 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
183
Sonnets in Many Moods.
Scorn not the Sonnet.
Wordsworth.
Wordsworth.
It is the violoncello, or else man's heart's complaint.
Walt Whitman.
Walt Whitman.
185
HELEN'S CUP.
Give me the potent draught that Helen poured
To lull Telemachus! Make me forget
All present peril, all old sins, and let
Me dream, in peace. Long threat'ning, Fate's sharp sword
Before my eyes has hung—about me roared
The battle's clamor. Sore I am beset—
New fears and ancient pains together met
Assail me, who for peace have long implored:
To lull Telemachus! Make me forget
All present peril, all old sins, and let
Me dream, in peace. Long threat'ning, Fate's sharp sword
Before my eyes has hung—about me roared
The battle's clamor. Sore I am beset—
New fears and ancient pains together met
Assail me, who for peace have long implored:
Give me at last to drink, and let them flee,
The baffled ghosts that watch me sullenly,
To those waste fields that waiting shadows keep;
And down some waveless tide, in quiet deep
As set of day upon a quiet sea.
Oh, let me drift and dream, and fall on sleep!
The baffled ghosts that watch me sullenly,
To those waste fields that waiting shadows keep;
And down some waveless tide, in quiet deep
As set of day upon a quiet sea.
Oh, let me drift and dream, and fall on sleep!
186
SILENT SORROW.
If she unclosed her lips and made her moan
She would not be so weary with her woe—
A burden shared is lightened: even so
The weight is heavier that we bear alone,
And anguish, pent within, turns hearts to stone.
The fellowship of sorrow to forego—
To suffer and be silent—is to know
The blackest blossom from the black root grown.
She would not be so weary with her woe—
A burden shared is lightened: even so
The weight is heavier that we bear alone,
And anguish, pent within, turns hearts to stone.
The fellowship of sorrow to forego—
To suffer and be silent—is to know
The blackest blossom from the black root grown.
And yet great joys and greatest woes are dumb:
Small is the sum that reckoning can compute—
The shallows babble, but the depths are mute—
The great mid-sea our measure may not plumb:
King Love, King Pain, King Death, in silence come;
And, meeting them, we silently salute.
Small is the sum that reckoning can compute—
The shallows babble, but the depths are mute—
The great mid-sea our measure may not plumb:
King Love, King Pain, King Death, in silence come;
And, meeting them, we silently salute.
187
A CRY.
O wanderer in unknown lands, what cheer?
How dost thou fare on thy mysterious way?
What strange light breaks upon thy distant day,
Yet leaves me lonely in the darkness here?
Oh, bide no longer in that far-off sphere:
Though all Heaven's cohorts should thy footsteps stay,
Break through their splendid, militant array,
And answer to my call, O dead and dear!
How dost thou fare on thy mysterious way?
What strange light breaks upon thy distant day,
Yet leaves me lonely in the darkness here?
Oh, bide no longer in that far-off sphere:
Though all Heaven's cohorts should thy footsteps stay,
Break through their splendid, militant array,
And answer to my call, O dead and dear!
I shall not fear thee, howsoe'er thou come;
Thy coldness will not chill, though Death is cold;
A touch, and I shall know thee,—or a breath;
Speak the old, well-known language, or be dumb;
Only come back! Be near me as of old;
So thou and I shall triumph over Death!
Thy coldness will not chill, though Death is cold;
A touch, and I shall know thee,—or a breath;
Speak the old, well-known language, or be dumb;
Only come back! Be near me as of old;
So thou and I shall triumph over Death!
188
LOVE'S EMPTY HOUSE.
O thou long-silent, solitary house,
Where Love once came and went with joyous cries,
Or lingered long, sighing as Summer sighs
When Autumn's breath begins her fear to rouse
With fierce caress that shall make bare her boughs,
Her tender boughs, and all her beauty's prize
Deliver, faded, to the winds that rise
And rend her crown from her dishonored brows!—
Where Love once came and went with joyous cries,
Or lingered long, sighing as Summer sighs
When Autumn's breath begins her fear to rouse
With fierce caress that shall make bare her boughs,
Her tender boughs, and all her beauty's prize
Deliver, faded, to the winds that rise
And rend her crown from her dishonored brows!—
O solitary house! thine open door
Again shall welcome sweet Love's wingèd tread;
His eyes shall light thee, as they lit of yore
In days when Love and Joy were newly wed;
He shall return with myrtle round his head,
And fill thy halls with music as before.
Again shall welcome sweet Love's wingèd tread;
His eyes shall light thee, as they lit of yore
In days when Love and Joy were newly wed;
He shall return with myrtle round his head,
And fill thy halls with music as before.
189
AFTER DEATH.
And every sweet it is
To know he still is warm though I am cold.
Christina Rossetti.
To know he still is warm though I am cold.
Christina Rossetti.
I would not have thee warm when I am cold;
But both together—'neath some sylvan mound,
Amid the pleasant secrets under ground,
Where green things flourish in the embracing mould,
And jealous seeds the souls of blossoms hold—
In some sweet fellowship of silence bound,
Deeper than life, more exquisite than sound,
Rest tranquilly while Love's new tales are told.
