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diff --git a/old/versc10.txt b/old/versc10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..20751d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/versc10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4146 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Verses +by Susan Coolidge + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg file. + +We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your own disk, +thereby keeping an electronic path open for future readers. + +Please do not remove this. + +This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to +view the etext. Do not change or edit it without written permission. +The words are carefully chosen to provide users with the information +needed to understand what they may and may not do with the etext. +To encourage this, we have moved most of the information to the end, +rather than having it all here at the beginning. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These Etexts Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get etexts, and +further information, is included below. We need your donations. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3) +organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541 +Find out about how to make a donation at the bottom of this file. + + +Title: Verses + +Author: Susan Coolidge + +Release Date: October, 2003 [Etext #4560] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on February 11, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Verses +by Susan Coolidge +******This file should be named versc10.txt or versc10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, versc11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, versc10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep etexts in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +The "legal small print" and other information about this book may +be found at the end of this file. Please read this important +information, as it gives you specific rights and tells you about +restrictions in how the file may be used. + + +********************************************************************* +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +VERSES. + + +BY + + +SUSAN COOLIDGE. + + + + +TO J. H. AND E. W. H. + + Nourished by peaceful suns and gracious dew, + Your sweet youth budded and your sweet lives grew, + And all the world seemed rose-beset for you. + + The rose of beauty was your mutual dower, + The stainless rose of love, an early flower, + The stately blooms of ease and wealth and power. + + And treading thus on pathways flower-bestrewn, + It well might be, that, cold and careless grown, + You both had lived for your own joys alone. + + But, holding all these fair things as in trust. + Gently you walked, still scattering on the dust + Of harder roads, which others tread, and must,-- + + Your heritage of brightness, not a ray + Of noontide sought you out, but straight away + You caught and halved it with some darker day: + + And as the sweet saint's loaves were turned, it is said, + To roses, so your roses turned to bread, + That hungering souls and weary might be fed. + + Dear friends, my poor words do but paint you wrong, + Nor can I utter, in one trivial song, + The goodness I have honored for so long. + + Only this leaf, a single petal flung, + One chord from a full harmony unsung, + May speak the life-long love that lacks a tongue. + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +To J. H. and E. W. H. +Prelude +Commissioned +The Cradle Tomb in Westminster Abbey +"Of such as I have" +A Portrait +When? +On the Shore +Among the Lilies +November +Embalmed +Ginevra Degli Amieri +Easter Lilies +Ebb-Tide +Flood-Tide +A Year +Tokens +Her Going +A Lonely Moment +Communion +A Farewell +Ebb and Flow +Angelus +The Morning Comes Before the Sun +Laborare est Orare +Eighteen +Outward Bound +From East to West +Una +Two Ways to Love +After-Glow +Hope and I +Left Behind +Savoir c'est Pardonner +Morning +A Blind Singer +Mary +When Love went +Overshadowed +Time to Go +Gulf-Stream +My White Chrysanthemum +Till the Day Dawn +My Birthday +By the Cradle +A Thunder Storm +Through the Door +Readjustment +At the Gate +A Home +The Legend of Kintu +Easter +Bind-Weed +April +May +Secrets +How the Leaves Came Down +Barcaroles +My Rights +Solstice +In the Mist +Within +Menace +"He That Believeth Shall Not Make Haste" +My Little Ghost +Christmas +Benedicam Domino + + + + +PRELUDE. + + Poems are heavenly things, + And only souls with wings + May reach them where they grow, + May pluck and bear below, + Feeding the nations thus + With food all glorious. + + Verses are not of these; + They bloom on earthly trees, + Poised on a low-hung stem, + And those may gather them + Who cannot fly to where + The heavenly gardens are. + + So I by devious ways + Have pulled some easy sprays + From the down-dropping bough + Which all may reach, and now + I knot them, bud and leaf, + Into a rhymed sheaf. + + Not mine the pinion strong + To win the nobler song; + I only cull and bring + A hedge-row offering + Of berry, flower, and brake, + If haply some may take. + + + + + + +VERSES. + + + + + + +COMMISSIONED. + +"Do their errands; enter into the sacrifice with them; be a link +yourself in the divine chain, and feel the joy and life of it." +--ADELINE D. T. WHITNEY + + + What can I do for thee, Beloved, + Whose feet so little while ago + Trod the same way-side dust with mine, + And now up paths I do not know + Speed, without sound or sign? + + What can I do? The perfect life + All fresh and fair and beautiful + Has opened its wide arms to thee; + Thy cup is over-brimmed and full; + Nothing remains for me. + + I used to do so many things,-- + Love thee and chide thee and caress; + Brush little straws from off thy way, + Tempering with my poor tenderness + The heat of thy short day. + + Not much, but very sweet to give; + And it is grief of griefs to bear + That all these ministries are o'er, + And thou, so happy, Love, elsewhere, + Never can need me more:-- + + And I can do for thee but this + (Working on blindly, knowing not + If I may give thee pleasure so): + Out of my own dull, burdened lot + I can arise, and go + + To sadder lives and darker homes, + A messenger, dear heart, from thee + Who wast on earth a comforter, + And say to those who welcome me, + I am sent forth by her. + + Feeling the while how good it is + To do thy errands thus, and think + It may be, in the blue, far space, + Thou watchest from the heaven's brink,-- + A smile upon my face. + + And when the day's work ends with day, + And star-eyed evening, stealing in, + Waves a cool hand to flying noon, + And restless, surging thoughts begin, + Like sad bells out of tune, + + I'll pray: "Dear Lord, to whose great love + Nor bound nor limit line is set, + Give to my darling, I implore, + Some new sweet joy not tasted yet, + For I can give no more." + + And with the words my thoughts shall climb + With following feet the heavenly stair + Up which thy steps so lately sped, + And, seeing thee so happy there, + Come back half comforted. + + + + +THE CRADLE TOMB IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. + + A little, rudely sculptured bed, + With shadowing folds of marble lace, + And quilt of marble, primly spread + And folded round a baby's face. + + Smoothly the mimic coverlet, + With royal blazonries bedight, + Hangs, as by tender fingers set + And straightened for the last good-night. + + And traced upon the pillowing stone + A dent is seen, as if to bless + The quiet sleep some grieving one + Had leaned, and left a soft impress. + + It seems no more than yesterday + Since the sad mother down the stair + And down the long aisle stole away, + And left her darling sleeping there. + + But dust upon the cradle lies, + And those who prized the baby so, + And laid her down to rest with sighs, + Were turned to dust long years ago. + + Above the peaceful pillowed head + Three centuries brood, and strangers peep + And wonder at the carven bed,-- + But not unwept the baby's sleep, + + For wistful mother-eyes are blurred + With sudden mists, as lingerers stay, + And the old dusts are roused and stirred + By the warm tear-drops of to-day. + + Soft, furtive hands caress the stone, + And hearts, o'erleaping place and age, + Melt into memories, and own + A thrill of common parentage. + + Men die, but sorrow never dies; + The crowding years divide in vain, + And the wide world is knit with ties + Of common brotherhood in pain; + + Of common share in grief and loss, + And heritage in the immortal bloom + Of Love, which, flowering round its cross, + Made beautiful a baby's tomb. + + + + +"OF SUCH AS I HAVE." + + Love me for what I am, Love. Not for sake + Of some imagined thing which I might be, + Some brightness or some goodness not in me, + Born of your hope, as dawn to eyes that wake + Imagined morns before the morning break. + If I, to please you (whom I fain would please), + Reset myself like new key to old tune, + Chained thought, remodelled action, very soon + My hand would slip from yours, and by degrees + The loving, faulty friend, so close to-day, + Would vanish, and another take her place,-- + A stranger with a stranger's scrutinies, + A new regard, an unfamiliar face. + Love me for what I am, then, if you may; + But, if you cannot,--love me either way. + + + + +A PORTRAIT. + + All sweet and various things do lend themselves + And blend and intermix in her rare soul, + As chorded notes, which were untuneful else, + Clasp each the other in a perfect whole. + + Within her spirit, dawn, all dewy-pearled, + Seems held and folded in by golden noons, + While past the sunshine gleams a further world + Of deep star-spaces and mysterious moons. + + Like widths of blowing ocean wet with spray, + Like breath of early blooms at morning caught, + Like cool airs on the cheek of heated day, + Come the fair emanations of her thought. + + Her movement, like the curving of a vine, + Seems an unerring accident of grace, + And like a flower's the subtle change and shine + And meaning of her brightly tranquil face. + + And like a tree, unconscious of her shade, + She spreads her helpful branches everywhere + For wandering bird or bee, nor is afraid + Too many guests shall crowd to harbor there. + + For she is kinder than all others are, + And weak things, sad things, gather where she dwells, + To reach and taste her strength and drink of her, + As thirsty creatures of clear water-wells. + + Why vex with words where words are poor and vain? + In one brief sentence lies the riddle's key, + Which those who love her read and read again, + Finding each time new meanings: SHE IS SHE! + + + + +WHEN? + + If I were told that I must die to-morrow, + That the next sun + Which sinks should bear me past all fear and sorrow + For any one, + All the fight fought, all the short journey through: + What should I do? + + I do not think that I should shrink or falter, + But just go on, + Doing my work, nor change, nor seek to alter + Aught that is gone; + But rise and move and love and smile and pray + For one more day. + + And, lying down at night for a last sleeping, + Say in that ear + Which hearkens ever: "Lord, within Thy keeping + How should I fear? + And when to-morrow brings Thee nearer still. + Do Thou Thy will." + + I might not sleep for awe; but peaceful, tender, + My soul would lie + All the night long; and when the morning splendor + Flashed o'er the sky, + I think that I could smile--could calmly say, + "It is His day." + + But, if instead a hand from the blue yonder + Held out a scroll, + On which my life was, writ, and I with wonder + Beheld unroll + To a long century's end its mystic clew, + What should I do? + + What COULD I do, O blessed Guide and Master, + Other than this: + Still to go on as now, not slower, faster, + Nor fear to miss + The road, although so very long it be, + While led by Thee? + + Step after step, feeling Thee close beside me, + Although unseen, + Through thorns, through flowers, whether the tempest hide Thee, + Or heavens serene, + Assured Thy faithfulness cannot betray, + Thy love decay. + + I may not know, my God; no hand revealeth + Thy counsels wise; + Along the path a deepening shadow stealeth, + No voice replies + To all my questioning thought, the time to tell, + And it is well. + + Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing + Thy will always, + Through a long century's ripening fruition, + Or a short day's. + Thou canst not come too soon; and I can wait + If thou come late. + + + + +ON THE SHORE. + + The punctual tide draws up the bay, + With ripple of wave and hiss of spray, + And the great red flower of the light-house tower + Blooms on the headland far away. + + Petal by petal its fiery rose + Out of the darkness buds and grows; +A dazzling shape on the dim, far cape, + A beckoning shape as it comes and goes. + + A moment of bloom, and then it dies + On the windy cliff 'twixt the sea and skies. +The fog laughs low to see it go, + And the white waves watch it with cruel eyes. + + Then suddenly out of the mist-cloud dun, + As touched and wooed by unseen sun, +Again into sight bursts the rose of light + And opens its petals one by one. + + Ah, the storm may be wild and the sea be strong, + And man is weak and the darkness long, +But while blossoms the flower on the light-house tower + There still is place for a smile and a song. + + + + +AMONG THE LILIES. + + She stood among the lilies + In sunset's brightest ray, + Among the tall June lilies, + As stately fair as they; + And I, a boyish lover then, + Looked once, and, lingering, looked again, + And life began that day. + + She sat among the lilies, + My sweet, all lily-pale; + The summer lilies listened, + I whispered low my tale. + O golden anthers, breathing balm, + O hush of peace, O twilight calm, + Did you or I prevail? + + She lies among the lily-snows, + Beneath the wintry sky; + All round her and about her + The buried lilies lie. + They will awake at touch of Spring, + And she, my fair and