so lonely and troubled;<br /> +I said—my anxiety doubled—<br /> +“This is not the road to Content.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +61</span>Then I joined the great rabble and throng<br /> + That frequents the moneyed world’s mart;<br /> +But the greed, and the grasping and wrong,<br /> + Left me only one wish—to depart.<br /> + And sickened, and saddened at heart,<br /> +I hurried away from the gateway,<br /> +For my soul and my spirit said straightway.<br /> +“This is not the road to Content.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then weary in body and brain,<br /> + An overgrown path I detected,<br /> +And I said “I will hide with my pain<br /> + In this byway, unused and neglected.”<br /> + Lo! it led to the realm God selected<br /> +To crown with His best gifts of beauty,<br /> +And through the dark pathway of duty<br /> +I came to the land of Content.</p> +<h2><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span>WARNING</h2> +<p class="poetry">High in the heavens I saw the moon this +morning,<br /> + Albeit the sun shone bright;<br /> +Unto my soul it spoke, in voice of warning,<br /> + “Remember Night!”</p> +<h2><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 63</span>AFTER +THE BATTLES ARE OVER</h2> +<p>[Read at Reunion of the G. A. T., Madison, Wis., July 4, +1872.]</p> +<p class="poetry">After the battles are over,<br /> + And the war drums cease to beat,<br /> +And no more is heard on the hillside<br /> +The sound of hurrying feet,<br /> +Full many a noble action,<br /> + That was done in the days of strife<br /> +By the soldier is half forgotten,<br /> + In the peaceful walks of life.</p> +<p class="poetry">Just as the tangled grasses,<br /> + In Summer’s warmth and light,<br /> +Grow over the graves of the fallen<br /> + And hide them away from sight,<br /> +So many an act of valour,<br /> + And many a deed sublime,<br /> +Fade from the mind of the soldier<br /> + O’ergrown by the grass of time</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>Not so should they be rewarded,<br /> + Those noble deeds of old!<br /> +They should live for ever and ever,<br /> + When the heroes’ hearts are cold.<br /> +Then rally, ye brave old comrades,<br /> + Old veterans, reunite!<br /> +Uproot Time’s tangled grasses—<br /> + Live over the march, and the fight.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let Grant come up from the White House,<br /> + And clasp each brother’s hand,<br /> +First chieftain of the army,<br /> + Last chieftain of the land.<br /> +Let him rest from a nation’s burdens,<br /> + And go, in thought, with his men,<br /> +Through the fire and smoke of Shiloh,<br /> + And save the day again.</p> +<p class="poetry">This silent hero of battles<br /> + Knew no such word as defeat.<br /> +It was left for the rebels’ learning,<br /> + Along with the word—retreat.<br /> +He was not given to talking,<br /> + But he found that guns would preach<br /> +In a way that was more convincing<br /> + Than fine and flowery speech</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>Three cheers for the grave commander<br /> + Of the grand old Tennessee!<br /> +Who won the first great battle—<br /> + Gained the first great victory.<br /> +His motto was always “Conquer,”<br /> + “Success” was his countersign,<br /> +And “though it took all Summer,”<br /> + He kept fighting upon “that line.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Let Sherman, the stern old General,<br /> + Come rallying with his men;<br /> +Let them march once more through Georgia<br /> + And down to the sea again.<br /> +Oh! that grand old tramp to Savannah,<br /> + Three hundred miles to the coast,<br /> +It will live in the heart of the nation,<br /> + For ever its pride and boast.</p> +<p class="poetry">As Sheridan went to the battle,<br /> + When a score of miles away,<br /> +He has come to the feast and banquet,<br /> + By the iron horse to-day.<br /> +Its pace is not much swifter<br /> + Than the pace of that famous steed<br /> +Which bore him down to the contest<br /> + And saved the day by his speed.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>Then go over the ground to-day, boys<br /> + Tread each remembered spot.<br /> +It will be a gleesome journey,<br /> + On the swift-shod feet of thought;<br /> +You can fight a bloodless battle,<br /> + You can skirmish along the route,<br /> +But it’s not worth while to forage,<br /> + There are rations enough without.</p> +<p class="poetry">Don’t start if you hear the cannon,<br /> + It is not the sound of doom,<br /> +It does not call to the contest—<br /> + To the battle’s smoke and gloom.<br /> +“Let us have peace,” was spoken,<br /> + And lo! peace ruled again;<br /> +And now the nation is shouting,<br /> + Through the cannon’s voice, +“Amen.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O boys who besieged old Vicksburgh,<br /> + Can time e’er wash away<br /> +The triumph of her surrender,<br /> + Nine years ago to-day?<br /> +Can you ever forget the moment,<br /> + When you saw the flag of white,<br /> +That told how the grim old city<br /> + Had fallen in her might?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>Ah, ’twas a bold, brave army,<br /> + When the boys, with a right good will,<br /> +Went gaily marching and singing<br /> + To the fight at Champion Hill.<br /> +They met with a warm reception,<br /> + But the soul of “Old John Brown”<br /> +Was abroad on that field of battle,<br /> + And our flag did <span class="GutSmall">NOT</span> +go down.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come, heroes of Look Out Mountain,<br /> + Of Corinth and Donelson,<br /> +Of Kenesaw and Atlanta,<br /> + And tell how the day was won!<br /> +Hush! bow the head for a moment—<br /> + There are those who cannot come.<br /> +No bugle-call can arouse them—<br /> + No sound of fife or drum.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, boys who died for the country,<br /> + Oh, dear and sainted dead!<br /> +What can we say about you<br /> + That has not once been said?<br /> +Whether you fell in the contest,<br /> + Struck down by shot and shell,<br /> +Or pined ’neath the hand of sickness<br /> + Or starved in the prison cell,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>We know that you died for Freedom,<br /> + To save our land from shame,<br /> +To rescue a perilled Nation,<br /> + And we give you deathless fame.<br /> +’Twas the cause of Truth and Justice<br /> + That you fought and perished for,<br /> +And we say it, oh, so gently,<br /> + “Our boys who died in the war.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Saviours of our Republic,<br /> + Heroes who wore the blue,<br /> +We owe the peace that surrounds us—<br /> + And our Nation’s strength to you.<br /> +We owe it to you that our banner,<br /> + The fairest flag in the world,<br /> +Is to-day unstained, unsullied,<br /> + On the Summer air unfurled.</p> +<p class="poetry">We look on its stripes and spangles,<br /> + And our hearts are filled the while<br /> +With love for the brave commanders,<br /> + And the boys of the rank and file.<br /> +The grandest deeds of valour<br /> + Were never written out,<br /> +The noblest acts of virtue<br /> + The world knows nothing about.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>And many a private soldier,<br /> + Who walks his humble way,<br /> +With no sounding name or title,<br /> + Unknown to the world to-day,<br /> +In the eyes of God is a hero<br /> + As worthy of the bays<br /> +As any mighty General<br /> + To whom the world gives praise.</p> +<p class="poetry">Brave men of a mighty army,<br /> + We extend you friendship’s hand<br /> +I speak for the “Loyal Women,”<br /> + Those pillars of our land.<br /> +We wish you a hearty welcome,<br /> + We are proud that you gather here<br /> +To talk of old times together<br /> + On this brightest day in the year.</p> +<p class="poetry">And if Peace, whose snow-white pinions<br /> + Brood over our land to-day,<br /> +Should ever again go from us,<br /> + (God grant she may ever stay!)<br /> +Should our Nation call in her peril<br /> + For “Six hundred thousand more,”<br /> +The loyal women would hear her,<br /> + And send you out as before.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>We would bring out the treasured knapsack,<br /> + We would take the sword from the wall,<br /> +And hushing our own hearts’ pleadings,<br /> + Hear only the country’s call.<br /> +For next to our God is our Nation;<br /> + And we cherish the honoured name<br /> +Of the bravest of all brave armies<br /> + Who fought for that Nation’s fame.</p> +<h2><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>AND +THEY ARE DUMB</h2> +<p class="poetry">I have been across the bridges of the years.<br +/> + Wet with tears<br /> +Were the ties on which I trod, going back<br /> + Down the track<br /> +To the valley where I left, ’neath skies of Truth,<br /> + My lost youth.</p> +<p class="poetry">As I went, I dropped my burdens, one and +all—<br /> + Let them fall;<br /> +All my sorrows, all my wrinkles, all my care,<br /> + My white hair,<br /> +I laid down, like some lone pilgrim’s heavy pack,<br /> + By the track.</p> +<p class="poetry">As I neared the happy valley with light +feet,<br /> + My heart beat<br /> +To the rhythm of a song I used to know<br /> + Long ago,<br /> +And my spirits gushed and bubbled like a fountain<br /> + Down a mountain.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>On the border of that valley I found you,<br /> + Tried and true;<br /> +And we wandered through the golden Summer-Land<br /> + Hand in hand.<br /> +And my pulses beat with rapture in the blisses<br /> + Of your kisses.</p> +<p class="poetry">And we met there, in those green and verdant +places,<br /> + Smiling faces,<br /> +And sweet laughter echoed upward from the dells<br /> + Like gold bells.<br /> +And the world was spilling over with the glory<br /> + Of Youth’s story.</p> +<p class="poetry">It was but a dreamer’s journey of the +brain;<br /> + And again<br /> +I have left the happy valley far behind;<br /> + And I find<br /> +Time stands waiting with his burdens in a pack<br /> + For my back.</p> +<p class="poetry">As he speeds me, like a rough, well-meaning +friend,<br /> + To the end,<br /> +Will I find again the lost ones loved so well?<br /> + Who can tell!<br /> +But the dead know what the life will be to come—<br /> + And they are dumb!</p> +<h2><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>NIGHT</h2> +<p class="poetry">As some dusk mother shields from all alarms<br +/> + The tired child she gathers to her breast,<br /> +The brunette Night doth fold me in her arms,<br /> + And hushes me to perfect peace and rest.<br /> +Her eyes of stars shine on me, and I hear<br /> +Her voice of winds low crooning on my ear.<br /> +O Night, O Night, how beautiful thou art!<br /> +Come, fold me closer to thy pulsing heart.</p> +<p class="poetry">The day is full of gladness, and the light<br +/> + So beautifies the common outer things,<br /> +I only see with my external sight,<br /> + And only hear the great world’s voice which +rings.<br /> +But silently from daylight and from din<br /> +The sweet Night draws me—whispers, “Look +within!”<br /> +And looking, as one wakened from a dream,<br /> +I see what <i>is</i>—no longer what doth seem.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>The Night says, “Listen!” and upon my ear<br +/> + Revealed, as are the visions to my sight,<br /> +The voices known as “Beautiful” come near<br /> + And whisper of the vastly Infinite.<br /> +Great, blue-eyed Truth, her sister Purity,<br /> +Their brother Honour, all converse with me,<br /> +And kiss my brow, and say, “Be brave of heart!”<br /> +O holy three! how beautiful thou art!</p> +<p class="poetry">The Night says, “Child, sleep that thou +may’st arise<br /> + Strong for to-morrow’s struggle.” +And I feel<br /> +Her shadowy fingers pressing on my eyes:<br /> + Like thistledown I float to the Ideal—<br /> +The Slumberland, made beautiful and bright<br /> +As death, by dreams of loved ones gone from sight,<br /> +O food for souls, sweet dreams of pure delight,<br /> +How beautiful the holy hours of Night!</p> +<h2><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>ALL +FOR ME</h2> +<p class="poetry">The world grows green on a thousand +hills—<br /> + By a thousand willows the bees are humming,<br /> +And a million birds by a million rills,<br /> + Sing of the golden season coming.<br /> +But, gazing out on the sun-kist lea,<br /> + And hearing a thrush and a blue-bird singing,<br /> +I feel that the summer is all for me,<br /> + And all for me are the joys it is bringing.</p> +<p class="poetry">All for me the bumble-bee<br /> + Drones his song in the perfect weather;<br /> +And, just on purpose to sing to me,<br /> + Thrush and blue-bird came North together.<br /> +Just for me, in red and white,<br /> + Bloom and blossom the fields of clover;<br /> +And all for me and my delight<br /> + The wild Wind follows and plays the lover.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>The mighty sun, with a scorching kiss<br /> + (I have read, and heard, and do not doubt it)<br /> +Has burned up a thousand worlds like this,<br /> + And never stopped to think about it.<br /> +And yet I believe he hurries up<br /> + Just on purpose to kiss my flowers—<br /> +To drink the dew from the lily-cup,<br /> + And help it to grow through golden hours.</p> +<p class="poetry">I know I am only a speck of dust,<br /> + An individual mite of masses,<br /> +Clinging upon the outer crust<br /> + Of a little ball of cooling gases.<br /> +And yet, and yet, say what you will,<br /> + And laugh, if you please, at my lack of reason,<br +/> +For me wholly, and for me still,<br /> + Blooms and blossoms the Summer season.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nobody else has ever heard<br /> + The story the Wind to me discloses;<br /> +And none but I and the humming-bird<br /> + Can read the hearts of the crimson roses.<br /> +Ah, my Summer—my love—my own!<br /> + The world grows glad in your smiling weather;<br /> +Yet all for me, and me alone,<br /> + You and your Court came North together.</p> +<h2><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>INTO +SPACE</h2> +<p class="poetry">If the sad old world should jump a cog<br /> + Sometime, in its dizzy spinning,<br /> +And go off the track with a sudden jog,<br /> + What an end would come to the sinning,<br /> +What a rest from strife and the burdens of life<br /> + For the millions of people in it,<br /> +What a way out of care, and worry and wear,<br /> + All in a beautiful minute.</p> +<p class="poetry">As ’round the sun with a curving sweep<br +/> + It hurries and runs and races,<br /> +Should it lose its balance, and go with a leap<br /> + Into the vast sea-spaces,<br /> +What a blest relief it would bring to the grief,<br /> + And the trouble and toil about us,<br /> +To be suddenly hurled from the solar world<br /> + And let it go on without us.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>With not a sigh or a sad good-bye<br /> + For loved ones left behind us,<br /> +We would go with a lunge and a mighty plunge<br /> + Where never a grave should find us.<br /> +What a wild mad thrill our veins would fill<br /> + As the great earth, like a feather,<br /> +Should float through the air to God knows where,<br /> + And carry us all together.</p> +<p class="poetry">No dark, damp tomb and no mourner’s +gloom,<br /> + No tolling bell in the steeple,<br /> +But in one swift breath a painless death<br /> + For a million billion people.<br /> +What greater bliss could we ask than this,<br /> + To sweep with a bird’s free motion<br /> +Through leagues of space to a resting place,<br /> + In a vast and vapoury ocean—<br /> +To pass away from this life for aye<br /> + With never a dear tie sundered,<br /> +And a world on fire for a funeral pyre,<br /> + While the stars looked on and wondered?</p> +<h2><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>THROUGH DIM EYES</h2> +<p class="poetry">Is it the world, or my eyes, that are +sadder?<br /> +I see not the grace that I used to see<br /> +In the meadow-brook whose song was so glad, or<br /> +In the boughs of the willow tree.<br /> +The brook runs slower—its song seems lower<br /> +And not the song that it sang of old;<br /> +And the tree I admired looks weary and tired<br /> +Of the changeless story of heat and cold.</p> +<p class="poetry">When the sun goes up, and the stars go +under,<br /> +In that supreme hour of the breaking day,<br /> +Is it my eyes, or the dawn, I wonder,<br /> +That finds less of the gold, and more of the gray<br /> +I see not the splendour, the tints so tender,<br /> +The rose-hued glory I used to see;<br /> +And I often borrow a vague half-sorrow<br /> +That another morning has dawned for me.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>When the royal smile of that welcome comer<br /> +Beams on the meadow and burns in the sky,<br /> +Is it my eyes, or does the Summer<br /> +Bring less of bloom than in days gone by?<br /> +The beauty that thrilled me, the rapture that filled me,<br /> +To an overflowing of happy tears,<br /> +I pass unseeing, my sad eyes being<br /> +Dimmed by the shadow of vanished years.</p> +<p class="poetry">When the heart grows weary, all things seem +dreary;<br /> +When the burden grows heavy, the way seems long.<br /> +Thank God for sending kind death as an ending,<br /> +Like a grand Amen to a minor song.</p> +<h2><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>THE +PUNISHED</h2> +<p class="poetry">Not they who know the awful gibbet’s +anguish,<br /> + Not they who, while sad years go by them, in<br /> +The sunless cells of lonely prisons languish,<br /> + Do suffer fullest penalty for sin.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis they who walk the highways +unsuspected,<br /> + Yet with grim fear for ever at their side,<br /> +Who hug the corpse of some sin undetected,<br /> + A corpse no grave or coffin-lid can hide—</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis they who are in their own chambers +haunted<br /> + By thoughts that like unbidden guests intrude,<br /> +And sit down, uninvited and unwanted,<br /> + And make a nightmare of the solitude.</p> +<h2><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>HALF +FLEDGED</h2> +<p class="poetry">I feel the stirrings in me of great things.<br +/> +New half-fledged thoughts rise up and beat their wings,<br /> +And tremble on the margin of their nest,<br /> +Then flutter back, and hide within my breast.</p> +<p class="poetry">Beholding space, they doubt their untried +strength.<br /> +Beholding men, they fear them. But at length,<br /> +Grown all too great and active for the heart<br /> +That broods them with such tender mother art,<br /> +Forgetting fear, and men, and all, that hour,<br /> +Save the impelling consciousness of power<br /> +That stirs within them—they shall soar away<br /> +Up to the very portals of the Day.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, what exultant rapture thrills me through<br +/> +When I contemplate all those thoughts may do;<br /> +Like snow-white eagles penetrating space,<br /> +They may explore full many an unknown place,<br /> +And build their nests on mountain heights unseen,<br /> +Whereon doth lie that dreamed-of rest serene.<br /> +<a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>Stay thou +a little longer in my breast,<br /> +Till my fond heart shall push thee from the nest<br /> +Anxious to see thee soar to heights divine—<br /> +Oh, beautiful but half-fledged thoughts of mine.</p> +<h2><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>THE +YEAR</h2> +<p class="poetry">What can be said in New Year rhymes,<br /> +That’s not been said a thousand times?</p> +<p class="poetry">The new years come, the old years go,<br /> +We know we dream, we dream we know.</p> +<p class="poetry">We rise up laughing with the light,<br /> +We lie down weeping with the night.</p> +<p class="poetry">We hug the world until it stings,<br /> +We curse it then and sigh for wings.</p> +<p class="poetry">We live, we love, we woo, we wed,<br /> +We wreathe our brides, we sheet our dead.</p> +<p class="poetry">We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear,<br /> +And that’s the burden of the year.</p> +<h2><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>THE +UNATTAINED</h2> +<p class="poetry">A vision beauteous as the morn,<br /> + With heavenly eyes and tresses streaming,<br /> +Slow glided o’er a field late shorn<br /> + Where walked a poet idly dreaming.<br /> +He saw her, and joy lit his face,<br /> + “Oh, vanish not at human speaking,”<br +/> +He cried, “thou form of magic grace,<br /> + Thou art the poem I am seeking.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I’ve sought thee long! I +claim thee now—<br /> + My thought embodied, living, real.”<br /> +She shook the tresses from her brow.<br /> + “Nay, nay!” she said, “I am +ideal.<br /> +I am the phantom of desire—<br /> + The spirit of all great endeavour,<br /> +I am the voice that says, ‘Come higher,’<br /> + That calls men up and up for ever.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span>“’Tis not alone thy thought supreme<br /> + That here upon thy path has risen;<br /> +I am the artist’s highest dream,<br /> + The ray of light he cannot prison.<br /> +I am the sweet ecstatic note<br /> + Than all glad music gladder, clearer,<br /> +That trembles in the singer’s throat,<br /> + And dies without a human hearer.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I am the greater, better yield,<br /> + That leads and cheers thy farmer neighbour,<br /> +For me he bravely tills the field<br /> + And whistles gaily at his labour.<br /> +Not thou alone, O poet soul,<br /> + Dost seek me through an endless morrow,<br /> +But to the toiling, hoping whole<br /> + I am at once the hope and sorrow.