But both together—'neath some sylvan mound,
Amid the pleasant secrets under ground,
Where green things flourish in the embracing mould,
And jealous seeds the souls of blossoms hold—
In some sweet fellowship of silence bound,
Deeper than life, more exquisite than sound,
Rest tranquilly while Love's new tales are told.
We will not grudge the waking world its bliss,
Its joy of speech, its gladness of surprise,
When lovers clasp each others hands and kiss
And earth puts on new glory to their eyes:
We, lying there with Death's deep knowledge wise,
Shall know that we have found Life's best in this.
Its joy of speech, its gladness of surprise,
When lovers clasp each others hands and kiss
And earth puts on new glory to their eyes:
We, lying there with Death's deep knowledge wise,
Shall know that we have found Life's best in this.
190
VOICES ON THE WIND.
Far out at sea I hear the wind complain,—
With the old plaint that vexed my childish ear,
And seemed the cry of spirits drawing near
To sob their incommunicable pain.
Whence did they come, and whither go again?
My very heart stood still with sudden fear
When the forlorn approach I used to hear
Of all the shuddering, melancholy train.
With the old plaint that vexed my childish ear,
And seemed the cry of spirits drawing near
To sob their incommunicable pain.
Whence did they come, and whither go again?
My very heart stood still with sudden fear
When the forlorn approach I used to hear
Of all the shuddering, melancholy train.
And lo, in this night's vigil far at sea,
The same long cry!—Are they unpardoned yet?
Does the old pain still goad them till they come,
Unsheltered souls, to sob once more to me
Of some dead wrong they never can forget
Till there is no more sea, and winds are dumb?
The same long cry!—Are they unpardoned yet?
Does the old pain still goad them till they come,
Unsheltered souls, to sob once more to me
Of some dead wrong they never can forget
Till there is no more sea, and winds are dumb?
191
THE CUP OF DEATH.
FOR A PICTURE BY ELIHU VEDDER.
She bends her beauteous head to taste thy draught,
O thou stern Angel of the Darker Cup!
With thee to-night in the dim shades to sup,
Where all they be who from that cup have quaffed.
She had been clad with loveliness, and laughed
At Life's strong enemies who lie in wait;
Had kept with golden youth her queenly state,
All unafraid of Sorrow's threat'ning shaft.
O thou stern Angel of the Darker Cup!
With thee to-night in the dim shades to sup,
Where all they be who from that cup have quaffed.
She had been clad with loveliness, and laughed
At Life's strong enemies who lie in wait;
Had kept with golden youth her queenly state,
All unafraid of Sorrow's threat'ning shaft.
Then human Grief found out her human heart,
And she was fain to go where pain is dumb;
So Thou wert welcome, Angel dread to see,
And she fares onward with thee, willingly,
To dwell where no man loves, no lovers part,—
Thus Grief that is, makes welcome Death to come.
And she was fain to go where pain is dumb;
So Thou wert welcome, Angel dread to see,
And she fares onward with thee, willingly,
To dwell where no man loves, no lovers part,—
Thus Grief that is, makes welcome Death to come.
192
TO A MODERN POET.
WITH A COPY OF “SHAKSPEARE'S SONNETS.”
Take thou these words thine elder brother writ,—
Thou, to whom Song is as thy native speech!
Across the swift-flown centuries thou canst reach
To him, thy kinsman, reverent hands and sit—
While shadows of the Past about ye flit—
With him, “in sessions of sweet, silent thought,”
And share with him those halcyon days that brought
Music's sweet charm, and sparkle keen of wit.
Thou, to whom Song is as thy native speech!
Across the swift-flown centuries thou canst reach
To him, thy kinsman, reverent hands and sit—
While shadows of the Past about ye flit—
With him, “in sessions of sweet, silent thought,”
And share with him those halcyon days that brought
Music's sweet charm, and sparkle keen of wit.
So shalt thou learn the secret of his song,—
Those minor chords; since Life is as the leaf,
And gladdest love and brightest day are brief;
Those clear, bold notes that told his soul was strong,
Brave to endure, and swift to smite the wrong,
Until Death healed thine elder brother's grief.
Those minor chords; since Life is as the leaf,
And gladdest love and brightest day are brief;
Those clear, bold notes that told his soul was strong,
Brave to endure, and swift to smite the wrong,
Until Death healed thine elder brother's grief.
193
THE LAST GOOD-BY.
How shall we know it is the last good-by?
The skies will not be darkened in that hour,
No sudden blight will fall on leaf or flower,
No single bird will hush its careless cry,
And you will hold my hands, and smile or sigh
Just as before. Perchance the sudden tears
In your dear eyes will answer to my fears;
But there will come no voice of prophecy,—
The skies will not be darkened in that hour,
No sudden blight will fall on leaf or flower,
No single bird will hush its careless cry,
And you will hold my hands, and smile or sigh
Just as before. Perchance the sudden tears
In your dear eyes will answer to my fears;
But there will come no voice of prophecy,—
No voice to whisper, “Now, and not again,
Space for last words, last kisses, and last prayer
For all the wild, unmitigated pain
Of those who, parting, clasp hands with despair,
“Who knows?” we say, but doubt and fear remain
Would any choose to part thus unaware?
