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If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A spray of lilac - and other poems and songs - -Author: Marie Hedderwick Browne - -Release Date: July 21, 2022 [eBook #68579] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SPRAY OF LILAC *** - - - - - - A Spray of Lilac - - _Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. - - _London and Edinburgh_ - - - - - A Spray - of Lilac - - _And Other Poems and Songs_ - - BY - MARIE HEDDERWICK BROWNE - - LONDON - ISBISTER AND COMPANY LIMITED - 15 & 16 TAVISTOCK STREET COVENT GARDEN - 1892 - - - - - _Oh, lilac bloom! strange that so slight a thing - As thou is strong to roll away the stone - From memory’s grave, and set the dead past free - To claim again brief kinship with its own._ - - - - -PREFATORY NOTE - - -_Most of the Poems contained in this volume have appeared -during the past ten years, in “Atalanta,” “Chambers’s -Journal,” “London Society,” “Little Folks,” “The Girl’s -Own Paper,” and other serials._ - -_If an apology for venturing to offer them to the public in -collected form be deemed necessary, I can only urge the plea -of the poor but hospitable Dervish, “He is a generous host -who freely giveth his best, be his best but clear water and a -crust.”_ - - _M. H. B._ - -_London, December 1892_ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - -A SPRAY OF LILAC 1 - -IN AN OLD GARDEN 3 - -A MOTHER’S GRIEF 5 - -A SUMMER MEMORY 8 - -UNSATISFIED 11 - -MY SONG 12 - -IN AN OLD CHURCHYARD 13 - -SECRETS 15 - -REVEALED--NOT SPOKEN 16 - -BURIED TREASURES 19 - -AFFINITY 20 - -“MY HOUSE IS LEFT UNTO ME DESOLATE” 21 - -AN OLD MAN’S DREAM 22 - -A SUMMER WOOING 24 - -WEE ELSIE 26 - -BIDE WI’ MITHER 28 - -CHILD ANGELS 30 - -MY LOVE OF LONG AGO 32 - -IN SUMMER TIME 34 - -TWIN-SISTERS 36 - -AT LAST 38 - -TRYSTING-TIME 40 - -BESIDE THE DEAD 41 - -HER FIRST SEASON 43 - -ANTICIPATED 46 - -WHEN THOU ART NEAR 47 - -A PORTRAIT 48 - -DOROTHY 49 - -DAFFODILS 51 - -THE BLACKBIRD 52 - -“WHOM THE GODS LOVE DIE YOUNG” 53 - -GRANNIE’S BAIRN 54 - -LOVE’S POWER 56 - -A JUNE MEMORY 57 - -A MESSAGE 59 - -HER WINDOW 61 - -SHATTERED HOPES 62 - -HAND IN HAND 64 - -“AND FOR THE WEARY, REST” 65 - -IN AN OLD ORCHARD 67 - -BY THE SEA 68 - -REGRET 69 - -WAE’S ME 70 - -THE REASON WHY 71 - -DOWN BY THE SEA 73 - -A VENTURE 74 - -WATER LILIES 75 - -THE SENTINEL 76 - -A LOVE SONG 77 - -AUTUMN 78 - -A QUAKER MAID 79 - -THE TIME, THE PLACE, THE BELOVED 81 - -DAY DREAMS 82 - -SONG OF THE SEASONS 83 - -ONE SUMMER DAY 84 - -THE INSCRUTABLE 85 - -DELILAH 86 - -A BABY’S GRAVE 87 - -A CHILD’S FAVOURITE 88 - -RICH OR POOR? 89 - -DOLLY’S GARDEN 90 - -IN A DREAM-SHIP 91 - -THE FLOWER-QUEEN’S FALL 93 - -A VETERAN 95 - -TO A BUTTERFLY 96 - -WHEN AND WHERE 96 - -WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG 100 - -A CHARACTER SKETCH 101 - -FRIENDS 102 - -BED-TIME 104 - - - - -_A SPRAY OF LILAC_ - - -Pale cluster, thy faint perfume comes to me - Laden with memories of long ago, -And all the present dims as o’er my soul - The waves of tender recollection flow. - -With Spring’s young blood again my veins are thrilled, - My hands are stretched to meet the coming years, -The world holds all the glory that it held - Ere yet mine eyes had looked on it thro’ tears. - -With deftest fingers fancy weaves once more - Her fairy fabrics; vast horizons glow -With fires of promise, for behind their veils - They hid rich treasures in that long-ago. - -The subtle sweetness of the vanished days, - The rapture of the old ecstatic bliss, -All, all are mine, as once again I cling - To ripe warm lips in love’s first passion-kiss. - -The long delicious Summer slowly weaves - For Autumn’s brows a crown of living gold; -Sad Winter follows with his winding-sheet, - For all the glory has grown grey and old. - -Oh, lilac bloom, strange that so slight a thing - As thou, is strong to roll away the stone -From memory’s grave, and set the dead past free - To claim yet once brief kinship with its own. - - - - -_IN AN OLD GARDEN_ - - -Yellow roses, purple pansies, - Tufts of heavy-headed stocks; -Either side the quaint old gateway - Blazing, torch-like hollyhocks. - -Sweet peas tossing airy banners, - Saintly lilies bending low, -Daisies, powdering all the green sward - With a shower of summer snow. - -Boxwood borders--yews fantastic-- - Wallflowers that with every sigh -Spill such scent that e’en the brown bees, - Reel with rapture wandering by. - -And the pear trees, long arms stretching - O’er the sunny gable wall, -Scarce can hold their ruddy nurslings - Ripening where the warm beams fall. - -Oh, the ecstasy of living! - How it thrills my life to-day! -I can almost hear the flower-bells - Tinkle where my footsteps stray! - -In a garden God first placed man, - There first woke Love’s magic thrill; -And methinks a breath of Eden - Clings to earth’s old gardens still. - - - - -_A MOTHER’S GRIEF_ - - -To a great wide city all alone, - Long, long ago went our baby queen-- -No name but hers on the white headstone, - That gleams to the moon from its mound of green! -None of her own did welcome her there-- - Not a grain of kindred dust doth wave -In the flowers that out of the tears of despair - Have arched a rainbow over her grave. - -Out from the shelter of loving arms, - Out from the warmth of a mother’s breast, -Heedless of darkness and night’s alarms, - On to the silent city she pressed -To take her place ’mong the mighty throng - That people its myriad streets. Ah, me! -I felt my God had done me a wrong, - When He loosened love’s cords and set her free! - -And my passionate moan that broke in tears, - Like a burdened wave on a desert shore, -Seemed all too feeble to reach His ears - And the pain grew old that my bosom bore; -But the faith that I once had thought mine own - Rose up to mock where it could not save, -And my heart grew hard as the carven stone - That was crushing my darling in her grave. - -Whenever a child’s sweet flower-like face - Met mine, a sickness would o’er me creep, -And I’d turn wild eyes to the lonely place - Where she was lying alone--asleep. -At strife was I with the world, and God - Had drawn around Him an angry cloud; -Earth held no green but the churchyard sod, - And the daisies wore the gleam of a shroud. - -But a time there came when about my breast - With a wand’ring touch small fingers stole, -And feeble lips to its fountains pressed, - And stirred with a vague sweet joy my soul; -And the floodgates opened, and blessèd tears - Of repentance fell from my eyes like rain, -And after the barren and prayerless years - I knelt to the Giver of All again! - - - - -_A SUMMER MEMORY_ - - -I remember an evening, - An evening in one far June, -The sun seemed loth to leave the sky - To a young impatient moon. - -The yellow