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The spirit of the unattained,<br /> + I am to those who seek to name me,<br /> +A good desired but never gained:<br /> + All shall pursue, but none shall claim +me.”</p> +<h2><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>IN THE +CROWD</h2> +<p class="poetry">How happy they are, in all seeming,<br /> + How gay, or how smilingly proud,<br /> +How brightly their faces are beaming,<br /> + These people who make up the crowd!<br /> +How they bow, how they bend, how they flutter,<br /> + How they look at each other and smile,<br /> +How they glow, and what <i>bon mots</i> they utter!<br /> + But a strange thought has found me the while!</p> +<p class="poetry">It is odd, but I stand here and fancy<br /> + These people who now play a part,<br /> +All forced by some strange necromancy<br /> + To speak, and to act, from the heart.<br /> +What a hush would come over the laughter!<br /> + What a silence would fall on the mirth!<br /> +And then what a wail would sweep after,<br /> + As the night-wind sweeps over the earth!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>If the secrets held under and hidden<br /> + In the intricate hearts of the crowd<br /> +Were suddenly called to, and bidden<br /> + To rise up and cry out aloud,<br /> +How strange one would look to another!<br /> + Old friends of long standing and years—<br /> +Own brothers would not know each other,<br /> + Robed new in their sorrows and fears.</p> +<p class="poetry">From broadcloth, and velvet, and laces,<br /> + Would echo the groans of despair,<br /> +And there would be blanching of faces<br /> + And wringing of hands and of hair.<br /> +That man with his record of honour,<br /> + That lady down there with the rose,<br /> +That girl with Spring’s freshness upon her,<br /> + Who knoweth the secrets of those?</p> +<p class="poetry">Smile on, O ye maskers, smile sweetly!<br /> + Step lightly, bow low and laugh loud!<br /> +Though the world is deceived and completely,<br /> + I know ye, O sad-hearted crowd!<br /> +I watch you with infinite pity:<br /> + But play on, play ever your part,<br /> +Be gleeful, be joyful, be witty!<br /> + ’Tis better than showing the heart.</p> +<h2><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>LIFE +AND I</h2> +<p class="poetry">Life and I are lovers, straying<br /> + Arm in arm along:<br /> +Often like two children Maying,<br /> + Full of mirth and song,</p> +<p class="poetry">Life plucks all the blooming hours<br /> + Growing by the way;<br /> +Binds them on my brow like flowers,<br /> + Calls me Queen of May.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then again, in rainy weather,<br /> + We sit vis-à-vis,<br /> +Planning work we’ll do together<br /> + In the years to be.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sometimes Life denies me blisses,<br /> + And I frown or pout;<br /> +But we make it up with kisses<br /> + Ere the day is out.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +90</span>Woman-like, I sometimes grieve him,<br /> + Try his trust and faith,<br /> +Saying I shall one day leave him<br /> + For his rival, Death.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then he always grows more zealous,<br /> + Tender, and more true;<br /> +Loves the more for being jealous,<br /> + As all lovers do.</p> +<p class="poetry">Though I swear by stars above him,<br /> + And by worlds beyond,<br /> +That I love him—love him—love him;<br /> + Though my heart is fond;</p> +<p class="poetry">Though he gives me, doth my lover,<br /> + Kisses with each breath—<br /> +I shall one day throw him over,<br /> + And plight troth with Death.</p> +<h2><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +91</span>GUERDON</h2> +<p class="poetry">Upon the white cheek of the Cherub Year<br /> + I saw a tear.<br /> +Alas! I murmured, that the Year should borrow<br /> + So soon a sorrow.<br /> +Just then the sunlight fell with sudden flame:<br /> + The tear became<br /> +A wondrous diamond sparkling in the light—<br /> + A beauteous sight.</p> +<p class="poetry">Upon my soul there fell such woeful loss,<br /> + I said, “The Cross<br /> +Is grievous for a life as young as mine.”<br /> + Just then, like wine,<br /> +God’s sunlight shone from His high Heavens down;<br /> + And lo! a crown<br /> +Gleamed in the place of what I thought a burden—<br /> + My sorrow’s guerdon.</p> +<h2><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>SNOWED +UNDER</h2> +<p class="poetry">Of a thousand things that the Year snowed +under—<br /> + The busy Old Year who has gone away—<br /> +How many will rise in the Spring, I wonder,<br /> + Brought to life by the sun of May?<br /> +Will the rose-tree branches, so wholly hidden<br /> + That never a rose-tree seems to be,<br /> +At the sweet Spring’s call come forth unbidden,<br /> + And bud in beauty, and bloom for me?</p> +<p class="poetry">Will the fair green Earth, whose throbbing +bosom<br /> + Is hid like a maid’s in her gown at night,<br +/> +Wake out of her sleep, and with blade and blossom<br /> + Gem her garments to please my sight?<br /> +Over the knoll in the valley yonder<br /> + The loveliest buttercups bloomed and grew;<br /> +When the snow has gone that drifted them under,<br /> + Will they shoot up sunward, and bloom anew?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>When wild winds blew, and a sleet-storm pelted,<br /> + I lost a jewel of priceless worth;<br /> +If I walk that way when snows have melted,<br /> + Will the gem gleam up from the bare brown Earth?<br +/> +I laid a love that was dead or dying,<br /> + For the year to bury and hide from sight;<br /> +But out of a trance will it waken, crying,<br /> + And push to my heart, like a leaf to the light?</p> +<p class="poetry">Under the snow lie things so +cherished—<br /> + Hopes, ambitions, and dreams of men—<br /> +Faces that vanished, and trusts that perished,<br /> + Never to sparkle and glow again.<br /> +The Old Year greedily grasped his plunder,<br /> + And covered it over and hurried away:<br /> +Of the thousand things that he did, I wonder<br /> + How many will rise at the call of May?<br /> +O wise Young Year, with your hands held under<br /> + Your mantle of ermine, tell me, pray!</p> +<h2><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>“LEUDEMANNS-ON-THE-RIVER.”</h2> +<p class="poetry">Toward even, when the day leans down<br /> + To kiss the upturned face of night,<br /> +Out just beyond the loud-voiced town<br /> + I know a spot of calm delight.<br /> +Like crimson arrows from a quiver<br /> + The red rays pierce the waters flowing,<br /> + While we go dreaming, singing, rowing<br /> +To Leudemanns-on-the-River.</p> +<p class="poetry">The hills, like some glad mocking-bird,<br /> + Send back our laughter and our singing,<br /> +While faint—and yet more faint is heard<br /> + The steeple bells all sweetly ringing.<br /> +Some message did the winds deliver<br /> + To each glad heart that August night,<br /> + All heard, but all heard not aright,<br /> +By Leudemanns-on-the-River.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +95</span>Night falls as in some foreign clime,<br /> + Between the hills that slope and rise.<br /> +So dusk the shades at landing-time,<br /> + We could not see each other’s eyes.<br /> +We only saw the moonbeams quiver<br /> + Far down upon the stream! that night<br /> + The new moon gave but little light<br /> +By Leudemanns-on-the-River.</p> +<p class="poetry">How dusky were those paths that led<br /> + Up from the river to the hall.<br /> +The tall trees branching overhead<br /> + Invite the early shades that fall.<br /> +In all the glad blithe world, oh, never<br /> + Were hearts more free from care than when<br /> + We wandered through those walks, we ten,<br /> +By Leudemanns-on-the-River.</p> +<p class="poetry">So soon, so soon, the changes came.<br /> + This August day we two alone,<br /> +On that same river, not the same,<br /> + Dream of a night for ever flown.<br /> +Strange distances have come to sever<br /> + The hearts that gaily beat in pleasure,<br /> + Long miles we cannot cross or measure—<br /> +From Leudemanns-on-the-River.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +96</span>We’ll pluck two leaves, dear friend, to-day.<br /> + The green, the russet! seems it strange<br /> +So soon, so soon, the leaves can change!<br /> + Ah me! so runs all life away.<br /> +This night-wind chills me, and I shiver;<br /> + The Summer-time is almost past.<br /> + One more good-bye—perhaps the last<br /> +To Leudemanns-on-the-River.</p> +<h2><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>LITTLE +BLUE HOOD</h2> +<p class="poetry">Every morning and every night<br /> + There passes our window near the street,<br /> +A little girl with an eye so bright,<br /> + And a cheek so round and a lip so sweet!<br /> +The daintiest, jauntiest little miss<br /> +That ever any one longed to kiss,</p> +<p class="poetry">She is neat as wax, and fresh to view,<br /> + And her look is wholesome, and clean, and good.<br +/> +Whatever her gown, her hood is blue,<br /> + And so we call her our “Little Blue +Hood,”<br /> +For we know not the name of the dear little lass,<br /> +But we call to each other to see her pass,</p> +<p class="poetry">“Little Blue Hood is coming +now!”<br /> + And we watch from the window while she goes by,<br +/> +She has such a bonny, smooth, white brow,<br /> + And a fearless look in her long-lashed eye!<br /> +And a certain dignity wedded to grace<br /> +Seems to envelop her form and face.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +98</span>Every morning, in sun or rain,<br /> + She walks by the window with sweet, grave air,<br /> +And never guesses behind the pane<br /> + We two are watching and thinking her fair;<br /> +Lovingly watching her down the street,<br /> +Dear little Blue Hood, bright and sweet.</p> +<p class="poetry">Somebody ties that hood of blue<br /> + Under the face so fair to see,<br /> +Somebody loves her, beside we two,<br /> + Somebody kisses her—why can’t we?<br /> +Dear Little Blue Hood fresh and fair,<br /> +Are you glad we love you, or don’t you care?</p> +<h2><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>NO +SPRING</h2> +<p class="poetry">Up from the South come the birds that were +banished,<br /> + Frightened away by the presence of frost.<br /> +Back to the vale comes the verdure that vanished,<br /> + Back to the forest the leaves that were lost.<br /> +Over the hillside the carpet of splendour,<br /> + Folded through Winter, Spring spreads down again;<br +/> +Along the horizon, the tints that were tender,<br /> + Lost hues of Summer-time, burn bright as then.</p> +<p class="poetry">Only the mountains’ high summits are +hoary,<br /> + To the ice-fettered river the sun gives a key.<br /> +Once more the gleaming shore lists to the story<br /> + Told by an amorous Summer-kissed sea.<br /> +All things revive that in Winter time perished,<br /> + The rose buds again in the light o’ the +sun,<br /> +All that was beautiful, all that was cherished,<br /> + Sweet things and dear things and all +things—save one.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +100</span>Late, when the year and the roses were lying<br /> + Low with the ruins of Summer and bloom,<br /> +Down in the dust fell a love that was dying,<br /> + And the snow piled over it, and made it a tomb.<br +/> +Lo! now the roses are budded for blossom—<br /> + Lo! now the Summer is risen again.<br /> +Why dost thou bud not, O Love of my bosom?<br /> + Why dost thou rise not, and thrill me as then?</p> +<p class="poetry">Life without love is a year without Summer,<br +/> + Heart without love is a wood without song.<br /> +Rise then, revive then, thou indolent comer:<br /> + Why dost thou lie in the dark earth so long?<br /> +Rise! ah, thou can’st not! the rose-tree that sheddest<br +/> + Its beautiful leaves, in the Springtime may +bloom,<br /> +But of cold things the coldest, of dead things the deadest,<br /> + Love buried once, rises not from the tomb.<br /> +Green things may grow on the hillside and heather,<br /> + Birds seek the forest and build there and sing.<br +/> +All things revive in the beautiful weather,<br /> + But unto a dead love there cometh no Spring.</p> +<h2><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +101</span>MIDSUMMER</h2> +<p class="poetry">After the May time, and after the June time,<br +/> + Rare with blossoms and perfumes sweet,<br /> +Cometh the round world’s royal noon time,<br /> + The red midsummer of blazing heat.<br /> +When the sun, like an eye that never closes,<br /> + Bends on the earth its fervid gaze,<br /> +And the winds are still, and the crimson roses<br /> + Droop and wither and die in its rays.</p> +<p class="poetry">Unto my heart has come that season,<br /> + O my lady, my worshipped one,<br /> +When over the stars of Pride and Reason<br /> + Sails Love’s cloudless, noonday sun.<br /> +Like a great red ball in my bosom burning<br /> + With fires that nothing can quench or tame.<br /> +It glows till my heart itself seems turning<br /> + Into a liquid lake of flame.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +102</span>The hopes half shy, and the sighs all tender,<br /> + The dreams and fears of an earlier day,<br /> +Under the noontide’s royal splendour,<br /> + Droop like roses and wither away.<br /> +From the hills of doubt no winds are blowing,<br /> + From the isle of pain no breeze is sent.<br /> +Only the sun in a white heat glowing<br /> + Over an ocean of great content.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sink, O my soul, in this golden glory,<br /> + Die, O my heart, in thy rapture-swoon,<br /> +For the Autumn must come with its mournful story,<br /> + And Love’s midsummer will fade too soon.</p> +<h2><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>A +REMINISCENCE</h2> +<p class="poetry">I saw the wild honey-bee kissing a rose<br /> + A wee one, that grows<br /> +Down low on the bush, where her sisters above<br /> + Cannot see all that’s +done<br /> + As the moments roll on.<br /> +Nor hear all the whispers and murmurs of love.</p> +<p class="poetry">They flaunt out their beautiful leaves in the +sun,<br /> + And they flirt, every one,<br /> +With the wild bees who pass, and the gay butterflies.<br /> + And that wee thing in +pink—<br /> + Why, they never once think<br /> +That she’s won a lover right under their eyes.</p> +<p class="poetry">It reminded me, Kate, of a time—you know +when!<br /> + You were so petite then,<br /> +Your dresses were short, and your feet were so small.<br /> + Your sisters, Maud-Belle<br /> + And Madeline—well,<br /> +They <i>both</i> set their caps for me, after that ball.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +104</span>How the blue eyes and black eyes smiled up in my +face!<br /> + ’Twas a neck-and-neck +race,<br /> +Till that day when you opened the door in the hall,<br /> + And looked up and looked down,<br +/> + With your sweet eyes of brown,<br +/> +And <i>you</i> seemed so tiny, and <i>I</i> felt so tall.</p> +<p class="poetry">Your sisters had sent you to keep me, my +dear,<br /> + Till they should appear.<br /> +Then you were dismissed like a child in disgrace.<br /> + How meekly you went!<br /> + But your brown eyes, they sent<br +/> +A thrill to my heart, and a flush to my face.</p> +<p class="poetry">We always were meeting some way after that.<br +/> + You hung up my hat,<br /> +And got it again, when I finished my call.<br /> + Sixteen, and <i>so</i> sweet!<br +/> + Oh, those cute little feet!<br /> +Shall I ever forget how they tripped down the hall?</p> +<p class="poetry">Shall I ever forget the first kiss by the +door,<br /> + Or the vows murmured +o’er,<br /> +Or the rage and surprise of Maud-Belle? Well-a-day,<br /> + How swiftly time flows,<br /> + And who would suppose<br /> +That a <i>bee</i> could have carried me so far away.</p> +<h2><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>A +GIRL’S FAITH</h2> +<p class="poetry">Across the miles that stretch between,<br /> + Through days of gloom or glad sunlight,<br /> +There shines a face I have not seen<br /> + Which yet doth make my world more bright.</p> +<p class="poetry">He may be near, he may be far,<br /> + Or near or far I cannot see,<br /> +But faithful as the morning star<br /> + He yet shall rise and come to me.</p> +<p class="poetry">What though fate leads us separate ways,<br /> + The world is round, and time is fleet.<br /> +A journey of a few brief days,<br /> + And face to face we two shall meet.</p> +<p class="poetry">Shall meet beneath God’s arching +skies,<br /> + While suns shall blaze, or stars shall gleam,<br /> +And looking in each other’s eyes<br /> + Shall hold the past but as a dream.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>But round and perfect and complete,<br /> + Life like a star shall climb the height,<br /> +As we two press with willing feet<br /> + Together toward the Infinite.</p> +<p class="poetry">And still behind the space between,<br /> + As back of dawns the sunbeams play,<br /> +There shines the face I have not seen,<br /> + Whose smile shall wake my world to-day.</p> +<h2><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +107</span>TWO</h2> +<p class="poetry">One leaned on velvet cushions like a +queen—<br /> + To see him pass, the hero of an hour,<br /> +Whom men called great. She bowed with languid mien,<br /> + And smiled, and blushed, and knew her beauty’s +power.</p> +<p class="poetry">One trailed her tinselled garments through the +street,<br /> + And thrust aside the crowd, and found a place<br /> +So near, the blooded courser’s prancing feet<br /> + Cast sparks of fire upon her painted face.</p> +<p class="poetry">One took the hot-house blossoms from her +breast,<br /> + And tossed them down, as he went riding by,<br /> +And blushed rose-red to see them fondly pressed<br /> + To bearded lips, while eye spoke unto eye.</p> +<p class="poetry">One, bold and hardened with her sinful life,<br +/> + Yet shrank and shivered painfully, because<br /> +His cruel glance cut keener than a knife,<br /> + The glance of him who made her what she was.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>One was observed, and lifted up to fame,<br /> + Because the hero smiled upon her! while<br /> +One who was shunned and hated, found her shame<br /> + In basking in the death-light of his smile.</p> +<h2><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>SLIPPING AWAY</h2> +<p class="poetry">Slipping away—slipping away!<br /> +Out of our brief year slips the May;<br /> +And Winter lingers, and Summer flies;<br /> +And Sorrow abideth, and Pleasure dies;<br /> +And the days are short, and the nights are long;<br /> +And little is right, and much is wrong.</p> +<p class="poetry">Slipping away is the Summer time;<br /> +It has lost its rhythm and lilting rhyme—<br /> +For the grace goes out of the day so soon,<br /> +And the tired head aches in the glare of noon,<br /> +And the way seems long to the hills that lie<br /> +Under the calm of the western sky.</p> +<p class="poetry">Slipping away are the friends whose worth<br /> +Lent a glow to the sad old earth:<br /> +One by one they slip from our sight;<br /> +One by one their graves gleam white;<br /> +Or we count them lost by the crueller death<br /> +Of a trust betrayed, or a murdered faith.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +110</span>Slipping away are the hopes that made<br /> +Bliss out of sorrow, and sun out of shade,<br /> +Slipping away is our hold on life;<br /> +And out of the struggle and wearing strife,<br /> +From joys that diminish, and woes that increase,<br /> +We are slipping away to the shores of Peace.</p> +<h2><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>IS +IT DONE?</h2> +<p class="poetry">It is done! in the fire’s fitful +flashes,<br /> + The last line has withered and curled.<br /> +In a tiny white heap of dead ashes<br /> + Lie buried the hopes of your world.<br /> +There were mad foolish vows in each letter,<br /> + It is well they have shrivelled and burned,<br /> +And the ring! oh, the ring was a fetter,<br /> + It was better removed and returned.</p> +<p class="poetry">But ah, is it done? In the embers<br /> + Where letters and tokens were cast,<br /> +Have you burned up the heart that remembers,<br /> + And treasures its beautiful past?<br /> +Do you think in this swift reckless fashion<br /> + To ruthlessly burn and destroy<br /> +The months that were freighted with passion,<br /> + The dreams that were drunken with joy?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +112</span>Can you burn up the rapture of kisses<br /> + That flashed from the lips to the soul,<br /> +Or the heart that grows sick for lost blisses<br /> + In spite of its strength of control?<br /> +Have you burned up the touch of warm fingers<br /> + That thrilled through each pulse and each vein,<br +/> +Or the sound of a voice that still lingers<br /> + And hurts with a haunting refrain?</p> +<p class="poetry">Is it done? is the life drama ended?<br /> + You have put all the lights out, and yet,<br /> +Though the curtain, rung down, has descended,<br /> + Can the actors go home and forget?<br /> +Ah, no! they will turn in their sleeping<br /> + With a strange restless pain in their hearts,<br /> +And in darkness, and anguish, and weeping,<br /> + Will dream they are playing their parts.</p> +<h2><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>A +LEAF</h2> +<p class="poetry">Somebody said, in the crowd, last eve,<br /> + That you were married, or soon to be.<br /> +I have not thought of you, I believe,<br /> + Since last we parted. Let me see:<br /> +Five long Summers have passed since then—<br /> + Each has been pleasant in its own way—<br /> +And you are but one of a dozen men<br /> + Who have played the suitor a Summer day.