Space for last words, last kisses, and last prayer
For all the wild, unmitigated pain
Of those who, parting, clasp hands with despair,
“Who knows?” we say, but doubt and fear remain
Would any choose to part thus unaware?
194
LOVE IS DEAD.
I heard one cry out strongly, “Love is dead!”
And then we went and looked upon his face,
Turned into marble by Death's final grace:
His silent lips, that once so vainly pled,
Smile now, as men smile being newly wed;
Since some strange joy Life's sorrows did efface
When Death's arms clasped him in supreme embrace,
All his long pain of living comforted.
And then we went and looked upon his face,
Turned into marble by Death's final grace:
His silent lips, that once so vainly pled,
Smile now, as men smile being newly wed;
Since some strange joy Life's sorrows did efface
When Death's arms clasped him in supreme embrace,
All his long pain of living comforted.
And you would wake him? Dare you him recall
From Death's enamouring to Life's stern pain;
Make him again the old grief's hopeless thrall;
Bind him once more with the old clanking chain.
And goad him on his weary way again?—
Nay! let him rest with Death, the lord of all.
From Death's enamouring to Life's stern pain;
Make him again the old grief's hopeless thrall;
Bind him once more with the old clanking chain.
And goad him on his weary way again?—
Nay! let him rest with Death, the lord of all.
195
HIC JACET.
So Love is dead that has been quick so long!
Close, then, his eyes, and bear him to his rest,
With eglantine and myrtle on his breast,
And leave him there, their pleasant scents among;
And chant a sweet and melancholy song
About the charms whereof he was possessed,
And how of all things he was loveliest,
And to compare with aught were him to wrong.
Close, then, his eyes, and bear him to his rest,
With eglantine and myrtle on his breast,
And leave him there, their pleasant scents among;
And chant a sweet and melancholy song
About the charms whereof he was possessed,
And how of all things he was loveliest,
And to compare with aught were him to wrong.
Leave him beneath the still and solemn stars,
That gather and look down from their far place
With their long calm our brief woes to deride,
Until the Sun the Morning's gate unbars
And mocks, in turn, our sorrows with his face;—
And yet, had Love been Love, he had not died.
That gather and look down from their far place
With their long calm our brief woes to deride,
Until the Sun the Morning's gate unbars
And mocks, in turn, our sorrows with his face;—
And yet, had Love been Love, he had not died.
196
LEFT BEHIND.
Wilt thou forget me in that other sphere,—
Thou who hast shared my life so long in this,—
And straight grown dizzy with that greater bliss,
Fronting heaven's splendor strong and full and clear,
No longer hold the old embraces dear
When some sweet seraph crowns thee with her kiss?
Nay, surely from that rapture thou wouldst miss
Some slight, small thing that thou hast cared for here.
Thou who hast shared my life so long in this,—
And straight grown dizzy with that greater bliss,
Fronting heaven's splendor strong and full and clear,
No longer hold the old embraces dear
When some sweet seraph crowns thee with her kiss?
Nay, surely from that rapture thou wouldst miss
Some slight, small thing that thou hast cared for here.
I do not dream that from those ultimate heights
Thou wilt come back to seek me where I bide;
But if I follow, patient of thy slights,
And if I stand there, waiting by thy side,
Surely thy heart with some old thrill will stir,
And turn thy face toward me, even from her.
Thou wilt come back to seek me where I bide;
But if I follow, patient of thy slights,
And if I stand there, waiting by thy side,
Surely thy heart with some old thrill will stir,
And turn thy face toward me, even from her.
197
FUTURE FORGIVENESS.
How long wilt thou be silent, lying there?
I grieved thee once, and now my heart makes moan,
Cries, and thou wilt not answer, turned to stone,
And pitiless as stone to my despair:
My tears fall on thee, and thou dost not care:
Oh! art thou cruel now who wast so kind;
Or only to my sorrow deaf and blind—
Gone on beyond the hearing of my prayer?
I grieved thee once, and now my heart makes moan,
Cries, and thou wilt not answer, turned to stone,
And pitiless as stone to my despair:
My tears fall on thee, and thou dost not care:
Oh! art thou cruel now who wast so kind;
Or only to my sorrow deaf and blind—
Gone on beyond the hearing of my prayer?
Shall it not be that in thy brighter life
I find thee, move thee to some pitying thrill,
And win thee by my pleading to forgive?
Thou couldst forget past folly and past strife,
Seeing, in that new sphere, I love thee still;
And thou—didst thou not love thou wouldst not live.
I find thee, move thee to some pitying thrill,
And win thee by my pleading to forgive?
Thou couldst forget past folly and past strife,
Seeing, in that new sphere, I love thee still;
And thou—didst thou not love thou wouldst not live.
198
IN PACE.