sands lay waiting - For the sea’s long cool embrace; -We watched the ripples breaking, - Like smiles upon its face. - -The green trees nestled closer - To the broad breast of the hill; -The twilight’s glamour gathered, - And the day was with us still. - -And a sadness born of beauty, - And a joy to pain akin, -Touched all that lay without us, - And hushed my soul within. - -A silence stepped between us, - We seemed to stand apart; -Yet I thought your eyes grew tender, - And I know what filled my heart. - -But the words were never spoken; - And the distance wider grew, -Till the world of waves was lying - Between me, love, and you, - -No bridge might ever cross it. - I watched you turn away, -And I went back to duty-- - ’Tis all a woman may. - -But I never shall be nearer - The thrilling heights of bliss-- -Unless the next world gives us - The love we lose in this-- - -Than when in that far June-time, - We seemed to stand apart, -And I thought your eyes grew tender, - And I knew what filled my heart. - - - - -_UNSATISFIED_ - - -Oh, “dear dead days” that dearer grow, - I look behind, and thro’ my tears, - Across a wide, wide gulf of years, -I see you now and now I _know_. - -When I was yours, you mine, alas! - I did not know your real worth, - And, longing for the future’s birth, -Found time so slow, so slow to pass. - -The joys I hoped for never came, - While those I held slipped from my clasp, - As I stretched yearning hands to grasp -Shadows--’tis evermore the same! - -We strain dim eyes up to the stars, - Nor heed the blossoms at our feet; - Like puny birds we beat and beat -Our lives out ’gainst Fate’s prison bars. - - - - -_MY SONG_ - - -“When love is mine,” said I, “I’ll make a song - In praise of love that maketh life so sweet; -One worthy such a grand and noble theme-- - Worthy to lay at my belovèd’s feet. - -“Pure, perfect pearls of poesy I’ll string - On Music’s silken thread, so rhythmic-sweet -That those who hear shall feel as though each word - Were but an echo of my heart’s warm beat.” - -Now love _is_ mine; but where my boasted song? - My heart is full--too full, ah me! for words; -And yet methinks my new-found joy has lent - Fresh rapture to the voices of the birds. - -And I am dumb; the world will never hear - The music filling all this life of mine. -Oh! love is too sublime a theme for me; - I can but kneel in silence at love’s shrine. - - - - -_IN AN OLD CHURCHYARD_ - - -In one of England’s sweetest spots, - A little old grey church I found; - Around it lies--dear restful ground! -God’s garden with its sacred plots. - -With myriad arms the ivy holds - Its time-worn walls in close embrace: - So Memory sometimes keeps a face -Half-veiled in tender misty folds. - -With sleepy twitter and with song - The tower, bird-haunted, is alive; - In leafy seas they dip and dive, -Those tiny warblers all day long. - -Like sentinels grown hoar with age, - The crumbling headstones guard the graves - Which softly swell--green voiceless waves -That will not break though tempests rage. - -“Concerning them that are asleep” - In this sweet hamlet of the dead, - In broken sentences I read -The record those old tablets keep; - -Each told its tale, for hath not Grief - A voice whose echoes never die? - Adown the ages, Rachel’s cry -Still rings o’er some God-garnered sheaf. - -Mine eyes, ne’er prodigal of tears, - Did fill with such as seemed to rise - And drown the glory of the skies, -O’er those who’d slept the sleep of years. - - - - -_SECRETS_ - - -July roses wet with rain -Tap against the window-pane; -There is something they would seek, -Had they voices and could speak. -Silence seals their crimson lips, -And the dull rain drops and drips. - -Th’ other side the streaming glass -Stands a little sad-eyed lass; -There is something she would seek, -But a maiden may not speak-- -Silence seals her longing lips, -And the dull rain drops and drips. - -And salt tears in showers stain -Her side of the window-pane; -And the crimson roses grow -Pale as dreams dreamt long ago; -(Hearts may break behind sealed lips), -And the dull rain drops and drips. - - - - -_REVEALED--NOT SPOKEN_ - - -The little maiden that I love, - I met in yonder lane; -A flood of sunshine seemed to fall - Around her as she came. - -Methought the very hedgerows took - A tenderer, livelier green, -And blossoms burst from every bud - As she passed on between! - -And gladder, madder, merrier notes - A skylark round him threw, -As high above her golden head, - He poised amid the blue. - -I meant to tell her all my heart, - And yet--I know not why, -Upon the threshold of my lips - The story seemed to die. - -It might have been the witchery, - The magic of her smile, -That in a spell held all my soul, - And kept me dumb the while! - -It might have been that all too pure - For earth-born love seemed she; -From her white height of maidenhood - How could she stoop to me? - -But eyes can prove more eloquent, - And though the tongue may fail, -In potent language they reveal - The old, old tender tale. - -For, placing her slim hand in mine, - Methought I heard my name -So softly, murmurously breathed, - I scarce knew whence it came! - -No need for words between us now; - A subtle sweetness stole -Through all our being, and we felt - That soul had answered soul. - -And with the sunshine in our hearts, - The bird’s song in our ears, -We left the lane, my love and I, - To meet the coming years. - - - - -_BURIED TREASURES_ - - -’Tis true my later years are blest - With all that riches can bestow, -But there is wealth, wealth cannot buy, - Hid in the mines of “Long Ago.” - -There jealous guard does Memory keep; - Yet sometimes, when I dream alone, -She comes and takes my hand in hers, - And shows me what was once my own. - -I revel ’mong such precious things; - I count my treasures o’er and o’er; -I learn the worth of some, whose worth, - Ah me! I never knew before. - -And then all slowly fades away, - And I return to things you know, -With empty hands and tear-filled eyes, - Back from the mines of “Long Ago.” - - - - -_AFFINITY_ - - -But little converse have we held, - Our hands have scarcely ever met, -With just a formal word or two - You come and go; and yet--and yet-- -I have a dream we two were one - Ere garb of flesh these spirits wore; -The soul that speaks within your eyes - Tells mine they’ve met and loved before. - -And so I am content to wait, - Knowing the day will surely dawn -When, as the first man woke, you’ll wake - From your soul-sleep, and looking on -My face will know that I am she, - Your Eve, your other self, your fate. -Till then, till then, come weal or woe, - I am content, content to _wait_. - - - - -“_MY HOUSE IS LEFT UNTO ME -DESOLATE_” - - -A little while, you say, a little while, - And I shall be where my belovèd