</p> +<p class="poetry">But, nevertheless, when I heard your name,<br +/> + Coupled with some one’s, not my own,<br /> +There burned in my bosom a sudden flame,<br /> + That carried me back to the day that is flown.<br /> +I was sitting again by the laughing brook,<br /> + With you at my feet, and the sky above,<br /> +And my heart was fluttering under your look—<br /> + The unmistakable look of Love.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +114</span>Again your breath, like a South wind, fanned<br /> + My cheek, where the blushes came and went;<br /> +And the tender clasp of your strong, warm hand<br /> + Sudden thrills through my pulses sent.<br /> +Again you were mine by Love’s own right—<br /> + Mine for ever by Love’s decree:<br /> +So for a moment it seemed last night,<br /> + When somebody mentioned your name to me.</p> +<p class="poetry">Just for the moment I thought you +mine—<br /> + Loving me, wooing me, as of old.<br /> +The tale remembered seemed half divine—<br /> + Though I held it lightly enough when told.<br /> +The past seemed fairer than when it was near,<br /> + As “blessings brighten when taking +flight;”<br /> +And just for the moment I held you dear—<br /> + When somebody mentioned your name last night.</p> +<h2><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>ÆSTHETIC</h2> +<p class="poetry">In a garb that was guiltless of colours<br /> + She stood, with a dull, listless air—<br /> +A creature of dumps and of dolours,<br /> + But most undeniably fair.</p> +<p class="poetry">The folds of her garment fell round her,<br /> + Revealing the curve of each limb;<br /> +Well proportioned and graceful I found her,<br /> + Although quite alarmingly slim.</p> +<p class="poetry">From the hem of her robe peeped one +sandal—<br /> + “High art” was she down to her feet;<br +/> +And though I could not understand all<br /> + She said, I could see she was sweet.</p> +<p class="poetry">Impressed by her limpness and languor,<br /> + I proffered a chair near at hand;<br /> +She looked back a mild sort of anger—<br /> + Posed anew, and continued to stand.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +116</span>Some praises I next tried to mutter<br /> + Of the fan that she held to her face;<br /> +She said it was “utterly utter,”<br /> + And waved it with languishing grace.</p> +<p class="poetry">I then, in a strain quite poetic,<br /> + Begged her gaze on the bow in the sky,<br /> +She looked—said its curve was +“æsthetic.”<br /> + But the “tone was too dreadfully +high.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Her lovely face, lit by the splendour<br /> + That glorified landscape and sea,<br /> +Woke thoughts that were daring and tender:<br /> + Did <i>her</i> thoughts, too, rest upon me?</p> +<p class="poetry">“Oh, tell me,” I cried, growing +bolder,<br /> + “Have I in your musings a place?”<br /> +“Well, yes,” she said over her shoulder:<br /> + “I was thinking of nothing in +space.”</p> +<h2><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +117</span>POEMS OF THE WEEK</h2> +<h3>SUNDAY</h3> +<p class="poetry">Lie still and rest, in that serene repose<br /> +That on this holy morning comes to those<br /> +Who have been burdened with the cares which make<br /> +The sad heart weary and the tired head ache.<br /> + Lie still and rest—<br /> + God’s day of all is best.</p> +<h3>MONDAY</h3> +<p class="poetry">Awake! arise! Cast off thy drowsy +dreams!<br /> +Red in the East, behold the Morning gleams.<br /> +“As Monday goes, so goes the week,” dames say.<br /> +Refreshed, renewed, use well the initial day.<br /> + And see! thy neighbour<br /> + Already seeks his labour.</p> +<h3><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +118</span>TUESDAY</h3> +<p class="poetry">Another morning’s banners are +unfurled—<br /> +Another day looks smiling on the world.<br /> +It holds new laurels for thy soul to win;<br /> +Mar not its grace by slothfulness or sin,<br /> + Nor sad, away,<br /> + Send it to yesterday.</p> +<h3>WEDNESDAY</h3> +<p class="poetry">Half-way unto the end—the week’s +high noon.<br /> +The morning hours do speed away so soon!<br /> +And, when the noon is reached, however bright,<br /> +Instinctively we look toward the night.<br /> + The glow is lost<br /> + Once the meridian cross’d.</p> +<h3>THURSDAY</h3> +<p class="poetry">So well the week has sped, hast thou a +friend,<br /> +Go spend an hour in converse. It will lend<br /> +New beauty to thy labours and thy life<br /> +To pause a little sometimes in the strife.<br /> + Toil soon seems rude<br /> + That has no interlude.</p> +<h3><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>FRIDAY</h3> +<p class="poetry">From feasts abstain; be temperate, and pray;<br +/> +Fast if thou wilt; and yet, throughout the day,<br /> +Neglect no labour and no duty shirk:<br /> +Not many hours are left thee for thy work—<br /> + And it were meet<br /> + That all should be complete.</p> +<h3>SATURDAY</h3> +<p class="poetry">Now with the almost finished task make +haste.<br /> +So near the night thou hast no time to waste.<br /> +Post up accounts, and let thy Soul’s eyes look<br /> +For flaws and errors in Life’s ledger-book.<br /> + When labours cease,<br /> + How sweet the sense of peace!</p> +<h2><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +120</span>GHOSTS</h2> +<p class="poetry"> There are +ghosts in the room.<br /> +As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there<br /> + They come out of the gloom,<br /> +And they stand at my side and they lean on my chair.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> There’s +the ghost of a Hope<br /> +That lighted my days with a fanciful glow.<br /> + In her hand is the rope<br /> +That strangled her life out. Hope was slain long ago.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But her +ghost comes to-night,<br /> +With its skeleton face and expressionless eyes,<br /> + And it stands in the light,<br /> +And mocks me, and jeers me with sobs and with sighs.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> There’s +the ghost of a Joy,<br /> +A frail, fragile thing, and I prized it too much,<br /> + And the hands that destroy<br /> +Clasped it close, and it died at the withering touch.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a +name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +121</span>There’s the ghost of a Love,<br /> +Born with joy, reared with hope, died in pain and unrest,<br /> + But he towers above<br /> +All the others—this ghost: yet a ghost at the best.</p> +<p class="poetry"> I am weary, +and fain<br /> +Would forget all these dead: but the gibbering host<br /> + Make my struggle in vain,<br /> +In each shadowy corner there lurketh a ghost.</p> +<h2><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>FLEEING AWAY</h2> +<p class="poetry">My thoughts soar not as they ought to soar,<br +/> + Higher and higher on soul-lent wings;<br /> +But ever and often, and more and more<br /> + They are dragged down earthward by little things,<br +/> +By little troubles and little needs,<br /> +As a lark might be tangled among the weeds.</p> +<p class="poetry">My purpose is not what it ought to be,<br /> + Steady and fixed, like a star on high,<br /> +But more like a fisherman’s light at sea;<br /> + Hither and thither it seems to fly—<br /> +Sometimes feeble, and sometimes bright,<br /> +Then suddenly lost in the gloom of night.</p> +<p class="poetry">My life is far from my dream of life—<br +/> + Calmly contented, serenely glad;<br /> +But, vexed and worried by daily strife,<br /> + It is always troubled, and ofttimes sad—<br /> +And the heights I had thought I should reach one day<br /> +Grow dimmer and dimmer, and farther away.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +123</span>My heart finds never the longed-for rest;<br /> + Its worldly striving, its greed for gold,<br /> +Chilled and frightened the calm-eyed guest,<br /> + Who sometimes sought me in days of old;<br /> +And ever fleeing away from me<br /> +Is the higher self that I long to be.</p> +<h2><a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>ALL +MAD</h2> +<p class="poetry">“He is mad as a hare, poor fellow,<br /> + And should be in chains,” you say.<br /> +I haven’t a doubt of your statement,<br /> + But who isn’t mad, I pray?<br /> +Why, the world is a great asylum,<br /> + And people are all insane,<br /> +Gone daft with pleasure or folly,<br /> + Or crazed with passion and pain.</p> +<p class="poetry">The infant who shrieks at a shadow,<br /> + The child with his Santa Claus faith,<br /> +The woman who worships Dame Fashion,<br /> + Each man with his notions of death,<br /> +The miser who hoards up his earnings,<br /> + The spendthrift who wastes them too soon,<br /> +The scholar grown blind in his delving,<br /> + The lover who stares at the moon.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +125</span>The poet who thinks life a pæan,<br /> + The cynic who thinks it a fraud,<br /> +The youth who goes seeking for pleasure,<br /> + The preacher who dares talk of God,<br /> +All priests with their creeds and their croaking,<br /> + All doubters who dare to deny,<br /> +The gay who find aught to wake laughter,<br /> + The sad who find aught worth a sigh,<br /> +Whoever is downcast or solemn,<br /> + Whoever is gleeful and glad,<br /> +Are only the dupes of delusions—<br /> + We are all of us—all of us mad.</p> +<h2><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +126</span>HIDDEN GEMS</h2> +<p class="poetry">We know not what lies in us, till we seek;<br +/> + Men dive for pearls—they are not found on +shore,<br /> +The hillsides most unpromising and bleak<br /> + Do sometimes hide the ore.</p> +<p class="poetry">Go, dive in the vast ocean of thy mind,<br /> + O man! far down below the noisy waves,<br /> +Down in the depths and silence thou mayst find<br /> + Rare pearls and coral caves.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sink thou a shaft into the mine of thought;<br +/> + Be patient, like the seekers after gold;<br /> +Under the rocks and rubbish lieth what<br /> + May bring thee wealth untold.</p> +<p class="poetry">Reflected from the vastly Infinite,<br /> + However dulled by earth, each human mind<br /> +Holds somewhere gems of beauty and of light<br /> + Which, seeking, thou shalt find.</p> +<h2><a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +127</span>BY-AND-BYE</h2> +<p class="poetry">“By-and-bye,” the maiden +sighed—“by-and-bye<br /> +He will claim me for his bride,<br /> +Hope is strong and time is fleet;<br /> +Youth is fair, and love is sweet,<br /> +Clouds will pass that fleck my sky,<br /> +He will come back by-and-bye—by-and-bye.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“By-and-bye,” the soldier +said—“by-and-bye,<br /> +After I have fought and bled,<br /> +I shall go home from the wars,<br /> +Crowned with glory, seamed with scars.<br /> +Joy will flash from some one’s eye<br /> +When she greets me by-and-bye—by-and-bye.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“By-and-bye,” the mother +cried—“by-and-bye,<br /> +Strong and sturdy at my side,<br /> +Like a staff supporting me,<br /> +Will my bonnie baby be.<br /> +Break my rest, then, wail and cry—<br /> +Thou’lt repay me by-and-bye—by-and-bye.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +128</span>Fleeting years of time have sped—hurried +by—<br /> +Still the maiden is unwed:<br /> +All unknown the soldier lies,<br /> +Buried under alien skies;<br /> +And the son, with blood-shot eye,<br /> +Saw his mother starve and die.<br /> +God in Heaven! dost Thou on high,<br /> +Keep the promised “by-and-bye”—by-and-bye?</p> +<h2><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>OVER +THE MAY HILL</h2> +<p class="poetry">All through the night time, and all through the +day time,<br /> + Dreading the morning and dreading the night,<br /> +Nearer and nearer we drift to the May time<br /> + Season of beauty and season of blight,<br /> +Leaves on the linden, and sun on the meadow,<br /> + Green in the garden, and bloom everywhere,<br /> +Gloom in my heart, and a terrible shadow,<br /> + Walks by me, sits by me, stands by my chair.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, but the birds by the brooklet are +cheery,<br /> + Oh, but the woods show such delicate greens,<br /> +Strange how you droop and how soon you are weary—<br /> + Too well I know what that weariness means.<br /> +But how could I know in the crisp winter weather<br /> + (Though sometimes I noticed a catch in your +breath),<br /> +Riding and singing and dancing together,<br /> + How could I know you were racing with death?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>How could I know when we danced until morning,<br /> + And you were the gayest of all the gay +crowd—<br /> +With only that shortness of breath for a warning,<br /> + How could I know that you danced for a shroud?<br /> +Whirling and whirling through moonlight and starlight.<br /> + Rocking as lightly as boats on the wave,<br /> +Down in your eyes shone a deep light—a far light,<br /> + How could I know ’twas the light to your +grave?</p> +<p class="poetry">Day by day, day by day, nearing and nearing,<br +/> + Hid under greenness, and beauty and bloom,<br /> +Cometh the shape and the shadow I’m fearing,<br /> + “Over the May hill” is waiting your +tomb.<br /> +The season of mirth and of music is over—<br /> + I have danced my last dance, I have sung my last +song,<br /> +Under the violets, under the clover,<br /> + My heart and my love will be lying ere long</p> +<h2><a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +131</span>FOES</h2> +<p class="poetry">Thank Fate for foes! I hold mine dear<br +/> + As valued friends. He cannot know<br /> +The zest of life who runneth here<br /> + His earthly race without a foe.</p> +<p class="poetry">I saw a prize. “Run,” cried +my friend;<br /> + “’Tis thine to claim without a +doubt.”<br /> +But ere I half-way reached the end,<br /> + I felt my strength was giving out.</p> +<p class="poetry">My foe looked on the while I ran;<br /> + A scornful triumph lit his eyes.<br /> +With that perverseness born in man,<br /> + I nerved myself, and won the prize.</p> +<p class="poetry">All blinded by the crimson glow<br /> + Of sin’s disguise, I tempted Fate.<br /> +“I knew thy weakness!” sneered my foe,<br /> + I saved myself, and balked his hate.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>For half my blessings, half my gain,<br /> + I needs must thank my trusty foe;<br /> +Despite his envy and disdain,<br /> + He serves me well where’er I go.</p> +<p class="poetry">So may I keep him to the end,<br /> + Nor may his enmity abate:<br /> +More faithful than the fondest friend,<br /> + He guards me ever with his hate.</p> +<h2><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span>FRIENDSHIP</h2> +<p class="poetry">Dear friend, I pray thee, if thou wouldst be +proving<br /> + Thy strong regard for me,<br /> +Make me no vows. Lip-service is not loving;<br /> + Let thy faith speak for thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Swear not to me that nothing can divide +us—<br /> + So little such oaths mean.<br /> +But when distrust and envy creep beside us<br /> + Let them not come between.</p> +<p class="poetry">Say not to me the depths of thy devotion<br /> + Are deeper than the sea;<br /> +But watch, lest doubt or some unkind emotion<br /> + Embitter them for me.</p> +<p class="poetry">Vow not to love me ever and for ever,<br /> + Words are such idle things;<br /> +But when we differ in opinions, never<br /> + Hurt me by little stings.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>I’m sick of words: they are so lightly spoken,<br +/> + And spoken, are but air.<br /> +I’d rather feel thy trust in me unbroken<br /> + Than list thy words so fair.</p> +<p class="poetry">If all the little proofs of trust are +heeded,<br /> + If thou art always kind,<br /> +No sacrifice, no promise will be needed<br /> + To satisfy my mind.</p> +<h2><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>TWO +SAT DOWN</h2> +<p class="poetry">Two sat down in the morning time,<br /> + One to sing and one to spin.<br /> +All men listened the song sublime—<br /> + But no one listened the dull wheel’s din.</p> +<p class="poetry">The singer sat in a pleasant nook,<br /> + And sang of a life that was fair and sweet,<br /> +While the spinner sat with a steadfast look,<br /> + Busily plying her hands and feet.</p> +<p class="poetry">The singer sang on with a rose in her hair,<br +/> + And all men listened her dulcet tone;<br /> +And the spinner spun on with a dull despair<br /> + Down in her heart as she sat alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">But lo! on the morrow no one said<br /> + Aught of the singer or what she sang.<br /> +Men were saying: “Behold this thread,”<br /> + And loud the praise of the spinner rang.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +136</span>The world has forgotten the singer’s +name—<br /> + Her rose is faded, her songs are old;<br /> +But far o’er the ocean the spinner’s fame<br /> + Yet is blazoned in lines of gold.</p> +<h2><a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +137</span>BOUND AND FREE</h2> +<p class="poetry">Come to me, Love! Come on the wings of +the wind!<br /> + Fly as the ring-dove would fly to his mate!<br /> +Leave all your cares and your sorrows behind!<br /> + Leave all the fears of your future to Fate!<br /> +Come! and our skies shall be glad with the gold<br /> + That paled into gray when you parted from me.<br /> +Come! but remember that, just as of old,<br /> + You must be bound, Love, and I must be free.</p> +<p class="poetry">Life has lost savour since you and I parted;<br +/> + I have been lonely, and you have been sad.<br /> +Youth is too brief to be sorrowful-hearted—<br /> + Come! and again let us laugh and be glad.<br /> +Lips should not sigh that are fashioned to kiss—<br /> + Breasts should not ache that joy’s secrets +have found.<br /> +Come! but remember, in spite of all this,<br /> + I must be free, Love, while you must be bound.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</span>You must be bound to be true while you live,<br /> + And I keep my freedom for ever, as now.<br /> +You must ask only for that which I give—<br /> + Kisses and love-words, but never a vow.<br /> +Come! I am lonely, and long for your smile,<br /> + Bring back the lost lovely Summer to me!<br /> +Come! but remember, remember the while,<br /> + That you must be bound, Love, and I must be +free.</p> +<h2><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span>AQUILEIA</h2> +<p>[On the election of the Roman Emperor Maximus, by the Senate, +<span class="GutSmall">A.D.</span> 238, a powerful army, headed +by the Thracian giant Maximus, laid siege to Aquileia. +Though poorly prepared for war, the constancy of her citizens +rendered her impregnable. The women of Aquileia cut off +their hair to make ropes for the military engines. The +small body of troops was directed by Chrispinus, a Lieutenant of +the Senate. Apollo was the deity supposed to protect +them.—<i>Gibbon’s Roman History</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry">“The ropes, the ropes! Apollo send +us ropes,”<br /> +Chrispinus cried, “or death attends our hopes.”<br /> +Then panic reigned, and many a mournful sound<br /> +Hurt the cleft air; for where could ropes be found?</p> +<p class="poetry">Up rose a Roman mother; tall was she<br /> +As her own son, a youth of noble height.<br /> +A little child was clinging to her knee—<br /> +She loosed his twining arms and put him down,<br /> +And her dark eyes flashed with a sudden light.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +140</span>How like a queen she stood! her royal crown,<br /> +The rich dark masses of her splendid hair.<br /> +Just flecked with spots of sunshine here and there,<br /> +Twined round her brow; ’twas like a coronet,<br /> +Where gems of gold lie bedded deep in jet.</p> +<p class="poetry">She loosed the comb that held the shining +strands,<br /> +And threaded out the meshes with her hands.<br /> +The purple mass fell to her garment’s hem.<br /> +A queen new clothed without her diadem<br /> +She stood before her subjects.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> “Now,” +she cried,<br /> +“Give me thy sword, Julianus!” And her son<br +/> +Unsheathed the blade (that had not left his side<br /> +Save when it sought a foeman’s blood to shed),<br /> +Awed by her regal bearing, and obeyed.</p> +<p class="poetry">With the white beauty of her firm fair hand<br +/> +She clasped the hilt; then severed, one by one,<br /> +Her gold-flecked purple tresses. Strand on strand,<br /> +Free e’en as foes had fallen by that blade,<br /> +Robbed of its massive wealth of curl and coil,<br /> +Yet like some antique model, rose her head<br /> +In all its classic beauty.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> <a +name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +141</span>“See!” she said,<br /> +And pointed to the shining mound of hair;<br /> +“Apollo makes swift answer to thy prayer,<br /> +Chrispinus. Quick! now, soldiers, to thy toil!”<br /> +Forth from a thousand throats what seemed one voice<br /> +Rose shrilly, filling all the air with cheer.<br /> +“Lo!” quoth the foe, “our enemies +rejoice!”<br /> +Well might the Thracian giant quake with fear!<br /> +For while skilled hands caught up the gleaming threads<br /> +And bound them into cords, a hundred heads<br /> +Yielded their beauteous tresses to the sword,<br /> +And cast them down to swell the precious hoard.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor was the noble sacrifice in vain<br /> +Another day beheld the giant slain.</p> +<h2><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</span>WISHES FOR A LITTLE GIRL</h2> +<p class="poetry">What would I ask the kindly fates to give<br /> + To crown her life, if I could have my way?<br /> +My strongest wishes would be negative,<br /> + If they would but obey.