When I am dead, with mockery of praise
Thou shalt not vex the stillness of my sleep:
Leave me to long tranquillity and deep,
Who, through such weary nights and lonesome days,
Such hopeless stretch of uncompanioned ways,
Have come at length my quiet rest to keep
Where nettles thrive, and careless brambles creep,
And things that love the dark their dull brood raise.
Thou shalt not vex the stillness of my sleep:
Leave me to long tranquillity and deep,
Who, through such weary nights and lonesome days,
Such hopeless stretch of uncompanioned ways,
Have come at length my quiet rest to keep
Where nettles thrive, and careless brambles creep,
And things that love the dark their dull brood raise.
After my restless years I would have rest,—
Long rest after so many restless years,—
Unmocked by hope, set free from haunting fears;
Since some old pain might waken at thy tread,
Do thou for once in this my heart's behest,
Come thou not nigh when I am lying dead.
Long rest after so many restless years,—
Unmocked by hope, set free from haunting fears;
Since some old pain might waken at thy tread,
Do thou for once in this my heart's behest,
Come thou not nigh when I am lying dead.
199
A WOMAN'S KNOWLEDGE.
A rose to smell a moment, then to leave,
Chance strain of song you smile at as you pass,
Bubble that breaks before you lip the glass,
Chain frail as the frail thread that spiders weave;
Oh, do not think that I myself deceive!
Thus, and not otherwise, to you am I,—
A moment's pleasure as you pass me by,
Powerless, at best, to make you joy or grieve.
Chance strain of song you smile at as you pass,
Bubble that breaks before you lip the glass,
Chain frail as the frail thread that spiders weave;
Oh, do not think that I myself deceive!
Thus, and not otherwise, to you am I,—
A moment's pleasure as you pass me by,
Powerless, at best, to make you joy or grieve.
And you, to me, my sun-god and my sun,
Who warmed my heart to life with careless ray!
Forever will that burning memory stay
And warm me in the grave when life is done:—
What farther grace has any woman won?
Since your chance gift you cannot take away.
Who warmed my heart to life with careless ray!
Forever will that burning memory stay
And warm me in the grave when life is done:—
What farther grace has any woman won?
Since your chance gift you cannot take away.
200
IN SOLITUDE.
Have pity thou, who all my heart hast known!
Come back from thy far place and heal my pain!
My long, unshared, uncheered days wax and wane;
The strong suns mock me, I am so alone;
The hurrying winds sweep by, nor heed my moan;
The climbing stars of night, a shining train,
With curious eyes behold me wait in vain,—
And Nature's very self doth me disown.
Come back from thy far place and heal my pain!
My long, unshared, uncheered days wax and wane;
The strong suns mock me, I am so alone;
The hurrying winds sweep by, nor heed my moan;
The climbing stars of night, a shining train,
With curious eyes behold me wait in vain,—
And Nature's very self doth me disown.
I did not know how blest I was, God wot,
When thy dear voice made music for my ears,
Fostered my starveling joys and shamed my fears:
Now thou art dumb; and I, by thee forgot,
Live through the empty, pitiless months and years
And think how I was glad, yet knew it not.
When thy dear voice made music for my ears,
Fostered my starveling joys and shamed my fears:
Now thou art dumb; and I, by thee forgot,
Live through the empty, pitiless months and years
And think how I was glad, yet knew it not.
201
BEYOND SIGHT AND SOUND.
Full soon I shall be gone, where dead men go,—
Gone on, beyond your ken, far out of sight—
To that dim, phantom world that no stars light;
Where souls like pallid flames flit to and fro,
Where Love is not, nor memory of Woe,
And no voice pleads through that eternal night;
Dumb are those souls, and dead is their delight,
They need no courage, since no fear they know.
Gone on, beyond your ken, far out of sight—
To that dim, phantom world that no stars light;
Where souls like pallid flames flit to and fro,
Where Love is not, nor memory of Woe,
And no voice pleads through that eternal night;
Dumb are those souls, and dead is their delight,
They need no courage, since no fear they know.
If a sad ghost should seem to bar your way,
Think not from that vague world that I return;
'T will be but moonlight silvering some spray.
I shall not hear you, howso'er you yearn;
Yet if your cry could follow my far track,
I think from bane or bliss I should come back.
Think not from that vague world that I return;
'T will be but moonlight silvering some spray.
I shall not hear you, howso'er you yearn;
Yet if your cry could follow my far track,
I think from bane or bliss I should come back.
202
TO ONE WHO HAS LOVED OFTEN.
Palimpsest heart, on which so many names
Love's hand has writ! Blind Love, could he not know
Which the true script of Fate, and thus forego
To lend his torch to kindle transient flames?
New risen joy each new day's sun proclaims;
Each dawning sets the amorous east aglow;
Each day is bright until its sun is low;
As of fair days, so is it of fair dames.
Love's hand has writ! Blind Love, could he not know
Which the true script of Fate, and thus forego
To lend his torch to kindle transient flames?
New risen joy each new day's sun proclaims;
Each dawning sets the amorous east aglow;
Each day is bright until its sun is low;
As of fair days, so is it of fair dames.
Why should we chide the glad who find life sweet?