are; -And with your eyes aglow with faith, you say, - “Thy dear ones have not journeyed very far.” - -“Not very far.” I say it o’er and o’er, - Till on mine ear mine own voice strangely falls, -Like some mechanic utterance that repeats - A meaningless refrain to empty walls. - -“Not very far;” but measured by my grief, - A distance measureless as my despair. -When from the dreams that give them back to me, - I wake to find that they have journeyed there! - -“Not very far.” The soul surmises, hopes, - Has hoped, surmising, since the first man slept; -But, oh, the heart, it knoweth its own loss, - And death is death, as ’twas when Rachel wept. - - - - -_AN OLD MAN’S DREAM_ - - -With idle hands and misty eyes, - I sit alone to-night and dream; -Upon the hearth, like elfin sprites, - The red flames dance, and twist, and gleam. - -A dimness gathers in my room, - The pictured faces on the wall -Pale, and o’er each familiar thing - A strangeness slowly seems to fall. - -With noiseless step there comes to me, - One whom I loved in days gone by. -The same is she, unchanged by time-- - Unchanged--but oh, how changed am I! - -Her hair, which long, long years ago - Was like spun threads of living gold, -Still clusters round a brow that wears - Immortal youth--and I am old. - -No look of recognition lights - Her eyes, that meet mine o’er and o’er; -And yet she loved me once--and love, - I know, is love for evermore. - -She looks around in anxious quest; - I think I know for whom she seeks. -She only sees a strange old man, - With snow-white hair and wrinkled cheeks. - -And then like wings of birds that preen - For flight, a soft stir moves the air, -It is the whisper of her gown-- - She goes to look for me elsewhere. - -A sudden glory fills my eyes, - It is the firelight’s ruddy gleam; -Thank God she did not pass me by - I only saw her in a dream! - - - - -_A SUMMER WOOING_ - -A SONG - - -Up and away!--up, up, and away! -The hedgerows are foaming with blossom to-day; -Its bonfires the golden gorse lights on the hill, -And the wanton wind’s wooing wherever it will. - -Up and away!--up, up, and away! -The cuckoo’s name rings through the woodlands to-day; -The warm blood of Summer runs rioting through -The veins of each leaflet--then why not of you? - -Up and away!--up, up, and away! -There’s Passion and Poetry stirring to-day. -Half blinded with rapture, the heavy bees dart -From the lily’s white breast to the rose’s red heart. - -Up and away!--up, up, and away! -The old world’s begun a fresh courting to-day. -I wooed you all winter, but found you as cold -As the snowdrift that gleamed on the ridge of the wold. - -Up and away!--up, up, and away! -Your eyes tell me “Yes,” though your lips say me “Nay.” -The tears, so long frost-bound, are ready to flow, -And she melts in my arms, my proud maiden of snow! - - - - -_WEE ELSIE_ - - -O’ a’ the bonny wee bit lasses -That e’er I’ve kent, not ane surpasses - My Elsie. - -An’ oh, she has sic denty ways, -Auld farrant a’ she does and says; -Just watch the bairnie as she plays -“At mither,” dressed in mither’s claes! - -Like twa sweet rosebuds on ae stalk, -Her lips part in her guileless talk; -She hauds a key that wad unlock -Yer heart were’t hard as granite rock. - -Sae fearless are her een o’ blue, -They seem tae look ye through an’ through; -But though sae brave, an’ frank, an’ true, -Wi’ happy fun they’re brimmin’ fu’. - -Adoun her shoulders floats her hair, -Sae long, sae silken, an’ sae fair,-- -In truth it seems a verra snare -That’s caught an’ kept a sunbeam there. - -But better faur, those graces meet -Aroun’ a nature just as sweet; -Methinks the bairnie is complete -Frae wise wee heed tae willin’ feet. - - - - -_BIDE WI’ MITHER_ - - -Oh bide a wee, my bonny lass, -Nor seek to lea’ the auld hame-nest; -O’ a’ earth’s luvs ye yet will fin’ -A mither’s highest is, an’ best. - -She watched you like a rose unfauld, -She reads you like an open buik; -You scarce need speak, she is sae quick -Tae understan’ yer ev’ry luik. - -The han’ that aye fan’ time tae pat -The wee bit face sae aft turned up -For “mither’s kiss,” has workit late -An’ early for your bite an’ sup. - -An’ oh! it was a struggle sair -Tae mak’ twa unco scrimp en’s meet; -In her first days o’ weedowhood -She scarce could spare the time tae greet. - -Oh dinna lea’ her yet awhile; -The laddie’s young, an’ he can wait; -There was a time, when you were wee, -_She_ micht hae had anither mate. - -But she was feert he micht na be -As guid’s the fayther you had lost; -An’ though she could hae boucht her ease, -_She_ wad na’ dae it at the cost. - -An’ noo she’s auld an’ growing frail, -Your strong young arm should be her stay; -Life’s dounward slope is hard eneuch, -Be yours the han’ tae smooth the way. - -Oh, bide wi’ her, an’ you will fin’ -That duty done brings sweet reward; -The Maister, Christ, pleased na’ Himsel’, -Although He was creation’s Lord! - - - - -_CHILD ANGELS_ - - -Oh, there are happy angels - That go on missions sweet; -They have no wings to bear them, - Just little human feet. - -When I had grown aweary, - And all my faith was dim, -’Twas one of them that led me, - And brought me back to Him. - -When ’tween you and a loved one - There lay a widening breach, -And you were coldly drifting - Beyond each other’s reach, -A child’s hand ’twas that bridged it-- - A child’s soft, rosy palm -Held both your souls united, - And life grew sweet and calm. - -When sorrows closely gathered, - And heart and head were bowed, -The blue eyes of a baby - Made rifts in pain’s dark cloud. - -Oh, happy, earth-born angels, - Who go on missions sweet, -If ye had wings to bear you, - Instead of little feet, - -I fear me ye would use them, - Altho’ ye love us much, -To soar to Him who tells us - His “Kingdom is of such.” - - - - -_MY LOVE OF LONG AGO_ - - -There are faces just as perfect; - There are eyes as true and sweet; -There are hearts as strong and tender - As the heart that’s ceased to beat; -There are voices just as thrilling; - There are souls as white, I know, -As hers was when she went from me-- - My love of long ago. - -New lips are ever telling - The tale that ne’er grows old; -Life’s greys are always changing - For some one into gold; -But amid the shine and shadow, - Amid the gloom and glow, -She walks with me, she talks with me-- - My love of long ago. - -When I think of all the changes - That the years to me have brought, -I am glad the world that holds her - Is the world that changes not. -And the same as when she left me, - She waits for me, I know-- -My love on earth, my love in heaven, - My love of long ago. - - - - -_IN SUMMER TIME_ - - -Daisies nod and blue-bells ring, -Streamlets laugh and song birds sing, -To the clover bees close cling. - -Cornfields wave their locks of gold, -Poppies