flower-like thing, + In spring-time--by and by. + + + + +NOVEMBER. + + Dry leaves upon the wall, + Which flap like rustling wings and seek escape, + A single frosted cluster on the grape + Still hangs--and that is all. + + It hangs forgotten quite,-- + Forgotten in the purple vintage-day, + Left for the sharp and cruel frosts to slay, + The daggers of the night. + + It knew the thrill of spring; + It had its blossom-time, its perfumed noons; + Its pale-green spheres were rounded to soft runes + Of summer's whispering. + + Through balmy morns of May; + Through fragrances of June and bright July, + And August, hot and still, it hung on high + And purpled day by day. + + Of fair and mantling shapes, + No braver, fairer cluster on the tree; + And what then is this thing has come to thee + Among the other grapes, + + Thou lonely tenant of the leafless vine, + Granted the right to grow thy mates beside, + To ripen thy sweet juices, but denied + Thy place among the wine? + + Ah! we are dull and blind. + The riddle is too hard for us to guess + The why of joy or of unhappiness, + Chosen or left behind. + + But everywhere a host + Of lonely lives shall read their type in thine: + Grapes which may never swell the tale of wine, + Left out to meet the frost. + + + + +EMBALMED. + + This is the street and the dwelling, + Let me count the houses o'er; + Yes,--one, two, three from the corner, + And the house that I love makes four. + + That is the very window + Where I used to see her head + Bent over book or needle, + With ivy garlanded. + + And the very loop of the curtain, + And the very curve of the vine, + Were full of the grace and the meaning + Which was hers by some right divine. + + I began to be glad at the corner, + And all the way to the door + My heart outran my footsteps, + And frolicked and danced before, + + In haste for the words of welcome, + The voice, the repose and grace, + And the smile, like a benediction, + Of that beautiful, vanished face. + + Now I pass the door, and I pause not, + And I look the other way; + But ever, a waft of fragrance, + Too subtle to name or stay, + + Comes the thought of the gracious presence + Which made that past time sweet, + And still to those who remember, + Embalms the house and the street, + + Like the breath from some vase, now empty + Of a flowery shape unseen, + Which follows the path of its lover, + To tell where a rose has been. + + + + +GINEVRA DEGLI AMIERI. + +A STORY OF OLD FLORENCE. + +So it is come! The doctor's glossy smile +Deceives me not. I saw him shake his head, +Whispering, and heard poor Giulia sob without, +As, slowly creaking, he went down the stair. +Were they afraid that I should be afraid? +I, who had died once and been laid in tomb? +They need not. + + Little one, look not so pale. +I am not raving. Ah! you never heard +The story. Climb up there upon the bed: +Sit close, and listen. After this one day +I shall not tell you stories any more. + +How old are you, my rose? What! almost twelve? +Almost a woman? Scarcely more than that +Was your fair mother when she bore her bud; +And scarcely more was I when, long years since, +I left my father's house, a bride in May. +You know the house, beside St. Andrea's church, +Gloomy and rich, which stands, and seems to frown +On the Mercato, humming at its base; +And hold on high, out of the common reach, +The lilies and carved shields above its door; +And, higher yet, to catch and woo the sun, +A little loggia set against the sky? +That was my play-place ever as a child; +And with me used to play a kinsman's son, +Antonio Rondinelli. Ah, dear days! +Two happy things we were, with none to chide +Or hint that life was anything but play. + +Sudden the play-time ended. All at once +"You must be wed," they told me. "What is wed?" +I asked; but with the word I bent my brow, +Let them put on the garland, smiled to see +The glancing jewels tied about my neck; +And so, half-pleased, half-puzzled, was led forth +By my grave husband, older than my sire. + +O the long years that followed! It would seem +That the sun never shone in all those years, +Or only with a sudden, troubled glint +Flashed on Antonio's curls, as he went by +Doffing his cap, with eyes of wistful love +Raised to my face,--my conscious, woful face. +Were we so much to blame? Our lives had twined +Together, none forbidding, for so long. +They let our childish fingers drop the seed, +Unhindered, which should ripen to tall grain; +They let the firm, small roots tangle and grow, +Then rent them, careless that it hurt the plant. +I loved Antonio, and he loved me. + +Life was all shadow, but it was not sin! +I loved Antonio, but I kept me pure, +Not for my husband's sake, but for the sake +Of him, my first-born child, my little child, +Mine for a few short weeks, whose touch, whose look +Thrilled all my soul and thrills it to this day. +I loved; but, hear me swear, I kept me pure! +(Remember that, Madonna, when I come +Before thy throne to-morrow. Be not stern, +Or gaze upon me with reproachful look, +Making my little angel hide his face +And weep, while all the others turn glad eyes +Rejoicing on their mothers.) + + It was hard +To sit in darkness while the rest had light, +To move to discords when the rest had song, +To be so young and never to have lived. +I bore, as women bear, until one day +Soul said to flesh, "This I endure no more," +And with the word uprose, tore clay apart, +And what was blank before grew blanker still. + +It was a fever, so the leeches said. +I had been dead so long, I did not know +The difference, or heed. Oil on my breast, +The garments of the grave about me wrapped, +They bore me forth, and laid me in the tomb. +The rich and beautiful and dreadful tomb, +Where all the buried Amteris lie, +Beneath the Duomo's black and towering shade. + +Open the curtain, child. Yes, it is night. +It was night then, when I awoke to feel +That deadly chill, and see by ghostly gleams +Of moonlight, creeping through the grated door, +The coffins of my fathers all about. +Strange, hollow clamors rang and echoed back, +As, struggling out of mine, I dropped and fell. +With frantic strength I beat upon the grate. +It yielded to my touch. Some careless hand +Had left the bolt half-slipped. My father swore +Afterward, with a curse, he would make sure +Next time. NEXT TIME. That hurts me even now! + +Dead or alive I issued, scarce sure which. +High overhead Giotto's tower soared; +Behind, the Duomo rose all white and black; +Then pealed a sudden jargoning of bells, +And down the darkling street I wildly fled, +Led by a little, cold, and wandering moon, +Which seemed as lonely and as lost as I. +I had no aim, save to reach warmth and light +And human touch; but still my witless steps +Led to my husband's door, and there I stopped, +By instinct, knocked, and called. + + A window oped. +A voice--t'was his--demanded: "Who is there?" +"Tis I, Ginevra." Then I heard the tone +Change into horror, and he prayed aloud +And called upon the saints, the while I urged, +"O, let me in, Francesco; let me in! +I am so cold, so frightened, let me in!" +Then, with a crash, the window was shut fast; +And, though I cried and beat upon the door +And wailed aloud, no other answer came. + +Weeping, I turned away, and feebly strove +Down the hard distance towards my father's house. +"They will have pity and will let me in," +I thought. "They loved me and will let me in." +Cowards! At the high window overhead +They stood and trembled, while I plead and prayed: +"I am your child, Ginevra. Let me in! +I am not dead. In mercy, let me in!" +"The holy saints forbid!" declared my sire. +My mother sobbed and vowed whole pounds of wax +To St. Eustachio, would he but remove +This fearful presence from her door. Then sharp +Came click of lock, and a long tube was thrust +From out the window, and my brother cried, +"Spirit or devil, go! or else I fire!" + +Where should I go? Back to the ghastly tomb +And the cold coffined ones? Up the long street, +Wringing my hands and sobbing low, I went. +My feet were bare and bleeding from the stones; +My hands were bleeding too; my hair hung loose +Over my shroud. So wild and strange a shape +Saw never Florence since. The people call +That street through which I walked and wrung my hands +"Street of the Dead One," even to this day. +The sleeping houses stood in midnight black, +And not a soul was in the streets but I. + +At last I saw a flickering point of light +High overhead, in a dim window set. +I had lain down to die; but at the sight +I rose, crawled on, and with expiring strength +Knocked, sank again, and knew not even then +It was Antonio's door by which I lay. + +A window opened, and a voice called out: +"Qui e?" "I am Ginevra." And I thought, +"Now he will fall to trembling, like the rest, +And bid me hence." But, lo! a moment more +The bolts were drawn, and arms whose very touch +Was life, lifted and clasped and bore me in. +"O ghost or angel of my buried love, +I know not, care not which, be welcome here! +Welcome, thrice welcome, to this heart of mine!" +I heard him say, and then I heard no more. + +It was high noontide when I woke again, +To hear fierce voices wrangling by my bed,-- +My father's and my husband's; for, with dawn, +Gathering up valor, they had sought the tomb, +Had found me gone, and tracked my bleeding feet +Over the pavement to Antonio's door. +Dead, they cared nothing: living, I was, theirs. +Hot raged the quarrel; then came Justice in, +And to the court we swept--I in my shroud-- +To try the cause. + + This was the verdict given: +"A woman who has been to burial borne, +Made fast and left and locked in with the dead; +Who at her husband's door has stood and plead +For entrance, and has heard her prayer denied; +Who from her father's house is urged and chased, +Must be adjudged as dead in law and fact. + +The Court pronounces the defendant--dead! +She can resume her former ties at will, +Or may renounce them, if such be her will. +She is no more a daughter, or a spouse, +Unless she choose, and is set free to form +New ties, if so she choose." + + O, blessed words! +That very day we knelt before the priest, +My love and I, were wed, and life began. + +Child of my child, child of Antonio's child, +Bend down and let me kiss your wondering face. +'Tis a strange tale to tell a rose like you. +But time is brief, and, had I told you not, +Haply the story would have met your ears +From them, the Amieri, my own blood, +Now turned to gall, whose foul and bitter lips +Will wag with lies when once my lips are dumb. +(Pardon me, Virgin. I was gentle once, +And thou hast seen my wrongs. Thou wilt forgive.) +Now go, my dearest. When they wake thee up, +To tell thee I am dead, be not too sad. +I, who have died once, do not fear to die. + +Sweet was that waking, sweeter will be this. +Close to Heaven's gate my own Antonio sits +Waiting, and, spite of all the Frati say, +I know I shall not stand long at that gate, +Or knock and be refused an entrance there, +For he will start up when lie hears my voice, +The saints will smile, and he will open quick. +Only a night to part me from that joy. +Jesu Maria! let the dawning come. + + + + +EASTER LILIES. + + Darlings of June and brides of summer sun, + Chill pipes the stormy wind, the skies are drear; + Dull and despoiled the gardens every one: + What do you here? + + We looked to see your gracious blooms arise + Mid soft and wooing airs in gardens green, + Where venturesome brown bees and butterflies + Should hail you queen. + + Here is no bee nor glancing butterfly; + They fled on rapid wings before the snow: + Your sister lilies laid them down to die, + Long, long ago. + + And here, amid the slowly dropping rain, + We keep our Easter feast, with hearts whose care + Mars the high cadence of each lofty strain, + Each thankful prayer. + + But not a shadow dims your joyance sweet, + No baffled hope or memory darkly clad; + You lay your whiteness at the Lord's dear feet, + And are all glad. + + O coward soul! arouse thee and draw near, + Led by these fragrant acolytes to-day! + Let their sweet confidence rebuke thy fear, + Thy cold delay. + + Come with thy darkness to the healing light, + Come with thy bitter, which shall be made sweet, + And lay thy soil beside the lilies white, + At His dear feet! + + + + +EBB-TIDE. + +Long reaches of wet grasses sway +Where ran the sea but yesterday, +And white-winged boats at sunset drew +To anchor in the crimsoning blue. +The boats lie on the grassy plain, +Nor tug nor fret at anchor chain; +Their errand done, their impulse spent, +Chained by an alien element, +With sails unset they idly lie, +Though morning beckons brave and nigh; +Like wounded birds, their flight denied, +They lie, and long and wait the tide. + +About their keels, within the net +Of tough grass fibres green and wet, +A myriad thirsty creatures, pent +In sorrowful imprisonment, +Await the beat, distinct and sweet, +Of the white waves' returning feet. +My soul their vigil joins, and shares +A nobler discontent than theirs; +Athirst like them, I patiently +Sit listening beside the sea, +And still the waters outward glide: +When is the turning of the tide? + +Come, pulse of God; come, heavenly thrill! +We wait thy coming,--and we will. +The world is vast, and very far +Its utmost verge and boundaries are; +But thou hast kept thy word to-day +In India and in dim Cathay, +And the same mighty care shall reach +Each humblest rock-pool of this beach. +The gasping fish, the stranded keel, +This dull dry soul of mine, shall feel +Thy freshening touch, and, satisfied, +Shall drink the fulness of the tide. + + + + +FLOOD-TIDE. + + All night the thirsty beach has listening lain, + With patience dumb, + Counting the slow, sad moments of her pain; + Now morn has come, + And with the morn the punctual tide again. + + I hear the white battalions down the bay + Charge with a cheer; + The sun's gold lances prick them on their way,-- + They plunge, they rear,-- + Foam-plumed and snowy-pennoned, they are here! + + The roused shore, her bright hair backward blown, + Stands on the verge + And