Their careless hearts are like a favored year,
All blessed summer; or a garden ground
To which no frosts come, where no tempests beat,
But roses bloom forever, red and dear,
And blithe birds fill it always with sweet sound.
Their careless hearts are like a favored year,
All blessed summer; or a garden ground
To which no frosts come, where no tempests beat,
But roses bloom forever, red and dear,
And blithe birds fill it always with sweet sound.
203
BEFORE THE SHRINE.
I built a shrine, and set my idol there,
And morn and noon and night my knees I bent,
And cried aloud until my strength was spent,
Beseeching his cold pity with my prayer.
Sometimes at dawning, when the day was fair,
A ray of light to his stern visage sent
The semblance of a smile. Did he relent,
This strong god, Love, whose high-priest is Despair?
And morn and noon and night my knees I bent,
And cried aloud until my strength was spent,
Beseeching his cold pity with my prayer.
Sometimes at dawning, when the day was fair,
A ray of light to his stern visage sent
The semblance of a smile. Did he relent,
This strong god, Love, whose high-priest is Despair?
High noon came on, and in its full, clear light
I saw his lips, as ruthless as of old;
And his eyes mocked me like relentless fate,
Till I was fain to hide me from his sight;
Then one swept off from him his mantle's fold,
And lo, my idol was not Love, but Hate.
I saw his lips, as ruthless as of old;
And his eyes mocked me like relentless fate,
Till I was fain to hide me from his sight;
Then one swept off from him his mantle's fold,
And lo, my idol was not Love, but Hate.
204
ROSES AT SEA.
Love-children of the summer and the sun
Alien to this salt air and stretch of sea,
And beautiful in your bright witchery
As the first rose, whose wooing was begun
By the first nightingale, when day was done
And over Eden's walks the wind blew free,
And the winged wooers sang in ecstasy
Of love and love and love—till love was won.
Alien to this salt air and stretch of sea,
And beautiful in your bright witchery
As the first rose, whose wooing was begun
By the first nightingale, when day was done
And over Eden's walks the wind blew free,
And the winged wooers sang in ecstasy
Of love and love and love—till love was won.
To-day you bless me with your beauty's spell,
Roses from some dream-garden left behind,
With breath half tenderness and half farewell,
And gracious hopes with your sweet grace entwined:
Will hopes, like buds, turn blossoms? Who shall tell?
Your fragrant soul escapes—can Memory bind?
Roses from some dream-garden left behind,
With breath half tenderness and half farewell,
And gracious hopes with your sweet grace entwined:
Will hopes, like buds, turn blossoms? Who shall tell?
Your fragrant soul escapes—can Memory bind?
205
A GHOST'S QUESTION.
When with your fair, new Love you laughing go
Through the loud streets we two have known so well,
Will not old memories your feet compel
To wait, sometimes, for one whose step is slow,
Whose presence only you may feel or know,—
The shadow of a shadow, you dispel
With wave of hand, as the old tale you tell
To new ears listening as I used, you know?
Through the loud streets we two have known so well,
Will not old memories your feet compel
To wait, sometimes, for one whose step is slow,
Whose presence only you may feel or know,—
The shadow of a shadow, you dispel
With wave of hand, as the old tale you tell
To new ears listening as I used, you know?
Or when you press her hand against your breast,
Will you for one swift instant think it mine,
And thrill to the dead joy you once possessed
And quaffed and savored, as men quaff their wine—
Then turn and meet her smile, jest back her jest,
And swear afresh she doth all charms combine?
Will you for one swift instant think it mine,
And thrill to the dead joy you once possessed
And quaffed and savored, as men quaff their wine—
Then turn and meet her smile, jest back her jest,
And swear afresh she doth all charms combine?
206
SISTER SORROW.
I found her walking in a lonely place,
Where shadows lingered and the day was low;
She trod a devious path with footsteps slow,
And by the waning light I scanned her face,
And in its loveliness beheld the trace
Old tears had left, and woes of long ago;
Then knew she I was kin to her, and so
Stretched forth her chill, soft hand with welcoming grace.
Where shadows lingered and the day was low;
She trod a devious path with footsteps slow,
And by the waning light I scanned her face,
And in its loveliness beheld the trace
Old tears had left, and woes of long ago;
Then knew she I was kin to her, and so
Stretched forth her chill, soft hand with welcoming grace.
Now I walk with her through her realm of shade—
I hear gay music sound, and laughter ring,
And voices call me that I knew of old,
But of their mocking mirth I am afraid,—
Led through the dusk by her to whom I cling,
May I not reach some blessedness untold?
I hear gay music sound, and laughter ring,
And voices call me that I knew of old,
But of their mocking mirth I am afraid,—
Led through the dusk by her to whom I cling,
May I not reach some blessedness untold?
207
HE LOVED.
“He loved me once!” What words are these—
“He loved!”
Past tense, past love, past joy, past hope, past dream,—
All things that were and are not,—how they seem
To crowd around and mock the love disproved,
The former bliss, by ages long removed;
The light, far off as farthest star's pale beam
That sheds through trackless space its fitful gleam
Which once, our sun, we welcomed and approved.
“He loved!”