</p> +<p class="poetry">Give her not greatness. For great souls +must stand<br /> + Alone and lonely in this little world:<br /> +Cleft rocks that show the great Creator’s hand,<br /> + Thither by earthquakes hurled.</p> +<p class="poetry">Give her not genius. Spare her the cruel +pain<br /> + Of finding her whole life a prey for daws;<br /> +Of hearing with quickened sense and burning brain<br /> + The world’s sneer-tinged applause.</p> +<p class="poetry">Give her not perfect beauty’s +gifts. For then<br /> + Her truthful mirror would infuse her mind<br /> +With love for self, and for the praise of men,<br /> + That lowers woman-kind.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +143</span>But make her fair and comely to the sight,<br /> + Give her more heart than brain, more love than +pride.<br /> +Let her be tender-thoughted, cheerful, bright,<br /> + Some strong man’s star and guide.</p> +<p class="poetry">Not vainly questioning why she was sent<br /> + Into this restless world of toil and strife,<br /> +Let her go bravely on her way, content<br /> + To make the best of life.</p> +<h2><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +144</span>ROMNEY</h2> +<p class="poetry">Nay, Romney, nay—I will not hear you +say<br /> + Those words again: “I love you, love you +sweet!”<br /> + You are profane—blasphemous. I +repeat,<br /> +You are no actor for so grand a play.</p> +<p class="poetry">You love with all your heart? Well, that +may be;<br /> + Some cups are fashioned shallow. Should I +try<br /> + To quench my thirst from one of those, when +dry—<br /> +I who have had a full bowl proffered me—</p> +<p class="poetry">A new bowl brimming with a draught divine,<br +/> + One single taste thrilled to the finger-tips?<br /> + Think you I even care to bathe my lips<br /> +With this poor sweetened water you call wine?</p> +<p class="poetry">And though I spilled the nectar ere ’twas +quaffed,<br /> + And broke the bowl in wanton folly, yet<br /> + I would die of my thirst ere I would wet<br /> +My burning lips with any meaner draught.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +145</span>So leave me, Romney. One who has seen a play<br +/> + Enacted by a star cannot endure<br /> + To see it rendered by an amateur.<br /> +You know not what Love is—now go away!</p> +<h2><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>MY +HOME</h2> +<p class="poetry">This is the place that I love the best,<br /> +A little brown house like a ground-bird’s nest,<br /> +Hid among grasses, and vines, and trees,<br /> +Summer retreat of the birds and bees.</p> +<p class="poetry">The tenderest light that ever was seen<br /> +Sifts through the vine-made window screen—<br /> +Sifts and quivers, and flits and falls<br /> +On home-made carpets and gray-hung walls.</p> +<p class="poetry">All through June, the west wind free<br /> +The breath of the clover brings to me.<br /> +All through the languid July day<br /> +I catch the scent of the new-mown hay.</p> +<p class="poetry">The morning glories and scarlet vine<br /> +Over the doorway twist and twine;<br /> +And every day, when the house is still,<br /> +The humming-bird comes to the window-sill.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +147</span>In the cunningest chamber under the sun<br /> +I sink to sleep when the day is done;<br /> +And am waked at morn, in my snow-white bed,<br /> +By a singing-bird on the roof o’erhead.</p> +<p class="poetry">Better than treasures brought from Rome<br /> +Are the living pictures I see at home—<br /> +My aged father, with frosted hair,<br /> +And mother’s face like a painting rare<br /> +Far from the city’s dust and heat,<br /> +I get but sounds and odours sweet.<br /> +Who can wonder I love to stay,<br /> +Week after week, here hidden away,<br /> +In this sly nook that I love the best—<br /> +The little brown house, like a ground-bird’s nest?</p> +<h2><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 148</span>TO +MARRY OR NOT TO MARRY?<br /> +<span class="smcap">A Girl’s Reverie</span></h2> +<p class="poetry">Mother says, “Be in no hurry,<br /> +Marriage oft means care and worry.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Auntie says, with manner grave,<br /> +“Wife is synonym for slave.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Father asks, in tones commanding,<br /> +“How does Bradstreet rate his standing?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Sister crooning to her twins,<br /> +Sighs, “With marriage care begins.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Grandma, near life’s closing days,<br /> +Murmurs, “Sweet are girlhood’s ways.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Maud, twice widowed (“sod and +grass”)<br /> +Looks at me and moans “Alas!”</p> +<p class="poetry">They are six, and I am one,<br /> +Life for me has just begun.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +149</span>They are older, calmer, wiser:<br /> +Age should aye be youth’s adviser.</p> +<p class="poetry">They must know—and yet, dear me,<br /> +When in Harry’s eyes I see</p> +<p class="poetry">All the world of love there burning—<br +/> +On my six advisers turning,</p> +<p class="poetry">I make answer, “Oh, but Harry<br /> +Is not like most men who marry.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Fate has offered me a prize,<br /> +Life with love means Paradise.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Life without it is not worth<br /> +All the foolish joys of earth.”</p> +<p class="poetry">So, in spite of all they say,<br /> +I shall name the wedding day.</p> +<h2><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>AN +AFTERNOON</h2> +<p class="poetry">I am stirred by the dream of an afternoon<br /> +Of a perfect day—though it was not June;<br /> +The lilt of winds, and the droning tune<br /> + That a busy city was humming.</p> +<p class="poetry">And a bronze-brown head, and lips like wine<br +/> +Leaning out through the window-vine<br /> +A-list for steps that were maybe mine—<br /> + Eager steps that were coming.</p> +<p class="poetry">I can see it all, as a dreamer may—<br /> +The tender smile on your lips that day,<br /> +And the glow on your cheek as we rode away<br /> + Into the golden weather.</p> +<p class="poetry">And a love-light shone in your eyes of +brown—<br /> +I swear there did!—as we drove down<br /> +The crowded avenue out of the town,<br /> + Through shadowy lanes, together:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>Drove out into the sunset-skies<br /> +That glowed with wonderful crimson dyes;<br /> +And with soul and spirit, and heart and eyes,<br /> + We silently drank their splendour.</p> +<p class="poetry">But the golden glory that lit the place<br /> +Was not alone from the sunset’s grace—<br /> +For I saw in your fair, uplifted face<br /> + A light that was wondrously tender.</p> +<p class="poetry">I say I saw it. And yet to-day<br /> +I ask myself, in a cynical way,<br /> +Was it only a part you had learned to play,<br /> + To see me act the lover?</p> +<p class="poetry">And I curse myself for a fool. And yet<br +/> +I would willingly die without one regret<br /> +Could I bring back the day whose sun has set—<br /> + And you—and live it over.</p> +<h2><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +152</span>RIVER AND SEA</h2> +<p class="poetry">We stood by the river that swept<br /> + In its glory and grandeur away;<br /> +But never a pulse o’ me leapt,<br /> + And you wondered at me that day.</p> +<p class="poetry">We stood by the lake as it lay<br /> + With its dimpled face turned to the light;<br /> +Was it strange I had nothing to say<br /> + To so fair and enchanting a sight?</p> +<p class="poetry">I look on your tresses of gold—<br /> + You are fair and a thing to be loved—<br /> +Do you think I am heartless and cold<br /> + That I look and am wholly unmoved?</p> +<p class="poetry">One answer, dear friend, I will make<br /> + To the questions your eyes ask of me:<br /> +“Talk not of the river or lake<br /> + To those who have looked on the sea”</p> +<h2><a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>WHAT +HAPPENS?</h2> +<p class="poetry">When thy hand touches mine, through all the +mesh<br /> + Of intricate and interlacèd veins<br /> + Shoot swift delights that border on keen pains:<br +/> +Flesh thrills to thrilling flesh.</p> +<p class="poetry">When in thine eager eyes I look to find<br /> + A comrade to my thought, thy ready brain<br /> + Delves down and makes its inmost meaning plain:<br +/> +Mind answers unto mind.</p> +<p class="poetry">When hands and eyes are hid by seas that +roll<br /> + Wide wastes between us, still so near thou art<br /> + I count the very pulses of thy heart:<br /> +Soul speaketh unto soul.</p> +<p class="poetry">So every law, or human or divine,<br /> +In heart and brain and spirit makes thee mine.</p> +<h2><a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +154</span>POSSESSION</h2> +<p class="poetry">That which we had we still possess,<br /> + Though leaves may drop and stars may fall;<br /> +No circumstance can make it less,<br /> + Or take it from us, all in all.</p> +<p class="poetry">That which is lost we did not own;<br /> + We only held it for a day—<br /> +A leaf by careless breezes blown;<br /> + No fate could take our own away.</p> +<p class="poetry">I hold it as a changeless law<br /> + From which no soul can sway or swerve,<br /> +We have that in us which will draw<br /> + Whate’er we need or most deserve.</p> +<p class="poetry">Even as the magnet to the steel<br /> + Our souls are to our best desires;<br /> +The Fates have hearts and they can feel—<br /> + They know what each true life requires.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +155</span>We think we lose when we most gain;<br /> + We call joys ended ere begun;<br /> +When stars fade out do skies complain,<br /> + Or glory in the rising sun?</p> +<p class="poetry">No fate could rob us of our own—<br /> + No circumstance can make it less;<br /> +What time removes was but a loan,<br /> + For what was ours we still possess.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> + +<div class="gapmediumline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Printed by Hazell</i>, <i>Watson +& Viney</i>, <i>Ld.</i>, <i>London and Aylesbury</i>.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF CHEER***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 3238-h.htm or 3238-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/2/3/3238 + + + +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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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.12.12.00*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced from the 1914 Gay and Hancock edition by +David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +POEMS OF CHEER + +by Ella Wheeler Wilcox + + + + +CONTENTS + +Worth while +The House of Life +A Song of Life +Prayer +In the Long Run +As you go through Life +Two Sunsets +Unrest +Artist's life +Nothing but Stones +Inevitable +The Ocean of Song +"It might have been" +Momus, God of Laughter +I Dream +The Sonnet +The Past +A Dream +Uselessness +Will +Winter Rain +Life +Burdened +Let them go +Five Kisses +Retrospection +Helena +Nothing Remains +Comrades +What Gain? +To the West +The Land of Content +Warning +After the Battles are over +And they are dumb +Night +All for me +Into Space +Through Dim Eyes +The Punished +Half Fledged +The Year +The Unattained +In the crowd +Life and I +Guerdon +Snowed Under +"Leudemanns-on-the-river" +Little Blue Hood +No Spring +Midsummer +A Reminiscence +A Girl's Faith +Two +Slipping Away +Is it done? +A Leaf +Aesthetic +Poems of the Week +Ghosts +Fleeing away +All mad +Hidden Gems +By-and-bye +Over the May Hill +Foes +Friendship +Two sat down +Bound and free +Aquileia +Wishes for a little girl +Romney +My Home +To marry or not to marry? +An Afternoon +River and Sea +What happens? +Possession + + +This Volume contains the poems published under the title "Poems of +Life," with the exception of about half a dozen, which appear in my +other volumes. I have also added a few new verses. + +ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. +April 12th, 1910. + +I step across the mystic border-land, +And look upon the wonder-world of Art. +How beautiful, how beautiful its hills! +And all its valleys, how surpassing fair! + +The winding paths that lead up to the heights +Are polished by the footsteps of the great. +The mountain-peaks stand very near to God: +The chosen few whose feet have trod thereon +Have talked with Him, and with the angels walked. + +Here are no sounds of discord--no profane +Or senseless gossip of unworthy things - +Only the songs of chisels and of pens, +Of busy brushes, and ecstatic strains +Of souls surcharged with music most divine. +Here is no idle sorrow, no poor grief +For any day or object left behind - +For time is counted precious, and herein +Is such complete abandonment of Self +That tears turn into rainbows, and enhance +The beauty of the land where all is fair. +Awed and afraid, I cross the border-land. +Oh, who am I, that I dare enter here +Where the great artists of the world have trod - +The genius-crowned aristocrats of Earth? +Only the singer of a little song; +Yet loving Art with such a mighty love +I hold it greater to have won a place +Just on the fair land's edge, to make my grave, +Than in the outer world of greed and gain +To sit upon a royal throne and reign. + + + +WORTH WHILE + + + +It is easy enough to be pleasant + When life flows by like a song, +But the man worth while is the one who will smile + When everything goes dead wrong. +For the test of the heart is trouble, + And it always comes with the years, +And the smile that is worth the praises of earth + Is the smile that shines through tears. + +It is easy enough to be prudent + When nothing tempts you to stray, +When without or within no voice of sin + Is luring your soul away; +But it's only a negative virtue + Until it is tried by fire, +And the life that is worth the honour on earth + Is the one that resists desire. + +By the cynic, the sad, the fallen, + Who had no strength for the strife, +The world's highway is cumbered to-day - + They make up the sum of life; +But the virtue that conquers passion, + And the sorrow that hides in a smile - +It is these that are worth the homage on earth, + For we find them but once in a while. + + + +THE HOUSE OF LIFE + + + +All wondering, and eager-eyed, within her portico +I made my plea to Hostess Life, one morning long ago. + +"Pray show me this great house of thine, nor close a single door; +But let me wander where I will, and climb from floor to floor! + +For many rooms, and curious things, and treasures great and small +Within your spacious mansion lie, and I would see them all." + +Then Hostess Life turned silently, her searching gaze on me, +And with no word, she reached her hand, and offered up the key. + +It opened first the door of Hope, and long I lingered there, +Until I spied the room of Dreams, just higher by a stair. + +And then a door whereon the one word "Happiness" was writ; +But when I tried the little key I could not make it fit. + +It turned the lock of Pleasure's room, where first all seemed so +bright - +But after I had stayed awhile it somehow lost its light. + +And wandering down a lonely hall, I came upon a room +Marked "Duty," and I entered it--to lose myself in gloom. + +Along the shadowy halls I groped my weary way about, +And found that from dull Duty's room, a door of Toil led out. + +It led out to another door, whereon a crimson stain +Made sullenly against the dark these words: "The Room of Pain." + +But oh the light, the light, the light, that spilled down from above +And upward wound, the stairs of Faith, right to the Tower of Love! + +And when I came forth from that place, I tried the little key - +And lo! the door of Happiness swung open, wide and free. + + + +A SONG OF LIFE + + + +In the rapture of life and of living, + I lift up my heart and rejoice, +And I thank the great Giver for giving + The soul of my gladness a voice. +In the glow of the glorious weather, + In the sweet-scented, sensuous air, +My burdens seem light as a feather - + They are nothing to bear. + +In the strength and the glory of power, + In the pride and the pleasure of wealth +(For who dares dispute me my dower + Of talents and youth-time and health?), +I can laugh at the world and its sages - + I am greater than seers who are sad, +For he is most wise in all ages + Who knows how to be glad. + +I lift up my eyes to Apollo, + The god of the beautiful days, +And my spirit soars off like a swallow, + And is lost in the light of its rays. +Are you troubled and sad? I beseech you + Come out of the shadows of strife - +Come out in the sun while I teach you + The secret of life. + +Come out of the world--come above it - + Up over its crosses and graves, +Though the green earth is fair and I love it, + We must love it as masters, not slaves. +Come up where the dust never rises - + But only the perfume of flowers - +And your life shall be glad with surprises + Of beautiful hours. +Come up where the rare golden wine is + Apollo distills in my sight, +And your life shall be happy as mine is, + And as full of delight. + + + +PRAYER + + + +I do not undertake to say + That literal answers come from Heaven, +But I know this--that when I pray + A comfort, a support is given +That helps me rise o'er earthly things +As larks soar up on airy wings. + +In vain the wise philosopher + Points out to me my fabric's flaws, +In vain the scientists aver + That "all things are controlled by laws." +My life has taught me day by day +That it availeth much to pray. + +I do not stop to reason out + The why and how. I do not care, +Since I know this, that when I doubt, + Life seems a blackness of despair, +The world a tomb; and when I trust, +Sweet blossoms spring up in the dust. + +Since I know in the darkest hour, + If I lift up my soul in prayer, +Some sympathetic, loving Power + Sends hope and comfort to me there. +Since balm is sent to ease my pain, +What need to argue or explain? + +Prayer has a sweet, refining grace, + It educates the soul and heart. +It lends a lustre to the face, + And by its elevating art +It gives the mind an inner sight +That brings it near the Infinite. + +From our gross selves it helps us rise + To something which we yet may be. +And so I ask not to be wise, + If thus my faith is lost to me. +Faith, that with angel's voice and touch +Says, "Pray, for prayer availeth much." + + + +IN THE LONG RUN + + + +In the long run fame finds the deserving man. + The lucky wight may prosper for a day, +But in good time true merit leads the van + And vain pretence, unnoticed, goes its way. +There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate, +But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait, + In the long run. + +In the long run all godly sorrow pays, + There is no better thing than righteous pain, +The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days, + Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain. +Unmeaning joys enervate in the end, +But sorrow yields a glorious dividend + In the long run. + +In the long run all hidden things are known, + The eye of truth will penetrate the night, +And good or ill, thy secret shall be known, + However well 'tis guarded from the light. +All the unspoken motives of the breast +Are fathomed by the years and stand confess'd + In the long run. + +In the long run all love is paid by love, + Though undervalued by the hosts of earth; +The great eternal Government above + Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth. +Give thy love freely; do not count the cost; +So beautiful a thing was never lost + In the long run. + + + +AS YOU GO THROUGH LIFE + + + +Don't look for the flaws as you go through life; + And even when you find them, +It is wise and kind to be somewhat blind, + And look for the virtue behind them; +For the cloudiest night has a hint of light + Somewhere in its shadows hiding; +It's better by far to hunt for a star, + Than the spots on the sun abiding. + +The current of life runs ever away + To the bosom of God's great ocean. +Don't set your force 'gainst the river's course, + And think to alter its motion. +Don't waste a curse on the universe, + Remember, it lived before you; +Don't butt at the storm with your puny form, + But bend and let it go o'er you. + +The world will never adjust itself + To suit your whims to the letter, +Some things must go wrong your whole life long, + And the sooner you know it the better. +It is folly to fight with the Infinite, + And go under at last in the wrestle. +The wiser man shapes into God's plan, + As water shapes into a vessel. + + + +TWO SUNSETS + + + +In the fair morning of his life, + When his pure heart lay in his breast, + Panting, with all that wild unrest +To plunge into the great world's strife + +That fills young hearts with mad desire, + He saw a sunset. Red and gold + The burning billows surged and rolled, +And upward tossed their caps of fire. + +He looked. And as he looked, the sight + Sent from his soul through breast and brain + Such intense joy, it hurt like pain. +His heart seemed bursting with delight. + +So near the Unknown seemed, so close + He might have grasped it with his hands + He felt his inmost soul expand, +As sunlight will expand a rose + +One day he heard a singing strain - + A human voice, in bird-like trills. + He paused, and little rapture-rills +Went trickling downward through each vein. + +And in his heart the whole day long, + As in a temple veiled and dim, + He kept and bore about with him +The beauty of that singer's song. + +And then? But why relate what then? + His smouldering heart flamed into fire - + He had his one supreme desire, +And plunged into the world of men. + +For years queen Folly held her sway. + With pleasures of the grosser kind + She fed his flesh and drugged his