burn and wings unfold, -Earth-stars twinkle on the mould. - -Butterflies--live blossoms, blown -From that Eden once our own-- -Make of every flower a throne. - -And a royal purple dyes -Yonder heather-hill, that lies -Fitting footstool for the skies. - -And the gorse is all ablaze, -Lighting up the moorland ways, -And the days are golden days. - -E’en the myriad-mooded sea -(Earth-bound, yet than earth more free) -Wears a look of _constancy_. - -And your love, that in the spring -Was a shy, uncertain thing, -Like a bud just blossoming, - -With the summer’s growth has grown, -Till our two lives, lived as one, -Make a summer of their own. - - - - -_TWIN-SISTERS_ - - -Two girls--before me now they stand, -Twin tender rosebuds, hand in hand, -Fashioned as one--scarce known apart; -I see each face, God sees each heart. - -I look on ripe red lips, and eyes -That hold the blue of summer skies, -And hair like finest gold refined; -I see the beauty, God the mind. - -In womanhood’s first faint sweet dawn -Oh! they are fair to look upon; -Perfect from crown to dainty foot; -I see the bloom, God sees the fruit. - -What though a rose is each soft cheek, -If theirs be not that spirit meek? -What though their eyes are heaven’s own hue, -If never wet with pity’s dew? - -The plainest casket may enshrine -A gem that will for ever shine. -Oh, may this outward beauty be -But type of inward purity! - -God grant when Time its tale hath told, -And backward swing the gates of gold, -Before the Master they may stand, -Twin tender rosebuds hand in hand! - - - - -_AT LAST_ - - -She is waiting for his coming, - As she waited long ago, -Ere her sweet eyes were pain-haunted - Or her hair was touched with snow; -Ere that look of patient pathos - Downward curved her tender lips, -Or across her life’s young morning - Fell a shadow of eclipse. - -He is coming--but his footsteps - Know not now youth’s bounding grace, -And a world of sin and suffering - Is recorded in his face; -Airy dreams of high ambition - That he cherished in the past-- -All have vanished--and aweary - He returns to her at last. - -In the old familiar garden - Where he first breathed love’s fond vow, -With new hopes, like the new roses - Sprung from old roots, they stand now; -And the past is past for ever, - She forgives, and he forgets, -For the present peace has buried - Years of sorrows and regrets. - - - - -_TRYSTING-TIME_ - - -’Tis only when the wooing west -Has drawn the tired sun to her breast, -I seek my darling’s place of rest. - -In twilight-time we used to meet-- -Ah me, how lag our listless feet -When we have but a grave to greet! - -And yet, this daisy-dappled grave -So like a soft white-crested wave -Is all beneath the skies I have. - -On broken wings the years have flown, -Oh love, since in the long agone -I left you sleeping here alone! - - - - -_BESIDE THE DEAD_ - - -Touch not her hand, let not your tear-drops stain - The show-white purity of her dead brow; -Withhold your lips, their passion or their pain - Can thrill her nor with love nor pity now. - -The empty years that followed your farewell-- - The joyless dawns, the nights that brought no rest -Are ended,--and those weary eyelids fell - O’er eyes that had grown dim in one vain quest. - -Thank God for this; her woman’s faith remained - Steadfast, unshaken to the very last, -And with her idol undefaced, unstained, - To place it in a “niche in Heaven” she passed. - -But yesterday, your lightest whispered word - Had thrilled her heart, as spring’s first breath awakes -The rapture in the bosom of a bird - Till winter’s silence with a song he breaks. - -And I,--whose love for her was purified - In the fierce crucible of human pain, -Had felt that I was more than satisfied - If loss of mine had ended in her gain. - -For her soul’s sustenance you only left - The memory of a lightly plighted vow, -To take one kiss from those dead lips were theft, - The jewel was yours,--I claim the casket now. - - - - -_HER FIRST SEASON_ - - -Cloud-like laces softly float -Round a dainty snow-white throat-- -Fastened here and flutt’ring there -With a careless cunning care; -Blue-bells, blue as summer skies are. -Or her own sweet sunny eyes are, -Cluster close beneath her chin, -As if love--and not a pin-- -Kept them fondly nestling in! - -Gown of some transparent thing, -Like a dragonfly’s clear wing -Full of whispers vague and sweet, -Falls in white folds to her feet. -Light as moss veils drape their roses, -Round her flower-like form it closes-- -Every graceful curve it shows us. - -Silken mittens soft and quaint, -Of a shade æsthetic, faint, -Weave a jealous network o’er -Two pink palms that I adore; -And a musical mixed jangle -Comes from bracelet and from bangle -As it fetters each slim wrist -(Made but to be clasped and kissed), -With fantastic coil and twist. - -Hair a-ripple like ripe corn -Wind-kissed on a summer morn. -What, you say you see the glint -Of a reaper’s blue scythe in’t? -Nay, ’tis but a silver arrow -Wand’ring through a golden furrow, -Where the sun-shafts bore and burrow. - -Like a bright plumed bird is she, -From the home-nest just set free; -Knowing neither grief nor wrong, -In her heart and lips a song. -’Tis not I would wish to make her -Prim and drab-gown’d like a Quaker! -All fair things are beauty’s dower-- -Doth not God’s hand paint the flower? -(Youth is but a fleeting hour!) - - - - -_ANTICIPATED_ - - -Oh I have wealth, and could have placed - Upon your head a golden crown, -But Nature, having had my taste, - And being first, has set one down. - -I could have given you rubies rare, - And sapphires of a heavenly hue, -And pearls all shimmering soft and fair; - But here she’s been before me too. - -For ruby lips to you she’s given, - And strung two pearly rows between, -And sapphire eyes more blue than heaven - She’s dowered you with, my queen, my queen! - -I needs must be content to lay - My heart’s best treasures at your feet: -Without love’s gem, which shines for aye, - The fairest crown were incomplete. - - - - -_WHEN THOU ART NEAR_ - -A SONG - - -When thou art near no other face I see, - Thy voice is all the music I can hear; -My heart’s desire is granted unto me - When thou art near. - -When thou art near I am content, nay more, - I’m blest in breathing the same atmosphere. -To higher heights my aspirations soar - When thou art near. - -When thou art near, though yet I dare not lay - My lips on those I hold so very dear, -I know that heaven is not so far away - When thou art near. - - - - -_A PORTRAIT_ - - -A sadness lingers round her lips, - A shadow ever haunts her eyes; -Like dusky pools are they on which - The mystery of the moonlight lies. - -Her voice is sweet, but grave in tone, - No ring hath it of joyous mirth; -Yet somehow when she speaks, methinks - A benediction falls on earth. - -A sense of rest her presence brings, - She moves with such a quiet grace; -And ’tis the pitying soul within - Makes tender twilight of her face. - -Methinks the Virgin-mother must - Have looked like this when to her breast -The Babe, who was to save a world, - With mingled joy and pain she pressed. - - - - -_DOROTHY_ - - -Dorothy is debonair; -Little count hath she or care; -All her gold is in her hair. - -And the freshness of the Spring -Round this old world seems to cling -When you hear her laugh or sing. - -On her sunny way she goes; -Much she wonders--little knows, -Love’s as yet a folded rose. - -All her smiles in dimples die; -Glad is she, nor knows she why: -Just to live is ecstasy! - -Lightly lie the chains, methinks, -That have daisies for their links; -Youth’s the fount where Pleasure drinks. - -Dorothy is debonair; -Little count hath she or care, -Sunshine in her heart and hair. - - - - -_DAFFODILS_ - - -Oh, wild is the daffodils’ dance - To the tune that the March pipes blow, -Heads a-tossing--lances crossing, - Curtsies sweeping and low. - -Like waves in a flaming sunset - They tumble, and twist, and turn, -What tho’ from its slender pillar - Droppeth one golden urn? - -Short-lived is their joy and reckless, - Never a pause for breath. -Ah, well!--are _we_ too not whirling - As blind, in our “dance of death”? - - - - -_THE BLACKBIRD_ - - -When baby buds begin to shoot -Then hey! the blackbird’s golden flute; -All steeped in love seems every note -Let loose from his mellifluous throat. - -No wild rhapsodic bursts proclaim -What rapture thrills his tiny frame, -His heart is like a brimming cup, -Where pearls of joy keep bubbling up. - -The lark like some delirious thing -At heaven’s far gate may soar and sing, -But oh, methinks the blackbird brings -Heaven down to earth what time he sings! - - - - -“_WHOM THE GODS LOVE DIE YOUNG_” - - -Her voice is hushed, her hands are still, -I, from the summit of the hill, -Look down, and marvel at God’s will. - -Her foot was planted at the base -All eager for the upward race, -Her genius shining in her face. - -She felt the soul within her leap, -She yearned to scale the steepest steep, -And now--she’s fallen upon sleep! - -God knoweth best!--I must descend -The downward slope. Good-bye, sweet friend, -Life’s myriad ways meet in the end. - - - - -_GRANNIE’S BAIRN_ - - -When oor wee Elspeth’s in the hoose - I scarce hae use for hauns or feet-- -An’ after a’, why _should_ I fash - When she’s sae nimble an’ sae fleet? - -“I wonner whaur I laid my specs!” - The words hae haurdly left ma mooth -Afore I fin’, across my nose, - She has them set astride forsooth. - -She threeds ma needle, winds ma woo’, - Picks up the steeks that whiles _will_ drap-- -She slips aboot like some wee moose - For fear she’ll wauke me frae ma nap. - -Her wee three-leggit stool ye’ll aye - Fin’ drawn up close tae granny’s chair; -She learns her task an’ sews her seam, - An’ sups her cog o’ parritch there. - -An’ mony’s the lang crack we twa hae; - But whiles, sic puzzlin’ things she’ll spier, -The verra Meenister himsel’ - Waud be dumbfounded could he hear. - -She _has_ her bit camsterie turns, - But just eneuch tae show that she -Is no a being that is made - O’ diff’rent clay tae you an’ me. - -But that she’s no by-ord’nar wean - The neebors roon aboot agree, -And sae ye ken it is na just - Ma _ain_ opeenion that I gie. - - - - -_LOVE’S POWER_ - - -When you did leave me, love, -The whole world seem’d with you to ebb away, -And like a broken stranded wreck I lay. - -But you returned; and lo! -A fresh tide thrill’d my life’s deserted shore; -And Love was conqueror over Death once more. - - - - -_A JUNE MEMORY_ - - -’Twas June, the roses were reigning - In regalest splendour and pride. -Sweet peas, like butterflies tethered, - Were flutt’ring on every side. - -Like smouldering fires the wallflowers - Burned dull in the sun’s strong glow, -And the yellow bees, like meteors, - Went flashing to and fro. - -No lordly pleasaunce was it, - But an old-world garden wild, -Where purple-hooded pansies - And long-lashed daisies smiled. - -And there in June we parted; - And the sad years hurtle by -Like birds whose wings are broken - When they just have learned to fly. - -And I think,--Do you remember - In the life that’s yours to-day, -That garden and its glamour, - And the time that _would not_ stay! - -Oh, amid the faces around you, - Does one face never arise -And for a moment hold you - With the old spell of its eyes? - -Ah no! You men forget us, - And we!--we must be dumb. -And life’s June goes for ever - And the snows of winter come. - - - - -_A MESSAGE_ - - -In a little broken flower-pot - High up on a window-sill, -’Mid grime and gloom and squalor, - Grew a golden daffodil. - -It seem’d in the gloom of the alley - Like a sunbeam that had strayed -Out from the light of heaven - Into a land of shade. - -And close in a cage beside it - A skylark sweetly sang -Till all the narrow alley - With its wild rapture rang. - -And one poor weary sinner - Paused, as her wild eyes turned -To where, on its humble altar, - The flower-flame upward burned. - -And something stirred in her bosom; - ’Twas the heart that had long lain dead, -As the bird’s song rose from its prison - In the shadow overhead. - -God’s angels are birds and flowers, - And oh! methinks they preach -At times with a power and pathos - We men can never reach. - - - - -_HER WINDOW_ - - -Up the gable the roses creep, -Eager to get a little peep -Behind the curtain of snowy lace -That hangs, like a bridal veil, over the face -Of a shy wee window, whose panes glint through -A network of creepers, like eyes of blue. - -I needs must stand below, below, -And see them high and higher go -Till their lips are kissing the lattice sill, -And their tendrils toy at their own sweet will -With the casement, so full of tender charms -Since _her_ shadow has lain within its arms. - - - - -_SHATTERED HOPES_ - - -This morn upon the birken tree -The mavis carolled blithe and free; -But--ah, his song was not for me! - -Each wild note of his glad refrain -Pierced like an arrow thro’ my brain; -I could have cursed him for his strain. - -I saw the sunshine and the flowers, -Each proof of a Creator’s powers; -Yet dull and hateful were the hours. - -I cannot weep--the fever dries -The tears within my burning eyes-- -The past before my vision flies. - -Once more I feel his deep-drawn kiss; -Once more my being thrills with bliss; -Once more I melt with tenderness. - -I hear the trembling words that hung -Deep fraught with passion on his tongue, -Till heart and soul with pain are wrung. - -All nature smiles--and yet to-day -In memory’s grave I’ve laid away -My idol that has turned to clay. - - - - -_HAND IN HAND_ - - -Hand in hand through the flow’ry ways -Went Dora and I in the bygone days; -A wee girl she, her boy lover I, -Ready to fight for her and die. - -Hand in hand through this vale of tears -Went Dora and I in the after-years; -She was my wife and her husband I -Ready to fight for her and die. - -Hand in hand to the very last -As her dear eyes dimmed, and her spirit passed; -An angel is she,--alone am I -Ready, O, God! and I _cannot_ die. - - - - -“_AND FOR THE WEARY, REST_” - - -Of all God’s precious promises - The sweetest and the best -Is, that to weary laden ones - Who come, He giveth _rest_. - -’Tis not of glad Hosannas - And streets of shining gold -We think so much when we are sick - And sorrowful and old. - -Ah! there are times we feel too sad - To contemplate the joy, -The great and glorious themes of heaven - That angel-minds employ. - -And weak, and worn, and weary, - We long to lay us down, -Feeling we scarce could bear the weight - Of e’en a glory-crown. - -That He is “very man,” I need - None other proof than this,-- -That He has “rest” for those who feel - Almost too tired for bliss. - - - - -_IN AN OLD ORCHARD_ - - -Sweet avalanches of scented snow -Bury one deep, as I lie below -The laden white boughs abloom and ablow -In the dear old orchard, where long ago -My grand-dame dreamed, as I’m dreaming now, -With love in her heart and youth on her brow. - -O, blossom-time passes too soon, too soon! -And grey night follows the golden noon, -And Autumn though ruddy brings ruin and rune, -And passion ne’er warms the cold heart of the moon. -So let me dream on, ’mid the apple-blooms sweet, -For noontide and bloomtide are fair as they’re fleet. - -And then when the blue of the sky is o’ercast, -And Summer is ended, and harvest is past, -And the loosened leaves earthward are fluttering fast, -And the sleep that is dreamless is mine at last, -O, make my grave here; and lay me to rest -Where the sweet-scented snow shall fall light on my breast. - - - - -_BY THE SEA_ - - -I think, as the white sails come and go, -Of the welcomes loud, and the farewells low; -Of the meeting lips, and the parting tears, -Of the new-born hopes, and the growing fears, -Of the eyes that glow, and the cheeks that pale, -As the hazy horizon’s mystic veil -Is silently parted, and to and fro -The white sails come and the white sails go. - -And a grey mist gathers, and all grows dim -As I watch alone by the ocean’s rim. -For a dream is mine--ah me! ah me! -That salt with _tears_ is the salt salt sea. -O, yearning eyes and outstretched hands! -O, divided lives, and divided lands! -As long as the waters ebb and flow -Shall the white sails come and the white sails go. - - - - -_REGRET_ - - -“It might have been,” is the sad refrain -That forever haunts my weary brain, -Till heart and soul grow weak with pain. - -“It might have been,” are the words I hear -In the curlew’s cry from the lonely mere; -In the whisper of leaves when woods are sere. - -“It might have been,” says the sea’s long moan, -As if a breaking heart of its own -Wailed out in that strange low undertone. - -“_It might have been._” Ah, the hungry cry -As the leaden years crawl slowly by! -It will ring through my life till I die, I die. - - - - -_WAE’S ME_ - - -Aroun’ my bit bieldie the cauld win’ is soughing, - The dull rain is patt’ring amang the deid leaves, -The mist-wreaths are swirling about the grey mountains, - The wee drookit birds huddle close ’neath the eaves. - -Alang the bleak shore the lane sea gangs a sobbin’ - Like some wander’d bairnie that fain wad win hame, -Aye seekin’ an’ seekin’, an’ never yet findin’,-- - Sure man, in his pilgrimage here, is the same. - -The sky has nae promise, the earth hauds nae pleesure. - I look north an’ south, an’ I look east an’ west, -An’ I envy the folk i’ the kirk-yaird out yonder, - For there, ’mang the mools, there is rest--there is rest! - - - - -_THE REASON WHY_ - - -I ken the lassie’s winsome, - An’ blithe as she is braw; -But ’tis not worth nor beauty aye - That steal the heart awa’. - -Her cheek is like the wild-rose, - Her lips are like the haw; -But neither ane nor t’ither ’twas - That stole my heart awa’. - -Her locks are black as midnight, - Her brow like driven snaw; -And yet it was na’ these I vow - That stole my heart awa’. - -Her smile is like the sunshine, - ’Twad gar an iceberg thaw; -But ’twas na’ this by my guid-faith - That stole my heart awa’. - -Ilk lad’s lass the fairest is, - For Beauty kens nae law; -(Though _some_ folk maun be easy pleased - Wha’s hearts are stown awa’!) - -Ah weel! maybe the pearl I’ve foun’ - Is no wi’out a flaw! -But just because she’s her ain sel’ - She stole my heart awa’. - - - - -_DOWN BY THE SEA_ - - -O, mighty organ of a thousand keys, - O’er which the Master’s fingers ever stray! -I, listening, hear a myriad melodies - Played in the space of one short summer day. - -The long, low plash of little languid waves, - The sweet, sad dirge of softly dying swell, -The deep, delicious gurglings in the caves, - Hold music that this soul of mine loves well. - -Full as the human heart of mysteries, - Like it responsive to His touch alone, -For only He can wake the harmonies - Which sleep within thy bosom and mine own. - - - - -_A VENTURE_ - - -Her mouth looks like a scarlet flower - And I feel like a hungry bee, -I long to dart straight to its heart, - But--what would be the fate of me? - -The bravest ’tis should win the prize, - And yet I dare not risk her scorn, -And who but knows the reddest rose - May hide the very sharpest thorn? - -Yet who can tell but she might yield - Its sweetness up in one long kiss? -So I, who dare not risk her scorn, - Can risk still less to lose such bliss. - -And when she feels my parchèd lips - Athirst with long long years of drouth, -She will forgive me, that I sought - That dewy chalice, her sweet mouth. - - - - -_WATER LILIES_ - - -A fleet of fairy vessels - All freighted with pure gold, -The lilies lie at anchor - On the lake’s breast, calm and cold. - -Their soft, white sails, seem waiting - The zephyr’s first faint kiss -To waft them to another world, - More bright and fair than this. - -Methinks, it were no marvel, - If I should find, one day, -They’d drifted from their moorings, - And in silence sailed away. - - - - -_THE SENTINEL_ - - -“Tick! tick! tick!” goes the old clock in the hall; - The merry hours, the mournful hours -Alike he counts them all - As he stands erect at his post, - Time’s solemn Sentinel. - -All that he hath to say he saith, - And on, with never a pause for breath, -He hurries us nearer the day of death. -Though his warning voice is ofttimes drowned - In the whirr, as the wheels of life run round, -Yet, whether or no we _hear_ the sound,-- - -“Tick! tick! tick!” goes the old clock in the hall; - The merry hours, the mournful hours -Alike he counts them all, - As he stands erect at his post, - Time’s solemn Sentinel. - - - - -_A LOVE SONG_ - - -Upon a bosom snowy white - A little dimpled chin drops down, -While trembling shy lids hide the light - Of love, new born in eyes dark brown. - -A tiny timorous hand seeks mine - For shelter, fluttering like a dove; -And with a rapture half divine - I burn my kisses through its glove. - -June’s rosy treasures sweetly blend - Upon her cheek and modest brow, -But only Cupid’s self could lend - The crimson stealing o’er them now. - -Her voice makes music of my name, - A heaven of love is in her smile, -Her pure mind, like an altar-flame, - Burns clear and steady all the while. - - - - -_AUTUMN_ - - -Red as blood is Autumn’s gown, -And a flaming fire her crown. - -And her fingers sere and scorch, -Each one a destroying torch. - -Fever follows in her wake, -Nor the dews her thirst can slake. - -In her kisses there is death, -And decay in every breath. - -She makes tombs of what were bowers, -Strewn with corses of dead flowers. - -To the loftiest leaves that wave -She but whispers of a grave. - - - - -_A QUAKER MAID_ - - -Just a pair of green-grey eyes, - With a knack of changing -Like the sea, when shine and shower - O’er its breast are ranging. - -Just a pair of green-grey eyes - Each one a heart-breaker, -Who would think that they belonged - To a little Quaker? - -Prim her bonnet, drab her gown, - And she walks sedately, -With a sort of lily-mien-- - Drooping, and yet stately. - -And her voice sounds, oh, so meek! - “Thou” and “thee” and “thying,” -Yet the while those grey-green eyes - Seem to be belying. - -All these airs of calm repose,-- - This sad suit and sober, -Why _should_ Spring’s young sapling be - Brown-leaved like October? - -Gown her in the lilies’ white! - Crown her curls with roses! -Wreath her neck with daisy-chains! - Fill her hands with posies! - -Laughter-loving green-grey eyes, - Young limbs girt with gladness, -How they mock this dismal drab - Livery of sadness! - - - - -“_THE TIME, THE PLACE, THE BELOVED._” - - -You and I among the roses-- - You and I and love and June-- -All without and all within us - Set to one sweet happy tune! - -You and I among the roses! - Drowsy bees go blundering by; -’Mid the tresses on your temples - Little breezes swoon and die. - -You and I among the roses! - Overhead a sapphire dome; -’Neath our feet a sea of emerald, - Flecked with daisies for its foam. - -You and I among the roses-- - ’Tis for love the time and place! -What a world of rapture can be - Crowded into one small space. - - - - -_DAY-DREAMS_ - - -I am dreaming of you, belovèd, - In my home among the hills; -Your eyes meet mine in every flower; -Above the highest height you tower, -Yet the glamour of your presence - The lowest valley fills. - -I hear your voice in the river - That sings on its way to the sea; -And when the wind sweeps over -The low beds of the clover, -’Tis the breath of my belovèd - Its wide wings bear to me. - -I am dreaming of you, belovèd, - But though sweet these day-dreams be, -’Tis the deeper dreams of sleeping -That restore you to my keeping, -And so the world of shadows - Is the dearest world to me. - - - - -_SONG OF THE SEASONS_ - - -Sing, oh sing, ’tis summer time! - Sing it ’mong the roses,-- -Sing it till each sleeping bud, - Dewy-eyed, uncloses. - -Sing it through the woodlands, till - All the song-birds hear it! -Sing,--till every blade of grass - Finds a voice to cheer it. - - * * * * * - -Sigh, oh sigh, ’tis winter drear! - Sigh it through the flowing -Shroud that over earth’s dead breast - Falls in time of snowing. - -Sigh it through the bare brown stems - That once held the roses! -Sigh it round the grave, that o’er - Summer’s glory closes. - - - - -_ONE SUMMER DAY_ - - -The sky stretched blue above us, - The sea slept at our feet, -As still, as if its mighty heart - Had almost ceased to beat. - -A trembling hush seemed slowly - Across the earth to steal, -As when after benediction - The priest and people kneel. - -It was as though God’s finger - Lay on the pulse of life, -And stilled, for one brief moment, - Its tumult and its strife. - - - - -_THE INSCRUTABLE_ - - -A glad young girl amid the sunshine flitting, - Like a bright bird let loose from Paradise-- -A weary woman, in the shadow, sitting - With haggard face and dry despairing eyes. - - * * * * * - -The one in death’s dark chamber now is lying, - Stricken to marble her warm pulsing breast: -And God denies the luxury of dying - To the sad soul whose one cry is for _rest_. - - - - -_DELILAH_ - - -Why comest thou with those grand eyes of thine - To lure me as the cruel light the moth, - To my destruction.--Long ago my wrath -Cooled its white heat in pity’s depths divine. - -There was a time when full of bitter hate - I could have crushed thee--but that time is past, - And tho’ I needs must love thee to the last, -Tempt me not now--it is too late, too late. - -Apart for evermore our paths must lie, - Such love as thine can only bring a curse. - I would be better for my love, not worse, -So go while I have strength to say “Good-bye.” - - - - -_A BABY’S GRAVE_ - - -I could not lay her down to sleep - In a death-crowded place, -With grim black yews to keep God’s sun - From shining on her face. - -With softest greenest moss I lined - For her a little nest; -No crushing marble slab I laid - Upon her tender breast. - -Nor iron rails like prison-bars - Her sacred form enclose, -The sternest guardian of her grave - Is just a fragile rose. - - - - -_A CHILD’S FAVOURITE_ - - -Only an old wooden dolly, - With an arm and a leg a-missing, -The point of her nose rubbed off, I suppose, - Through too much washing or kissing. - -In a frock of faded satin, - With tinsel lace tarnished and tattered; -Her “coal-scuttle” bonnet holds, alas! - A head that’s a trifle battered. - -Oh, no, she has not lost her locks, - She _never_ had curls black or golden; -A doll’s wig was safely painted on - In the days that _you_ call “olden.” - -You laugh, and think her “too funny;” - Yet _once_ she was just as much cherished -As _your_ dolly is--by a wee girl - Whose dolly-days long ago perished. - - - - -_RICH OR POOR?_ - - -Only a string of cold white pearls, - Or diamond drops, like frozen tears, -Has clasped my lady’s slender neck - Through all the barren empty years. - -Only wee warm white baby arms - Have clasped _my_ neck thro’ the sweet years; -Yet she is rich and I am poor-- - Or so it to the world appears. - - - - -_DOLLY’S GARDEN_ - - -This is Dolly’s garden, - All her “very own,” -Every flower that’s in it - By her hand was sown-- -Never out of Eden - Were such blossoms blown. - -Like her eyes those pansies, - Deep and dark and blue-- -As her soul those lilies, - Pure and white and true; -Frail earth-flowers and fading-- - Dolly’s fading too. - -This _was_ Dolly’s garden, - Here I stand _alone_, -Dolly’s tending blossoms - Near the Great White Throne: -Dolly now has heaven - For her “very own.” - - - - -_IN A DREAM-SHIP_ - - -She sailed away one summer day - In a ship of shining shell: -Her cloak was a butterfly’s gauzy wing, - Her bonnet a big blue-bell, -Her bed was a lady’s slipper, - Her blankets the leaves of a rose, -And a cushion of thistledown had she, - Just to rest her tiny toes. - -With golden oars from the earth’s dark shores - She was borne o’er a silver sea; -And she never feared as the captain steered - For the land where she wished to be. - - And this was the song, - As they drifted along, -That she sang from the ship of shell-- - “Oh, we are bound - For enchanted ground; -It’s _there_ that the fairies dwell.” - -But a storm swept over the silver sea, - And the little maid awoke -As against the side of the fair frail barque - A cruel billow broke; -And she rubbed her eyes, and she pinched her arm, - And fearfully peeped around; -But instead of a ship “for fairyland” - She had boarded a “homeward-bound.” - - - - -_THE FLOWER-QUEEN’S FALL_ - - -A rebel rose climbed to the top of the hedge, - And watched the people go up and down -The winding highway, dusty and grey, - That stretched from the village away to the town. - -And an anger surged in her passionate heart, - ’Gainst the humble garden where she was born, -And her red lips curled at the old flower world, - And she cast around her such looks of scorn - -That the lilies drooped ’neath her withering glance, - And the pansies huddled together with fear, -And the poor pinks paled, and each daisy quailed, - And dropped from her lashes a big round tear. - -For of the flower-kingdom this rose was queen, - And never were subjects more loyal than they-- -And they fondly dreamed she was good as she seemed, - And because they had loved they were proud to obey. - -But lo! as she towered in haughty disdain - High over their heads, with an angry gust -The wind swooped down and tore off her crown, - And its jewels went whirling away with the dust. - - - - -_A VETERAN_ - - -In his niche in the hall, the old clock stands, -But hushed is his voice, and still are his hands. -He ceased from his labours long years ago, -And he’s only a “pensioner” now, you know. - -He did his duty as long as he could, -For a brave heart beat in his breast of wood, -And you could depend on _all_ he said -Till age, at last, turned him queer in the head. - -With a visor of glass o’er his grim old face, -In his armour,--a straight, stiff, oaken case, -He “stands at ease” in his sentry box, -And leaves time-telling to younger clocks. - - - - -_TO A BUTTERFLY_ - - -Butterfly, O butterfly, - With gaily-jewelled wings, -You make me think of fairy folk - And of enchanted things. - -You once were held a prisoner - In a castle grim and grey-- -A “chrysalis” folk called it-- - But you escaped away. - -And now you flutter ’mong the flowers, - A restless roving elf, -Or fold your wings and lie so still-- - A very flower yourself. - -Or hoisting high two gauzy sails, - You softly float away, -Just like a tiny fairy barque - Bound for a fairy bay. - -The bees must work, the birds must sing, - The flowers yield perfumes rare; -But you were born a trifler, - Frail thing of light and air! - - - - -_WHEN AND WHERE_ - - -I wonder “when” and I wonder “where” - The Angel of Death will come, -And, laying a finger on lids and lips, - Will strike me blind and dumb. - -I wonder “when” and I wonder “where”! - Like the skeleton at the feast, -’Mid laughter and mirth this thought finds birth - Where it is welcome least. - -I wonder “when” and I wonder “where”-- - In my prime or old age hoar, -At home, with my loved ones round my bed, - Or alone on an alien shore. - -I wonder “when” and I wonder “where!” - Is God not over all? -He knows the time and He knows the place - Who marks a sparrow’s fall. - - - - -_WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG_ - - -The red and russet of Autumn die, -In the lap of winter their ashes lie, -And the earth is wan and grey the sky. - -But the noon of a wondrous joy is mine, -And my pulses thrill with the glowing wine -That flows from the grape of Love’s deathless vine. - -What care have I that the brown stems bear -Nor leaf nor bloom, and the mad winds tear -The last poor tatters the forests wear? - -Is not the heart in mine own glad breast -A garden of roses, a haven of rest, -A bird that has builded a warm love-nest? - - - - -_A CHARACTER SKETCH_ - - -Womanly-sweet in all her ways, -Slow to condemn, and swift to praise; -Ready to help in hour of need, -Generous in thought as well as deed. - -Pitiful, tender, yet firm and strong -To uphold the right and put down wrong; -Never a thought of self or gain, -Proud of her God-given gifts--not vain. - -Laughter-loving, and fond of fun, -When the “daily round” and task are done; -Modest and maidenly, yet no prude; -Perfect enough, but not “too good.” - -Half an angel, yet wholly human; -No ideal--a living woman. - - - - -_FRIENDS_ - - -We are such friends, my little girl and I, - That, though her summers number scarcely nine -I need none other, as I go my ways - With her small fingers closely clasping mine. - -A little world we two make of our own, - And people it with all things fair and sweet; -The stars that twinkle overhead at night - Drop down at dawn in daisies at our feet. - -My smiles are hers;--my tears are all my own, - I keep my sighs and give her all my song, -Because she is so trusting and so weak - I feel that I can suffer and be strong. - -The while I try to keep the narrow way, - ’Tis wide enough for both. And my white dove, -With untried wings, knows little love but this, - That “Mother” is another name for “Love.” - - - - -_BED-TIME_ - - -The sleepy daisies have said “Good night,” -And tied up their wee frilled nightcaps tight. -The summer day’s been hot and long -And daisies, although they are so strong, -Are always tired and ready for bed -Ere the stars, heaven’s daisies, awake o’erhead. - -The roses have rocked themselves to sleep. -Awake they could no longer keep-- -They’ve been astir since the dawn of day, -Sighing their sweet perfume away, -And feeding the hungry beggar bees -That never say “thanks” nor “if you please!” - -And, baby darling, ’tis time that you -Had shut your drowsy eyes of blue-- -Wee busy hands, wee busy feet -Must rest sometime, you know, my sweet-- -The flower-bells _all_ have chimed “Good night.” -They’ll ring to wake you with the light. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SPRAY OF LILAC *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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