Past tense, past love, past joy, past hope, past dream,—
All things that were and are not,—how they seem
To crowd around and mock the love disproved,
The former bliss, by ages long removed;
The light, far off as farthest star's pale beam
That sheds through trackless space its fitful gleam
Which once, our sun, we welcomed and approved.
How dear that was which lies here stark and dead
While we sit watching in God's awful sight,
He knows; but hath no dew of healing shed,
Nor any grace doth proffer us,—by night
And change and death who are discomfited,—
No single hope to turn our dark to light.
While we sit watching in God's awful sight,
He knows; but hath no dew of healing shed,
Nor any grace doth proffer us,—by night
And change and death who are discomfited,—
No single hope to turn our dark to light.
208
HEREAFTER.
In after years a twilight ghost shall fill
With shadowy presence all thy waiting room:
From lips of air thou canst not kiss the bloom;
Yet at old kisses will thy pulses thrill,
And the old longing, that thou couldst not kill,
Feeling her presence in the gathering gloom,
Will mock thee with the hopelessness of doom,
While she stands there and smiles, serene and still.
With shadowy presence all thy waiting room:
From lips of air thou canst not kiss the bloom;
Yet at old kisses will thy pulses thrill,
And the old longing, that thou couldst not kill,
Feeling her presence in the gathering gloom,
Will mock thee with the hopelessness of doom,
While she stands there and smiles, serene and still.
Thou canst not vex her, then, with passion's pain:
Call, and the silence will thy call repeat;
But she will smile there, with cold lips and sweet,
Forgetful of old tortures, and the chain
That once she wore, the tears she wept in vain
At passing from her threshold of thy feet.
Call, and the silence will thy call repeat;
But she will smile there, with cold lips and sweet,
Forgetful of old tortures, and the chain
That once she wore, the tears she wept in vain
At passing from her threshold of thy feet.
209
AT WAR.
Through the large, stormy splendors of the night,
When clouds made war, and spears of moonlight strove
To penetrate their serried ranks and prove
That braver than the darkness was the light,
Yet failed before the storm-clouds' gathered might,
I heard a voice cry, “Strong indeed is Love,
But stronger Fate and Death, who hold above
Their pitiless, high court, in Love's despite.”
When clouds made war, and spears of moonlight strove
To penetrate their serried ranks and prove
That braver than the darkness was the light,
Yet failed before the storm-clouds' gathered might,
I heard a voice cry, “Strong indeed is Love,
But stronger Fate and Death, who hold above
Their pitiless, high court, in Love's despite.”
Storm-cloud met storm-cloud, reeled, and shook, and fled,—
The old earth trembled at their mighty rage,—
Till, suddenly, a lark sang clear o'erhead,
As if to share his joy he did engage
All earth and heaven; and Night's wild war was done,
And Love and Morning triumphed with the sun.
The old earth trembled at their mighty rage,—
Till, suddenly, a lark sang clear o'erhead,
As if to share his joy he did engage
All earth and heaven; and Night's wild war was done,
And Love and Morning triumphed with the sun.
210
NEAR, YET FAR.
So near! and yet, I think, as far apart
As heaven from hell, high noon from darkest night,
Or buried face, from longing lover's sight:
I dream of you, and then from dreams I start
To hear the beating of my own sad heart,
That snatched from dreams impossible delight,
But quickly wakes again, in wretched plight,
To meet the day's keen pain and ceaseless smart.
As heaven from hell, high noon from darkest night,
Or buried face, from longing lover's sight:
I dream of you, and then from dreams I start
To hear the beating of my own sad heart,
That snatched from dreams impossible delight,
But quickly wakes again, in wretched plight,
To meet the day's keen pain and ceaseless smart.
How shall I comfort, then, my lonesome years—
Since dreams are dim, and sleeping time is brief—?
For very full I am of restless fears,
Blown to and fro, as is a vagrant leaf;
And well I know how idle are the tears
That burn my aching eyes, yet mock my grief.
Since dreams are dim, and sleeping time is brief—?
For very full I am of restless fears,
Blown to and fro, as is a vagrant leaf;
And well I know how idle are the tears
That burn my aching eyes, yet mock my grief.
211
A FALLEN HOUSE.
The end has come, which never seems the end;
And thou and I, who loved so long and well,
Find at the last our Fate implacable,—
Stern Fate, who wills not that our lives shall blend,
And overthrows fair things we did intend.
The house in which long time we thought to dwell,
Was built upon a ruin—so it fell.
Great was the fall, which no man could defend.
And thou and I, who loved so long and well,
Find at the last our Fate implacable,—
Stern Fate, who wills not that our lives shall blend,
And overthrows fair things we did intend.
The house in which long time we thought to dwell,
Was built upon a ruin—so it fell.
Great was the fall, which no man could defend.
Behold it lies there overthrown, that house!
In its fair halls no comer shall carouse;
Its broad rooms with strange silences are filled;
No fire upon its crumbling hearth shall glow—
Seeing its desolation, men shall know
On ruin of what was they may not build.
In its fair halls no comer shall carouse;
Its broad rooms with strange silences are filled;
No fire upon its crumbling hearth shall glow—
Seeing its desolation, men shall know
On ruin of what was they may not build.