mind, +Till, shamed, he sated, turned away. + +He sought his boyhood's home. + That hour Triumphant should have been, in sooth, + Since he went forth, an unknown youth, +And came back crowned with wealth and power. + +The clouds made day a gorgeous bed; + He saw the splendour of the sky + With unmoved heart and stolid eye; +He only knew the West was red. + +Then suddenly a fresh young voice + Rose, bird-like, from some hidden place, + He did not even turn his face - +It struck him simply as a noise. + +He trod the old paths up and down. + Their rich-hued leaves by Fall winds whirled - + How dull they were--how dull the world - +Dull even in the pulsing town. + +O! worst of punishments, that brings + A blunting of all finer sense, + A loss of feelings keen, intense, +And dulls us to the higher things. + +O! penalty most dire, most sure, + Swift following after gross delights, + That we no more see beauteous sights, +Or hear as hear the good and pure. + +O! shape more hideous and more dread + Than Vengeance takes in creed-taught minds, + This certain doom that blunts and blinds, +And strikes the holiest feelings dead. + + + +UNREST + + + +In the youth of the year, when the birds were building, + When the green was showing on tree and hedge, +And the tenderest light of all lights was gilding + The world from zenith to outermost edge, +My soul grew sad and longingly lonely! + I sighed for the season of sun and rose, +And I said, "In the Summer and that time only + Lies sweet contentment and blest repose." + +With bee and bird for her maids of honour + Came Princess Summer in robes of green. +And the King of day smiled down upon her + And wooed her, and won her, and made her queen. +Fruit of their union and true love's pledges, + Beautiful roses bloomed day by day, +And rambled in gardens and hid in hedges + Like royal children in sportive play. + +My restless soul for a little season + Revelled in rapture of glow and bloom, +And then, like a subject who harbours treason, + Grew full of rebellion and grey with gloom. +And I said, "I am sick of the summer's blisses, + Of warmth and beauty, and nothing more. +The full fruition my sad soul misses + That beauteous Fall-time holds in store!" + +But now when the colours are almost blinding, + Burning and blending on bush and tree, +And the rarest fruits are mine for the finding, + And the year is ripe as a year can be, +My soul complains in the same old fashion; + Crying aloud in my troubled breast +Is the same old longing, the same old passion. + O where is the treasure which men call rest? + + + +"ARTIST'S LIFE" + + + +Of all the waltzes the great Strauss wrote, + Mad with melody, rhythm--rife +From the very first to the final note. + Give me his "Artist's Life!" + +It stirs my blood to my finger-ends, + Thrills me and fills me with vague unrest, +And all that is sweetest and saddest blends + Together within my breast. + +It brings back that night in the dim arcade, + In love's sweet morning and life's best prime, +When the great brass orchestra played and played, + And set our thoughts to rhyme. + +It brings back that Winter of mad delights, + Of leaping pulses and tripping feet, +And those languid moon-washed Summer nights + When we heard the band in the street. + +It brings back rapture and glee and glow, + It brings back passion and pain and strife, +And so of all the waltzes I know, + Give me the "Artist's Life." + +For it is so full of the dear old time - + So full of the dear old friends I knew. +And under its rhythm, and lilt, and rhyme, + I am always finding--YOU. + + + +NOTHING BUT STONES + + + +I think I never passed so sad an hour, + Dear friend, as that one at the church to-night. +The edifice from basement to the tower + Was one resplendent blaze of coloured light. +Up through broad aisles the stylish crowd was thronging, + Each richly robed like some king's bidden guest. +"Here will I bring my sorrow and my longing," + I said, "and here find rest." + +I heard the heavenly organ's voice of thunder, + It seemed to give me infinite relief. +I wept. Strange eyes looked on in well-bred wonder. + I dried my tears: their gaze profaned my grief. +Wrapt in the costly furs, and silks, and laces, + Beat alien hearts, that had no part with me. +I could not read, in all those proud cold faces, + One thought of sympathy. + +I watched them bowing and devoutly kneeling, + Heard their responses like sweet waters roll +But only the glorious organ's sacred pealing + Seemed gushing from a full and fervent soul. +I listened to the man of holy calling, + He spoke of creeds, and hailed his own as best; +Of man's corruption and of Adam's-falling, + But naught that gave me rest: + +Nothing that helped me bear the daily grinding + Of soul with body, heart with heated brain; +Nothing to show the purpose of this blinding + And sometimes overwhelming sense of pain. +And then, dear friend, I thought of thee, so lowly, + So unassuming, and so gently kind, +And lo! a peace, a calm serene and holy, + Settled upon my mind. + +Ah, friend, my friend! one true heart, fond and tender, + That understands our troubles and our needs, +Brings us more near to God than all the splendour + And pomp of seeming worship and vain creeds. +One glance of thy dear eyes so full of feeling, + Doth bring me closer to the Infinite +Than all that throng of worldly people kneeling + In blaze of gorgeous light. + + + +INEVITABLE + + + +To-day I was so weary and I lay + In that delicious state of semi-waking, +When baby, sitting with his nurse at play, + Cried loud for "mamma," all his toys forsaking. + +I was so weary and I needed rest, + And signed to nurse to bear him from the room. +Then, sudden, rose and caught him to my breast, + And kissed the grieving mouth and cheeks of bloom. + +For swift as lightning came the thought to me, + With pulsing heart-throes and a mist of tears, +Of days inevitable, that are to be, + If my fair darling grows to manhood's years; + +Days when he will not call for "mamma," when + The world, with many a pleasure and bright joy, +Shall tempt him forth into the haunts of men + And I shall lose the first place with my boy; + +When other homes and loves shall give delight, + When younger smiles and voices will seem best. +And so I held him to my heart to-night, + Forgetting all my need of peace and rest. + + + +THE OCEAN OF SONG + + + +In a land beyond sight or conceiving, + In a land where no blight is, no wrong, +No darkness, no graves, and no grieving, + There lies the great ocean of song. +And its waves, oh, its waves unbeholden + By any save gods, and their kind, +Are not blue, are not green, but are golden, + Like moonlight and sunlight combined. + +It was whispered to me that their waters + Were made from the gathered-up tears +That were wept by the sons and the daughters + Of long-vanished eras and spheres. +Like white sands of heaven the spray is + That falls all the happy day long, +And whoever it touches straightway is + Made glad with the spirit of song. + +Up, up to the clouds where their hoary + Crowned heads melt away in the skies, +The beautiful mountains of glory + Each side of the song-ocean rise. +Here day is one splendour of sky-light - + Of God's light with beauty replete. +Here night is not night, but is twilight, + Pervading, enfolding, and sweet. + +Bright birds from all climes and all regions, + That sing the whole glad summer long, +Are dumb, till they flock here in legions + And lave in the ocean of song. +It is here that the four winds of heaven, + The winds that do sing and rejoice, +It is here they first came and were given + The secret of sound and a voice. + +Far down along beautiful beeches, + By night and by glorious day, +The throng of the gifted ones reaches, + Their foreheads made white with the spray, +And a few of the sons and the daughters + Of this kingdom, cloud-hidden from sight, +Go down in the wonderful waters, + And bathe in those billows of light. + +And their souls evermore are like fountains, + And liquid and lucent and strong, +High over the tops of the mountains + Gush up the sweet billows of song. +No drouth-time of waters can dry them. + Whoever has bathed in that sea, +All dangers, all deaths, they defy them, + And are gladder than gods are, with glee. + + + +"IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN" + + + +We will be what we could be. Do not say, + "It might have been, had not or that, or this." +No fate can keep us from the chosen way; + He only might, who IS. + +We will do what we could do. Do not dream + Chance leaves a hero, all uncrowned to grieve. +I hold, all men are greatly what they seem; + He does, who could achieve. + +We will climb where we could climb. Tell me not + Of adverse storms that kept thee from the height. +What eagle ever missed the peak he sought? + He always climbs who might. + +I do not like the phrase, "It might have been!" + It lacks all force, and life's best truths perverts +For I believe we have, and reach, and win, + Whatever our deserts. + + + +MOMUS, GOD OF LAUGHTER + + + +Though with gods the world is cumbered, +Gods unnamed, and gods unnumbered, +Never god was known to be +Who had not his devotee. +So I dedicate to mine, +Here in verse, my temple-shrine. + +'Tis not Ares,--mighty Mars, +Who can give success in wars. +'Tis not Morpheus, who doth keep +Guard above us while we sleep, +'Tis not Venus, she whose duty +'Tis to give us love and beauty; +Hail to these, and others, after +Momus, gleesome god of laughter. + +Quirinus would guard my health, +Plutus would insure me wealth; +Mercury looks after trade, +Hera smiles on youth and maid. +All are kind, I own their worth, +After Momus, god of mirth. + +Though Apollo, out of spite, +Hides away his face of light, +Though Minerva looks askance, +Deigning me no smiling glance, +Kings and queens may envy me +While I claim the god of glee. + +Wisdom wearies, Love has wings - +Wealth makes burdens, Pleasure stings, +Glory proves a thorny crown - +So all gifts the gods throw down +Bring their pains and troubles after; +All save Momus, god of laughter. +He alone gives constant joy. +Hail to Momus, happy boy. + + + +I DREAM + + + +Oh, I have dreams. I sometimes dream of Life + In the full meaning of that splendid word. + Its subtle music which few men have heard, +Though all may hear it, sounding through earth's strife. +Its mountain heights by mystic breezes kissed + Lifting their lovely peaks above the dust; + Its treasures which no touch of time can rust, +Its emerald seas, its dawns of amethyst, + Its certain purpose, its serene repose, + Its usefulness, that finds no hour for woes, + This is my dream of Life. + +Yes, I have dreams. I ofttimes dream of Love + As radiant and brilliant as a star. + As changeless, too, as that fixed light afar +Which glorifies vast worlds of space above. +Strong as the tempest when it holds its breath, + Before it bursts in fury; and as deep + As the unfathomed seas, where lost worlds sleep, +And sad as birth, and beautiful as death. + As fervent as the fondest soul could crave, + Yet holy as the moonlight on a grave. + This is my dream of Love. + +Yes, yes, I dream. One oft-recurring dream + Is beautiful and comforting and blest, + Complete with certain promises of rest, +Divine content, and ecstasy supreme. +When that strange essence, author of all faith, + That subtle something, which cries for the light, + Like a lost child who wanders in the night, +Shall solve the mighty mystery of Death, + Shall find eternal progress, or sublime + And satisfying slumber for all time. + This is my dream of Death. + + + +THE SONNET + + + +Alone it stands in Poesy's fair land, + A temple by the muses set apart; + A perfect structure of consummate art, +By artists builded and by genius planned, +Beyond the reach of the apprentice hand, + Beyond the ken of the untutored heart, + Like a fine carving in a common mart, +Only the favoured few will understand. +A chef d'auvre toiled over with great care, + Yet which the unseeing careless crowd goes by, +A plainly set, but well-cut solitaire, +An ancient bit of pottery, too rare + To please or hold aught save the special eye, +These only with the sonnet can compare. + + + +THE PAST + + + +Fling my past behind me, like a robe +Worn threadbare in the seams, and out of date. +I have outgrown it. Wherefore should I weep +And dwell up on its beauty, and its dyes +Of Oriental splendour, or complain +That I must needs discard it? I can weave +Upon the shuttles of the future years +A fabric far more durable. Subdued, +It may be, in the blending of its hues, +Where sombre shades commingle, yet the gleam +Of golden warp shall shoot it through and through, +While over all a fadeless lustre lies, +And starred with gems made out of crystalled tears, +My new robe shall be richer than the old. + + + +A DREAM + + + +That was a curious dream; I thought the three + Great planets that are drawing near the sun + With such unerring certainty begun +To talk together in a mighty glee. +They spoke of vast convulsions which would be + Throughout the solar system--the rare fun + Of watching haughty stars drop, one by one, +And vanish in a seething vapour sea. + +I thought I heard them comment on the earth - + That small dark object--doomed beyond a doubt. + They wondered if live creatures moved about +Its tiny surface, deeming it of worth. + And then they laughed--'twas such a singing shout +That I awoke and joined too in their mirth. + + + +USELESSNESS + + + +Let mine not be that saddest fate of all + To live beyond my greater self; to see + My faculties decaying, as the tree +Stands stark and helpless while its green leaves fall. +Let me hear rather the imperious call, + Which all men dread, in my glad morning time, + And follow death ere I have reached my prime, +Or drunk the strengthening cordial of life's gall. +The lightning's stroke or the fierce tempest blast + Which fells the green tree to the earth to-day +Is kinder than the calm that lets it last, + Unhappy witness of its own decay. + May no man ever look on me and say, +"She lives, but all her usefulness is past." + + + +WILL + + + +There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, +Can circumvent or hinder or control +The firm resolve of a determined soul. +Gifts count for nothing; will alone is great; +All things give way before it, soon or late. + What obstacle can stay the mighty force + Of the sea-seeking river in its course, +Or cause the ascending orb of day to wait? + +Each well-born soul must win what it deserves. +Let the fool prate of luck. The fortunate + Is he whose earnest purpose never swerves, + Whose slightest action or inaction serve. +The one great aim. + Why, even Death stands still, +And waits an hour sometimes for such a will. + + + +WINTER RAIN + + + +Falling upon the frozen world last +I heard the slow beat of the Winter rain - +Poor foolish drops, down-dripping all in vain; +The ice-bound Earth but mocked their puny might, +Far better had the fixedness of white +And uncomplaining snows--which make no sign, +But coldly smile, when pitying moonbeams shine - +Concealed its sorrow from all human sight. +Long, long ago, in blurred and burdened years, +I learned the uselessness of uttered woe. +Though sinewy Fate deals her most skilful blow, + I do not waste the gall now of my tears, + But feed my pride upon its bitter, while +I look straight in the world's bold eyes, and smile. + + + +LIFE + + + +Life, like a romping schoolboy, full of glee, +Doth bear us on his shoulder for a time. +There is no path too steep for him to climb. +With strong, lithe limbs, as agile and as free, +As some young roe, he speeds by vale and sea, + By flowery mead, by mountain peak sublime, + And all the world seems motion set to rhyme, +Till, tired out, he cries, "Now carry me!" + In vain we murmur; "Come," Life says, "Fair play!" +And seizes on us. God! he goads us so! + He does not let us sit down all the day. +At each new step we feel the burden grow, +Till our bent backs seem breaking as we go, + Watching for Death to meet us on the way. + + + +BURDENED + + + +"Genius, a man's weapon, a woman's burden."--Lamartine. + +Dear God! there is no sadder fate in life + Than to be burdened so that you can not + Sit down contented with the common lot +Of happy mother and devoted wife. + +To feel your brain wild and your bosom rife + With all the sea's commotion; to be fraught + With fires and frenzies which you have not sought, +And weighed down with the wild world's weary strife; + +To feel a fever always in your breast; + To lean and hear, half in affright, half shame, + A loud-voiced public boldly mouth your name; +To reap your hard-sown harvest in unrest, + And know, however great your meed of fame, +You are but a weak woman at the best. + + + +LET THEM GO + + + +Let the dream go. Are there not other dreams + In vastness of clouds hid from thy sight +That yet shall gild with beautiful gold gleams, + And shoot the shadows through and through with light? + What matters one lost vision of the night? + Let the dream go!! + +Let the hope set. Are there not other hopes + That yet shall rise like new stars in thy sky? +Not long a soul in sullen darkness gropes + Before some light is lent it from on high; + What folly to think happiness gone by! + Let the hope set! + +Let the joy fade. Are there not other joys, + Like frost-bound bulbs, that yet shall start and bloom? +Severe must be the winter that destroys + The hardy roots locked in their silent tomb. + What cares the earth for her brief time of gloom + Let the joy fade! + +Let the love die. Are there not other loves + As beautiful and full of sweet unrest, +Flying through space like snowy-pinioned doves? + They yet shall come and nestle in thy breast, +And thou shalt say of each, "Lo, this is best!" + Let the love die! + + + +FIVE KISSES + + + +I--THE MOTHER'S KISS + +Love breathed a secret to her listening heart, + And said "Be silent." Though she guarded it, +And dwelt as one within a world apart, + Yet sun and star seemed by that secret lit. +And where she passed, each whispering wind ablow, + And every little blossom in the sod, +Called joyously to her, "We know, we know, + For are we not the intimates of God?" +Life grew so radiant, and so opulent, + That when her fragile body and her brain +By mortal throes of agony were rent, + She felt a curious rapture in her pain. +Then, after anguish, came the supreme bliss - +They brought the little baby, for her kiss! + +II--THE BETROTHAL + +There was a little pause between the dances; + Without, somewhere, a tinkling fountain played. +The dusky path was lit by ardent glances + As forth they fared, a lover and a maid. +He chose a nook, from curious eyes well hidden - + All redolent with sweet midsummer charm, +And by the great primeval instinct bidden, + He drew her in the shelter of his arm. +The words that long deep in his heart had trembled +Found sudden utterance; she at first dissembled, + Refused her lips, and half withdrew her hand, +Then murmured "Yes," and yielded, woman fashion, +Her virgin mouth to young love's kiss of passion. + +III--THE BRIDAL KISS + +As fleecy clouds trail back across the skies, + Showing the sweet young moon in azure space, + The lifted veil revealed her shining face - +A sudden wonder to his eager eyes. +In that familiar beauty lurked surprise: + For now the wife stood in the maiden's place - + With conscious dignity, and woman's grace, +And love's large pride grown trebly fair and wise. + +The world receded, leaving them alone. + The universe was theirs, from sphere to sphere, +And life assumed new meaning, and new worth. +Love held no privilege they did not own, + And when they kissed each other without fear, +They understood why God had made the earth. + +IV--DOMESTIC BLISS + +Sequestered in their calm domestic bower, + They sat together. He in manhood's prime +And she a matron in her fullest flower. + The mantel clock gave forth a warning chime. +She put her work aside; his bright cigar + Grew pale, and crumbled in an ashen heap. +The lights went out, save one remaining star + That watched beside the children in their sleep. +She hummed a little song and nestled near, + As side by side they went to their repose. +His arm about her waist, he whispered "Dear," + And pressed his lips upon her mouth's full rose - +The sacred sweetness of their wedded life + Breathed in that kiss of husband and of wife. + +V--OLD AGE + +The young see heaven--but to the old who wait + The final call, the hills of youth arise + More beautiful than shores of Paradise. +Beside a glowing and voracious grate + A dozing couple dream of yesterday; +The islands of a vanished past appear, +Bringing forgotten names and faces near; + While lost in mist, the present fades away. +The fragrant winds of tender memories blow + Across the gardens of the "Used-to-be!" + They smile into each other's eyes, and see +The bride and bridegroom of the long ago. + And tremulous lips, pressed close to faded cheek + Love's silent tale of deathless passion speak. + + + +RETROSPECTION + + + +I look down the lengthening distance + Far back to youth's valley of hope. +How strange seemed the ways of existence, + How infinite life and its scope! + +What dreams, what ambitions came thronging + To people a world of my own! +How the heart in my bosom was longing, + For pleasures and places unknown. + +But the hill-tops of pleasure and beauty + Were covered with mist at the dawn; +And only the rugged road Duty + Shone clear, as my feet wandered on. + +I loved not the path and its leading, + I hated the rocks and the dust; +But a Voice from the Silence was pleading, + It spoke but one syllable--"Trust." + +I saw, as the morning grew older, + The fair flowered hills of delight; +And the feet of my comrades grew bolder, + They hurried away from my sight. + +And when on the pathway I faltered, + And when I rebelled at my fate, +The Voice with assurance unaltered, + Again spoke one syllable--"Wait." + +Along the hard highway I travelled + And saw, with dim vision, how soon +The morning's gold locks were unravelled, + By fingers of amorous noon. + +A turn in the pathway of duty - + I stood in the perfect day's prime, +Close, close to the hillside of beauty + The Voice from the Silence said "Climb" + +The road to the beautiful Regions + Lies ever through Duty's hard way. +Oh ye who go searching in legions, + Know this and be patient to-day. + + + +HELENA + + + +Last night I saw Helena. She whose praise + Of late all men have sounded. She for whom + Young Angus rashly sought a silent tomb +Rather than live without her all his days. + +Wise men go mad who look upon her long, + She is so ripe with dangers. Yet meanwhile + I find no fascination in her smile, +Although I make her theme of this poor song. + +"Her golden tresses?" yes, they may be fair, + And yet to me each shining silken tress + Seems robbed of beauty and all lustreless - +Too many hands have stroked Helena's hair. + +(I know a little maiden so demure + She will not let her one true lover's hands + In playful fondness touch her soft brown bands +So dainty-minded is she, and so pure.) + +"Her great dark eyes that flash like gems at night? + Large, long-lashed eyes and lustrous?" that may be, + And yet they are not beautiful to me. +Too many hearts have sunned in their delight. + +(I mind me of two tender blue eyes, hid + So underneath white curtains, and so veiled + That I have sometimes plead for hours, and failed +To see more than the shyly lifted lid.) + +"Her perfect mouth so liked a carved kiss?" + "Her honeyed-mouth, where hearts do, fly-like, drown?" + I would not taste its sweetness for a crown; +Too many lips have drank its nectared bliss. + +(I know a mouth whose virgin dew, undried, + Lies like a young grape's bloom, untouched and sweet, + And though I plead in passion at her feet, +She would not let me brush it if I died.) + +In vain, Helena! though wise men may vie + For thy rare smile, or die from loss of it, + Armoured by my sweet lady's trust, I sit, +And know thou are not worth her faintest sigh. + + + +NOTHING REMAINS + + + +Nothing remains of unrecorded ages + That lie in the silent cemetery time; +Their wisdom may have shamed our wisest sages, + Their glory may have been indeed sublime. +How weak do seem our strivings after power, + How poor the grandest efforts of our brains, +If out of all we are, in one short hour + Nothing remains. + +Nothing remains but the Eternal Spaces, + Time and decay uproot the forest trees. +Even the mighty mountains leave their places, + And sink their haughty heads beneath strange seas +The great earth writhes in some convulsive spasms + And turns the proudest cities into plains. +The level sea becomes a yawning chasm - + Nothing remains. + +Nothing remains but the Eternal Forces, + The sad seas cease complaining and grow dry, +Rivers are drained and altered in their courses, + Great stars pass out and vanish from the sky. +Ideas die and old religions perish, + Our rarest pleasures and our keenest pains +Are swept away with all we hate or cherish - + Nothing remains. + +Nothing remains but the Eternal Nameless + And all-creative spirit of the Law, +Uncomprehended, comprehensive, blameless, + Invincible, resistless, with no flaw; +So full of love it must create for ever, + Destroying that it may create again, +Persistent and perfecting in endeavour, + It yet must bring forth angels, after men - + This, this remains! + + + +COMRADES + + + +I and my Soul are alone to-day, + All in the shining weather; +We were sick of the world, and put it away, + So we could rejoice together. + +Our host, the Sun, in the blue, blue sky + Is mixing a rare, sweet wine, +In the burnished gold of this cup on high, + For me, and this Soul of mine. + +We find it a safe and royal drink, + And a cure for every pain; +It helps us to love, and helps us to think, + And strengthens body and brain. + +And sitting here, with my Soul alone, + Where the yellow sun-rays fall, +Of all the friends I have ever known + I find it the BEST of all. + +We rarely meet when the world is near, + For the World hath a pleasing art +And brings me so much that is bright and dear + That my Soul it keepeth apart. + +But when I grow weary of mirth and glee, + Of glitter, glow, and splendour, +Like a tried old friend it comes to me, + With a smile that is sad and tender. + +And we walk together as two friends may, + And laugh and drink God's wine. +Oh, a royal comrade any day + I find this Soul of mine. + + + +WHAT GAIN? + + + +Now, while thy rounded cheek is fresh and fair, + While beauty lingers, laughing, in thine eyes, +Ere thy young heart shall meet the stranger, "Care," + Or thy blithe soul become the home of sighs, +Were it not kindness should I give thee rest +By plunging this sharp dagger in thy breast? +Dying so young, with all thy wealth of youth, +What part of life wouldst thou not claim, in sooth? + Only the woe, + Sweetheart, that sad souls know. + +Now, in this sacred hour of supreme trust, + Of pure delight and palpitating joy, +Ere change can come, as come it surely must, + With jarring doubts and discords, to destroy +Our far too perfect peace, I pray thee, Sweet, +Were it not best for both of us, and meet, +If I should bring swift death to seal our bliss? +Dying so full of joy, what could we miss? + Nothing but tears, + Sweetheart, and weary years. + +How slight the action! Just one well-aimed blow + Here, where I feel thy warm heart's pulsing beat, +And then another through my own, and so + Our perfect union would be made complete: +So, past all parting, I should claim thee mine. +Dead with our youth, and faith, and love divine, +Should we not keep the best of life that way? +What shall we gain by living day on day? + What shall we gain, + Sweetheart, but bitter pain? + + + +TO THE WEST + + + +[In an interview with Lawrence Barrett, he said: "The literature of +the New World must look to the West for its poetry."] + +Not to the crowded East, + Where, in a well-worn groove, +Like the harnessed wheel of a great machine, + The trammelled mind must move-- +Where Thought must follow the fashion of Thought, +Or be counted vulgar and set at naught. + +Not to the languid South, + Where the mariners of the brain +Are lured by the Sirens of the Sense, + And wrecked upon its main - +Where Thought is rocked, on the sweet wind's breath +To a torpid sleep that ends in death. + +But to the mighty West, + That chosen realm of God, +Where Nature reaches her hands to men, + And Freedom walks abroad - +Where mind is King, and fashion is naught, +There shall the New World look for thought + +To the West, the beautiful West, + She shall look, and not in vain - +For out of its broad and boundless store + Come muscle, and nerve, and brain. +Let the bards of the East and the South be dumb - +For out of the West shall the Poets come. + +They shall come with souls as great + As the cradle where they were rocked; +They shall come with brows that are touched with fire + Like the gods with whom they have walked; +They shall come from the West in royal state, +The Singers and Thinkers for whom we wait. + + + +THE LAND OF CONTENT + + + +I set out for the Land of Content, + By the gay crowded pleasure-highway, +With laughter, and jesting, I went + With the mirth-loving throng for a day; + Then I knew I had wandered astray, +For I met returned pilgrims, belated, +Who said, "We are weary and sated, +But we found not the Land of Content." + +I turned to the steep path of fame, + I said, "It is over yon height - +This land with the beautiful name - + Ambition will lend me its light." + But I paused in my journey ere night, +For the way grew so lonely and troubled; +I said--my anxiety doubled - +"This is not the road to Content." + +Then I joined the great rabble and throng + That frequents the moneyed world's mart; +But the greed, and the grasping and wrong, + Left me only one wish--to depart. + And sickened, and saddened at heart, +I hurried away from the gateway, +For my soul and my spirit said straightway. +"This is not the road to Content." + +Then weary in body and brain, + An overgrown path I detected, +And I said "I will hide with my pain + In this byway, unused and neglected." + Lo! it led to the realm God selected +To crown with His best gifts of beauty, +And through the dark pathway of duty +I came to the land of Content. + + + +WARNING + + + +High in the heavens I saw the moon this morning, + Albeit the sun shone bright; +Unto my soul it spoke, in voice of warning, + "Remember Night!" + + + +AFTER THE BATTLES ARE OVER + + + +[Read at Reunion of the G. A. T., Madison, Wis., July 4, 1872.] + +After the battles are over, + And the war drums cease to beat, +And no more is heard on the hillside +The sound of hurrying feet, +Full many a noble action, + That was done in the days of strife +By the soldier is half forgotten, + In the peaceful walks of life. + +Just as the tangled grasses, + In Summer's warmth and light, +Grow over the graves of the fallen + And hide them away from sight, +So many an act of valour, + And many a deed sublime, +Fade from the mind of the soldier + O'ergrown by the grass of time + +Not so should they be rewarded, + Those noble deeds of old! +They should live for ever and ever, + When the heroes' hearts are cold. +Then rally, ye brave old comrades, + Old veterans, reunite! +Uproot Time's tangled grasses - + Live over the march, and the fight. + +Let Grant come up from the White House, + And clasp each brother's hand, +First chieftain of the army, + Last chieftain of the land. +Let him rest from a nation's burdens, + And go, in thought, with his men, +Through the fire and smoke of Shiloh, + And save the day again. + +This silent hero of battles + Knew no such word as defeat. +It was left for the rebels' learning, + Along with the word--retreat. +He was not given to talking, + But he found that guns would preach +In a way that was more convincing + Than fine and flowery speech + +Three cheers for the grave commander + Of the grand old Tennessee! +Who won the first great battle - + Gained the first great victory. +His motto was always "Conquer," + "Success" was his countersign, +And "though it took all Summer," + He kept fighting upon "that line." + +Let Sherman, the stern old General, + Come rallying with his men; +Let them march once more through Georgia + And down to the sea again. +Oh! that grand old tramp to Savannah, + Three hundred miles to the coast, +It will live in the heart of the nation, + For ever its pride and boast. + +As Sheridan went to the battle, + When a score of miles away, +He has come to the feast and banquet, + By the iron horse to-day. +Its pace is not much swifter + Than the pace of that famous steed +Which bore him down to the contest + And saved the day by his speed. + +Then go over the ground to-day, boys + Tread each remembered spot. +It will be a gleesome journey, + On the swift-shod feet of thought; +You can fight a bloodless battle, + You can skirmish along the route, +But it's not worth while to forage, + There are rations enough without. + +Don't start if you hear the cannon, + It is not the sound of doom, +It does not call to the contest - + To the battle's smoke and gloom. +"Let us have peace," was spoken, + And lo! peace ruled again; +And now the nation is shouting, + Through the cannon's voice, "Amen." + +O boys who besieged old Vicksburgh, + Can time e'er wash away +The triumph of her surrender, + Nine years ago to-day? +Can you ever forget the moment, + When you saw the flag of white, +That told how the grim old city + Had fallen in her might? + +Ah, 'twas a bold, brave army, + When the boys, with a right good will, +Went gaily marching and singing + To the fight at Champion Hill. +They met with a warm reception, + But the soul of "Old John Brown" +Was abroad on that field of battle, + And our flag did NOT go down. + +Come, heroes of Look Out Mountain, + Of Corinth and Donelson, +Of Kenesaw and Atlanta, + And tell how the day was won! +Hush! bow the head for a moment - + There are those who cannot come. +No bugle-call can arouse them - + No sound of fife or drum. + +Oh, boys who died for the country, + Oh, dear and sainted dead! +What can we say about you + That has not once been said? +Whether you fell in the contest, + Struck down by shot and shell, +Or pined 'neath the hand of sickness + Or starved in the prison cell, + +We know that you died for Freedom, + To save our land from shame, +To rescue a perilled Nation, + And we give you deathless fame. +'Twas the cause of Truth and Justice + That you fought and perished for, +And we say it, oh, so gently, + "Our boys who died in the war." + +Saviours of our Republic, + Heroes who wore the blue, +We owe the peace that surrounds us - + And our Nation's strength to you. +We owe it to you that our banner, + The fairest flag in the world, +Is to-day unstained, unsullied, + On the Summer air unfurled. + +We look on its stripes and spangles, + And our hearts are filled the while +With love for the brave commanders, + And the boys of the rank and file. +The grandest deeds of valour + Were never written out, +The noblest acts of virtue + The world knows nothing about. + +And many a private soldier, + Who walks his humble way, +With no sounding name or title, + Unknown to the world to-day, +In the eyes of God is a hero + As worthy of the bays +As any mighty General + To whom the world gives praise. + +Brave men of a mighty army, + We extend you friendship's hand +I speak for the "Loyal Women," + Those pillars of our land. +We wish you a hearty welcome, + We are proud that you gather here +To talk of old times together + On this brightest day in the year. + +And if Peace, whose snow-white pinions + Brood over our land to-day, +Should ever again go from us, + (God grant she may ever stay!) +Should our Nation call in her peril + For "Six hundred thousand more," +The loyal women would hear her, + And send you out as before. + +We would bring out the treasured knapsack, + We would take the sword from the wall, +And hushing our own hearts' pleadings, + Hear only the country's call. +For next to our God is our Nation; + And we cherish the honoured name +Of the bravest of all brave armies + Who fought for that Nation's fame. + + + +AND THEY ARE DUMB + + + +I have been across the bridges of the years. + Wet with tears +Were the ties on which I trod, going back + Down the track +To the valley where I left, 'neath skies of Truth, + My lost youth. + +As I went, I dropped my burdens, one and all - + Let them fall; +All my sorrows, all my wrinkles, all my care, + My white hair, +I laid down, like some lone pilgrim's heavy pack, + By the track. + +As I neared the happy valley with light feet, + My heart beat +To the rhythm of a song I used to know + Long ago, +And my spirits gushed and bubbled like a fountain + Down a mountain. + +On the border of that valley I found you, + Tried and true; +And we wandered through the golden Summer-Land + Hand in hand. +And my pulses beat with rapture in the blisses + Of your kisses. + +And we met there, in those green and verdant places, + Smiling faces, +And sweet laughter echoed upward from the dells + Like gold bells. +And the world was spilling over with the glory + Of Youth's story. + +It was but a dreamer's journey of the brain; + And again +I have left the happy valley far behind; + And I find +Time stands waiting with his burdens in a pack + For my back. + +As he speeds me, like a rough, well-meaning friend, + To the end, +Will I find again the lost ones loved so well? + Who can tell! +But the dead know what the life will be to come - + And they are dumb! + + + +NIGHT + + + +As some dusk mother shields from all alarms + The tired child she gathers to her breast, +The brunette Night doth fold me in her arms, + And hushes me to perfect peace and rest. +Her eyes of stars shine on me, and I hear +Her voice of winds low crooning on my ear. +O Night, O Night, how beautiful thou art! +Come, fold me closer to thy pulsing heart. + +The day is full of gladness, and the light + So beautifies the common outer things, +I only see with my external sight, + And only hear the great world's voice which rings. +But silently from daylight and from din +The sweet Night draws me--whispers, "Look within!" +And looking, as one wakened from a dream, +I see what IS--no longer what doth seem. + +The Night says, "Listen!" and upon my ear + Revealed, as are the visions to my sight, +The voices known as "Beautiful" come near + And whisper of the vastly Infinite. +Great, blue-eyed Truth, her sister Purity, +Their brother Honour, all converse with me, +And kiss my brow, and say, "Be brave of heart!" +O holy three! how beautiful thou art! + +The Night says, "Child, sleep that thou may'st arise + Strong for to-morrow's struggle." And I feel +Her shadowy fingers pressing on my eyes: + Like thistledown I float to the Ideal - +The Slumberland, made beautiful and bright +As death, by dreams of loved ones gone from sight, +O food for souls, sweet dreams of pure delight, +How beautiful the holy hours of Night! + + + +ALL FOR ME + + + +The world grows green on a thousand hills - + By a thousand willows the bees are humming, +And a million birds by a million rills, + Sing of the golden season coming. +But, gazing out on the sun-kist lea, + And hearing a thrush and a blue-bird singing, +I feel that the summer is all for me, + And all for me are the joys it is bringing. + +All for me the bumble-bee + Drones his song in the perfect weather; +And, just on purpose to sing to me, + Thrush and blue-bird came North together. +Just for me, in red and white, + Bloom and blossom the fields of clover; +And all for me and my delight + The wild Wind follows and plays the lover. + +The mighty sun, with a scorching kiss + (I have read, and heard, and do not doubt it) +Has burned up a thousand worlds like this, + And never stopped to think about it. +And yet I believe he hurries up + Just on purpose to kiss my flowers - +To drink the dew from the lily-cup, + And help it to grow through golden hours. + +I know I am only a speck of dust, + An individual mite of masses, +Clinging upon the outer crust + Of a little ball of cooling gases. +And yet, and yet, say what you will, + And laugh, if you please, at my lack of reason, +For me wholly, and for me still, + Blooms and blossoms the Summer season. + +Nobody else has ever heard + The story the Wind to me discloses; +And none but I and the humming-bird + Can read the hearts of the crimson roses. +Ah, my Summer--my love--my own! + The world grows glad in your smiling weather; +Yet all for me, and me alone, + You and your Court came North together. + + + +INTO SPACE + + + +If the sad old world should jump a cog + Sometime, in its dizzy spinning, +And go off the track with a sudden jog, + What an end would come to the sinning, +What a rest from strife and the burdens of life + For the millions of people in it, +What a way out of care, and worry and wear, + All in a beautiful minute. + +As 'round the sun with a curving sweep + It hurries and runs and races, +Should it lose its balance, and go with a leap + Into the vast sea-spaces, +What a blest relief it would bring to the grief, + And the trouble and toil about us, +To be suddenly hurled from the solar world + And let it go on without us. + +With not a sigh or a sad good-bye + For loved ones left behind us, +We would go with a lunge and a mighty plunge + Where never a grave should find us. +What a wild mad thrill our veins would fill + As the great earth, like a feather, +Should float through the air to God knows where, + And carry us all together. + +No dark, damp tomb and no mourner's gloom, + No tolling bell in the steeple, +But in one swift breath a painless death + For a million billion people. +What greater bliss could we ask than this, + To sweep with a bird's free motion +Through leagues of space to a resting place, + In a vast and vapoury ocean - +To pass away from this life for aye + With never a dear tie sundered, +And a world on fire for a funeral pyre, + While the stars looked on and wondered? + + + +THROUGH DIM EYES + + + +Is it the world, or my eyes, that are sadder? +I see not the grace that I used to see +In the meadow-brook whose song was so glad, or +In the boughs of the willow tree. +The brook runs slower--its song seems lower +And not the song that it sang of old; +And the tree I admired looks weary and tired +Of the changeless story of heat and cold. + +When the sun goes up, and the stars go under, +In that supreme hour of the breaking day, +Is it my eyes, or the dawn, I wonder, +That finds less of the gold, and more of the gray +I see not the splendour, the tints so tender, +The rose-hued glory I used to see; +And I often borrow a vague half-sorrow +That another morning has dawned for me. + +When the royal smile of that welcome comer +Beams on the meadow and burns in the sky, +Is it my eyes, or does the Summer +Bring less of bloom than in days gone by? +The beauty that thrilled me, the rapture that filled me, +To an overflowing of happy tears, +I pass unseeing, my sad eyes being +Dimmed by the shadow of vanished years. + +When the heart grows weary, all things seem dreary; +When the burden grows heavy, the way seems long. +Thank God for sending kind death as an ending, +Like a grand Amen to a minor song. + + + +THE PUNISHED + + + +Not they who know the awful gibbet's anguish, + Not they who, while sad years go by them, in +The sunless cells of lonely prisons languish, + Do suffer fullest penalty for sin. + +'Tis they who walk the highways unsuspected, + Yet with grim fear for ever at their side, +Who hug the corpse of some sin undetected, + A corpse no grave or coffin-lid can hide - + +'Tis they who are in their own chambers haunted + By thoughts that like unbidden guests intrude, +And sit down, uninvited and unwanted, + And make a nightmare of the solitude. + + + +HALF FLEDGED + + + +I feel the stirrings in me of great things. +New half-fledged thoughts rise up and beat their wings, +And tremble on the margin of their nest, +Then flutter back, and hide within my breast. + +Beholding space, they doubt their untried strength. +Beholding men, they fear them. But at length, +Grown all too great and active for the heart +That broods them with such tender mother art, +Forgetting fear, and men, and all, that hour, +Save the impelling consciousness of power +That stirs within them--they shall soar away +Up to the very portals of the Day. + +Oh, what exultant rapture thrills me through +When I contemplate all those thoughts may do; +Like snow-white eagles penetrating space, +They may explore full many an unknown place, +And build their nests on mountain heights unseen, +Whereon doth lie that dreamed-of rest serene. +Stay thou a little longer in my breast, +Till my fond heart shall push thee from the nest +Anxious to see thee soar to heights divine - +Oh, beautiful but half-fledged thoughts of mine. + + + +THE YEAR + + + +What can be said in New Year rhymes, +That's not been said a thousand times? + +The new years come, the old years go, +We know we dream, we dream we know. + +We rise up laughing with the light, +We lie down weeping with the night. + +We hug the world until it stings, +We curse it then and sigh for wings. + +We live, we love, we woo, we wed, +We wreathe our brides, we sheet our dead. + +We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear, +And that's the burden of the year. + + + +THE UNATTAINED + + + +A vision beauteous as the morn, + With heavenly eyes and tresses streaming, +Slow glided o'er a field late shorn + Where walked a poet idly dreaming. +He saw her, and joy lit his face, + "Oh, vanish not at human speaking," +He cried, "thou form of magic grace, + Thou art the poem I am seeking. + +"I've sought thee long! I claim thee now - + My thought embodied, living, real." +She shook the tresses from her brow. + "Nay, nay!" she said, "I am ideal. +I am the phantom of desire - + The spirit of all great endeavour, +I am the voice that says, 'Come higher,' + That calls men up and up for ever. + +"'Tis not alone thy thought supreme + That here upon thy path has risen; +I am the artist's highest dream, + The ray of light he cannot prison. +I am the sweet ecstatic note + Than all glad music gladder, clearer, +That trembles in the singer's throat, + And dies without a human hearer. + +"I am the greater, better yield, + That leads and cheers thy farmer neighbour, +For me he bravely tills the field + And whistles gaily at his labour. +Not thou alone, O poet soul, + Dost seek me through an endless morrow, +But to the toiling, hoping whole + I am at once the hope and sorrow. + +"The spirit of the unattained, + I am to those who seek to name me, +A good desired but never gained: + All shall pursue, but none shall claim me." + + + +IN THE CROWD + + + +How happy they are, in all seeming, + How gay, or how smilingly proud, +How brightly their faces are beaming, + These people who make up the crowd! +How they bow, how they bend, how they flutter, + How they look at each other and smile, +How they glow, and what bon mots they utter! + But a strange thought has found me the while! + +It is odd, but I stand here and fancy + These people who now play a part, +All forced by some strange necromancy + To speak, and to act, from the heart. +What a hush would come over the laughter! + What a silence would fall on the mirth! +And then what a wail would sweep after, + As the night-wind sweeps over the earth! + +If the secrets held under and hidden + In the intricate hearts of the crowd +Were suddenly called to, and bidden + To rise up and cry out aloud, +How strange one would look to another! + Old friends of long standing and years - +Own brothers would not know each other, + Robed new in their sorrows and fears. + +From broadcloth, and velvet, and laces, + Would echo the groans of despair, +And there would be blanching of faces + And wringing of hands and of hair. +That man with his record of honour, + That lady down there with the rose, +That girl with Spring's freshness upon her, + Who knoweth the secrets of those? + +Smile on, O ye maskers, smile sweetly! + Step lightly, bow low and laugh loud! +Though the world is deceived and completely, + I know ye, O sad-hearted crowd! +I watch you with infinite pity: + But play on, play ever your part, +Be gleeful, be joyful, be witty! + 'Tis better than showing the heart. + + + +LIFE AND I + + + +Life and I are lovers, straying + Arm in arm along: +Often like two children Maying, + Full of mirth and song, + +Life plucks all the blooming hours + Growing by the way; +Binds them on my brow like flowers, + Calls me Queen of May. + +Then again, in rainy weather, + We sit vis-a-vis, +Planning work we'll do together + In the years to be. + +Sometimes Life denies me blisses, + And I frown or pout; +But we make it up with kisses + Ere the day is out. + +Woman-like, I sometimes grieve him, + Try his trust and faith, +Saying I shall one day leave him + For his rival, Death. + +Then he always grows more zealous, + Tender, and more true; +Loves the more for being jealous, + As all lovers do. + +Though I swear by stars above him, + And by worlds beyond, +That I love him--love him--love him; + Though my heart is fond; + +Though he gives me, doth my lover, + Kisses with each breath - +I shall one day throw him over, + And plight troth with Death. + + + +GUERDON + + + +Upon the white cheek of the Cherub Year + I saw a tear. +Alas! I murmured, that the Year should borrow + So soon a sorrow. +Just then the sunlight fell with sudden flame: + The tear became +A wondrous diamond sparkling in the light - + A beauteous sight. + +Upon my soul there fell such woeful loss, + I said, "The Cross +Is grievous for a life as young as mine." + Just then, like wine, +God's sunlight shone from His high Heavens down; + And lo! a crown +Gleamed in the place of what I thought a burden - + My sorrow's guerdon. + + + +SNOWED UNDER + + + +Of a thousand things that the Year snowed under - + The busy Old Year who has gone away - +How many will rise in the Spring, I wonder, + Brought to life by the sun of May? +Will the rose-tree branches, so wholly hidden + That never a rose-tree seems to be, +At the sweet Spring's call come forth unbidden, + And bud in beauty, and bloom for me? + +Will the fair green Earth, whose throbbing bosom + Is hid like a maid's in her gown at night, +Wake out of her sleep, and with blade and blossom + Gem her garments to please my sight? +Over the knoll in the valley yonder + The loveliest buttercups bloomed and grew; +When the snow has gone that drifted them under, + Will they shoot up sunward, and bloom anew? + +When wild winds blew, and a sleet-storm pelted, + I lost a jewel of priceless worth; +If I walk that way when snows have melted, + Will the gem gleam up from the bare brown Earth? +I laid a love that was dead or dying, + For the year to bury and hide from sight; +But out of a trance will it waken, crying, + And push to my heart, like a leaf to the light? + +Under the snow lie things so cherished - + Hopes, ambitions, and dreams of men - +Faces that vanished, and trusts that perished, + Never to sparkle and glow again. +The Old Year greedily grasped his plunder, + And covered it over and hurried away: +Of the thousand things that he did, I wonder + How many will rise at the call of May? +O wise Young Year, with your hands held under + Your mantle of ermine, tell me, pray! + + + +"LEUDEMANNS-ON-THE-RIVER." + + + +Toward even, when the day leans down + To kiss the upturned face of night, +Out just beyond the loud-voiced town + I know a spot of calm delight. +Like crimson arrows from a quiver + The red rays pierce the waters flowing, + While we go dreaming, singing, rowing +To Leudemanns-on-the-River. + +The hills, like some glad mocking-bird, + Send back our laughter and our singing, +While faint--and yet more faint is heard + The steeple bells all sweetly ringing. +Some message did the winds deliver + To each glad heart that August night, + All heard, but all heard not aright, +By Leudemanns-on-the-River. + +Night falls as in some foreign clime, + Between the hills that slope and rise. +So dusk the shades at landing-time, + We could not see each other's eyes. +We only saw the moonbeams quiver + Far down upon the stream! that night + The new moon gave but little light +By Leudemanns-on-the-River. + +How dusky were those paths that led + Up from the river to the hall. +The tall trees branching overhead + Invite the early shades that fall. +In all the glad blithe world, oh, never + Were hearts more free from care than when + We wandered through those walks, we ten, +By Leudemanns-on-the-River. + +So soon, so soon, the changes came. + This August day we two alone, +On that same river, not the same, + Dream of a night for ever flown. +Strange distances have come to sever + The hearts that gaily beat in pleasure, + Long miles we cannot cross or measure - +From Leudemanns-on-the-River. + +We'll pluck two leaves, dear friend, to-day. + The green, the russet! seems it strange +So soon, so soon, the leaves can change! + Ah me! so runs all life away. +This night-wind chills me, and I shiver; + The Summer-time is almost past. + One more good-bye--perhaps the last +To Leudemanns-on-the-River. + + + +LITTLE BLUE HOOD + + + +Every morning and every night + There passes our window near the street, +A little girl with an eye so bright, + And a cheek so round and a lip so sweet! +The daintiest, jauntiest little miss +That ever any one longed to kiss, + +She is neat as wax, and fresh to view, + And her look is wholesome, and clean, and good. +Whatever her gown, her hood is blue, + And so we call her our "Little Blue Hood," +For we know not the name of the dear little lass, +But we call to each other to see her pass, + +"Little Blue Hood is coming now!" + And we watch from the window while she goes by, +She has such a bonny, smooth, white brow, + And a fearless look in her long-lashed eye! +And a certain dignity wedded to grace +Seems to envelop her form and face. + +Every morning, in sun or rain, + She walks by the window with sweet, grave air, +And never guesses behind the pane + We two are watching and thinking her fair; +Lovingly watching her down the street, +Dear little Blue Hood, bright and sweet. + +Somebody ties that hood of blue + Under the face so fair to see, +Somebody loves her, beside we two, + Somebody kisses her--why can't we? +Dear Little Blue Hood fresh and fair, +Are you glad we love you, or don't you care? + + + +NO SPRING + + + +Up from the South come the birds that were banished, + Frightened away by the presence of frost. +Back to the vale comes the verdure that vanished, + Back to the forest the leaves that were lost. +Over the hillside the carpet of splendour, + Folded through Winter, Spring spreads down again; +Along the horizon, the tints that were tender, + Lost hues of Summer-time, burn bright as then. + +Only the mountains' high summits are hoary, + To the ice-fettered river the sun gives a key. +Once more the gleaming shore lists to the story + Told by an amorous Summer-kissed sea. +All things revive that in Winter time perished, + The rose buds again in the light o' the sun, +All that was beautiful, all that was cherished, + Sweet things and dear things and all things--save one. + +Late, when the year and the roses were lying + Low with the ruins of Summer and bloom, +Down in the dust fell a love that was dying, + And the snow piled over it, and made it a tomb. +Lo! now the roses are budded for blossom - + Lo! now the Summer is risen again. +Why dost thou bud not, O Love of my bosom? + Why dost thou rise not, and thrill me as then? + +Life without love is a year without Summer, + Heart without love is a wood without song. +Rise then, revive then, thou indolent comer: + Why dost thou lie in the dark earth so long? +Rise! ah, thou can'st not! the rose-tree that sheddest + Its beautiful leaves, in the Springtime may bloom, +But of cold things the coldest, of dead things the deadest, + Love buried once, rises not from the tomb. +Green things may grow on the hillside and heather, + Birds seek the forest and build there and sing. +All things revive in the beautiful weather, + But unto a dead love there cometh no Spring. + + + +MIDSUMMER + + + +After the May time, and after the June time, + Rare with blossoms and perfumes sweet, +Cometh the round world's royal noon time, + The red midsummer of blazing heat. +When the sun, like an eye that never closes, + Bends on the earth its fervid gaze, +And the winds are still, and the crimson roses + Droop and wither and die in its rays. + +Unto my heart has come that season, + O my lady, my worshipped one, +When over the stars of Pride and Reason + Sails Love's cloudless, noonday sun. +Like a great red ball in my bosom burning + With fires that nothing can quench or tame. +It glows till my heart itself seems turning + Into a liquid lake of flame. + +The hopes half shy, and the sighs all tender, + The dreams and fears of an earlier day, +Under the noontide's royal splendour, + Droop like roses and wither away. +From the hills of doubt no winds are blowing, + From the isle of pain no breeze is sent. +Only the sun in a white heat glowing + Over an ocean of great content. + +Sink, O my soul, in this golden glory, + Die, O my heart, in thy rapture-swoon, +For the Autumn must come with its mournful story, + And Love's midsummer will fade too soon. + + + +A REMINISCENCE + + + +I saw the wild honey-bee kissing a rose + A wee one, that grows +Down low on the bush, where her sisters above + Cannot see all that's done + As the moments roll on. +Nor hear all the whispers and murmurs of love. + +They flaunt out their beautiful leaves in the sun, + And they flirt, every one, +With the wild bees who pass, and the gay butterflies. + And that wee thing in pink - + Why, they never once think +That she's won a lover right under their eyes. + +It reminded me, Kate, of a time--you know when! + You were so petite then, +Your dresses were short, and your feet were so small. + Your sisters, Maud-Belle + And Madeline--well, +They BOTH set their caps for me, after that ball. + +How the blue eyes and black eyes smiled up in my face! + 'Twas a neck-and-neck race, +Till that day when you opened the door in the hall, + And looked up and looked down, + With your sweet eyes of brown, +And YOU seemed so tiny, and _I_ felt so tall. + +Your sisters had sent you to keep me, my dear, + Till they should appear. +Then you were dismissed like a child in disgrace. + How meekly you went! + But your brown eyes, they sent +A thrill to my heart, and a flush to my face. + +We always were meeting some way after that. + You hung up my hat, +And got it again, when I finished my call. + Sixteen, and SO sweet! + Oh, those cute little feet! +Shall I ever forget how they tripped down the hall? + +Shall I ever forget the first kiss by the door, + Or the vows murmured o'er, +Or the rage and surprise of Maud-Belle? Well-a-day, + How swiftly time flows, + And who would suppose +That a BEE could have carried me so far away. + + + +A GIRL'S FAITH + + + +Across the miles that stretch between, + Through days of gloom or glad sunlight, +There shines a face I have not seen + Which yet doth make my world more bright. + +He may be near, he may be far, + Or near or far I cannot see, +But faithful as the morning star + He yet shall rise and come to me. + +What though fate leads us separate ways, + The world is round, and time is fleet. +A journey of a few brief days, + And face to face we two shall meet. + +Shall meet beneath God's arching skies, + While suns shall blaze, or stars shall gleam, +And looking in each other's eyes + Shall hold the past but as a dream. + +But round and perfect and complete, + Life like a star shall climb the height, +As we two press with willing feet + Together toward the Infinite. + +And still behind the space between, + As back of dawns the sunbeams play, +There shines the face I have not seen, + Whose smile shall wake my world to-day. + + + +TWO + + + +One leaned on velvet cushions like a queen - + To see him pass, the hero of an hour, +Whom men called great. She bowed with languid mien, + And smiled, and blushed, and knew her beauty's power. + +One trailed her tinselled garments through the street, + And thrust aside the crowd, and found a place +So near, the blooded courser's prancing feet + Cast sparks of fire upon her painted face. + +One took the hot-house blossoms from her breast, + And tossed them down, as he went riding by, +And blushed rose-red to see them fondly pressed + To bearded lips, while eye spoke unto eye. + +One, bold and hardened with her sinful life, + Yet shrank and shivered painfully, because +His cruel glance cut keener than a knife, + The glance of him who made her what she was. + +One was observed, and lifted up to fame, + Because the hero smiled upon her! while +One who was shunned and hated, found her shame + In basking in the death-light of his smile. + + + +SLIPPING AWAY + + + +Slipping away--slipping away! +Out of our brief year slips the May; +And Winter lingers, and Summer flies; +And Sorrow abideth, and Pleasure dies; +And the days are short, and the nights are long; +And little is right, and much is wrong. + +Slipping away is the Summer time; +It has lost its rhythm and lilting rhyme - +For the grace goes out of the day so soon, +And the tired head aches in the glare of noon, +And the way seems long to the hills that lie +Under the calm of the western sky. + +Slipping away are the friends whose worth +Lent a glow to the sad old earth: +One by one they slip from our sight; +One by one their graves gleam white; +Or we count them lost by the crueller death +Of a trust betrayed, or a murdered faith. + +Slipping away are the hopes that made +Bliss out of sorrow, and sun out of shade, +Slipping away is our hold on life; +And out of the struggle and wearing strife, +From joys that diminish, and woes that increase, +We are slipping away to the shores of Peace. + + + +IS IT DONE? + + + +It is done! in the fire's fitful flashes, + The last line has withered and curled. +In a tiny white heap of dead ashes + Lie buried the hopes of your world. +There were mad foolish vows in each letter, + It is well they have shrivelled and burned, +And the ring! oh, the ring was a fetter, + It was better removed and returned. + +But ah, is it done? In the embers + Where letters and tokens were cast, +Have you burned up the heart that remembers, + And treasures its beautiful past? +Do you think in this swift reckless fashion + To ruthlessly burn and destroy +The months that were freighted with passion, + The dreams that were drunken with joy? + +Can you burn up the rapture of kisses + That flashed from the lips to the soul, +Or the heart that grows sick for lost blisses + In spite of its strength of control? +Have you burned up the touch of warm fingers + That thrilled through each pulse and each vein, +Or the sound of a voice that still lingers + And hurts with a haunting refrain? + +Is it done? is the life drama ended? + You have put all the lights out, and yet, +Though the curtain, rung down, has descended, + Can the actors go home and forget? +Ah, no! they will turn in their sleeping + With a strange restless pain in their hearts, +And in darkness, and anguish, and weeping, + Will dream they are playing their parts. + + + +A LEAF + + + +Somebody said, in the crowd, last eve, + That you were married, or soon to be. +I have not thought of you, I believe, + Since last we parted. Let me see: +Five long Summers have passed since then - + Each has been pleasant in its own way - +And you are but one of a dozen men + Who have played the suitor a Summer day. + +But, nevertheless, when I heard your name, + Coupled with some one's, not my own, +There burned in my bosom a sudden flame, + That carried me back to the day that is flown. +I was sitting again by the laughing brook, + With you at my feet, and the sky above, +And my heart was fluttering under your look - + The unmistakable look of Love. + +Again your breath, like a South wind, fanned + My cheek, where the blushes came and went; +And the tender clasp of your strong, warm hand + Sudden thrills through my pulses sent. +Again you were mine by Love's own right - + Mine for ever by Love's decree: +So for a moment it seemed last night, + When somebody mentioned your name to me. + +Just for the moment I thought you mine - + Loving me, wooing me, as of old. +The tale remembered seemed half divine - + Though I held it lightly enough when told. +The past seemed fairer than when it was near, + As "blessings brighten when taking flight;" +And just for the moment I held you dear - + When somebody mentioned your name last night. + + + +AESTHETIC + + + +In a garb that was guiltless of colours + She stood, with a dull, listless air - +A creature of dumps and of dolours, + But most undeniably fair. + +The folds of her garment fell round her, + Revealing the curve of each limb; +Well proportioned and graceful I found her, + Although quite alarmingly slim. + +From the hem of her robe peeped one sandal - + "High art" was she down to her feet; +And though I could not understand all + She said, I could see she was sweet. + +Impressed by her limpness and languor, + I proffered a chair near at hand; +She looked back a mild sort of anger - + Posed anew, and continued to stand. + +Some praises I next tried to mutter + Of the fan that she held to her face; +She said it was "utterly utter," + And waved it with languishing grace. + +I then, in a strain quite poetic, + Begged her gaze on the bow in the sky, +She looked--said its curve was "aesthetic." + But the "tone was too dreadfully high." + +Her lovely face, lit by the splendour + That glorified landscape and sea, +Woke thoughts that were daring and tender: + Did HER thoughts, too, rest upon me? + +"Oh, tell me," I cried, growing bolder, + "Have I in your musings a place?" +"Well, yes," she said over her shoulder: + "I was thinking of nothing in space." + + + +POEMS OF THE WEEK + + + +SUNDAY + +Lie still and rest, in that serene repose +That on this holy morning comes to those +Who have been burdened with the cares which make +The sad heart weary and the tired head ache. + Lie still and rest - + God's day of all is best. + +MONDAY + +Awake! arise! Cast off thy drowsy dreams! +Red in the East, behold the Morning gleams. +"As Monday goes, so goes the week," dames say. +Refreshed, renewed, use well the initial day. + And see! thy neighbour + Already seeks his labour. + +TUESDAY + +Another morning's banners are unfurled - +Another day looks smiling on the world. +It holds new laurels for thy soul to win; +Mar not its grace by slothfulness or sin, + Nor sad, away, + Send it to yesterday. + +WEDNESDAY + +Half-way unto the end--the week's high noon. +The morning hours do speed away so soon! +And, when the noon is reached, however bright, +Instinctively we look toward the night. + The glow is lost + Once the meridian cross'd. + +THURSDAY + +So well the week has sped, hast thou a friend, +Go spend an hour in converse. It will lend +New beauty to thy labours and thy life +To pause a little sometimes in the strife. + Toil soon seems rude + That has no interlude. + +FRIDAY + +From feasts abstain; be temperate, and pray; +Fast if thou wilt; and yet, throughout the day, +Neglect no labour and no duty shirk: +Not many hours are left thee for thy work - + And it were meet + That all should be complete. + +SATURDAY + +Now with the almost finished task make haste. +So near the night thou hast no time to waste. +Post up accounts, and let thy Soul's eyes look +For flaws and errors in Life's ledger-book. + When labours cease, + How sweet the sense of peace! + + + +GHOSTS + + + + There are ghosts in the room. +As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there + They come out of the gloom, +And they stand at my side and they lean on my chair. + + There's the ghost of a Hope +That lighted my days with a fanciful glow. + In her hand is the rope +That strangled her life out. Hope was slain long ago. + + But her ghost comes to-night, +With its skeleton face and expressionless eyes, + And it stands in the light, +And mocks me, and jeers me with sobs and with sighs. + + There's the ghost of a Joy, +A frail, fragile thing, and I prized it too much, + And the hands that destroy +Clasped it close, and it died at the withering touch. + + There's the ghost of a Love, +Born with joy, reared with hope, died in pain and unrest, + But he towers above +All the others--this ghost: yet a ghost at the best. + + I am weary, and fain +Would forget all these dead: but the gibbering host + Make my struggle in vain, +In each shadowy corner there lurketh a ghost. + + + +FLEEING AWAY + + + +My thoughts soar not as they ought to soar, + Higher and higher on soul-lent wings; +But ever and often, and more and more + They are dragged down earthward by little things, +By little troubles and little needs, +As a lark might be tangled among the weeds. + +My purpose is not what it ought to be, + Steady and fixed, like a star on high, +But more like a fisherman's light at sea; + Hither and thither it seems to fly - +Sometimes feeble, and sometimes bright, +Then suddenly lost in the gloom of night. + +My life is far from my dream of life - + Calmly contented, serenely glad; +But, vexed and worried by daily strife, + It is always troubled, and ofttimes sad - +And the heights I had thought I should reach one day +Grow dimmer and dimmer, and farther away. + +My heart finds never the longed-for rest; + Its worldly striving, its greed for gold, +Chilled and frightened the calm-eyed guest, + Who sometimes sought me in days of old; +And ever fleeing away from me +Is the higher self that I long to be. + + + +ALL MAD + + + +"He is mad as a hare, poor fellow, + And should be in chains," you say. +I haven't a doubt of your statement, + But who isn't mad, I pray? +Why, the world is a great asylum, + And people are all insane, +Gone daft with pleasure or folly, + Or crazed with passion and pain. + +The infant who shrieks at a shadow, + The child with his Santa Claus faith, +The woman who worships Dame Fashion, + Each man with his notions of death, +The miser who hoards up his earnings, + The spendthrift who wastes them too soon, +The scholar grown blind in his delving, + The lover who stares at the moon. + +The poet who thinks life a paean, + The cynic who thinks it a fraud, +The youth who goes seeking for pleasure, + The preacher who dares talk of God, +All priests with their creeds and their croaking, + All doubters who dare to deny, +The gay who find aught to wake laughter, + The sad who find aught worth a sigh, +Whoever is downcast or solemn, + Whoever is gleeful and glad, +Are only the dupes of delusions - + We are all of us--all of us mad. + + + +HIDDEN GEMS + + + +We know not what lies in us, till we seek; + Men dive for pearls--they are not found on shore, +The hillsides most unpromising and bleak + Do sometimes hide the ore. + +Go, dive in the vast ocean of thy mind, + O man! far down below the noisy waves, +Down in the depths and silence thou mayst find + Rare pearls and coral caves. + +Sink thou a shaft into the mine of thought; + Be patient, like the seekers after gold; +Under the rocks and rubbish lieth what + May bring thee wealth untold. + +Reflected from the vastly Infinite, + However dulled by earth, each human mind +Holds somewhere gems of beauty and of light + Which, seeking, thou shalt find. + + + +BY-AND-BYE + + + +"By-and-bye," the maiden sighed--"by-and-bye +He will claim me for his bride, +Hope is strong and time is fleet; +Youth is fair, and love is sweet, +Clouds will pass that fleck my sky, +He will come back by-and-bye--by-and-bye." + +"By-and-bye," the soldier said--"by-and-bye, +After I have fought and bled, +I shall go home from the wars, +Crowned with glory, seamed with scars. +Joy will flash from some one's eye +When she greets me by-and-bye--by-and-bye." + +"By-and-bye," the mother cried--"by-and-bye, +Strong and sturdy at my side, +Like a staff supporting me, +Will my bonnie baby be. +Break my rest, then, wail and cry - +Thou'lt repay me by-and-bye--by-and-bye." + +Fleeting years of time have sped--hurried by - +Still the maiden is unwed: +All unknown the soldier lies, +Buried under alien skies; +And the son, with blood-shot eye, +Saw his mother starve and die. +God in Heaven! dost Thou on high, +Keep the promised "by-and-bye"--by-and-bye? + + + +OVER THE MAY HILL + + + +All through the night time, and all through the day time, + Dreading the morning and dreading the night, +Nearer and nearer we drift to the May time + Season of beauty and season of blight, +Leaves on the linden, and sun on the meadow, + Green in the garden, and bloom everywhere, +Gloom in my heart, and a terrible shadow, + Walks by me, sits by me, stands by my chair. + +Oh, but the birds by the brooklet are cheery, + Oh, but the woods show such delicate greens, +Strange how you droop and how soon you are weary - + Too well I know what that weariness means. +But how could I know in the crisp winter weather + (Though sometimes I noticed a catch in your breath), +Riding and singing and dancing together, + How could I know you were racing with death? + +How could I know when we danced until morning, + And you were the gayest of all the gay crowd - +With only that shortness of breath for a warning, + How could I know that you danced for a shroud? +Whirling and whirling through moonlight and starlight. + Rocking as lightly as boats on the wave, +Down in your eyes shone a deep light--a far light, + How could I know 'twas the light to your grave? + +Day by day, day by day, nearing and nearing, + Hid under greenness, and beauty and bloom, +Cometh the shape and the shadow I'm fearing, + "Over the May hill" is waiting your tomb. +The season of mirth and of music is over - + I have danced my last dance, I have sung my last song, +Under the violets, under the clover, + My heart and my love will be lying ere long + + + +FOES + + + +Thank Fate for foes! I hold mine dear + As valued friends. He cannot know +The zest of life who runneth here + His earthly race without a foe. + +I saw a prize. "Run," cried my friend; + "'Tis thine to claim without a doubt." +But ere I half-way reached the end, + I felt my strength was giving out. + +My foe looked on the while I ran; + A scornful triumph lit his eyes. +With that perverseness born in man, + I nerved myself, and won the prize. + +All blinded by the crimson glow + Of sin's disguise, I tempted Fate. +"I knew thy weakness!" sneered my foe, + I saved myself, and balked his hate. + +For half my blessings, half my gain, + I needs must thank my trusty foe; +Despite his envy and disdain, + He serves me well where'er I go. + +So may I keep him to the end, + Nor may his enmity abate: +More faithful than the fondest friend, + He guards me ever with his hate. + + + +FRIENDSHIP + + + +Dear friend, I pray thee, if thou wouldst be proving + Thy strong regard for me, +Make me no vows. Lip-service is not loving; + Let thy faith speak for thee. + +Swear not to me that nothing can divide us - + So little such oaths mean. +But when distrust and envy creep beside us + Let them not come between. + +Say not to me the depths of thy devotion + Are deeper than the sea; +But watch, lest doubt or some unkind emotion + Embitter them for me. + +Vow not to love me ever and for ever, + Words are such idle things; +But when we differ in opinions, never + Hurt me by little stings. + +I'm sick of words: they are so lightly spoken, + And spoken, are but air. +I'd rather feel thy trust in me unbroken + Than list thy words so fair. + +If all the little proofs of trust are heeded, + If thou art always kind, +No sacrifice, no promise will be needed + To satisfy my mind. + + + +TWO SAT DOWN + + + +Two sat down in the morning time, + One to sing and one to spin. +All men listened the song sublime - + But no one listened the dull wheel's din. + +The singer sat in a pleasant nook, + And sang of a life that was fair and sweet, +While the spinner sat with a steadfast look, + Busily plying her hands and feet. + +The singer sang on with a rose in her hair, + And all men listened her dulcet tone; +And the spinner spun on with a dull despair + Down in her heart as she sat alone. + +But lo! on the morrow no one said + Aught of the singer or what she sang. +Men were saying: "Behold this thread," + And loud the praise of the spinner rang. + +The world has forgotten the singer's name - + Her rose is faded, her songs are old; +But far o'er the ocean the spinner's fame + Yet is blazoned in lines of gold. + + + +BOUND AND FREE + + + +Come to me, Love! Come on the wings of the wind! + Fly as the ring-dove would fly to his mate! +Leave all your cares and your sorrows behind! + Leave all the fears of your future to Fate! +Come! and our skies shall be glad with the gold + That paled into gray when you parted from me. +Come! but remember that, just as of old, + You must be bound, Love, and I must be free. + +Life has lost savour since you and I parted; + I have been lonely, and you have been sad. +Youth is too brief to be sorrowful-hearted - + Come! and again let us laugh and be glad. +Lips should not sigh that are fashioned to kiss - + Breasts should not ache that joy's secrets have found. +Come! but remember, in spite of all this, + I must be free, Love, while you must be bound. + +You must be bound to be true while you live, + And I keep my freedom for ever, as now. +You must ask only for that which I give - + Kisses and love-words, but never a vow. +Come! I am lonely, and long for your smile, + Bring back the lost lovely Summer to me! +Come! but remember, remember the while, + That you must be bound, Love, and I must be free. + + + +AQUILEIA + + + +[On the election of the Roman Emperor Maximus, by the Senate, A.D. +238, a powerful army, headed by the Thracian giant Maximus, laid +siege to Aquileia. Though poorly prepared for war, the constancy of +her citizens rendered her impregnable. The women of Aquileia cut +off their hair to make ropes for the military engines. The small +body of troops was directed by Chrispinus, a Lieutenant of the +Senate. Apollo was the deity supposed to protect them. --Gibbon's +Roman History.] + +"The ropes, the ropes! Apollo send us ropes," +Chrispinus cried, "or death attends our hopes." +Then panic reigned, and many a mournful sound +Hurt the cleft air; for where could ropes be found? + +Up rose a Roman mother; tall was she +As her own son, a youth of noble height. +A little child was clinging to her knee - +She loosed his twining arms and put him down, +And her dark eyes flashed with a sudden light. + +How like a queen she stood! her royal crown, +The rich dark masses of her splendid hair. +Just flecked with spots of sunshine here and there, +Twined round her brow; 'twas like a coronet, +Where gems of gold lie bedded deep in jet. + +She loosed the comb that held the shining strands, +And threaded out the meshes with her hands. +The purple mass fell to her garment's hem. +A queen new clothed without her diadem +She stood before her subjects. + + "Now," she cried, +"Give me thy sword, Julianus!" And her son +Unsheathed the blade (that had not left his side +Save when it sought a foeman's blood to shed), +Awed by her regal bearing, and obeyed. + +With the white beauty of her firm fair hand +She clasped the hilt; then severed, one by one, +Her gold-flecked purple tresses. Strand on strand, +Free e'en as foes had fallen by that blade, +Robbed of its massive wealth of curl and coil, +Yet like some antique model, rose her head +In all its classic beauty. + + "See!" she said, +And pointed to the shining mound of hair; +"Apollo makes swift answer to thy prayer, +Chrispinus. Quick! now, soldiers, to thy toil!" +Forth from a thousand throats what seemed one voice +Rose shrilly, filling all the air with cheer. +"Lo!" quoth the foe, "our enemies rejoice!" +Well might the Thracian giant quake with fear! +For while skilled hands caught up the gleaming threads +And bound them into cords, a hundred heads +Yielded their beauteous tresses to the sword, +And cast them down to swell the precious hoard. + +Nor was the noble sacrifice in vain +Another day beheld the giant slain. + + + +WISHES FOR A LITTLE GIRL + + + +What would I ask the kindly fates to give + To crown her life, if I could have my way? +My strongest wishes would be negative, + If they would but obey. + +Give her not greatness. For great souls must stand + Alone and lonely in this little world: +Cleft rocks that show the great Creator's hand, + Thither by earthquakes hurled. + +Give her not genius. Spare her the cruel pain + Of finding her whole life a prey for daws; +Of hearing with quickened sense and burning brain + The world's sneer-tinged applause. + +Give her not perfect beauty's gifts. For then + Her truthful mirror would infuse her mind +With love for self, and for the praise of men, + That lowers woman-kind. + +But make her fair and comely to the sight, + Give her more heart than brain, more love than pride. +Let her be tender-thoughted, cheerful, bright, + Some strong man's star and guide. + +Not vainly questioning why she was sent + Into this restless world of toil and strife, +Let her go bravely on her way, content + To make the best of life. + + + +ROMNEY + + + +Nay, Romney, nay--I will not hear you say + Those words again: "I love you, love you sweet!" + You are profane--blasphemous. I repeat, +You are no actor for so grand a play. + +You love with all your heart? Well, that may be; + Some cups are fashioned shallow. Should I try + To quench my thirst from one of those, when dry - +I who have had a full bowl proffered me - + +A new bowl brimming with a draught divine, + One single taste thrilled to the finger-tips? + Think you I even care to bathe my lips +With this poor sweetened water you call wine? + +And though I spilled the nectar ere 'twas quaffed, + And broke the bowl in wanton folly, yet + I would die of my thirst ere I would wet +My burning lips with any meaner draught. + +So leave me, Romney. One who has seen a play + Enacted by a star cannot endure + To see it rendered by an amateur. +You know not what Love is--now go away! + + + +MY HOME + + + +This is the place that I love the best, +A little brown house like a ground-bird's nest, +Hid among grasses, and vines, and trees, +Summer retreat of the birds and bees. + +The tenderest light that ever was seen +Sifts through the vine-made window screen - +Sifts and quivers, and flits and falls +On home-made carpets and gray-hung walls. + +All through June, the west wind free +The breath of the clover brings to me. +All through the languid July day +I catch the scent of the new-mown hay. + +The morning glories and scarlet vine +Over the doorway twist and twine; +And every day, when the house is still, +The humming-bird comes to the window-sill. + +In the cunningest chamber under the sun +I sink to sleep when the day is done; +And am waked at morn, in my snow-white bed, +By a singing-bird on the roof o'erhead. + +Better than treasures brought from Rome +Are the living pictures I see at home - +My aged father, with frosted hair, +And mother's face like a painting rare +Far from the city's dust and heat, +I get but sounds and odours sweet. +Who can wonder I love to stay, +Week after week, here hidden away, +In this sly nook that I love the best - +The little brown house, like a ground-bird's nest? + + + +TO MARRY OR NOT TO MARRY? +A GIRL'S REVERIE + + + +Mother says, "Be in no hurry, +Marriage oft means care and worry." + +Auntie says, with manner grave, +"Wife is synonym for slave." + +Father asks, in tones commanding, +"How does Bradstreet rate his standing?" + +Sister crooning to her twins, +Sighs, "With marriage care begins." + +Grandma, near life's closing days, +Murmurs, "Sweet are girlhood's ways." + +Maud, twice widowed ("sod and grass") +Looks at me and moans "Alas!" + +They are six, and I am one, +Life for me has just begun. + +They are older, calmer, wiser: +Age should aye be youth's adviser. + +They must know--and yet, dear me, +When in Harry's eyes I see + +All the world of love there burning - +On my six advisers turning, + +I make answer, "Oh, but Harry +Is not like most men who marry. + +"Fate has offered me a prize, +Life with love means Paradise. + +"Life without it is not worth +All the foolish joys of earth." + +So, in spite of all they say, +I shall name the wedding day. + + + +AN AFTERNOON + + + +I am stirred by the dream of an afternoon +Of a perfect day--though it was not June; +The lilt of winds, and the droning tune + That a busy city was humming. + +And a bronze-brown head, and lips like wine +Leaning out through the window-vine +A-list for steps that were maybe mine - + Eager steps that were coming. + +I can see it all, as a dreamer may - +The tender smile on your lips that day, +And the glow on your cheek as we rode away + Into the golden weather. + +And a love-light shone in your eyes of brown - +I swear there did!--as we drove down +The crowded avenue out of the town, + Through shadowy lanes, together: + +Drove out into the sunset-skies +That glowed with wonderful crimson dyes; +And with soul and spirit, and heart and eyes, + We silently drank their splendour. + +But the golden glory that lit the place +Was not alone from the sunset's grace - +For I saw in your fair, uplifted face + A light that was wondrously tender. + +I say I saw it. And yet to-day +I ask myself, in a cynical way, +Was it only a part you had learned to play, + To see me act the lover? + +And I curse myself for a fool. And yet +I would willingly die without one regret +Could I bring back the day whose sun has set - + And you--and live it over. + + + +RIVER AND SEA + + + +We stood by the river that swept + In its glory and grandeur away; +But never a pulse o' me leapt, + And you wondered at me that day. + +We stood by the lake as it lay + With its dimpled face turned to the light; +Was it strange I had nothing to say + To so fair and enchanting a sight? + +I look on your tresses of gold - + You are fair and a thing to be loved - +Do you think I am heartless and cold + That I look and am wholly unmoved? + +One answer, dear friend, I will make + To the questions your eyes ask of me: +"Talk not of the river or lake + To those who have looked on the sea" + + + +WHAT HAPPENS? + + + +When thy hand touches mine, through all the mesh + Of intricate and interlaced veins + Shoot swift delights that border on keen pains: +Flesh thrills to thrilling flesh. + +When in thine eager eyes I look to find + A comrade to my thought, thy ready brain + Delves down and makes its inmost meaning plain: +Mind answers unto mind. + +When hands and eyes are hid by seas that roll + Wide wastes between us, still so near thou art + I count the very pulses of thy heart: +Soul speaketh unto soul. + +So every law, or human or divine, +In heart and brain and spirit makes thee mine. + + + +POSSESSION + + + +That which we had we still possess, + Though leaves may drop and stars may fall; +No circumstance can make it less, + Or take it from us, all in all. + +That which is lost we did not own; + We only held it for a day - +A leaf by careless breezes blown; + No fate could take our own away. + +I hold it as a changeless law + From which no soul can sway or swerve, +We have that in us which will draw + Whate'er we need or most deserve. + +Even as the magnet to the steel + Our souls are to our best desires; +The Fates have hearts and they can feel - + They know what each true life requires. + +We think we lose when we most gain; + We call joys ended ere begun; +When stars fade out do skies complain, + Or glory in the rising sun? + +No fate could rob us of our own - + No circumstance can make it less; +What time removes was but a loan, + For what was ours we still possess. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext Poems of Cheer, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox + diff --git a/old/pmchr10.zip b/old/pmchr10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e982e5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/pmchr10.zip |