waves a smiling welcome, beckoning on + The flying surge, + While round her feet, like doves, the billows crowd and urge. + + Her glad lips quaff the salt, familiar wine; + Her spent urns fill; + All hungering creatures know the sound, the sign,-- + Quiver and thrill, + With glad expectance crowd and banquet at their will. + + I, too, the rapt contentment join and share; + My tide is full; + There is new happiness in earth, in air: + All beautiful + And fresh the world but now so bare and dull. + + But while we raise the cup of bliss so high, + Thus satisfied, + Another shore beneath a sad, far sky + Waiteth her tide, + And thirsts with sad complainings still denied. + + On earth's remotest bound she sits and waits + In doubt and pain; + Our joy is signal for her sad estates; + Like dull refrain + Marring our song, her sighings rise in vain. + + To each his turn--the ebb-tide and the flood, + The less, the more-- + God metes his portions justly out, I know; + But still before + My mind forever floats that pale and grieving shore. + + + + +A YEAR. + +She has been just a year in Heaven. +Unmarked by white moon or gold sun, +By stroke of clock or clang of bell, +Or shadow lengthening on the way, +In the full noon and perfect day, +In Safety's very citadel, +The happy hours have sped, have run; +And, rapt in peace, all pain forgot, +She whom we love, her white soul shriven, +Smiles at the thought and wonders not. + +We have been just a year alone,-- +A year whose calendar is sighs, +And dull, perpetual wishfulness, +And smiles, each covert for a tear, +And wandering thoughts, half there, half here, +And weariful attempts to guess +The secret of the hiding skies, +The soft, inexorable blue, +With gleaming hints of glory sown, +And Heaven behind, just shining through. + +So sweet, so sad, so swift, so slow, +So full of eager growth and light, +So full of pain which blindly grows, +So full of thoughts which either way +Have passed and crossed and touched each day, +To us a thorn, to her a rose; +The year so black, the year so white, +Like rivers twain their course have run; +The earthly stream we trace and know, +But who shall paint the heavenly one? + +A year! We gather up our powers, +Our lamps we consecrate and trim; +Open all windows to the day, +And welcome every heavenly air. +We will press forward and will bear, +Having this word to cheer the way: +She, storm-tossed once, is safe with Him, +Healed, comforted, content, forgiven; +And while we count these heavy hours +Has been a year,--a year in Heaven. + + + + +TOKENS. + +Each day upon the yellow Nile, 'tis said. +Joseph, the youthful ruler, cast forth wheat, +That haply, floating to his father's feet,-- +The sad old father, who believed him dead,-- +It might be sign in Egypt there was bread; +And thus the patriarch, past the desert sands +And scant oasis fringed with thirsty green, +Be lured toward the love that yearned unseen. +So, flung and scattered--ah! by what dear hands?-- +On the swift-rushing and invisible tide, +Small tokens drift adown from far, fair lands, +And say to us, who in the desert bide, +"Are you athirst? Are there no sheaves to bind? +Beloved, here is fulness; follow on and find." + + + + +HER GOING. + +SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE. + + She stood in the open door, + She blessed them faint and low: + "I must go," she said, "must go + Away from the light of the sun, + Away from you, every one; + Must see your eyes no more,-- + Your eyes, that love me so. + + "I should not shudder thus, + Nor weep, nor be afraid. + Nor cling to you so dismayed, + Could I only pierce with ray eyes + Where the dark, dark shadow lies; + Where something hideous + Is hiding, perhaps," she said. + + Then slowly she went from them, + Went down the staircase grim, + With trembling heart and limb; + Her footfalls echoed + In the silence vast and dead, + Like the notes of a requiem, + Not sung, but uttered. + + For a little way and a black + She groped as grope the blind, + Then a sudden radiance shined, + And a vision her eyelids burned; + All joyfully she turned, + For a moment turned she back, + And smiled at those behind. + + There in the shadows drear + An angel sat serene, + Of grave and tender mien, + With whitest roses crowned; + A scythe lay on the ground, + As reaping-time were near,-- + A burnished scythe and a keen. + + She did not start or pale + As the angel rose and laid + His hand on hers, nor said + A word, hut beckoned on; + For a glorious meaning shone + On the lips that told no tale, + And she followed him, unafraid. + + Her friends wept for a space; + Then one said: "Be content; + Surely some good is meant + For her, our Beautiful,-- + Some glorious good and full. + Did you not see her face, + Her dear smile, as she went?" + + + + +A LONELY MOMENT. + + I sit alone in the gray, + The snow falls thick and fast, + And never a sound have I heard all day + But the wailing of the blast, + And the hiss and click of the snow, whirling to and fro. + + There seems no living thing + Left in the world but I; + My thoughts fly forth on restless wing, + And drift back wearily, + Storm-beaten, buffeted, hopeless, and almost dead. + + No one there is to care; + Not one to even know + Of the lonely day and the dull despair + As the hours ebb and flow, + Slow lingering, as fain to lengthen out my pain. + + And I think of the monks of old, + Each in his separate cell, + Hearing no sound, except when tolled + The stated convent bell. + How could they live and bear that silence everywhere? + + And I think of tumbling seas, + 'Neath cruel, lonely skies; + And shipwrecked sailors over these + Stretching their hungry eyes,-- + Eyes dimmed with wasting tears for weary years on years,-- + + Pacing the hopeless sand, + Wistful and wan and pale, + Each foam-flash like a beckoning hand, + Each wave a glancing sail, + And so for days and days, and still the sail delays. + + I hide my eyes in vain, + In vain I try to smile; + That urging vision comes again, + The sailor on his isle, + With none to hear his cry, to help him live--or die! + + And with the pang a thought + Breaks o'er me like the sun, + Of the great listening Love which caught + Those accents every one, + Nor lost one faintest word, but always, always heard. + + The monk his vigil pale + Could lighten with a smile, + The sailor's courage need not fail + Upon his lonely isle; + For there, as here, by sea or land, the pitying Lord stood + close at hand. + + O coward heart of mine! + When storms shall beat again, + Hold firmly to this thought divine, + As anchorage in pain: + That, lonely though thou seemest to be, the Lord is near, + remembering thee. + + + + +COMMUNION. + + What is it to commune? + It is when soul meets soul, and they embrace + As souls may, stooping from each separate sphere + For a brief moment's space. + + What is it to commune? + It is to lay the veil of custom by, + To be all unafraid of truth to talk, + Face to face, eye to eye. + + Not face to face, dear Lord; + That is the joy of brighter worlds to be; + And yet, Thy bidden guests about Thy board, + We do commune with Thee. + + Behind the white-robed priest + Our eyes, anointed with a sudden grace, + Dare to conjecture of a mighty guest, + A dim beloved Face. + + And is it Thou, indeed? + And dost Thou lay Thy glory all away + To visit us, and with Thy grace to feed + Our hungering hearts to-day? + + And can a thing so sweet, + And can such heavenly condescension be? + Ah! wherefore tarry thus our lingering feet? + It can be none but Thee. + + There is the gracious ear + That never yet was deaf to sinner's call; + We will not linger, and we dare not fear, + But kneel,--and tell Thee all. + + We tell Thee of our sin + Only half loathed, only half wished away, + And those clear eyes of Love that look within + Rebuke us, seem to say,-- + + "O, bought with my own blood, + Mine own, for whom my precious life I gave, + Am I so little prized, remembered, loved, + By those I died to save?" + + And under that deep gaze + Sorrow awakes; we kneel with eyelids wet, + And marvel, as with Peter at the gate, + That we could so forget, + + We tell Thee of our care, + Of the sore burden, pressing day by day, + And in the light and pity of Thy face + The burden melts away. + + We breathe our secret wish, + The importunate longing which no man may see; + We ask it humbly, or, more restful still, + We leave it all to Thee. + + And last our amulet + Of precious names we thread, and soft and low + We crave for each beloved, or near or far, + A blessing ere we go. + + The thorns are turned to flowers, + All dark perplexities seem light and fair, + A mist is lifted from the heavy hours, + And Thou art everywhere. + + + + +A FAREWELL. + + Go, sun, since go you must, + The dusky evening lowers above our sky, + Our sky which was so blue and sweetly fair; + Night is not terrible that we should sigh. + A little darkness we can surely bear; + Will there not be more sunshine--by and by? + + Go, rose, since go you must, + Flowerless and chill the winter draweth nigh; + Closed are the blithe and fragrant lips which made + All summer long perpetual melody. + Cheerless we take our way, but not afraid: + Will there not be more roses--by and by? + + Go, love, since go you must, + Out of our pain we bless you as you fly; + The momentary heaven the rainbow lit + Was worth whole days of black and stormy sky; + Shall we not see, as by the waves we sit, + Your bright sail winging shoreward--by and by? + + Go, life, since go you must, + Uncertain guest and whimsical ally! + All questionless you came, unquestioned go; + What does it mean to live, or what to die? + Smiling we watch you vanish, for we know + Somewhere is nobler living--by and by. + + + + +EBB AND FLOW. + + How easily He turns the tides! + Just now the yellow beach was dry, + Just now the gaunt rocks all were bare, + The sun beat hot, and thirstily + Each sea-weed waved its long brown hair, + And bent and languished as in pain; + Then, in a flashing moment's space, + The white foam-feet which spurned the sand + Paused in their joyous outward race, + Wheeled, wavered, turned them to the land, + And, a swift legionary band, + Poured oil the waiting shores again. + + How easily He turns the tides! + The fulness of my yesterday + Has vanished like a rapid dream, + And pitiless and far away + The cool, refreshing waters gleam: + Grim rocks of dread and doubt and pain + + Rear their dark fronts where once was sea; + But I can smile and wait for Him + Who turns the tides so easily, + Fills the spent rock-pool to its brim, + And up from the horizon dim + Leads His bright morning waves again. + + + + +ANGELUS. + + Softly drops the crimson sun: + Softly down from overhead, + Drop the bell-notes, one by one, + Melting in the melting red; + Sign to angel bands unsleeping,-- + "Day is done, the dark is dread, + Take the world in care and keeping. + + "Set the white-robed sentries close, + Wrap our want and weariness + In the surety of repose; + Let the shining presences, + Bearing fragrance on their wings, + Stand about our beds to bless, + Fright away all evil things. + + "Rays of Him whose shadow pours + Through all lives a brimming glory, + Float o'er darksome woods and moors, + Float above the billows hoary; + Shine, through night and storm and sin, + Tangled fate and bitter story, + Guide the lost and wandering in!" + + Now the last red ray is gone; + Now the twilight shadows hie; + Still the bell-notes, one by one, + Send their soft voice to the sky, + Praying, as with human lip,-- + "Angels, hasten, night is nigh, + Take us to thy guardianship." + + + + +THE MORNING COMES BEFORE THE SUN. + + Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose + From out night's gray and cloudy sheath; + Softly and still it grows and grows, + Petal by petal, leaf by leaf; + Each sleep-imprisoned creature breaks + Its dreamy fetters, one by one, + And love awakes, and labor wakes,-- + The morning comes before the sun. + + What is this message from the light + So fairer far than light can be? + Youth stands a-tiptoe, eager, bright, + In haste the risen sun to see; + Ah! check thy lunging, restless heart, + Count the charmed moments as they run, + It is life's best and fairest part, + This morning hour before the sun. + + When once thy day shall burst to flower, + When once the sun shall climb the sky, + And busy hour by busy hour, + The urgent noontide draws anigh; + When the long shadows creep abreast, + To dim the happy task half done, + Thou wilt recall this pause of rest, + This morning hush before the sun. + + To each, one dawning and one dew, + One fresh young hour is given by fate, + One rose flush on the early blue. + Be not impatient then, but wait! + Clasp the sweet peace on earth and sky, + By midnight angels woven and spun; + Better than day its prophecy,-- + The morning comes before the sun. + + + + +LABORARE EST ORARE. + +"Although St. Franceses was unwearied in her devotions, yet if, +during her prayers, she was called away by her husband or any +domestic duty, she would close the book cheerfully, saying that a +wife and a mother, when called upon, must quit her God at the alter +to find Him in her domestic affairs." +--Legends of the Monastic Orders, + + + How infinite and sweet, Thou everywhere + And all abounding Love, Thy service is! + Thou liest an ocean round my world of care, + My petty every-day; and fresh and fair, + Pour Thy strong tides through all my crevices, + Until the silence ripples into prayer. + + That Thy full glory may abound, increase, + And so Thy likeness shall be formed in me, + I pray; the answer is not rest or peace, + But charges, duties, wants, anxieties, + Till there seems room for everything but Thee, + And never time for anything but these. + + And I should fear, but lo! amid the press, + The whirl and hum and pressure of my day, + I hear Thy garment's sweep, Thy seamless dress, + And close beside my work and weariness + Discern Thy gracious form, not far away, + But very near, O Lord, to help and bless. + + The busy fingers fly, the eyes may see + Only the glancing needle which they hold, + But all my life it, blossoming inwardly, + And every breath is like a litany, + While through each labor, like a thread of gold, + Is woven the sweet consciousness of Thee. + + + + +EIGHTEEN. + + Ah! grown a dim and fairy shade, + Dear child, who, fifteen years ago, + Out of our arms escaped and fled + With swift white feet, as if afraid, + To hide beneath the grass, the snow, + that sunny little head. + + This is your birthday! Fair, so fair, + And grown to gracious maiden-height, + And versed in heavenly lore and ways; + White-vested as the angels are, + In very light of very light, + Somehow, somewhere, you keep the day + + With those new friends, whom "new" we call, + But who are dearer now than we, + And better known by fate and name: + And do they smile and say, "How tall + The child becomes, how radiant, she + Who was so little when she came!" + + Darling, we count your eighteen years,-- + Fifteen in Heaven, on earth but three,-- + And try to frame you grown and wise: + But all in vain; there still appears + Only the child you used to be, + Our baby with the violet eyes. + + + + +OUTWARD BOUND, + + A grievous day of wrathful winds, + Of low-hung clouds, which scud and fly, + And drop cold rains, then lift and show + A sullen realm of upper sky. + + The sea is black as night; it roars + From lips afoam with cruel spray, + Like some fierce, many-throated pack + Of wolves, which scents and chases prey. + + Crouched in my little wind-swept nook, + I hear the menacing voices call, + And shudder, as above the deck + Topples and swings the weltering wall. + + It seems a vast and restless grave, + Insatiate, hungry, beckoning + With dreadful gesture of command + To every free and living thing. + + "O Lord," I cry, "Thou makest life + And hope and all sweet things to be; + Rebuke this hovering, following Death,-- + This horror never born of Thee." + + A sudden gleam, the waves light up + With radiant momentary hues,-- + Amber and shadowy pearl and gold, + Opal and green and unknown blues,-- + + And, rising on the tossing walls, + Within the foaming valleys swung, + Soft shapes of sea-birds, dimly seen, + Flutter and float and call their young, + + A moment; then the lowering clouds + Settle anew above the main, + The colors die, the waves rise higher, + And night and terror rule again. + + No more I see the small, dim shapes, + So unafraid of wind and wave, + Nestling beneath the tempest's roar, + Cradled in what I deemed a grave. + + But all night long I lay and smiled + At thought of those soft folded wings, + And trusting, with the trustful birds, + In Him who cares for smallest things. + + + + +FROM EAST TO WEST. + + The boat cast loose her moorings; + "Good-by" was all we said. + "Good-by, Old World," we said with a smile, + And never looked back as we sped, + A shining wake of foam behind, + To the heart of the sunset red. + + Heavily drove our plunging keel + The warring waves between; + Heavily strove we night and day, + Against the west-wind keen, + Bent, like a foe, to bar our path,-- + A foe with an awful mien. + + Never a token met our eyes + From the dear land far away; + No storm-swept bird, no drifting branch, + To tell us where it lay. + Wearily searched we, hour by hour, + Through the mist and the driving spray, + + Till, all in a flashing moment, + The fog-veils rent and flew, + And a blithesome south-wind caught the sails + And whistled the cordage through, + And the stars swung low their silver lamps + In a dome of airy blue, + + And, breathed from unseen distances, + A new and joyous air + Caressed our senses suddenly + With a rapture fresh and rare. + "It is the breath of home!" we cried; + "We feel that we are there." + + O Land whose tent-roof is the dome + Of Heaven's, purest sky, + Whose mighty heart inspires the wind + Of glad, strong liberty, + Standing upon thy sunset shore, + Beside the waters high, + + Long may thy rosy smile be bright; + Above the ocean din + Thy young, undaunted voice be heard, + Calling the whole world kin; + And ever be thy arms held out + To take the storm-tossed in! + + + + +UNA. + + My darling once lived by my side, + She scarcely ever went away; + We shared our studies and our play, + Nor did she care to walk or ride + Unless I did the same that day. + + Now she is gone to some far place; + I never see her any more, + The pleasant play-times all are o'er; + I come from school, there is no face + To greet me at the open door. + + At first I cried all day, all night; + I could not bear to eat or smile, + I missed her, missed her, all the while + The brightest day did not look bright, + The shortest walk was like a mile. + + Then some one came and told me this: + "Your playmate is but gone from view, + Close by your side she stands, and you + Can almost hear her breathe, and kiss + Her soft cheek as you used to do. + + "Only a little veil between,-- + A slight, thin veil; if you could see + Past its gray folds, there she would be, + Smiling and sweet, and she would lean + And stretch her hands out joyfully. + + "All the day long, and year by year, + She will go forward as you go; + As you grow older, she will grow; + As you grow good, she with her clear + And angel eyes, will mark and know. + + "Think, when you wake up every day, + That she is standing by your bed, + Close to the pillow where her head, + Her little curly head, once lay, + With a 'Good-morning' smiled, not said. + + "Think, when the hooks seem dull and tame, + The sports no longer what they were, + That there she sits, a shape of air, + And turns the leaf or joins the game + With the same smile she used to wear. + + "So, moving on still, hand in hand, + One of these days your eyes will clear, + The hiding veil will disappear, + And you will know and understand + Just why your playmate left you here." + + This made me happier, and I try + To think each day that it may be. + Sometimes I do so easily; + But then again I have to cry, + Because I want so much to SEE! + + + + +TWO WAYS TO LOVE. + +"Entre deux amants il y a toujours l'an qui baise et l'autre qui +tend la joue." + + + I says he loves me well, and I + Believe it; in my hands, to make + Or mar, his life lies utterly, + Nor can I the strong plea deny. + Which claims my love for his love's sake. + + He says there is no face so fair + As mine; when I draw near, his eyes + Light up; each ripple of my hair + He loves; the very clunk I wear + He touches fondly where it lies. + + And roses, roses all the way, + Upon my path fall, strewed by him; + His tenderness by night, by day, + Keeps faithful watch to heap alway + My cup of pleasure to the brim. + + The other women, full of spite, + Count me the happiest woman born + To be so worshipped; I delight + To flaunt his homage in their sight,-- + For me the rose, for them its thorn. + + I love him--or I think I do; + Sure one MUST love what is so sweet. + He is all tender and all true, + All eloquent to plead and sue, + All strength--though kneeling at my feet. + + Yet I had visions once of yore, + Girlish imaginings of a zest, + A possible thrill,--but why run o'er + These fancies?--idle dreams, no more; + I will forget them, this is best. + + So let him take,--the past is past; + The future, with its golden key, + Into his outstretched hands I cast. + I shall love him--perhaps--at last, + As now I love his love for me. + + + + +II. + + Nor as all other women may, + Love I my Love; he is so great, + So beautiful, I dare essay + No nearness but in silence lay + My heart upon his path,--and wait. + + Poor heart! its healings are so low + He does not heed them passing by, + Save as one heeds, where violets grow, + A fragrance, caring not to know + Where the veiled purple buds may lie. + + I sometimes think that it is dead, + It lies so still. I bend and lean, + Like mother over cradle-head, + Wondering if still faint breaths are shed + Like sighs the parted lips between. + + And then, with vivid pulse and thrill, + It quickens into sudden bliss + At sound of step or voice, nor will + Be hushed, although, regardless still, + He knows not, cares not, it is his. + + I would not lift it if I could; + The little flame, though faint and dim + As glow-worm spark in lonely wood, + Shining where no man calls it good, + May one day light the path for him,-- + + May guide his way, or soon or late, + Through blinding mist or wintry rain; + And, so content, I watch and wait. + Let others share his happier fate, + I only ask to share his pain! + + And if some day, when passing by, + My dear Love should his steps arrest, + Should mark the poor heart waiting nigh, + Should know it his, should lift it,--why, + Patience is good, but joy is best! + + + + +AFTER-GLOW. + + My morn was all dewy rose and pearl, + Peace brimmed the skies, a cool and fragrant air + Caressed my going forth, and everywhere + The radiant webs, by hope and fancy spun, + Stretched shining in the sun. + + Then came a noon, hot, breathless, still,-- + No wind to visit the dew-thirsty flowers, + Only the dust, the road, the urging hours; + And, pressing on, I never guessed or knew + That day was half-way through. + + And when the pomp of purple lit the sky, + And sheaves of golden lances tipped with red + Danced in the west, wondering I gazed, and said, + "Lo, a new morning comes, my hopes to crown!" + Sudden the sun dropped down + + Like a great golden ball into the sea, + Which made room, laughing, and the serried rank + Of yellow lances flashed, and, turning, sank + After their chieftain, as he led the way, + And all the heaven was gray. + + Startled and pale, I stood to see them go; + Then a long, stealing shadow to me crept, + And laid his cold hand on me, and I wept + And hid my eyes, and shivered with affright + At thought of coming night. + + But as I wept and shuddered, a warm thrill + Smote on my sense. I raised my eyes, and lo! + The skies, so dim but now, were all aglow + With a new flush of tender rose and gold, + Opening fold on fold. + + Higher and higher soared the gracious beam, + Deeper and deeper glowed the heavenly hues, + Nor any cowering shadow could refuse + The beautiful embrace which clasped and kissed + Its dun to amethyst. + + A little longer, and the lovely light, + Draining the last drops from its wondrous urn, + Departed, and the swart shades in their turn, + Impatient of the momentary mirth, + Crowded to seize the earth. + + No longer do I shudder. With calm eye + I front the night, nor wish its hours away; + For in that message from my banished day + I read his pledge of dawn, and soon or late + I can endure to wait. + + + + +HOPE AND I. + + Hope stood one morning by the way, + And stretched her fair right hand to me, + And softly whispered, "For this day + I'll company with thee." + + "Ah, no, dear Hope," I sighing said; + "Oft have you joined me in the morn, + But when the evening came, you fled + And left me all forlorn. + + "'Tis better I should walk alone + Than have your company awhile, + And then to lose it, and go on + For weary mile on mile," + + She turned, rebuked. I went my way, + But sad the sunshine seemed, and chill; + I missed her, missed her all the day, + And O, I miss her still. + + + + +LEFT BEHIND. + + We started in the morning, a morning full of glee, + All in the early morning, a goodly company; + And some were full of merriment, and all were kind and dear: + But the others have pursued their way, and left me sitting here. + + My feet were not so fleet as theirs, my courage soon was gone, + And so I lagged and fell behind, although they cried "Come on!" + They cheered me and they pitied me, but one by one went by, + For the stronger must outstrip the weak; there is no remedy. + + Some never looked behind, but smiled, and swiftly, hand in hand, + Departed with, a strange sweet joy I could not understand; + I know not by what silver streams their roses bud and blow, + Rut I am glad--O very glad--they should be happy so. + + And some they went companionless, yet not alone, it seemed; + For there were sounds of rustling wings, and songs,--or else we + dreamed; + And a glow from lights invisible to us lit up the place, + And tinged, as if with glory, each dear and parting face. + + So happy, happy did they look, as one by one they went, + That we, who missed them sorely, were fain to be content; + And I, who sit the last of all, left far behind, alone, + Cannot be sorry for their sakes, but only for my own. + + My eyes seek out the different paths by which they went away, + And oft I wish to follow, but oftener wish to stay; + For fair as may the new things be, the farther things they know, + This is a pleasant resting-place, a pleasant place also. + + There are flowers for the gathering, which grow my path anear, + The skies are fair, and everywhere the sun is warm and clear: + I may have missed the wine of life, the strong wine and the new, + But I have my wells of water, my sips of honey-dew. + + So when I turn my thoughts from those who shared my dawn of day, + My fresh and joyous morning prune, and now are passed away, + I can see just how sweet all is, how good, and be resigned + To sit thus in the afternoon, alone and left behind. + + + + +SAVOIR C'EST PARDONNER. + + Myriad rivers seek the sea, + The sea rejects not any one; + A myriad rays of light may be + Clasped in the compass of one sun; + And myriad grasses, wild and free, + Drink of the dew which faileth none. + + A myriad worlds encompass ours; + A myriad souls our souls enclose; + And each, its sins and woes and powers, + The Lord He sees, the Lord He knows, + And from the Infinite Knowledge flowers + The Infinite Pity's fadeless rose. + + Lighten our darkness, Lord, most wise; + All-seeing One, give us to see; + Our judgments are profanities, + Our ignorance is cruelty, + While Thou, knowing all, dost not despise + To pardon even such things as we. + + + + +MORNING. + + O word and thing most beautiful! + Our yesterday was cold and dull, + Gray mists obscured the setting sun, + Its evening wept with sobbing rain; + But to and fro, mid shrouding night, + Some healing angel swift has run, + And all is fresh and fair again. + + O, word and thing most beautiful! + The hearts, which were of cares so full, + The tired hands, the tired feet, + So glad of night, are glad of morn,-- + Where are the clouds of yesterday? + The world is good, the world is sweet, + And life is new and hope re-born. + + O, word and thing most beautiful! + O coward soul and sorrowful, + Which sighs to note the ebbing light + Give place to evening's shadowy gray! + What are these things but parables,-- + That darkness heals the wrongs of day, + And dawning clears all mists of night. + + O, word and thing most beautiful! + The little sleep our cares to lull, + The long, soft dusk and then sunrise, + To waken fresh and angel fair, + Lite all renewed and cares forgot, + Ready for Heaven's glad surprise. + So Christ, who is our Light, be there. + + + + +A BLIND SINGER. + + In covert of a leafy porch, + Where woodbine clings, + And roses drop their crimson leaves, + He sits and sings; + With soft brown crest erect to hear, + And drooping wings. + + Shut in a narrow cage, which bars + His eager flight, + Shut in the darker prison-house + Of blinded sight, + Alike to him are sun and stars, + The day, the night. + + But all the fervor of high noon, + Hushed, fragrant, strong, + And all the peace of moonlit nights + When nights are long, + And all the bliss of summer eves, + Breathe in his song. + + The rustle of the fresh green woods, + The hum of bee, + The joy of flight, the perfumed waft + Of blossoming tree, + The half-forgotten, rapturous thrill + Of liberty,-- + + All blend and mix, while evermore, + Now and again, + A plaintive, puzzled cadence comes, + A low refrain, + Caught from some shadowy memory + Of patient pain. + + In midnight black, when all men sleep, + My singer wakes, + And pipes his lovely melodies, + And trills and shakes. + The dark sky bends to listen, but + No answer makes. + + O, what is joy? In vain we grasp + Her purple wings; + Unwon, unwooed, she flits to dwell + With humble things; + She shares my sightless singer's cage, + And so--he sings. + + + + +MARY. + + The drowsy summer in the flowering limes + Had laid her down at ease, + Lulled by soft, sportive winds, whose tinkling chimes + Summoned the wandering bees + To feast, and dance, and hold high carnival + Within that vast and fragrant banquet-hall. + + She stood, my Mary, on the wall below, + Poised on light, arching feet, + And drew the long, green branches down to show + Where hung, mid odors sweet,-- + A tiny miracle to touch and view,-- + The humming-bird's, small nest and pearls of blue. + + Fair as the summer's self she stood, and smiled, + With eyes like summer sky, + Wistful and glad, half-matron and half-child, + Gentle and proud and shy; + Her sweet head framed against the blossoming bough, + She stood a moment,--and she stands there now! + + 'Tis sixteen years since, trustful, unafraid, + In her full noon of light, + She passed beneath the grass's curtaining shade, + Out of our mortal sight; + And springs and summers, bearing gifts to men, + And long, long winters have gone by since then. + + And each some little gift has brought to dress + That unforgotten bed,-- + Violet, anemone, or lady's-tress, + Or spray of berries red, + Or purpling leaf, or mantle, pure and cold, + Of winnowed snow, wrapped round it, fold on fold. + + Yet still she stands, a glad and radiant shape, + Set in the morning fair,-- + That vanished morn which had such swift escape. + I turn and see her there,-- + The arch, sweet smile, the bending, graceful head; + And, seeing thus, why do I call her dead? + + + + +WHEN LOVE WENT. + + What whispered Love the day he fled? + Ah! this was what Love whispered; + "You sought to hold me with a chain; + I fly to prove such holding vain. + + "You bound me burdens, and I bore + The burdens hard, the burdens sore; + I bore them all unmurmuring, + For Love can bear a harder thing. + + "You taxed me often, teased me, wept; + I only smiled, and still I kept + Through storm and sun and night and day, + My joyous, viewless, faithful way. + + "But, dear, once dearest, you and I + This day have parted company. + Love must be free to give, defer, + Himself alone his almoner. + + "As free I freely poured my all, + Enslaved I spurn, renounce my thrall, + Its wages and its bitter bread." + Thus whispered Love the day he fled! + + + + +OVERSHADOWED. + +"Insomuch that they brought forth the sick into the streets, and +laid them on beds and couches, that at the least the shadow of +Peter, passing by, might overshadow some of them." + + + Mid the thronged bustle of the city street, + In the hot hush of noon, + I wait, with folded hands and nerveless feet. + Surely He will come soon. + Surely the Healer will not pass me by, + But listen to my cry. + + Long are the hours in which I lie and wait, + Heavy the load I bear; + But He will come ere evening. Soon or late + I shall behold Him there; + Shall hear His dear voice, all the clangor through; + "What wilt thou that I do?" + + "If Thou but wilt, Lord, Thou canst make me clean." + Thus shall I answer swift. + And He will touch me, as He walks serene; + And I shall rise and lift + This couch, so long my prison-house of pain, + And be made whole again. + + He lingers yet. But lo! a hush, a hum. + The multitudes press on + After some leader. Surely He is come! + He nears me; He is gone! + Only His shadow reached me, as He went; + Yet here I rest content. + + In that dear shadow, like some healing spell, + A heavenly patience lay; + Its balm of peace enwrapped me as it fell; + My pains all fled away,-- + The weariness, the deep unrest of soul; + I am indeed "made whole." + + It is enough, Lord, though Thy face divine + Was turned to other men. + Although no touch, no questioning voice was mine, + Thou wilt come once again; + And, if Thy shadow brings such bliss to me, + What must Thy presence be? + + + + +TIME TO GO. + + They know the time to go! + The fairy clocks strike their inaudible hour + In field and woodland, and each punctual flower + Bows at the signal an obedient head + And hastes to bed. + + The pale Anemone + Glides on her way with scarcely a good-night; + The Violets tie their purple nightcaps tight; + Hand clasped in hand, the dancing Columbines, + In blithesome lines, + + Drop their last courtesies, + Flit from the scene, and couch them for their rest; + The Meadow Lily folds her scarlet vest + And hides it 'neath the Grasses' lengthening green; + Fair and serene, + + Her sister Lily floats + On the blue pond, and raises golden eyes + To court the golden splendor of the skies,-- + The sudden signal comes, and down she goes + To find repose, + + In the cool depths below, + A little later, and the Asters blue + Depart in crowds, a brave and cheery crew; + While Golden-rod, still wide awake and gay, + Turns him away, + + Furls his bright parasol, + And, like a little hero, meets his fate. + The Gentians, very proud to sit up late, + Next follow. Every Fern is tucked and set + 'Neath coverlet, + + Downy and soft and warm. + No little seedling voice is heard to grieve + Or make complaints the folding woods beneath; + No lingerer dares to stay, for well they know + The time to go. + + Teach us your patience, brave, + Dear flowers, till we shall dare to part like you, + Willing God's will, sure that his clock strikes true, + That his sweet day augurs a sweeter morrow, + With smiles, not sorrow. + + + + +GULF-STREAM. + + Lonely and cold and fierce I keep my way, + Scourge of the lands, companioned by the storm, + Tossing to heaven my frontlet, wild and gray, + Mateless, yet conscious ever of a warm + And brooding presence close to mine all day. + + What is this alien thing, so near, so far, + Close to my life always, but blending never? + Hemmed in by walls whose crystal gates unbar + Not at the instance of my strong endeavor + To pierce the stronghold where their secrets are? + + Buoyant, impalpable, relentless, thin, + Rise the clear, mocking walls. I strive in vain + To reach the pulsing heart that beats within, + Or with persistence of a cold disdain, + To quell the gladness which I may not win. + + Forever sundered and forever one, + Linked by a bond whose spell I may not guess, + Our hostile, yet embracing currents run; + Such wedlock lonelier is than loneliness. + Baffled, withheld, I clasp the bride I shun. + + Yet even in my wrath a wild regret + Mingles; a bitterness of jealous strife + Tinges my fury as I foam and fret + Against the borders of that calmer life, + Beside whose course my wrathful course is set. + + But all my anger, all my pain and woe, + Are vain to daunt her gladness; all the while + She goes rejoicing, and I do not know, + Catching the soft irradiance of her smile, + If I am most her lover or her foe. + + + + +MY WHITE CHRYSANTHEMUM. + + As purely white as is the drifted snow, + More dazzling fair than summer roses are, + Petalled with rays like a clear rounded star, + When winds pipe chilly, and red sunsets glow, + Your blossoms blow. + + Sweet with a freshening fragrance, all their own, + In which a faint, dim breath of bitter lies, + Like wholesome breath mid honeyed flatteries; + When other blooms are dead, and birds have flown, + You stand alone. + + Fronting the winter with a fearless grace, + Flavoring the odorless gray autumn chill, + Nipped by the furtive frosts, but cheery still, + Lifting to heaven from the bare garden place + A smiling face. + + Roses are fair, but frail, and soon grow faint, + Nor can endure a hardness; violets blue, + Short-lived and sweet, live but a day or two; + The nun-like lily bows without complaint, + And dies a saint. + + Each following each they hasten them away, + And leave us to our winter and our rue, + Sad and uncomforted; you, only you, + Dear, hardy lover, keep your faith and stay + Long as you may. + + And so we choose you out from all the rest, + For that most noble word of "Loyalty," + Which blazoned on your petals seems to be; + Winter is near,--stay with us; be our guest, + The last and best. + + + + +TILL THE DAY DAWN. + + Why should I weary you, dear heart, with words, + Words all discordant with a foolish pain? + Thoughts cannot interrupt or prayers do wrong, + And soft and silent as the summer rain + Mine fall upon your pathway all day long. + + Giving as God gives, counting not the cost + Of broken box or spilled and fragrant oil, + I know that, spite of your strong carelessness, + Rest must be sweeter, worthier must be toil, + Touched with such mute, invisible caress. + + One of these days, our weary ways quite trod, + Made free at last and unafraid of men, + I shall draw near and reach to you my hand. + And you? Ah! well, we shall be spirits then, + I think you will be glad and understand. + + + + +MY BIRTHDAY. + + Who is this who gently slips + Through my door, and stands and sighs, + Hovering in a soft eclipse, + With a finger on her lips + And a meaning in her eyes? + + Once she came to visit me + In white robes with festal airs, + Glad surprises, songs of glee; + Now in silence cometh she, + And a sombre garb she wears. + + Once I waited and was tired, + Chid her visits as too few; + Crownless now and undesired, + She to seek me is inspired + Oftener than she used to do. + + Grave her coming is and still, + Sober her appealing mien, + Tender thoughts her glances fill; + But I shudder, as one will + When an open grave is seen. + + Wherefore, friend,--for friend thou art,-- + Should I wrong thee thus and grieve? + Wherefore push thee from my heart? + Of my morning thou wert part; + Be a part too of my eve. + + See, I hold my hand to meet + That cool, shadowy hand of thine; + Hold it firmly, it is sweet + Thus to clasp and thus to greet, + Though no more in full sunshine. + + Come and freely seek my door, + I will open willingly; + I will chide the past no more, + Looking to the things before, + Led by pathways known to thee. + + + + +BY THE CRADLE. + + The baby Summer lies asleep and dreaming-- + Dreaming and blooming like a guarded rose; + And March, a kindly nurse, though rude of seeming, + Is watching by the cradle hung with snows. + + Her blowing winds but keep the rockers swinging, + And deepen slumber in the shut blue eyes, + And the shrill cadences of her high singing + Are to the babe but wonted lullabies. + + She draws the coverlet white and tucks it trimly, + She folds the little sleeper safe from harm; + Or bends to lift the veil, and, peering inly, + Makes sure it lies all undisturbed and warm. + + And so she sits, till in the still, gray dawning + Two fairer nurses come, her place to take, + And smiling, beaming, with no word of warning, + Draw off the quilt, and kiss the babe awake. + + + + +A THUNDER STORM. + + The day was hot and the day was dumb, + Save for cricket's chirr or the bee's low hum, + Not a bird was seen or a butterfly, + And ever till noon was over, the sun + Glared down with a yellow and terrible eye; + + Glared down in the woods, where the breathless boughs + Hung heavy and faint in a languid drowse, + And the ferns were curling with thirst and heat; + Glared down on the fields where the sleepy cows + Stood munching the grasses, dry and sweet. + + Then a single cloud rose up in the west, + With a base of gray and a white, white crest; + It rose and it spread a mighty wing. + And swooped at the sun, though he did his best + And struggled and fought like a wounded thing. + + And the woods awoke, and the sleepers heard, + Each heavily hanging leaflet stirred + With a little expectant quiver and thrill, + As the cloud bent over and uttered a word,-- + One volleying, rolling syllable. + + And once and again came the deep, low tone + Which only to thunder's lips is known, + And the earth held up her fearless face + And listened as if to a signal blown,-- + A signal-trump in some heavenly place. + + The trumpet of God, obeyed on high, + His signal to open the granary + And send forth his heavily loaded wains + Rambling and roaring down the sky + And scattering the blessed, long-harvested rains. + + + + + +THROUGH THE DOOR. + + The angel opened the door + A little way, + And she vanished, as melts a star, + Into the day, + And, for just a second's space, + Ere the bar he drew, + The pitying angel paused, + And we looked through. + + What did we see within? + Ah! who can tell? + What glory and glow of light + Ineffable; + What peace in the very air, + What hush and calm, + Soothing each tired soul + Like healing balm! + + Was it a dream we dreamed, + Or did we hear + The harping of silver harps, + Divinely clear? + A murmur of that "new song," + Which, soft and low, + The happy angels sing,-- + Sing as they go? + + And, as in the legend old, + The good monk heard, + As he paced his cloister dim, + A heavenly bird, + And, rapt and lost in the joy + Of the wondrous song, + Listened a hundred years, + Nor deemed them long, + + So chained in sense and limb, + All blind with sun, + We stood and tasted the joy + Of our vanished one; + And we took no note of time, + Till soon or late + The gentle angel sighed, + And shut the gate. + + The vision is closed and sealed. + We are come back + To the old, accustomed earth, + The well-worn track,-- + Back to the daily toil, + The daily pain,-- + But we never can be the same, + Never again. + + We who have bathed in noon, + All radiant white, + Shall we come back content + To sit in night? + Content with self and sin, + The stain, the blot? + To have stood so near the gate + And enter not? + + O glimpse so swift, so sweet, + So soon withdrawn! + Stay with us; light our dusks + Till day shall dawn; + Until the shadows flee, + And to our view + Again the gate unbars, + And we pass through. + + + + +READJUSTMENT. + + After the earthquake shock or lightning dart + Comes a recoil of silence o'er the lands, + And then, with pulses hot and quivering hands, + Earth calls up courage to her mighty heart, + Plies every tender, compensating art, + Draws her green, flowery veil above the scar, + Fills the shrunk hollow, smooths the riven plain, + And with a century's tendance heals again + The seams and gashes which her fairness mar. + So we, when sudden woe like lightning sped, + Finds us and smites us in our guarded place, + After one brief, bewildered moment's space, + By the same heavenly instinct taught and led, + Adjust our lives to loss, make friends with pain, + Bind all our shattered hopes and bid them bloom again. + + + + +AT THE GATE + +"For behold, the kingdom of God is within you." + + + Thy kingdom here? + Lord, can it be? + Searching and seeking everywhere + For many a year, + "Thy kingdom come" has been my prayer. + Was that dear kingdom all the while so near? + + Blinded and dull + With selfish sin, + Have I been sitting at the gates + Called Beautiful, + Where Thy fair angel stands and waits, + With hand upon the lock to let me in? + + Was I the wall + Which barred the way, + Darkening the glory of Thy grace, + Hiding the ray + Which, shining out as from Thy very face, + Had shown to other men the perfect day? + + Was I the bar + Which shut me out + From the full joyance which they taste + Whose spirits are + Within Thy Paradise embraced,-- + Thy blessed Paradise, which seemed so far? + + The vision swells: + I seem to catch + Celestial breezes, rustling low, + The asphodels, + Where, singing softly ever to and fro, + Moves each fair saint who in Thy presence dwells. + + Let me not sit + Another hour, + Idly awaiting what is mine to win, + Blinded in wit, + Lord Jesus, rend these walls of self and sin; + Beat down the gate, that I may enter it. + + + + +A HOME. + + What is a home? A guarded space, + Wherein a few, unfairly blest, + Shall sit together, face to face, + And bask and purr and be at rest? + + Where cushioned walls rise up between + Its inmates and the common air, + The common pain, and pad and screen + From blows of fate or winds of care? + + Where Art may blossom strong and free, + And Pleasure furl her silken wing, + And every laden moment be + A precious and peculiar thing? + + And Past and Future, softly veiled + In hiding mists, shall float and lie + Forgotten half, and unassailed + By either hope or memory, + + While the luxurious Present weaves + Her perfumed spells untried, untrue, + Broiders her garments, heaps her sheaves, + All for the pleasure of a few? + + Can it be this, the longed-for thing + Which wanderers on the restless foam, + Unsheltered beggars, birds on wing, + Aspire to, dream of, christen "Home"? + + No. Art may bloom, and peace and bliss; + Grief may refrain and Death forget; + But if there be no more than this, + The soul of home is wanting yet. + + Dim image from far glory caught, + Fair type of fairer things to be, + The true home rises in our thought, + A beacon set for men to see. + + Its lamps burn freely in the night, + Its fire-glows unchidden shed + Their cheering and abounding light + On homeless folk uncomforted. + + Each sweet and secret thing within + Gives out a fragrance on the air,-- + A thankful breath, sent forth to win + A little smile from others' care. + + The few, they bask in closer heat; + The many catch the farther ray. + Life higher seems, the world more sweet, + And hope and Heaven less far away. + + So the old miracle anew + Is wrought on earth and proved good, + And crumbs apportioned for a few, + God-blessed, suffice a multitude. + + + + +THE LEGEND OF KINTU. + + When earth was young and men were few, + And all things freshly born and new + Seemed made for blessing, not for ban, + Kintu, the god, appeared as man. + Clad in the plain white priestly dress, + He journeyed through the wilderness, + His wife beside. A mild-faced cow + They drove, and one low-bleating lamb; + He bore a ripe banana-bough, + And she a root of fruitful yam: + This was their worldly worth and store, + But God can make the little more. + The glad earth knew his feet; her mould + Trembled with quickening thrills, and stirred. + Miraculous harvests spread and rolled, + The orchards shone with ruddy gold; + The flocks increased, increased the herd, + And a great nation spread and grew + From the swift lineage of the two, + Peopling the solitary place; + A fair and strong and fruitful race, + Who knew not pain nor want nor grief, + And Kintu reigned their lord and chief. + + So sped three centuries along, + Till Kintu's sons waxed fierce and strong; + They learned to war, they loved to slay; + Cruel and dark grew all their faces; + Discordant death-cries scared the day, + Blood stained the green and holy places; + And drunk with lust, with anger hot, + His sons mild Kintu heeded not. + At last the god arose in wrath, + His sandals tied, and down the path, + His wife beside him, as of yore, + He went. A cow, a single lamb + They took; one tuber of the yam; + One yellow-podded branch they bore + Of ripe banana,--these, no more, + Of all the heaped-up harvest store. + They left the huts, they left the tent, + Nor turned, nor cast a backward look: + Behind, the thick boughs met and shook. + They vanished. Long with wild lament + Mourned all the tribe, in vain, in vain; + The gift once given was given no more, + The grieved god came not again. + + To what far paradise they fared, + That heavenly pair, what wilderness + Their gentle rule next owned and shared, + Knoweth no man,--no man can guess. + On secret roads, by pathways blind, + The gods go forth, and none may find; + But sad the world where God is not! + By man was Kintu soon forgot, + Or named and held as legend dim, + But the wronged earth, remembering him, + By scanty fruit and tardy grain + And silent song revealed her pain. + So centuries came, and centuries went, + And heaped the graves and filled the tent. + Kings rose, and fought their royal way + To conquest over heaps of slain, + And reigned a little. Then, one day, + They vanished into dust again. + And other kings usurped their place, + Who called themselves of Kintu's race, + And worshipped Kintu; not as he, + The mild, benignant deity, + Who held all life a holy thing, + Be it of insect or of king, + Would have ordained, but with wild rite, + With altars heaped, and dolorous cries, + And savage dance, and bale-fires light, + An unaccepted sacrifice. + At last, when thousand years were flown, + The great Ma-anda filled the throne: + A prince of generous heart and high, + Impetuous, noble, fierce, and true; + His wrath like lightning hurtling by, + His pardon like the healing dew. + And chiefs and sages swore each one + He was great Kintu's worthiest son. + + One night, in forests still and deep, + A shepherd sat to watch his sheep, + And started, as through darkness dim + A strange voice rang and calmed to him: + "Wake! there are wonders waiting thee! + Go where the thick mimosas be, + Fringing a little open plain, + Honor and power wouldest thou gain? + Go, foolish man, to fortune blind; + Follow the stream, and thou shall find." + Three several nights the voice was heard, + Louder and more emphatic grown. + Then, at the thrice-repeated word, + The shepherd rose and went alone, + Threading the mazes of the stream + Like one who wanders in a dream. + Long miles he ran, the stream beside, + Which this way, that way, turned and sped, + And called and sang, a noisy guide. + At last its vagrant dances led + To where the thick mimosas' shade + Circled and fringed an open glade; + There the wild streamlet danced away, + The moon was shining strangely white, + And by its fitful, gleaming ray + The shepherd saw a wondrous sight; + In the glade's midst, each on his mat, + A group of armed warriors sat, + White-robed, majestic, with deep eyes + Fixed on him with a stern surprise; + And in their midst an aged chief + Enthroned sat, whose beard, like foam, + Caressed his mighty knees. As leaf + Shakes in the wind the shepherd shook, + And veiled his eyes before that look, + And prayed, and thought upon his home, + Nor spoke, nor moved, till the old man, + In voice like waterfall, began: + "Shepherd, how names himself thy king?" + "Ma-anda," answered, shuddering, + The shepherd. "Good, thou speakest well. + And now, my son, I bid thee tell + Thy first king's name." "It was Kintu." + "'Tis rightly said, thou answerest true. + Hark! To Ma-anda, Kintu's son, + Hasten, and bid him, fearing naught, + Come hither, taking thee for guide; + Thou and he, not another one, + Not even a dog may run beside! + Long has Ma-anda Kintu sought + With spell and conjuration dim, + Now Kintu has a word for him. + Go, do thy errand, haste thee hence, + Kintu insures thy recompense." + All night the shepherd ran, star-led, + All the hot day he hastened straight, + Nor stopped for sleep, nor stopped for bread, + Until he reached the city gate, + And saw red rays of evening fall + On the leaf-hutted capital. + He sought the king, his tale he told. + Ma-anda faltered not, nor stayed. + He seized his spear, he left the tent: + Shook off the brown arms of his queens, + Who clasped his knees with wailing screams; + On pain of instant death forbade + That man should spy or follow him; + And down the pathway, arching dim, + Fearless and light of heart and bold + Followed the shepherd where he went. + + But one there was who loved his king + Too well to suffer such strange thing,-- + The chieftain of the host was he, + Next to the monarch in degree; + And, fearing wile or stratagem + Menaced the king, he followed them + With noiseless tread and out of sight. + So on they fared the forest through, + From evening shades to dawning light, + From damning to the dusk and dew,-- + The unseen follower and the two. + Ofttimes the king turned back to scan + The path, but never saw he man. + At last the forest-guarded space + They reached, where, ranged in order, sat, + Each couched upon his braided mat, + The white-robed warriors, face to face + With their majestic chief. The king, + Albeit unused to fear or awe, + Bowed down in homage, wondering, + And bent his eyes, as fearing to be + Blinded by rays of deity. + Then asked the mighty voice and calm, + "Art thou Ma-anda called?" "I am." + "And art thou king?" "The king am I," + The bold Ma-anda made reply. + "Tis rightly spoken; but, my son, + Why hast thou my command forgot, + That no man with thee to this spot + Should come, except thy guide alone?" + "No man has come," Ma-anda said. + + "Alone we journeyed, he and I; + And often have I turned my head, + And never living thing could spy. + None is there, on my faith as king." + "A king's word is a weighty thing," + The old man answered. "Let it be,-- + But still a man HAS followed thee! + Now answer, Ma-anda, one more thing: + Who, first of all thy line, was king?" + "Kintu the god." "'Tis well, my son, + All creatures Kintu loved,--not one + Too pitiful or weak or small; + He knew them and he loved them all; + And never did a living thing, + Or bird in air or fish in lake, + Endure a pang for Kintu's sake. + Then rose his sons, of differing mind, + Who gorged on cruel feasts each day, + And bathed in blood, and joyed to slay, + And laughed at pain and suffering. + Then Kintu sadly went his way. + The gods long-suffering are and kind, + Often they pardon, long they wait; + But men are evil, men are blind. + After much tarriance, much debate, + The good gods leave them to their fate; + So Kintu went where none may find. + + Each king in turn has sought since then, + From Chora down, the first in line, + To win lost Kintu back to men. + Vain was his search, and vain were thine, + Save that the gods have special grace + To thee, Ma-anda. Face to face + With Kintu thou shall stand, and he + Shall speak the word of power to thee; + Clasped to his bosom, thou shall share + His knowledge of the earth, the air, + And deep things, secret things, shall learn. + But stay,"--the old man's voice grew stern,-- + "Before I further speak, declare + Who is that man in ambush there!" + "There is no man,--no man I see." + "Deny no longer, it is vain. + Within the shadow of the tree + He lurketh; lo, behold him plain!" + And the king saw;--for at the word + From covert stole the hidden spy, + And sought his monarch's side. One cry, + A lion's roar, Ma-anda gave, + Then seized his spear, and poised and drave. + Like lightning bolt it hissed and whirred, + A flash across the midnight blue. + A single groan, a jet of red, + And, pierced and stricken through and through, + Upon the ground the chief fell dead; + But still with love no death could chase, + His eyes sought out his master's face. + + Blent with Ma-anda's a wild cry + Of many voices rose on high, + A shriek of anguish and despair. + Which shook and filled the startled air; + And when the king, his wrath still hot, + Turned him, the little grassy plain + All lonely in the moonlight lay: + The chiefs had vanished all away + As melted into thin, blue wind; + Gone was the old man. Stunned and blind, + For a long moment stood the king; + He tried to wake; he rubbed his eyes, + As though some fearful dream to end. + It was no dream, this fearful thing: + There was the forest, there the skies, + The shepherd--and his murdered friend. + With feverish haste, bewildered, mazed, + This way and that he vainly sped, + Beating the air like one half crazed; + With prayers and cries unnumbered, + Searching, imploring,--vain, all vain. + Only the echoing woods replied, + With mocking booms their long aisles through, + "Come back, Kintu, Kintu, Kintu!" + And pitiless to all his pain + The unanswering gods his suit denied. + At last, as dawning slowly crept + To day, the king sank down and wept + A space; then, lifting as they could + The lifeless burden, once a man, + He and the shepherd-guide began + Their grievous journey through the wood, + The long and hard and dreary way, + Trodden so lightly yesterday; + And the third day, at evening's fall, + Gained the leaf-hutted capital. + There burial rites were duly paid: + + Like bridegroom decked for banqueting, + The chief adorned his funeral-pyre; + Rare gums and spices fed the fire, + Perfumes and every precious thing; + And songs were sung, and prayers were prayed, + And priests danced jubilant all day. + But prone the king Ma-anda lay, + With ashes on his royal crest, + And groaned, and beat upon his breast, + And called on Kintu loud and wild: + "Father, come back, forgive thy child!" + Bitter the cry, but vain, all vain; + The grieved god came not again. + + + + +EASTER. + + When dawns on earth the Easter sun + The dear saints feel an answering thrill. + With whitest flowers their hands they fill; + And, singing all in unison, + + Unto the battlements they press-- + The very marge of heaven--how near! + And bend, and look upon us here + With eyes that rain down tenderness. + + Their roses, brimmed with fragrant dew, + Their lilies fair they raise on high; + "Rejoice! The Lord is risen!" they cry; + "Christ is arisen; we prove it true! + + "Rejoice, and dry those faithless tears + With which your Easter flowers are stained; + Share in our bliss, who have attained + The rapture of the eternal years; + + "Have proved the promise which endures, + The Love that deigned, the Love that died; + Have reached our haven by His side-- + Are Christ's, but none the less are yours; + + "Yours with a nearness never known + While parted by the veils of sense; + Infinite knowledge, joy intense, + A love which is not love alone, + + "But faith perfected, vision free, + And patience limitless and wise-- + Beloved, the Lord is risen, arise! + And dare to be as glad as we!" + + We do rejoice, we do give thanks, + O blessed ones, for all your gain, + As dimly through these mists of pain + We catch the gleaming of your ranks. + + We will arise, with zeal increased, + Blending, the while we strive and grope, + Our paler festival of Hope + With your Fruition's perfect feast. + + Bend low beloved, against the blue; + Lift higher still the lilies fair, + Till, following where our treasures are, + We come to join the feast with you. + + + + +BIND-WEED. + + In the deep shadow of the porch + A slender bind-weed springs, + And climbs, like airy acrobat, + The trellises, and swings + And dances in the golden sun + In fairy loops and rings. + + Its cup-shaped blossoms, brimmed with dew, + Like pearly chalices, + Hold cooling fountains, to refresh + The butterflies and bees; + And humming-birds on vibrant wings + Hover, to drink at ease. + + And up and down the garden-bed, + Mid box and thyme and yew, + And spikes of purple lavender, + And spikes of larkspur blue, + The bind-weed tendrils win their way, + And find a passage through. + + With touches coaxing, delicate, + And arts that never tire, + They tie the rose-trees each to each, + The lilac to the brier, + Making for graceless things a grace, + With steady, sweet desire. + + Till near and far the garden growths. + The sweet, the frail, the rude, + Draw close, as if with one consent, + And find each other good, + Held by the bind-weed's pliant loops, + In a dear brotherhood. + + Like one fair sister, slender, arch, + A flower in bloom and poise, + Gentle and merry and beloved, + Making no stir or noise, + But swaying, linking, blessing all + A family of boys. + + + + +APRIL. + + Hark! upon the east-wind, piping, creeping, + Comes a voice all clamorous with despair; + It is April, crying sore and weeping, + O'er the chilly earth, so brown and bare. + + "When I went away," she murmurs, sobbing, + "All my violet-banks were starred with blue; + Who, O, who has been here, basely robbing + Bloom and odor from the fragrant crew? + + "Who has reft the robin's hidden treasure,-- + All the speckled spheres he loved so well? + And the buds which danced in merry measure + To the chiming of the hyacinth's bell? + + "Where are all my hedge-rows, flushed with Maying? + And the leafy rain, that tossed so fair, + Like the spray from silver fountains playing, + Where the elm-tree's column rose in air? + + "All are vanished, and my heart is breaking; + And my tears they slowly drip and fall; + Only death could listen without waking + To the grief and passion of my call!" + + Thus she plaineth. Then ten million voices. + Tiny, murmurous, like drops of rain, + Raised in song as when the wind rejoices, + Ring the answer, "We are here again. + + "We were hiding, April. Did you miss us? + None of us were really gone away; + Stoop thy pretty head and gently kiss us + Once before we all come out to play. + + "Here are all the clustering burls of roses, + And the dandelion's mimic sun; + Of thy much-beloved and vanished posies + None are missing, not a single one!" + + Little points of green push out to greet her, + Little creepers grasp her garment's hem, + Hidden sweetnesses grow ever sweeter + As she bends and brightly smiles at them. + + Every tear is answered by a blossom, + Every high with songs and laughter blent, + Apple-blooms upon the breezes toss them. + April knows her own, and is content. + + + + +MAY. + + New flowery scents strewed everywhere, + New sunshine poured in largesse fair, + "We shall be happy now," we say. + A voice just trembles through the air, + And whispers, "May." + + Nay, but we MUST! No tiny bud + But thrills with rapture at the flood + Of fresh young life which stirs to-day. + The same wild thrill irradiates our blood; + Why hint of "May"? + + For us are coming fast and soon + The delicate witcheries of June; + July, with ankles deep in hay; + The bounteous Autumn. Like a mocking tune + Again sounds, "May." + + Spring's last-born darling, clear-eyed, sweet, + Pauses a moment, with white twinkling feet, + And golden locks in breezy play, + Half teasing and half tender, to repeat + Her song of "May." + + Ah, month of hope! all promised glee, + All merry meanings, lie in thee; + Surely no cloud can daunt thy day. + The ripe lips part in smiling mockery, + And murmur, "May." + + Still from the smile a comfort may we glean; + Although our "must-be's," "shall-be's," idle seem, + Close to our hearts one little word we lay: + We may not be as happy as we dream, + But then we--may. + + + + +SECRETS. + + In the long, bright summer, dear to bird and bee, + When the woods are standing in liveries green and gay, + Merry little voices sound from every tree, + And they whisper secrets all the day. + + If we knew the language, we should hear strange things; + Mrs. Chirry, Mrs. Flurry, deep in private chat. + "How are all your nestlings, dear? Do they use their wings? + What was that sad tale about a cat?" + + "Where is your new cottage?" "Hush! I pray you, hush". + Please speak very softly, dear, and make no noise. + It is on the lowest bough of the lilac bush. + And I am so dreadfully afraid of boys. + + "Mr. Chirry chose the spot, without consulting me; + Such a very public place, and insecure for it, + I can scarcely sleep at night for nervousness; but he + Says I am a silly thing and doesn't mind a bit." + + "So the Bluebirds have contracted, have they, for a house? + And a nest is under way for little Mr. Wren? + Hush, dear, hush! Be quiet, dear; quiet as a mouse. + These are weighty secrets, and we must whisper them." + + Close the downy dowagers nestle on the bough + While the timorous voices soften low with dread, + And we, walking underneath, little reckon their + Mysteries are couching in the tree-tops overhead. + + Ah, the pretty whisperers! It was very well + When the leaves were thick and green, awhile ago-- + Leaves are secret-keepers; but since the last leaf fell + There is nothing hidden from the eyes below. + + Bared are the brown tenements, and all the world may see + What Mrs. Chirry, Mrs. Flurry, hid so close that day. + In the place of rustling wings, cold winds rustling be, + And thickly lie the icicles where once the warm brood lay. + + Shall we tease the birdies, when they come back in spring,-- + Tease and tell them we have fathomed all their secrets small, + Every secret hiding-place and dear and precious, thing, + Which they left behind the leaves, the red leaves, in the fall? + + They would only laugh at us and wink their saucy eyes, + And answer, "Last year's secrets are all past and told. + New years bring new happenings and fresh mysteries, + You are very welcome to the stale ones of the old!" + + + + +HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN. + + I'll tell you how the leaves came down. + The great Tree to his children said, + "You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown, + Yes, very sleepy, little Red; + It is quite time you went to bed." + + "Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf, + "Let us a little longer May; + Dear Father Tree, behold our grief, + 'Tis such a very pleasant day + We do not want to go away." + + So, just for one more merry day + To the great Tree the leaflets clung, + Frolicked and danced and had their way, + Upon the autumn breezes swung, + Whispering all their sports among, + + "Perhaps the great Tree will forget + And let us stay until the spring + If we all beg and coax and fret." + But the great Tree did no such thing; + He smiled to hear their whispering. + + "Come, children all, to bed," he cried; + And ere the leaves could urge their prayer + He shook his head, and far and wide, + Fluttering and rustling everywhere, + Down sped the leaflets through the air. + + I saw them; on the ground they lay, + Golden and red, a huddled swarm, + Waiting till one from far away, + White bed-clothes heaped upon her arm, + Should come to wrap them safe and warm. + + The great bare Tree looked down and smiled. + "Good-night, dear little leaves" he said; + And from below each sleepy child + Replied "Good-night," and murmured, + "It is so nice to go to bed." + + + + +BARCAROLES. + +I. + + Over the lapsing lagune all the day + Urging my gondola with oar-strokes light, + Always beside one shadowy waterway + I pause and peer, with eager, jealous sight, + Toward the Piazza where Pepita stands, + Wooing the hungry pigeons from their flight. + + Dark the canal; but she shines like the sun, + With yellow hair and dreaming, wine-brown eyes. + Thick crowd the doves for food. She gives ME none. + She sees and will not see. Vain are my sighs. + One slow, reluctant stroke. Aha! she turns, + Gestures and smiles, with coy and feigned surprise. + + Shifting and baffling is our Lido track, + Blind and bewildering all the currents flow. + Me they perplex not. In the midnight black + I hold my way secure and fearless row, + But ah! what chart have I to her, my Sea, + Whose fair, mysterious depths I long to know? + + Subtle as sad mirage; true and untrue + She seems, and, pressing ever on in vain, + I yearn across the mocking, tempting blue. + Never she draws more near, never I gain + A furlong's space toward where she sits and a miles; + Smiles and cares nothing for my love and pain. + + How shall I win her? What may strong arm do + Against such gentle distance? I can say + No more than this, that when she stands to woo + The doves beside the shadowy waterway, + And when I look and long, sometimes--she smiles + Perhaps she will do more than smile one day! + + + + +II. + + Light and darkness, brown and fair, + Ha! they think I do not see,-- + I behind them, swiftly rowing. + Rowing? Yes, but eyes are free, + Eyes and fancies:-- + + Now what fire in looks and glances! + Now the dark head bends, grown bolder. + Ringlets mingle--silence--broken + (All unconscious of beholder) + By a kiss! + + What could lovers ask or miss + In such moonlight, such June weather, + But a boat like this, (me rowing!) + And forever and together + To be floating? + + Ah! if she and I such boating + Might but share one day, some fellow + With strong arms behind, Pasquale, + Or Luigi, with gay awning, + (She likes yellow!) + + She--I mean Pepita--mellow + Moonlight on the waves, no other + To break silence or catch whispers, + All the love which now I smother + Told and spoken,-- + + Listened to, a kiss for token: + How, my Signor? What! so soon + Homeward bound? We, born of Venice, + Live by night and nap by noon. + If 'twere me, now, + + With my brown-eyed girl, this prow + Would not turn for hours still; + But the Signor bids, commands, + I am here to do his will, + He is master. + + Glide we on; so, faster, faster. + Now the two are safely landed. + Buono mano, grazie, Signor, + They who love are open-handed. + Now, Pepita! + + + + +III. + +TORCELLO. + + She has said "yes," and the world is a-smite. + There she sits as she sat in my dream; + There she sits, and the blue waves gleam, + And the current bears us along the while + For happy mile after happy mile, + A fairy boat on a fairy stream. + + The Angelus bells siring to and fro, + And the sunset lingers to hear their swell, + For the sunset loves such music well. + A big, bright moon is hovering low, + Where the edge of the sky is all aglow, + Like the middle heart of a red, red shell. + + The Lido floats like a purple flower; + Orange and rose are the sails at sea; + Silk and pink the surf-line free + Tumbles and chimes, and the perfect hour + Clasps us and folds us in its power, + Folds us and holds us, my love and me. + + Can there be sadness anywhere + In the world to-night? Or tears or sighs + Beneath such festal moon and skies? + Can there be memory or despair? + What is it, beloved? Why point you there, + With sudden dew in those dearest eyes? + + Yes! one sad thing on the happy earth! + Like a mourner's veil in the bridal array, + Or a sorrowful sigh in the music gay, + A shade on the sun, in the feast a dearth, + Drawn like a ghost across our way, + Torcello sits and rebukes our mirth. + + She sits a widow who sat as queen, + Ashes on brows once crowned and bright; + Woe in the eyes once full of light; + Her sad, fair roses and manifold green, + All bitter and pallid and heavy with night, + Are full of the shadows of woes unseen. + + Let us hurry away from her face unblest, + Row us away, for the song is done, + The Angelus bells cease, one by one, + Pepita's head lies on my breast; + But, trembling and full of a vague unrest, + I long for the morrow and for the sun. + + + + +MY RIGHTS. + + Yes, God has made me a woman, + And I am content to be + Just what He meant, not reaching out + For other things, since He + Who knows me best and loves me most has ordered this for me. + + A woman, to live my life out + In quiet womanly ways, + Hearing the far-off battle, + Seeing as through a haze + The crowding, struggling world of men fight through their busy + days. + + I am not strong or valiant, + I would not join the fight + Or jostle with crowds in the highways + To sully my garments white; + But I have rights as a woman, and here I claim my right. + + The right of a rose to bloom + In its own sweet, separate way, + With none to question the perfumed pink + And none to utter a nay + If it reaches a root or points, a thorn, as even a rose-tree may. + + The right of the lady-birch to grow, + To grow as the Lord shall please, + By never a sturdy oak rebuked, + Denied nor sun nor breeze, + For all its pliant slenderness, kin to the stronger trees. + + The right to a life of my own,-- + Not merely a casual bit + Of somebody else's life, flung out + That, taking hold of it, + I may stand as a cipher does after a numeral writ. + + The right to gather and glean + What food I need and can + From the garnered store of knowledge + Which man has heaped for man, + Taking with free hands freely and after an ordered plan. + + The right--ah, best and sweetest!-- + To stand all undismayed + Whenever sorrow or want or sin + Call for a woman's aid, + With none to call or question, by never a look gainsaid. + + I do not ask for a ballot; + Though very life were at stake, + I would beg for the nobler justice + That men for manhood's sake + Should give ungrudgingly, nor withhold till I must fight and take. + + The fleet foot and the feeble foot + Both seek the self-same goal, + The weakest soldier's name is writ + On the great army-roll, + And God, who made man's body strong, made too the woman's soul + + + + +SOLSTICE. + +I. + + I sit at evening's scented close, + In fulness of the summer-tide; + All dewy fair the lily glows, + No single petal of the row; + Has fallen to dim the rose's pride. + + Sweet airs, sweet harmonies of hue, + Surround, caress me everywhere; + The spells of dusk, the spells of dew, + My senses steal, my reason woo, + And sing a lullaby to tare, + + But vainly do the warm airs sing, + All vain the roses' rapturous breath; + A chill blast, as from wintry wing, + Smites on my heart, and, shuddering, + I see the beauty changed to death. + + Afar I see it loom and rise, + That pitiless and icy shape. + It blots the blue, it dims the skies; + Amid the summer land it cries, + "I come, and there is no escape!" + + O, bitter drop in bloom and sweet! + O, canker on the smiling day! + Have we but climbed the hill to meet + Thy fronting fare, thy eyes of sleet? + To hate, yet dare not turn away? + + + + +II. + + I sit beneath a leaden sky, + Amid the piled and drifted snow; + My feet are on the graves where lie + The roses which made haste to die + So long, so very long ago. + + The sobbing wind is fierce and strong, + Its cry is like a human wail, + But in my heart it sings this song: + "Not long, O Lord! O Lord, not long! + Surely thy spring-time shall prevail." + + Out of the darkness and the cold, + Out of the wintry depths I lean, + And lovingly I clasp and hold + The promises, and see unrolled + A vision of the summer green. + + O, life in death, sweet plucked from pain! + O, distant vision fair to see! + Up the long hill we press and strain; + We can bear all things and attain, + If once our faces turn to Thee! + + + + +IN THE MIST. + + Sitting all day in a silver mist, + In silver silence all the day, + Save for the low, soft kiss of spray, + And the lisp of sands by waters kissed, + As the tide draws up the bay. + + Little I hear and nothing I see, + Wrapped in that veil by fairies spun; + The solid earth is vanished for me, + And the shining hours speed noiselessly, + A web of shadow and sun. + + Suddenly out of the shifting veil + A magical bark, by the sunbeams lit, + Flits like a dream,--or seems to flit,-- + With a golden prow and a gossamer sail, + And the waves make room for it. + + A fair, swift bark from some radiant realm, + Its diamond cordage cuts the sky + In glittering lines; all silently + A seeming spirit holds the helm + And steers: will he pass me by? + + Ah, not for me is the vessel here! + Noiseless and fast as a sea-bird's, flight, + She swerves and vanishes from my sight; + No flap of sail, no parting cheer,-- + She has passed into the light. + + Sitting some day in a deeper mist, + Silent, alone, some other day, + An unknown bark from an unknown bay, + By unknown waters lapped and kissed, + Shall near me through the spray. + + No flap of sail, no scraping of keel: + Shadow, dim, with a banner dark, + It will hover, will pause, and I shall feel + A hand which beckons, and, shivering, steal + To the cold strand and embark. + + Embark for that far mysterious realm, + Whence the fathomless, trackless waters flow. + Shall I see a Presence dim, and know + A Gracious Hand upon the helm, + Nor be afraid to go? + + And through black wave and stormy blast, + And out of the fog-wreath dense and dun, + Guided and held, shall the vessel run, + Gain the fair haven, night being past, + And anchor in the sun? + + + + +WITHIN. + + Could my heart hold another one? + I cannot tell. + Sometimes it seems an ample dome, + Sometimes a cell, + + Sometimes a temple filled with saints, + Serene and fair, + Whose eyes are pure from mortal taints + All lilies are. + + Sometimes a narrow shrine, in which + One precious fare + Smiles ever from its guarded niche, + With deathless grace. + + Sometimes a nest, where weary things, + And weal; and shy, + Are brooded under mother wings + Till they can fly. + + And then a palace, with wide rooms + Adorned and dressed, + Where eager slaves pour sweet perfumes + For each new guest. + + Whiche'er it be, I know always + Within that door-- + Whose latch it is not mine to raise-- + Blows evermore, + + With breath of balm upon its wing, + A soft, still air, + Which makes each closely folded thing + Look always fair. + + My darlings, do you feel me near, + As every day + Into this hidden place and dear + I take my way? + + Always you stand in radiant guise, + Always I see + A noiseless welcome in the eyes + You turn on me. + + And, whether I come soon or late, + Whate'er befall, + Always within the guarded gate + I find you all. + + + + +MENACE. + + All green and fair the Summer lies, + Just budded from the bud of Spring, + With tender blue of wistful skies, + And winds which softly sing. + + Her clock has struck its morning hours; + Noon nears--the flowery dial is true; + But still the hot sun veils its powers, + In deference to the dew. + + Yet there amid the fresh new green, + Amid the young broods overhead, + A single scarlet branch is seen, + Swung like a banner red; + + Tinged with the fatal hectic flush + Which, when October frost is in the near, + Flames on each dying tree and bush, + To deck the dying year. + + And now the sky seems not so blue, + The yellow sunshine pales its ray, + A sorrowful, prophetic hue + Lies on the radiant day, + + As mid the bloom and tenderness + I catch that scarlet menace there, + Like a gray sudden wintry tress + Set in a child's bright hair. + + The birds sing on, the roses blow, + But like a discord heard but now, + A stain upon the petal's snow + Is that one sad, red bough. + + + + +"HE THAT BELIEVETH SHALL NOT MAKE HASTE." + + The aloes grow upon the sand, + The aloes thirst with parching heat; + Year after year they waiting stand, + Lonely and calm, and front the beat + Of desert winds; and still a sweet + And subtle voice thrills all their veins: + "Great patience wins; it still remains, + After a century of pains, + To you to bloom and be complete." + + I grow upon a thorny waste; + Hot noontide lies on all the way, + And with its scorching breath makes haste + Each freshening dawn to burn and slay, + Yet patiently I bide and stay: + Knowing the secret of my fate, + The hour of bloom, dear Lord, I wait, + Come when it will, or soon or late, + A hundred years are but a day. + + + + +MY LITTLE GHOST. + + I know where it lurks and hides, + In the midst of the busy house, + In the midst of the children's glee, + All clay its shadow bides: + Nobody knows but me. + + On a closet-shelf it dwells, + In the darkest corner of all, + Mid rolls of woollen and fur, + And faint, forgotten smells + Of last year's lavender. + + That a ghost has its dwelling there + Nobody else would guess,-- + "Only a baby's shoe, + A curl of golden hair," + You would say, "a toy or two,-- + + "A broken doll, whose lips + And cheeks of waxen bloom + Show dents of fingers small,-- + Little, fair finger-tips,-- + A worn sash,--that is all." + + Little to see or to guess; + But whenever I open the door, + There, faithful to its post, + With its eyes' sad tenderness, + I see my little ghost. + + And I hasten to shut the door, + I shut it tight and fast, + Lest the sweet, sad thing get free, + Lest it flit beside on the floor, + And sadden the day for me, + + Lest between me and the sun, + And between me and the heavens, + And the laugh in the children's eyes, + The shadowy feet should run, + The faint gold curls arise + + Like a gleam of moonlight pale, + And all the warmth and the light + Should die from the summer day, + And the laughter turn to wail, + And I should forget to pray. + + So I keep the door shut fast, + And my little ghost shut in, + And whenever I cross the hall + I shiver and hurry past; + But I love it best of all. + + + + +CHRISTMAS. + + How did they keep his birthday then, + The little fair Christ, so long ago? + O, many there were to be housed and fed, + And there was no place in the inn, they said, + So into the manger the Christ must go, + To lodge with the cattle and not with men. + + The ox and the ass they munched their hay + They munched and they slumbered, wondering not, + And out in the midnight cold and blue + The shepherds slept, and the sheep slept too, + Till the angels' song and the bright star ray + Guided the wise men to the spot. + + But only the wise men knelt and praised, + And only the shepherds came to see, + And the rest of the world cared not at all + For the little Christ in the oxen's stall; + And we are angry and amazed + That such a dull, hard thing should be! + + How do we keep his birthday now? + We ring the bells and we raise the strain, + We hang up garland, everywhere + And bid the tapers, twinkle fair, + And feast and frolic--and then we go + Back to the Mine old lives again. + + Are we so better, then, than they + Who failed the new-born Christ to see? + To them a helpless babe,--to us + He shines a Saviour glorious, + Our Lord, our Friend, our All--yet we + Are half asleep this Christmas day. + + + + +BENEDICAM DOMINO. + + Thank God for life: life is not sweet always. + Hands may he heavy-laden, hearts care full, + Unwelcome nights follow unwelcome days, + And dreams divine end in awakenings dull. + Still it is life, anil life is cause for praise. + This ache, this restlessness, this quickening sting, + Prove me no torpid and inanimate thing, + Prove me of Him who is of life the Spring. + I am alive!--and that is beautiful. + + Thank God for Love: though Love may hurt and wound + Though set with sharpest thorns its rose may be, + Roses are not of winter, all attuned + Must be the earth, full of soft stir, and free + And warm ere dawns the rose upon its tree. + Fresh currents through my frozen pulses run; + My heart has tasted summer, tasted sun, + And I can thank Thee, Lord, although not one + Of all the many roses blooms for me. + + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Verses +by Susan Coolidge +******This file should be named versc10.txt or versc10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, versc11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, versc10a.txt + +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +********************************************************************* + +More information about this book is at the top of this file. + + +We are now trying to release all our etexts one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. 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