212
MY MOURNER.
I lie here very still; and he draws nigh
To stand beside me, and to look his last
On her who far beyond his ken has passed,
Yet rests here, 'neath his touch, so tranquilly;
From the shut lips there comes no least, low sigh;
No eyelash quivers, and white Death holds fast,
In long embrace by longing dreams forecast,
The life that had known Life's satiety.
To stand beside me, and to look his last
On her who far beyond his ken has passed,
Yet rests here, 'neath his touch, so tranquilly;
From the shut lips there comes no least, low sigh;
No eyelash quivers, and white Death holds fast,
In long embrace by longing dreams forecast,
The life that had known Life's satiety.
I laughed and loved and wept, and now I sleep;
And that were best of all, if no dreams come
To mar this quietude of slumber, deep
And still as some deep night when winds are dumb;
But he, my mourner, wherefore should he keep
Intrusive vigil round my silent home?
And that were best of all, if no dreams come
To mar this quietude of slumber, deep
And still as some deep night when winds are dumb;
But he, my mourner, wherefore should he keep
Intrusive vigil round my silent home?
213
AT SEA.
Outside the mad sea ravens for its prey,
Shut from it by a floating plank I lie;
Through this round window search the faithless sky,
The hungry waves that fain would rend and slay,
The live-long, blank, interminable way,
Blind with the sun and hoarse with the wind's cry
Of wild, unconquerable mutiny,
Until night comes more terrible than day.
Shut from it by a floating plank I lie;
Through this round window search the faithless sky,
The hungry waves that fain would rend and slay,
The live-long, blank, interminable way,
Blind with the sun and hoarse with the wind's cry
Of wild, unconquerable mutiny,
Until night comes more terrible than day.
No more at rest am I than wind and wave;
My soul cries with them in their wild despair,
I, who am Destiny's impatient slave,
Who find no help in hope, nor ease in prayer,
And only dream of rest, on some dim shore
Where sea and storm and life shall be no more.
My soul cries with them in their wild despair,
I, who am Destiny's impatient slave,
Who find no help in hope, nor ease in prayer,
And only dream of rest, on some dim shore
Where sea and storm and life shall be no more.
214
LAURA SLEEPING.
Come hither and behold this lady's face,
Who lies asleep, as if strong Death had kissed
Upon her eyes the kiss none can resist,
And held her fast in his prolonged embrace!
See the still lips, which grant no answering grace
To Love's fond prayers, and the sweet, carven smile,
Sign of some dream-born joy which did beguile
The dreaming soul from its fair resting-place!
Who lies asleep, as if strong Death had kissed
Upon her eyes the kiss none can resist,
And held her fast in his prolonged embrace!
See the still lips, which grant no answering grace
To Love's fond prayers, and the sweet, carven smile,
Sign of some dream-born joy which did beguile
The dreaming soul from its fair resting-place!
So will she look when Death indeed has sway
O'er her dear loveliness, and holds her fast
In that last sleep which knows nor night, nor day,
Which hopes no future, contemplates no past;
So will she look; but now, behold! she wakes—
Thus, from the Night, Dawn's sunlit beauty breaks.
O'er her dear loveliness, and holds her fast
In that last sleep which knows nor night, nor day,
Which hopes no future, contemplates no past;
So will she look; but now, behold! she wakes—
Thus, from the Night, Dawn's sunlit beauty breaks.
215
TO ONE MOST UNHAPPY.
If I should see thee, Most Unhappy, dead,
How should I dare to utter moan for thee?
Does any grieve for prisoner set free?
Or shall our tears upon his brow be shed
Who after long starvation full is fed?
Nay, rather, clamor, bells, exultantly;
Like wedding chimes ring out your harmony;
Since saddest Life to gladdest Death is wed.
How should I dare to utter moan for thee?
Does any grieve for prisoner set free?
Or shall our tears upon his brow be shed
Who after long starvation full is fed?
Nay, rather, clamor, bells, exultantly;
Like wedding chimes ring out your harmony;
Since saddest Life to gladdest Death is wed.
Thou, whose whole life was sorrow! In thy grave
Shall not strange joy possess thee, and deep rest;
Such rest as no man knoweth, having breath?
Wilt thou not hear from far the old blasts rave
That long pursued thee with relentless quest,
And know them mocked, at last, by thee and Death?
Shall not strange joy possess thee, and deep rest;
Such rest as no man knoweth, having breath?
Wilt thou not hear from far the old blasts rave
That long pursued thee with relentless quest,
And know them mocked, at last, by thee and Death?
216
IN THE COURT OF THE LIONS:
BY MOONLIGHT.
