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diff --git a/old/53072-0.txt b/old/53072-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fbc72be..0000000 --- a/old/53072-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2238 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Clarence Cook - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Poems - -Author: Clarence Cook - -Release Date: September 17, 2016 [EBook #53072] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - POEMS - - OF - - CLARENCE COOK - - [Illustration: CLARENCE C. COOK - - AT THE AGE OF 36 - - FROM A PEN-AND-INK DRAWING MADE IN 1864 BY THOMAS C. FARRAR, PUPIL OF - JOHN RUSKIN] - - - - - POEMS - - BY - - CLARENCE COOK - - [Illustration: colophon] - - NEW YORK - - 1902 - - - COPYRIGHT, 1902 - BY LOUISA W. COOK - - - PRIVATELY PRINTED - AT THE GILLISS PRESS, NEW YORK - FOR LOUISA W. COOK - AND HER FRIENDS - 1902 - - - - - THIS LITTLE VOLUME - OF PUBLISHED AND UNPUBLISHED VERSES - BY THE LATE - - CLARENCE COOK - - IS DEDICATED TO HIS MANY FRIENDS AND LOVERS - BY HIS WIFE - - LOUISA W. COOK - - - - -CHRONOLOGY - - -1828 - -September 8th, Clarence Chatham Cook born at Dorchester, Massachusetts. - - -1849 - -Graduated at Harvard College. - -Studied architecture for a season. Then became a tutor. Lectured on Art -and gave readings from Shakespeare’s plays. - - -1852 - -Married Tuesday, October 26th, to Louisa De Wint Whittemore, widow of -Samuel Whittemore of New York City. - - -1863 - -Began a series of articles published in the _New York Tribune_, on -“American Art and Artists.” - - -1864 - -Editor of _The New Path_, a pre-Raphaelite journal published in New -York. - - -1868 - -Published “The Central Park.” - - -1869 - -Paris correspondent of _The New York Tribune_. Went to Italy at the -outbreak of the Franco-Prussian war. - - -1870 - -Returned to the United States and renewed his connection with _The New -York Tribune_. - - -1874 - -Wrote the text of a heliotype reproduction of Dürer’s “Life of the -Virgin.” - - -1878 - -Completed “The House Beautiful” and edited, with notes, the translation -of Lübke’s “History of Art.” - - -1884 - -Editor and proprietor of _The Studio_, a monthly magazine of art -published in New York. - - -1886 - -Published an illustrated work in three large volumes entitled “Art and -Artists of Our Time.” - - -1900 - -Clarence Chatham Cook died at Fishkill-on-the-Hudson May 31, aged 72 -years. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - -Chronology vii - -The Maple Tree 1 - -Abram and Zimri 6 - -An April Violet 10 - -Regret 12 - -L’Ennui 14 - -Aspiration 16 - -The Soul’s Question 18 - -Assertion 32 - -The Apple 33 - -For Easter Day 34 - -On One Who Died in May 36 - -The Yew Tree 39 - -The Immortal 41 - -Two Mays 45 - -Wind Harpings 47 - -A Valentine 49 - -Coming--Come 52 - -Ulysses and the Sirens 53 - -Ottilia 54 - -A Portrait 57 - -Sonnet 60 - -To Giulia, Singing 61 - -Yesterday and To-Day 63 - -A Sonnet in Praise of His Lady’s Hands 66 - - - - -POEMS - -BY - -CLARENCE COOK - - - - -THE MAPLE TREE - - - An April sun with April showers - Had burst the buds of lagging flowers; - From their fresh leaves the violets’ eyes - Mirrored the deep blue of the skies; - The daffodils, in clustering ranks, - Fringed with their spears the garden banks, - And with the blooms I love so well - Their paper buds began to swell, - While every bush and every tree - Burgeoned with flowers of melody; - From the quick robin with his range - Of silver notes, a warbling change, - Which he from sad to merry drew - A sparkling shower of tuneful dew, - To the brown sparrow in the wheat - A plaintive whistle clear and sweet. - Over my head the royal sky - Spread clear from cloud his canopy, - The idle noon slept far and wide - On misty hill and river side, - And far below me glittering lay - The mirror of the azure bay. - - I stood beneath the maple tree; - Its crimson blooms enchanted me, - Its honey perfume haunted me, - And drew me thither unaware, - A nameless influence in the air. - Its boughs were hung with murmuring bees - Who robbed it of its sweetnesses-- - Their cheerful humming, loud and strong, - Drowned with its bass the robin’s song, - And filled the April noontide air - With Labor’s universal prayer. - I paused to listen--soon I heard - A sound of neither bee nor bird, - A sullen murmur mixed with cheer - That rose and fell upon the ear - As the wind might--yet far away - Unstirred the sleeping river lay, - And even across the hillside wheat - No silvery ripples wandered fleet. - It was the murmur of the town, - No song of bird or bee could drown-- - The rattling wheels along the street, - The pushing crowd with hasty feet, - The schoolboy’s call, the gossip’s story, - The lawyer’s purchased oratory, - The glib-tongued shopman with his wares, - The chattering schoolgirl with her airs, - The moaning sick man on his bed, - The coffin nailing for the dead, - The new-born infant’s lusty wail, - The bells that bade the bridal hail, - The factory’s wheels that round and round - Forever turn, and with their sound - Make the young children deaf to all - God’s voices that about them call, - Sweet sounds of bird and wind and wave; - And Life no gladder than a grave. - - These myriad, mingled human voices, - These intertwined and various noises - Made up the murmur that I heard - Through the sweet hymn of bee and bird. - I said--“If all these sounds of life - With which the noontide air is rife, - These busy murmurings of the bee - Robbing the honied maple tree, - These warblings of the song-birds’ voices, - With which the blooming hedge rejoices, - These harsher mortal chords that rise - To mar Earth’s anthem to the skies, - If all these sounds fall on my ear - So little varying--yet so near-- - How can I tell if God can know - A cry of human joy or woe - From the loud humming of the bee, - Or the blithe robin’s melody?” - - God sitteth somewhere in his heaven-- - About him sing the planets seven; - With every thought a world is made, - To grow in sun or droop in shade; - He holds Creation like a flower - In his right hand--an æon’s hour-- - It fades, it dies,--another’s bloom - Makes the air sweet with fresh perfume. - Or, did he listen on that day - To what the rolling Earth might say? - Or, did he mark, as, one by one, - The gliding hours in light were spun? - And if he heard the choral hymn - The Earth sent up to honor him, - Which note rose sweetest to his ear? - Which murmur did he gladliest hear? - -_The Roses, April, 1853._ - - - - -ABRAM AND ZIMRI - -_Poem founded on a Rabinnical Legend_ - - - Abram and Zimri owned a field together, - A level field, hid in a happy vale; - They ploughed it with one plough, and in the spring - Sowed, walking side by side, the fruitful grain; - Each carried to his home one-half the sheaves, - And stored them, with much labor, in his barns. - Now Abram had a wife and seven sons, - But Zimri dwelt alone within his house. - One night, before the sheaves were gathered in, - As Zimri lay upon his lonely bed, - And counted in his mind his little gains, - He thought upon his brother Abram’s lot, - And said, “I dwell alone within my house, - But Abram hath a wife and seven sons; - And yet we share the harvest sheaves alike: - He surely needeth more for life than I: - I will arise and gird myself, and go - Down to the field, and add to his from mine.” - So he arose and girded up his loins, - And went out softly to the level field. - The moon shone out from dusky bars of clouds, - The trees stood black against the cold blue sky, - The branches waved and whispered in the wind. - So Zimri, guided by the shifting light, - Went down the mountain path, and found the field; - Took from his store of sheave a generous third, - And bore them gladly to his brother’s heap, - And then went back to sleep and happy dreams. - - Now that same night, as Abram lay in bed, - Thinking upon his blissful state in life, - He thought upon his brother Zimri’s lot, - And said, “He dwells within his house alone, - He goeth forth to toil with few to help, - He goeth home at night to a cold house, - And hath few other friends but me and mine - (For these two tilled the happy vale alone), - While I, whom Heaven hath very greatly blessed, - Dwell happy with my wife and seven sons, - Who aid me in my toil, and make it light; - And yet we share the harvest sheaves alike; - This, surely, is not pleasing unto God. - I will arise and gird myself, and go - Out to the field, and borrow from my store, - And add unto my brother Zimri’s pile.” - - So he arose and girded up his loins, - And went down softly to the level field. - The moon shone out from silver bars of clouds, - The trees stood black against the starry sky, - The dark leaves waved and whispered in the breeze; - So Abram, guided by the doubtful light, - Passed down the mountain path, and found the field, - Took from his store of sheaves a generous third, - And added them unto his brother’s heap; - Then he went back to sleep and happy dreams. - - So the next morning, with the early sun, - The brothers rose and went out to their toil; - And when they came to see the heavy sheaves, - Each wondered in his heart to find his heap, - Though he had given a third, was still the same. - - Now the next night went Zimri to the field, - Took from his store of sheaves a generous share - And placed them on his brother Abram’s heap; - And then lay down behind his pile to watch. - The moon looked out from bars of silvery cloud, - The cedars stood up black against the sky, - The olive branches whispered in the wind. - Then Abram came down softly from his home, - And, looking to the left and right, went on, - Took from his ample store a generous third, - And laid it on his brother Zimri’s pile. - Then Zimri rose and caught him in his arms, - And wept upon his neck and kissed his cheek, - And Abram saw the whole, and could not speak, - Neither could Zimri, for their hearts were full. - - - - -AN APRIL VIOLET - - - Pale flower, that by this stone - Sweetenest the air alone, - While round thee falls the snow - And the rude wind doth blow. - What thought doth make thee pine - Pale Flower, can I divine? - - Say, does this trouble thee - That all things fickle be? - The wind that buffets so - Was kind an hour ago. - The sun, a cloud doth hide, - Cheered thee at morning tide. - - The busy pleasuring bee - Sought thee for company. - The little sparrows near - Sang thee their ballads clear. - The maples on thy head - Their spicy blossoms shed. - - Because the storm made dumb - The wild bees booming hum; - Because for shivering - The sparrows cannot sing; - Is this the reason why - Thou look’st so woefully? - - To-morrow’s laughing sun - Will cheer thee, pallid one; - To-morrow will bring back - The gay bee on his track, - Bursting thy cloister dim - With his wild roistering. - - Canst thou not wait the morrow, - That rids thee of thy sorrow? - Art thou too desolate - To smile at any fate? - Then there is naught for thee - But Death’s delivery. - -_The Roses, May 4, 1853._ - - - - -REGRET - - - Look out, sad heart, through wintry eyes - To see thy summer go: - How pallid are thy bluest skies - Behind this veiling snow. - - Look out upon thy purple hills, - That all the summer long, - Laughed with an hundred laughing rills, - And sang their summer song. - - You only see the sheeted snow - That covers grass and tree; - The frozen streamlets cannot flow, - No bird dares sing to thee. - - Look out upon Life’s summer days - That fade like summer flowers; - What golden fruitage for thy praise, - From all those bounteous hours? - - Sings any bird, or any wind - Amid thy falling leaves? - Why is it, if thou look’st behind, - Thy heart forever grieves? - -_Newburgh, January 4, 1854._ - - - - -L’ENNUI - - - Oh April grass, so truly - My wish for spring divining, - Oh April sun, so gaily - In at my window shining, - What cheer can ye impart - Unto a faded heart? - - Oh thoughts of Summer days - Born of the violet’s blue. - Oh wooing western wind, - That maketh all things new-- - What cheer can ye impart - Unto a faded heart? - - Oh mountains brown and sere, - Mantled in morning light, - Oh golden sunset sea - Wrecked on the shores of night, - What cheer can ye impart - Unto a faded heart? - - Oh longings evermore - For some ungiven good, - Oh yearnings to make clear - The dimly understood, - What cheer can ye impart - Unto a faded heart? - - Cover thy weary eyes - With hands too weak for prayer, - Think on the happy past, - From other thoughts forbear - Which can no cheer impart - Unto a hopeless heart. - -_The Roses, April 20, 1853._ - - - - -ASPIRATION - - - Thou sea, whose tireless waves - Forever seek the shore, - Striving to clamber higher, - Yet failing evermore; - Why wilt thou still aspire - Though losing thy desire? - - Thou sun, whose constant feet - Mount ever to thy noon, - Thou canst not there remain, - Night quenches thee so soon; - Why wilt thou still aspire - Though losing thy desire? - - Rose, in my garden growing, - Unharmed by winter’s snows, - Another winter cometh - Ere all thy buds unclose; - Why wilt thou still aspire - Though losing thy desire? - - Mortal, with feeble hands - Striving some work to do, - Fate, with her cruel shears, - Doth all thy steps pursue; - Why wilt thou still aspire - Though losing thy desire? - -_The Roses, Newburgh, - -April 21, 1853._ - - - - -THE SOUL’S QUESTION - -_Inscribed to Rev. A. Dwight Mayo_ - - - Dear friend, in whom my soul abides, - Who rulest all its wayward tides, - Accept the feeble song I sing, - And read aright my stammering. - - -I - - As on my bed at night I lay, - My soul, who all the weary day - Had fought with thoughts of death and life, - Began again the bitter strife. - - -II - - This question would she ask, until - My tired eyes with tears would fill, - And overrun and fill again; - So that I cried out in my pain-- - - -III - - “When thou art made a heap of earth, - And all thy gain is nothing worth, - Where shall I go? Shall I too die - And fade in utter entity? - - -IV - - “Shall my fine essence be the sport - Of idle chance and fade to nought; - The morning dew upon the flower - Dried by the sunlight in an hour? - - -V - - “Doth God with careless eyes look down - On peopled slope and crowded town, - And, though he mark the sparrow’s death, - Think nothing _more_ of human breath? - - -VI - - “Or if I shall not die, but live-- - What other dwelling will he give - In which to lead another life - And wage anew the ended strife? - - -VII - - “Turn up to heaven thy streaming face, - And glance athwart the starry space; - What planet, burning in the blue, - Shall hold thy life begun anew?” - - -VIII - - I looked out on the still midnight, - A thousand stars were flashing bright; - Unclouded shone the sailing moon - And filled with pallor all the room. - - -IX - - The earth was hid with silver snow, - I heard the river’s steady flow, - I saw the moonlight softly fall - On running stream and mountain wall. - - -X - - I found no peace in gazing here; - The earth seemed cold and very drear; - River and mountain bathed in light, - Were grim and ghastly in my sight. - - -XI - - The mountain wall--a hand divine - Drew on the sky its perfect line-- - Said to my soul, “Of this be sure, - Thy race shall die, but I endure. - - -XII - - “And while I take the morning’s kiss - On my brows bathed in crimson bliss - Or listen to the eternal song - The seven great spheres in heaven prolong. - - -XIII - - “While on my sides the cedar grows - Through summer’s suns and winter’s snows, - Or while I rock my piny crown, - Whose high tops draw the lightning down, - - -XIV - - “So long as I in might endure - I watch man fading, swift and sure; - I smile, and whisper to my flowers, - Man dieth and the earth is ours--” - - -XV - - A scalding tear rolled down my cheek, - Through thickening sobs I strove to speak; - “Are those the hills I saw to-night - Mantled in pomp of purple light?” - - -XVI - - All day the earth on every side - Lay robed in vesture of a bride, - While lit on snow-wreathed bush and tree - The winter birds sang joyfully. - - -XVII - - The river sparkled cold and keen - With burnished tracts of wintry gleam; - Above, the sky’s unclouded blue - The smile of God on all things threw. - - -XVIII - - O’er hill and field elate I walked, - With all things fair by turns I talked; - I felt the God within me move - And nothing seemed too mean for Love. - - -XIX - - The flower of day that bloomed so fair - Closed on the perfumed evening air; - A holy calm o’er Nature stole - And bathed in prayer my happy soul. - - -XX - - A golden glory caught the world;-- - High up the crimson clouds were curled, - A purple splendor hid the sun - A moment--and the day was done. - - -XXI - - I gazed at will; my thankful eyes - Were bathed in dews of Paradise; - My heart ran out my God to meet, - And clasped his knees and kissed his feet. - - -XXII - - He led me like a little child - Whereso he would; the darkness smiled - Whereso we walked; such glory of light - Enshrined him, making very bright - - -XXIII - - Whatever darkness veiled my mind; - I looked on all the grief behind - As on a fevered dream. To-night - The peace is gone and gone the light - - -XXIV - - I prayed for sleep, an earnest prayer - I thought that God would surely hear; - Yet, though my tears fell fast and free, - He kept his boon of sleep from me. - - -XXV - - Again my soul her quest began-- - “Must I too fall beneath the ban? - And, if I die not in thy death, - Where shall I live who am but breath? - - -XXVI - - “When the frame stiffens into stone, - And death and it are left alone, - And round about it in the grave - The rat shall gnaw and winds shall rave, - - -XXVII - - “Shall I within the dwelling stay - To watch above the heap of clay, - And while the dreary ages roll - Lie housed in earth, a prisoned soul?” - - -XXVIII - - If this be Hell, to sit and hear - The hum of life from year to year, - Yet have no part nor lot in all - That men do on this earthly ball, - - -XXIX - - But sit and watch from hour to hour - The slow decay of beauty and power, - And when the last faint trace is gone - To sit there still and still watch on, - - -XXX - - While other men shall share my doom - And other souls within the tomb - Shall sit beside me dumb and pale - Forever in that fearful vale-- - - -XXXI - - With that, cold sweat ran down my face - I rose up straightway in my place - I lit my lamp, my Bible took - And sat to read the blessed Book. - - -XXXII - - I turned the pages to and fro - Not knowing where to read, and so - Sat very still with tightened breath - Till I could catch that one word--“death” - - -XXXIII - - “Cain”--the page blackened as I read - The awful name of him who led - God’s curse like lightning down to earth, - Blasting and scarring home and hearth. - - -XXXIV - - I turned the page; I read the line - Of those old men, the half divine, - Of whom no record is supplied - But, “thus he lived, and then, he died--” - - -XXXV - - Not any comfort could I find, - A sudden sickness seized my mind, - I felt my heart beat slow and weak - I tried to pray, I could not speak. - - -XXXVI - - Oh! bitterness beyond compare. - When our last refuge fades to air; - Where shall the hopeless soul repose, - For who is there that _surely knows_? - - -XXXVII - - I read how Saul in wild En-dor - Questioned the witch, and what he saw. - How Samuel’s ghost rose pale and grim - Out of the grave and answered him. - - -XXXVIII - - I read the awful words he said-- - “Why am I thus disquieted?” - “Disquieted”--what dreamless sleep - Weighed on his eyelids calm and deep? - - -XXXIX - - Thereat I shook from head to foot-- - I made no cry, my heart was mute; - I could not call on God, nor pray, - For all my faith had fled away. - - -XL - - As when a man, who in a dream - To slide down some blank wall shall seem, - Clutches at air, strikes out in vain - His helpless hands and shrieks with pain, - - -XLI - - While all the air with mocking eyes - Is full, foul shapes and soundless cries - That laugh to scorn his deadly fear - With laughter that he swoons to hear, - - -XLII - - And swooning wakes: my helpless soul - Felt the dim waves above her roll, - The firm earth slide beneath her feet, - And all her agony complete. - - -XLIII - - I read that Christ had conquered Death - By giving up his holy breath; - And calling Lazarus by his name - Had brought him back to life again. - - -XLIV - - What these things mean I cannot say; - They do not drive my fear away, - For where was Lazarus when he heard - The voice of Christ pronounce that word? - - -XLV - - Was he within the voiceless tomb - Beside his sometime earthly home, - Watching the slowly changing form - Yield to the touch of mole and worm? - - -XLVI - - Or was he in some blessed place - A saint, with glory in his face; - And did he drop, a gliding star - Down to the earth where mortals are? - - -XLVII - - And clothe himself in dust again - To share the bitter life of men, - To live a few dark years below - And back again to glory go? - - -XLVIII - - This thought raised up my fainting heart - And somewhat eased the deadly smart, - My lips began to move in prayer-- - My soul to breathe a freer air. - - -XLIX - - I prayed for peace, I prayed for trust; - I prayed to feel that God is just; - I prayed that let what would befall - I still might trust Him over all. - - -L - - And whether sunk in deadly gloom - The soul must rest within the tomb; - Or sit within God’s awful light - To which the sun’s blaze is as night? - - -LI - - Or shape its course from life to life - And waxing strong in endless strife, - Through everlasting years pursue - The work that God shall give to do? - - -LII - - I might, without a fear, lay down - When he shall call, my earthly crown, - Trusting that he who gave me breath - Will keep me in the day of death. - - -LIII - - I looked again upon the earth. - The day rejoicèd in its birth; - And on the sullen rack afar - Trembled the fading morning star! - -_Written 1849._ - - - - -ASSERTION - - - Too late, I drew from scanty springs - The barren cheer that in them lies. - Too late, I fettered eager wings - That longed to bathe in bluer skies. - - Too late, I squandered golden hours - God gave me for his praise to spend. - Too late, I gathered idle flowers - Forgetful of my journey’s end. - - God needs my deed; however small - The help I lend, to work his will, - Not without grief he sees me fall. - Or fail his purpose to fulfil. - -_New York, March 1, 1854._ - - - - -THE APPLE - - - I picked an apple from the ground, - A perfect apple, red and round. - Its spicy perfume shy and sweet, - Stole from the ground beneath my feet, - Borne on a wind that lightly flew, - Through the deep dome of cloudless blue. - A swarm of ants had found the prize, - Before it met my wandering eyes, - And careless in their busy pleasure, - Ran o’er and o’er the fragrant treasure. - I blew them off, nor cared to know - Whither the luckless things might go. - So He who holdeth in his hand - This perfect world on which we stand, - Blows us, ah, whither? with His breath, - Our friends who miss us call it “Death!” - - - - -FOR EASTER DAY - - -I - - This is the Easter! - Day of rejoicing! - Day of renewing! - See how the roseate, - Delicate, virginal - Feet of the Morning - Haste o’er the mountains - Joyful to meet her! - - -II - - Welcome the Easter! - Day of renewing! - Day of rejoicing! - The snow has departed, - The rain is assuaged, - The winter is gone! - Lo! on Earth’s bosom - The rainbow of promise, - The rainbow of springtime, - The rainbow of flowers! - - -III - - This is the Easter! - Day of uprising! - Day of renewing! - Heart, take new courage! - Look no more downward! - See, the sun rising! - Hark, the bird singing! - See, the grass springing! - The brook floweth free! - Hand to the plough, man! - Cut deep the furrow, - Cast thy seed strongly! - - Think not of sorrow! - Of death or of sin! - To-day, let thy future - Burst from its cerements,-- - Roll back the Grave stone! - To-day, Life immortal! - Oh, mortal! begin! - -_New York, April 2, 1877._ - - - - -ON ONE WHO DIED IN MAY - -_John H. Ellis, May 3, 1870_ - - - Why Death, what dost thou, here, - This time o’ year? - Peach-blow, and apple-blossom; - Clouds, white as my love’s bosom; - Warm wind o’ the West - Cradling the robin’s nest; - Young meadows, hasting their green laps to fill - With golden dandelion and daffodil;-- - These are fit sights for spring; - But, oh, thou hateful thing, - What dost thou here? - - Why, Death, what dost thou here - This time o’ year? - Fair, at the old oak’s knee, - The young anemone; - Fair, the plash places set - With dog-tooth violet; - The first sloop-sail, - The shad-flower pale; - Sweet are all sights, - Sweet are all sounds of Spring; - But thou, thou ugly thing, - What dost thou, here? - - Dark Death let fall a tear. - Why am I here? - Oh, heart ungrateful! Will man never know - I am his friend, nor ever was his foe? - Whose the sweet season, then, if it be not mine? - Mine, not the bobolink’s, that song divine - Chasing the shadows o’er the flying wheat! - ’Tis a dead voice, not his, that sounds so sweet. - Whose passionate heart burns in this flaming rose - But his, whose passionate heart long since lay still? - Whose wan hope pales this nun-like lily tall, - Beside the garden wall, - But hers, whose radiant eyes and lily grace, - Sleep in the grave that crowns yon tufted hill! - All Hope, all Memory - Have their deep springs in me, - And Love, that else might fade, - By me immortal made, - Spurns at the grave, leaps to the welcoming skies, - And burns a steadfast star to steadfast eyes. - - - - -THE YEW TREE - - - Take this small slip of sombre yew - And lay it on thy breast; - There, underneath thy downcast eyes, - Let the sad emblem rest-- - Thy tears may fall upon it. - - I pulled it from a little tree - That just begins to grow-- - Once only has it seen the sun - And only once the snow-- - Thy tears may rain upon it. - - The garden where it grew is sad - Before all other places, - Death’s shadow up and down its walks - Forever darkly paces-- - Thy tears have fallen in it. - - These yew trees stand, a pallid ring - Upon the sunlit lawn-- - He planted them the very year - That we were left to mourn-- - Our tears fell freely for it. - - They stood like mourners round a grave - Who look within, to see - Where lie the ashes, while the fire - Spires upward, clear and free. - - - - -THE IMMORTAL - - - Somewhere in silent starry lands, - Forlorn with cold or faint with heat, - He folds his ever active hands, - And rest his never-resting feet. - - A windless light illumes his skies; - A moonless night, a sunless day, - Unheeded by his careless eyes, - Arise, and fade, and pass away. - - All day his constant thoughts recall - The blissful past, forever fled; - A golden light illumines all - The ghostly memories of the dead. - - Once more adown his garden walks - He moves serene from flower to flower: - His wife beside him gaily talks, - He listens gladly hour by hour. - - But when he turns to kiss the lips, - Or when he thinks the form to press - Of her he loves--his hope’s eclipse - Renews the former bitterness. - - In nightly dreams his tireless wings - Convey him far to where she lies - Folded in slumber, while he sings - Low in her ear his lullabies. - - He wakes--the happy dream is o’er, - The slow, dull heart-ache gnaws again, - Within his soul forevermore - A long-enduring death of pain. - - With her the suns arise and set, - The singing stars renew their light, - Deep in her heart one wild regret - Moans for his presence day and night. - - I well believe God loves thee still, - To whatsoever planet borne; - Breathing the bright auroral airs - That haunt some glad eternal morn. - - Walking with fair, unclouded eyes - Beside the slow unfailing streams, - Lulled in the memories of the Past, - An ever gliding dance of dreams. - - The ills that fret our feeble hearts, - The toils in which thy life had share, - The slender joys that make us glad - In quiet moments snatched from care. - - These memories of a vanished life, - Pass dim before thine altered mind, - As visions of the earth and sky - Come to a man whose eyes are blind. - - To whom the sun in cloudless light - Forever shines; forever grow - The flowers; the woods in beauty wave - Unchanged; the constant planets glow. - - All night above thy peaceful head, - The sky is bright with burning stars; - To thee the opening morning brings - No news of peace, nor sound of wars; - Sole tenant of thy starry home; - Uncheered by friend, unvexed by foe; - Down the slow tide of lapsing time - Thy tranquil days in silence go. - - Waiting with calm, expectant eyes - The hour that makes her wholly thine - Secure from all the blows of Fate - And all the mischiefs wrought by Time. - -_Mrs. Downing’s, April, 1853._ - - - - -TWO MAYS - - - Here is the stile on which I leaned;-- - This golden willow bending over;-- - Yonder’s the same blue sky that gleamed - The day that I murmured, “I am thy lover.” - - This is the stone on which she sat; - See here the bright moss freshly springing, - And look! overhead the same bluebirds - Back and forth from the old nest winging. - - Here is the briar whose flowers she pulled - Leaf by leaf as she heard my pleading. - Swayed by the same idle April wind - That laughed as it flew, Love’s pang unheeding. - - Sky, trees, flowers--the same; but _I_?-- - Am I the same boy whose wild heart burning - Leapt to one heart in the sweet wild world! - Stilled on one bosom its passionate yearning? - - Silk-soft hair and hazel eyes, - Limbs that lightly moved or stood - And a heart that beat with a loyal love - For all things beautiful, true and good. - - Follies that flecked this fairest fruit, - Sins that spotted this whitest page, - Changed without, but the same within, - Life’s rose untouched by the frost of age. - - Thou, too, beloved, art still the same, - Deep heart, passionate, tender and true, - The same clear spirit and glancing wit - Piercing the armor of folly through. - - Sad, olivaster, Spanish face, - Sweet low brow under shadowy hair, - Dark eyes mingled of tears and fire, - Voice like a song-bird’s heard through a prayer. - - Time! if thou steal her girlish beauty, - Leave her spirit undimmed and free. - Touch the rose with thy frosty fingers, - But the rose’s perfume stays with me. - - - - -WIND HARPINGS - - - Faint smell of box - In the evening air, - Faint bleat of flocks - From fields afar; - On the gray rocks, - The lap and lapse - Of the wan water. - - The sunset fields - Stretch fair and far. - Mid the winrowed clouds - The sickle moon - Has clipt a star! - Pale golden bloom! - First flower of the night! - It trembles down - To the sunset streak, - Light lost in light! - - In the pleached bower, - In the garden old, - Hand closed in hand, - We sit together. - We do not speak. - A wind from the pine - With fingers fine, - Lays her warm hair - Against my cheek. - - Sweet silent hour! - As flower to flower - Heart speaks to heart - As star to star! - Oh, hawthorn bower - Oh, garden old - How dear, how sad - Your memories are! - - - - -A VALENTINE - - - Bring me my lute, the sunlight fades; - The evening breezes, soft and low, - From the far South begin to blow. - - Here will I watch the dying day: - Here will I watch the pallid skies - Flush with a myriad changing dyes. - - What joy to see the fairy moon - Cradled in folds of rosy light, - The baby sovereign of the night. - - What joy to hear, from far away, - The rolling mill-stream roaring go - Between his banks of ice and snow; - - Or from the distant mountain’s side, - To hear the murmuring wind, that brings - Promise of Spring between its wings. - - Here at my window will I sit; - Here, will I let the peaceful hour - Try on my heart her aëry power. - - This happy season sings of Thee, - Where’er I turn my careless eyes - Thine image will before them rise; - - Not as thou art in human form; - I cannot shape thy phantom so, - The fleeting shadows come and go. - - Thy face is fair with roseate bloom-- - I lift my eyes and lo! the sun - Reddens the cloud he looks upon-- - - Thine eyes with deepening azure smile-- - Beyond the hills a line of blue - Recalls the sunlit morning’s dew. - - On either side thy thoughtful brow - Thy golden hair is floating free-- - Yon golden cloud is fair to see-- - - As floating from the purple West, - Its glory slowly gathers dun - And fadeth with the fading sun. - - Ah! was it all an idle dream? - A fleeting sunset fed my thought, - And all this cloudy vision wrought? - - Or does the maiden somewhere bloom - Whom Nature cannot paint aright - Her beauty is so passing bright? - - - - -COMING--COME - - - How dreary are the crowded streets - With not a soul abroad! - How sunless is the sunny sky! - No fire on hearth, no mirth at board! - How long the nights, how slow the day! - My love’s away! My love’s away! - - How gay the crowded city streets! - How cheerily shines the sun! - Dances the fire, and round the board - From lip to lip the greetings run! - No longer in the dumps I roam-- - My love’s come home! My love’s come home! - - - - -ULYSSES AND THE SIRENS - - - Oh ye maids, with deep and rosy bosoms! - Oh ye maids, with darkly flowing locks! - Wherefore is it that with songs ye woo me - Sitting in the shadows of the rocks? - - Well hath she, the enchantress Circe told me, - All the evil that shall on me fall; - If I follow where your white feet lead me - Or give answer when your voices call. - - Oh my comrades, bind me to the mainmast, - Stop my ears with wax and bind my hands, - Close my eyes that so no sight nor murmur - Of the singer or the song steal to me from the sands. - - In the west the blood-red sun is sinking. - And the angry billows redly glow, - With the dying breeze the song is dying. - Ply the oars, my comrades, let us go! - -_Tarrytown, 1844._ - - - - -OTTILIA - -_Miss Mary Hamilton, afterwards Mrs. George Schuyler_ - - - A low, sad brow with folded hair; - From whose deep night one pallid rose - White moonlight through the darkness throws. - - A head, whose lordly, only crown - Of Pride, Olympian Juno might - Have worn for the great God’s delight. - - Deep eyes immixed of Night and Fire, - In whose large motion you might see - Her royal soul lived royally. - - Unstained by any earthly soil, - And only caring to walk straight - The road ordained to her by Fate. - - Her jewelled hands across the keys - Flashed through the twilight of the room, - A double light of gem and tune. - - Still while she played you saw that hand - Glide ghostly white, and fearless wave - Dead faces up from Memory’s grave. - - The firelight flickered on the wall; - Sweet tears came to the heart’s relief; - She sat and sang us into grief. - - Yet now, she played some liquid song, - A happy lover would have sung, - If once he could have found a tongue-- - - And now the sparkling octaves ran - Through the quick dance, where tangled braid - Now caught the sunlight, now the shade. - - And now the boatman’s evening song, - As, rowing homeward down the stream, - He sees his maiden’s garments gleam - - Beside the trees, the trysting-place; - While the sad singer whippoorwill, - Cries from the willow by the mill. - - Yet, howsoe’er her music ran, - A sigh was in it, and a sense - Of some dead voice that called us hence; - - A voice that even now I hear, - Although the hand that touched those keys - Rests on her heart, that sleeps in peace. - -_Newburgh, January 16, 1854._ - - - - -A PORTRAIT - -_Mrs. Carroll Dunham, September, 1877._ - - - I know not wherein lay the charm - She had in those remembered days. - The Olympian gait, the welcoming hand, - The frank soul looking from her face, - - The manly manners all her own-- - Nor yet coquette, nor cold, nor free: - She puzzled, being each in turn; - Or dazzled, mingling all the three. - - Out of those gowns, so quaintly rich-- - They grew, unshaped by Milan’s shears!-- - Rose, like a tower, the ivory throat - Ringed with the rings the Clytie wears. - - But, when you sought the Roman face - That on such columns grew--and grows! - You found this wonder in its stead-- - The sea-shell’s curves, the sea-shell’s rose! - - Her eyes, the succory’s way-side blue; - Her lips, the wilding way-side rose: - But, Beauty dreamed a prouder dream, - Throned on her forehead’s moonlit snows. - - And, over all, the wreathéd hair - That caught the sunset’s streaming gold, - Where, now, a crocus bud was set, - Or violet, hid in the braided fold! - - But, she, so deep her conscious pride, - So sure her knowledge she was fair-- - What gowns she wore, or silk, or serge, - She seemed to neither know, nor care. - - She smiled on cat, or frowned on friend, - Or gave her horse the hand denied. - To-day, bewitched you with her wit, - To-morrow, snubbed you from her side. - - Loyal to truth, yet wed to whim, - She held in fee her constant mind. - Whatever tempests drove her bark, - You felt her soul’s deep anchor bind. - - In that dark day when, fever-driven, - Her wits went wandering up and down, - And seeming-cruel, friendly shears - Closed on her girl-head’s glorious crown, - - Another woman might have wept - To see such gold so idly spilled. - She only smiled, as curl and coil - Fell, till the shearer’s lap was filled; - - Then softly said: “Hair-sunsets fade - As when night clips day’s locks of gold! - Dear Death, thy priestly hands I bless, - And, nun-like, seek thy convent-fold!” - - Then slept, nor woke. O miser Death, - What gold thou hidest in thy dust! - What ripest beauty there decays, - What sharpest wits there go to rust! - - Hide not this jewel with the rest-- - Base gems whose color fled thy breath-- - But, worn on thine imperial hand, - Make all the world in love with Death! - - - - -SONNET - -TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN - -_Dedicated to E. C. H._ - - - Oft had I heard thy beauty praised, dear flower, - And often searched for thee through field and wood, - Yet could I never find the secret bower - Where thou dost lead in maiden solitude - A cloistered life; but on one happy day - Wandering in idle thought, with a dear friend, - Through dying woods, listening the robin’s lay, - I saw thy fairy flowers whose azure gemmed - The fading grass beneath a cedar’s boughs. - Oh never yet so glad a sight has met - These eyes of mine! Depart, before the snows - Of hastening winter thy fringed garments wet. - Thine azure flowers should never fade nor die, - But bloom, exhale, and gain their native sky. - -_November, 1849._ - - - - -TO GIULIA, SINGING - - - Sing me the song again, and yet again - Waken the music as it dies away; - Make twilight sadder with it, nor refrain - While yet these sighing winds bemoan the day. - Still let that wavering voice - Make my young heart rejoice, - Even tho’ one truant tear adown my cheek may stray. - - Cease not thy singing, dearest, for mine eyes - Feed on thy beauty, and I hear the song - As one who, looking on the sunset skies, - Hears over flowery meads the south winds blow, - And down the purple hills the flashing waters flow. - - An idle song; I cannot tell the meaning, - Yet, sing I o’er and o’er, for in its wings - It bringeth heavenly things: - Dear memories of melodious hours, - When all earth’s weeds were flowers; - Dear memories of the loved ones far away - Whom yet we hope to greet some happy day; - Dear memories of the travellers from Life’s shore, - Whom we shall greet again, ah! nevermore. - - Cease, lady! Sing some song that brings again - The golden past, meet for this sunset hour; - Some breath of melody not fraught with pain, - Some gayly-tinted flower! - Let thy fair hand float o’er the willing keys, - And all my sorrows ease. - -_Home Journal, 1852._ - - - - -YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY - - - But yesterday the laughing sun - Came dancing up the rosy East-- - You would have thought that it was May; - The birds sang clear on every spray. - - The heart with fuller motion beat, - The sad eye flashed with brighter fire; - Down to the ground the sunbeams came - And lit the crocus’ slender flame. - - The branches of the lonely pine - Rocked to a glad harmonious hymn. - The song-bird’s music and the breeze - With double laughter shook the trees - - That cluster round the southern wall, - A feathery fringe against the sky; - Their yellow branches in the sun - Are very fair to look upon. - - Far down between the rounded hills, - I watched a wreath of morning mist - Floating in shadow--rising slow, - The sunlight glorified its snow. - - The day was blesséd. Field and hill - Dreamed, bathed in light and lulled with sound. - All day my soul at peace within - Went carolling her joyful hymn. - - * * * * * - - To-day you cannot see the sun, - A blinding mist blots out the sky. - You hear the angry waters flow, - You hear the wintry breezes blow. - - The branches of the lonely pine - Mutter and sigh tossed to and fro; - The birds that chanted in the sun - Sit in the covert cold and dumb. - - The maiden Spring that Yesterday - Was born, To-Day, alas! is dead. - The pitying heavens drop over all - This silent snow for fittest pall. - - The sobbing winds her requiem sing; - The plashing waves upon the shore - Sigh hour by hour; the dreary day - In mist and silence fades away. - - The heart is wintry as the earth-- - Tossed with the storm, and drenched with gloom, - And dark with doubts that round her throng, - To choke with tears her heavenly song. - -_March 18, 1852._ - - - - -A SONNET IN PRAISE OF HIS LADY’S HANDS - -_Translated from the Italian of “Qualcheduns.”_ - - - How beautiful it is - To see my lady’s hands; - Whether adorned with rings, - Or with their snowy lengths - And rosy tips, - Undecked with gems of gold. - - When her light work she plies, - Creating mimic flowers, - Or drawing the fair thread - Through folds of snowy lawn. - How beautiful it is - To see my lady’s hands; - Often I, sitting, watch - Their gliding to and fro, - These lovely birds of snow. - - Sometimes the evening shades - Draw around us as we talk, - Sometimes the tired sun, - Drooping towards the West, - Makes all the fields of heaven - With autumn’s colors glow; - Sometimes the sailing moon, - Unclouded and serene, - Rises between the misty woods - That crown the distant hills; - Then most I love to sit - And watch my lady’s hands - Blush with the sunset’s rose, - Or whiten in the moon, - Or, lucid in the amber evening air, - Folded, repose. - - Sometimes she paces slowly - Among the garden flowers; - Above her the trees tremble, - And lean their leafage down, - So much they love to see her; - The flowers, white and red, - Open their fragrant eyes, - Gladder to hear her coming - Than birds singing, - Or bees humming. - She, stooping, clad in grace, - Gathers them one by one, - Lily and crimson rose, - With sprigs of tender green, - And holds them in her hands. - - Nothing can sweeter be - Than, lying on the lawn, - To see those graceful hands - Drop all their odorous load - Upon her snowy lap, - And then, with magic skill - And rosy fingers fine, - To watch her intertwine - Some wreath, not all unfitting - Young brows divine. - - How beautiful it is - To see my lady’s hands; - In moonlight sorrowful, - Or sunlight fire, - Busied with graceful toil, - Or folded in repose, - How beautiful it is - To see my lady’s hands. - -[Illustration: Signature, Clarence Cook] - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Clarence Cook - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** - -***** This file should be named 53072-0.txt or 53072-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/0/7/53072/ - -Produced by Larry B. 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