These lions were sculptured centuries ago
In that fair court a Sultan made for her
Who was his heart's delight. Her worshipper
Was he whom all men worshipped; proving so
His love and homage that the ages know
How fair she was, and how at softest stir
Of her soft robes—as these proud courts aver—
His kingly heart with kingly love did glow;
In that fair court a Sultan made for her
Who was his heart's delight. Her worshipper
Was he whom all men worshipped; proving so
His love and homage that the ages know
How fair she was, and how at softest stir
Of her soft robes—as these proud courts aver—
His kingly heart with kingly love did glow;
Till he bade crafty workmen come and make
A palace, lovely for her lovely sake,
Thick-set with gems, with many a sculptured space
Wrought cunningly out of the creamy stone
To frame the dusky beauty of her face,—
Still on those courts the white moon shines, but they are gone!
A palace, lovely for her lovely sake,
Thick-set with gems, with many a sculptured space
Wrought cunningly out of the creamy stone
To frame the dusky beauty of her face,—
Still on those courts the white moon shines, but they are gone!
Alhambra, Spain, 1883.
217
MY CASTLE.
A spanish Castle long ago I built,
Where Love and I might keep our holiday;
In its fair court the fountain's sparkling play
Plashed light and music, and the happy lilt
Of singing birds with yellow sunshine gilt
Called—mate to mate—in amorous roundelay;
And there, I thought, sweet Love might live alway,
And my libation to the gods I spilt.
Where Love and I might keep our holiday;
In its fair court the fountain's sparkling play
Plashed light and music, and the happy lilt
Of singing birds with yellow sunshine gilt
Called—mate to mate—in amorous roundelay;
And there, I thought, sweet Love might live alway,
And my libation to the gods I spilt.
Fair 'gainst the western sky my Castle rose;
Men envied me who saw its turrets shine
Agleam with sunset lights of burning gold;
And Love was lord, and well to rule Love knows,
And I was his, and he was all divine—
But I forgot that Love, himself, grows old.
Men envied me who saw its turrets shine
Agleam with sunset lights of burning gold;
And Love was lord, and well to rule Love knows,
And I was his, and he was all divine—
But I forgot that Love, himself, grows old.
218
BY MARCH WIND LED.
The wild, beleaguering March wind storms my door,
And in his wake surges an army vast,—
Old Hopes, old Dreams, old Love, too dear to last,
And all that made life glad in days of yore,
Turned now to ghosts, and from their alien shore
Come back for this one night to bring my Past,
And vex me with its spell about me cast,
Though It and I be parted evermore.
And in his wake surges an army vast,—
Old Hopes, old Dreams, old Love, too dear to last,
And all that made life glad in days of yore,
Turned now to ghosts, and from their alien shore
Come back for this one night to bring my Past,
And vex me with its spell about me cast,
Though It and I be parted evermore.
Beleaguering host! I bid ye now avaunt!
I will not listen, though ye call for aye.
As pitiless as blasts from this March sky
I found ye once. What right have ye to haunt
This night that should be peaceful? I defy
Your evil power—my soul ye shall not daunt.
I will not listen, though ye call for aye.
As pitiless as blasts from this March sky
I found ye once. What right have ye to haunt
This night that should be peaceful? I defy
Your evil power—my soul ye shall not daunt.
219
MY MOTHER'S PICTURE.
How shall I here her placid picture paint
With touch that shall be delicate, yet sure?
Soft hair above a brow so high and pure
Years have not soiled it with an earthly taint,
Needing no aureole to prove her saint;
Firm mind that no temptation could allure;
Soul strong to do, heart stronger to endure;
And calm, sweet lips, that utter no complaint.
With touch that shall be delicate, yet sure?
Soft hair above a brow so high and pure
Years have not soiled it with an earthly taint,
Needing no aureole to prove her saint;
Firm mind that no temptation could allure;
Soul strong to do, heart stronger to endure;
And calm, sweet lips, that utter no complaint.
So have I seen her, in my darkest days
And when her own most sacred ties were riven,
Walk tranquilly in self-denying ways,
Asking for strength, and sure it would be given;
Filling her life with lowly prayer, high praise,—
So shall I see her, if we meet in heaven.
And when her own most sacred ties were riven,
Walk tranquilly in self-denying ways,
Asking for strength, and sure it would be given;
Filling her life with lowly prayer, high praise,—
So shall I see her, if we meet in heaven.
220
AT A RUINED ABBEY.
The gray day's ending followed the gray day,—
All gray together, ruin and air and sky,—
And a lone wind of memory whispered by,
And told dark secrets on its wandering way;
Through the blank windows' space, like ghosts astray,
Sad crowds of black-winged jackdaws came and went—
Were they dead monks on some strange penance sent,
Who used within these walls to preach and pray?
All gray together, ruin and air and sky,—
And a lone wind of memory whispered by,
And told dark secrets on its wandering way;
Through the blank windows' space, like ghosts astray,
Sad crowds of black-winged jackdaws came and went—
Were they dead monks on some strange penance sent,
Who used within these walls to preach and pray?
Do they return, from the far, starry sphere,
To their old haunt within these ruins old,
To celebrate, perchance, some mystic rite,
Some yearning soul's outcry of pain to hear;
And, when the awful story has been told,
Will priest and sinner vanish on the night?
To their old haunt within these ruins old,
To celebrate, perchance, some mystic rite,
Some yearning soul's outcry of pain to hear;
And, when the awful story has been told,
Will priest and sinner vanish on the night?
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |