 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
283
Lyrics.
In the world of dreams I have chosen my part
To sleep for a season, and hear no word
Of true love's truth, or of light love's art,
Only the song of a secret bird.
A. C. Swinburne.
To sleep for a season, and hear no word
Of true love's truth, or of light love's art,
Only the song of a secret bird.
A. C. Swinburne.
Shall I not tell my dream in a song?
Philip Bourke Marston.
Philip Bourke Marston.
285
SONGS AT SEA.
I have been lonely the whole day long;
Come and find me to-night with a song;
Sing to me now, when the wind is low,
And my heart shall answer as on we go;
Listen and answer, and none shall know.
Come and find me to-night with a song;
Sing to me now, when the wind is low,
And my heart shall answer as on we go;
Listen and answer, and none shall know.
Over the brooding, wonderful sea
The song that is sung alone for me
Floats, and none other its strain can hear,
Or catch the music, subtle and dear,
Of the delicate singing that seeks my ear.
The song that is sung alone for me
Floats, and none other its strain can hear,
Or catch the music, subtle and dear,
Of the delicate singing that seeks my ear.
The West is red with the sunset's glow;
In the East the moon is hanging low;
And fast and far the light winds flee,
As I sail, with your songs for company,
'Twixt the silent sky and the silent sea.
In the East the moon is hanging low;
And fast and far the light winds flee,
As I sail, with your songs for company,
'Twixt the silent sky and the silent sea.
Do these birds of song need a sheltering nest?
See! I will hide them warm in my breast;
There shall they fold their venturous wing,
And all the night through nestle and sing
Songs of love and of sorrowing.
See! I will hide them warm in my breast;
There shall they fold their venturous wing,
And all the night through nestle and sing
Songs of love and of sorrowing.
286
Then, when the morning is young and gay,
Up from their shelter and far away!
And, like carrier doves, they shall bear as they flee
The echoes of all they have sung to me
Alone with the night and the wind and the sea;—
Up from their shelter and far away!
And, like carrier doves, they shall bear as they flee
The echoes of all they have sung to me
Alone with the night and the wind and the sea;—
The echoes of passion's divine despair,
The bliss and the bane of a lover's prayer,
All the delicate singing that none might hear;
And the answer my heart shall send, my dear,
On the breath of the morning fine and clear.
The bliss and the bane of a lover's prayer,
All the delicate singing that none might hear;
And the answer my heart shall send, my dear,
On the breath of the morning fine and clear.
287
ON A ROSE PRESSED IN A BOOK.
I win the summer back again
At touch of this dead rose.—
O lavish joy! O tender pain!
The very June wind blows,
And thrills me with the old refrain
Whose music my heart knows:
I win the summer back again
At touch of this dead rose.
At touch of this dead rose.—
O lavish joy! O tender pain!
The very June wind blows,
And thrills me with the old refrain
Whose music my heart knows:
I win the summer back again
At touch of this dead rose.
Ah, lost is all the summer's gain,
And lost my heart's repose;
And was it tears or was it rain
That wept the season's close?
The winter suns they coldly wane;
White fall the winter snows:
But Love and Summer come again
At touch of this dead rose.
And lost my heart's repose;
And was it tears or was it rain
That wept the season's close?
The winter suns they coldly wane;
White fall the winter snows:
But Love and Summer come again
At touch of this dead rose.
288
THE SUN IS LOW.
I sit and wait for you, Dear, my Dear,
Now the sun is low;
From the far-off town the path runs clear,
And the way you know—
The old, old way that brought you here,
In the Long-Ago.
Now the sun is low;
From the far-off town the path runs clear,
And the way you know—
The old, old way that brought you here,
In the Long-Ago.
The white moon climbs, and looks at me—
Her smile is cold;
Something she sees that I do not see—
The moon is old.
Her smile is cold;
Something she sees that I do not see—
The moon is old.
I catch a sigh from the winds that flee
Across the wold—
What is the secret they hide from me?—
They have not told.
Across the wold—
What is the secret they hide from me?—
They have not told.
To Lethe-country your steps were set—
Did you taste that spring
That makes the heart of a man forget
The dearest thing?
Did you taste that spring
That makes the heart of a man forget
The dearest thing?
289
Nay! I sit and wait for you, Dear, my Dear,
For the sun is low—
From your far-off place the path runs clear,
And you still must know
The old, old way that brought you here
In the Long-Ago.
For the sun is low—
From your far-off place the path runs clear,
And you still must know
The old, old way that brought you here
In the Long-Ago.
290
THE SECRET OF ARCADY.
I hied me off to Arcady—
The month it was the month of May,
And all along the pleasant way
The morning birds were mad with glee,
And all the flowers sprang up to see,
As I went on to Arcady.
The month it was the month of May,
And all along the pleasant way
The morning birds were mad with glee,
And all the flowers sprang up to see,
As I went on to Arcady.
But slow I fared to Arcady—
The way was long, the winding way—
Sometimes I watched the children play,
And then I laid me down to see
The great white clouds sail over me—
I thought they sailed to Arcady.
The way was long, the winding way—
Sometimes I watched the children play,
And then I laid me down to see
The great white clouds sail over me—
I thought they sailed to Arcady.
Then by me sped to Arcady
Two lovers, each on palfrey gray,
And blithe with love, and blithe with May,
And they were rich, and held in fee
The whole round world: and Youth is he
Who knows the path to Arcady.
Two lovers, each on palfrey gray,
And blithe with love, and blithe with May,
And they were rich, and held in fee
The whole round world: and Youth is he
Who knows the path to Arcady.
I followed on to Arcady—
But I was all alone that day,
And shadows stole along the way,
And somehow I had lost the key
That makes an errant mortal free
Of the dear fields of Arcady.
But I was all alone that day,
And shadows stole along the way,
291
That makes an errant mortal free
Of the dear fields of Arcady.
But still I fared toward Arcady,
Until I slept at set of day,
And in my dreams I found the way;
And all the Fates were kind to me;
So that I woke beneath a tree
In the dear land of Arcady.
Until I slept at set of day,
And in my dreams I found the way;
And all the Fates were kind to me;
So that I woke beneath a tree
In the dear land of Arcady.
What did I find in Arcady?—
Ah, that I never must betray:
I learned the secrets of the May;
And why the winds are fresh and free,
And all the birds are mad with glee
That soar and sing in Arcady.
Ah, that I never must betray:
I learned the secrets of the May;
And why the winds are fresh and free,
And all the birds are mad with glee
That soar and sing in Arcady.
I dwell no more in Arcady:—
But when the sky is blue with May,
And flowers spring up along the way,
And birds are blithe, and winds are free,
I know what message is for me,—
For I have been in Arcady.
But when the sky is blue with May,
And flowers spring up along the way,
And birds are blithe, and winds are free,
I know what message is for me,—
For I have been in Arcady.
292
AT NIGHT'S HIGH NOON.
Under the heavy sod she lies—
I saw them close her beautiful eyes—
She lies so still, and she lies so deep,
That all of them think she is fast asleep.
I saw them close her beautiful eyes—
She lies so still, and she lies so deep,
That all of them think she is fast asleep.
I, only, know at the night's high noon
She comes from the grave they made too soon:
I see the light of her cold, bright eyes,
As I see the stars in the wintry skies.
She comes from the grave they made too soon:
I see the light of her cold, bright eyes,
As I see the stars in the wintry skies.
The scornful gleam of an old surprise
Is still alive in those wonderful eyes—
And the mocking lips are ripe and red,
Smiling, still, at the words I said.
Is still alive in those wonderful eyes—
And the mocking lips are ripe and red,
Smiling, still, at the words I said.
She mocks me now, as she mocked me then:—
‘Dead is dead,’ say the world of men—
But I know when the stars of midnight rise
She shines on me with her cold, bright eyes.
‘Dead is dead,’ say the world of men—
But I know when the stars of midnight rise
She shines on me with her cold, bright eyes.
293
THE VOICE OF SPRING.
It was the Voice of Spring—
That faint, far cry—
And birds began to sing,
And winds blew by.
That faint, far cry—
And birds began to sing,
And winds blew by.
And up the blossoms got—
They knew the call:—
The blue Forget-me-not,
The Lily, tall,
They knew the call:—
The blue Forget-me-not,
The Lily, tall,
And Mayflowers, pink and white
As any lass,
Sprang up, for heart's delight,
Among the grass.
As any lass,
Sprang up, for heart's delight,
Among the grass.
The happy world is fain
To hail the feet
Of Spring, who comes again,
Spring that is sweet.
To hail the feet
Of Spring, who comes again,
Spring that is sweet.
Let us, dear Heart, rejoice—
You, Love, and I;
We, too, have heard the Voice,
Our Spring is nigh.
You, Love, and I;
We, too, have heard the Voice,
Our Spring is nigh.
294
IN EXTREMIS.
How can I go into the dark,
Away from your clasping hand,
Set sail on a shadowy bark
For the shore of an unknown land?
Away from your clasping hand,
Set sail on a shadowy bark
For the shore of an unknown land?
Your eyes look love into mine;
Your lips are warm on my mouth;
I drink your breath like a wine
Aglow with the sun of the South.
Your lips are warm on my mouth;
I drink your breath like a wine
Aglow with the sun of the South.
You have made this world so dear!
How can I go forth alone
In the bark that phantoms steer
To a port afar and unknown?
How can I go forth alone
In the bark that phantoms steer
To a port afar and unknown?
The desperate mob of the dead,
Will they hustle me to and fro,
Or leave me alone to tread
The path of my infinite woe?
Will they hustle me to and fro,
Or leave me alone to tread
The path of my infinite woe?
Shall I cry, in terror and pain,
For a death that I cannot die,
And pray with a longing vain
To the gods that mock my cry?
For a death that I cannot die,
And pray with a longing vain
To the gods that mock my cry?
295
Oh, hold me closer, my dear!
Strong is your clasp,—ay, strong,—
But stronger the touch that I fear,
And the darkness to come is long.
Strong is your clasp,—ay, strong,—
But stronger the touch that I fear,
And the darkness to come is long.
296
WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG.
In Summer, when the days are long,
The roses and the lilies talk—
Beneath the trees young lovers walk,
And glad birds coo their wooing song.
The roses and the lilies talk—
Beneath the trees young lovers walk,
And glad birds coo their wooing song.
In Autumn, when the days are brief,
Roses and lilies turn to dust—
Lovers grow old, as all men must,
And birds shun trees that have no leaf.
Roses and lilies turn to dust—
Lovers grow old, as all men must,
And birds shun trees that have no leaf.
Then, youth, be glad, in love's brief day!
Pluck life's best blossom while you can—
Time has his will of every man—
From leafless hearts love turns away.
Pluck life's best blossom while you can—
Time has his will of every man—
From leafless hearts love turns away.
297
AT THE END.
Time was when Love's dear ways I used to know—
That time 's at end, and Love has passed me by:
Be merciful, dear God, and let me die—
How can I lift my head from this last blow?
That time 's at end, and Love has passed me by:
Be merciful, dear God, and let me die—
How can I lift my head from this last blow?
I cannot bear this life whence Faith has fled—
This jostling world in which I walk alone—
Where through long, lonesome nights old memories moan,
With human voices, that the dead is dead.
This jostling world in which I walk alone—
Where through long, lonesome nights old memories moan,
With human voices, that the dead is dead.
I cannot bear to meet the day's cold eyes—
The lonesome nights are bitter with my tears—
Shuddering I face the empty hideous years,
Sure that no trumpet 's call will bid my dead arise.
The lonesome nights are bitter with my tears—
Shuddering I face the empty hideous years,
Sure that no trumpet 's call will bid my dead arise.
Since Love 's at end, be merciful, oh God!. ...
I ask no new-born hope, but only this,—
That I may die as died that vanished bliss,
And hide my fruitless pain 'neath some green sod.
I ask no new-born hope, but only this,—
That I may die as died that vanished bliss,
And hide my fruitless pain 'neath some green sod.
298
Yet there—if the strong soul in me live on—
How deep soe'er the grave, what hope of rest?
Still shall I be discrowned and dispossest,
And find new tortures with new life begun.
How deep soe'er the grave, what hope of rest?
Still shall I be discrowned and dispossest,
And find new tortures with new life begun.
The Heavens are deaf! No answer comes to prayer—
I face the cold scorn of the risen day—
Since Love that was my life has turned away,
And left me for companion my Despair.
I face the cold scorn of the risen day—
Since Love that was my life has turned away,
And left me for companion my Despair.
299
TO SLEEP.
Come Sleep, and kiss mine eyelids down;
Let me forget
Hope 's treachery, and Fortune 's frown,
And Life 's vain fret.
Let me forget
Hope 's treachery, and Fortune 's frown,
And Life 's vain fret.
And would you hold me fast, dear Sleep,
I need not wake,
Since they wake not who used to weep
For my poor sake.
I need not wake,
Since they wake not who used to weep
For my poor sake.
300
WHEN YOU ARE DEAD.
A LOVER SPEAKS.
When you are dead, my dainty dear,
And buried 'neath the grass,
Will something of you linger near,
And know me if I pass?
And buried 'neath the grass,
Will something of you linger near,
And know me if I pass?
Last night you wore a wild, sweet rose,
To match your sweet, wild grace—
The only flower on earth that grows
I liken to your face.
To match your sweet, wild grace—
The only flower on earth that grows
I liken to your face.
I would that I that rose had been,
To bloom upon your breast!
One golden hour I should have seen—
What matter for the rest?
To bloom upon your breast!
One golden hour I should have seen—
What matter for the rest?
To-day you will not grant my prayer,
Or listen while I plead—
But when you dwell alone, down there,
It may be you will heed;
Or listen while I plead—
But when you dwell alone, down there,
It may be you will heed;
And then your silent heart will stir
With some divine, sweet thrill,
To know that I, your worshipper,
Through death am faithful still;
With some divine, sweet thrill,
To know that I, your worshipper,
Through death am faithful still;
301
And something of you, lingering near,
May bless me if I pass—
When you are dead, my dainty dear,
And buried 'neath the grass.
May bless me if I pass—
When you are dead, my dainty dear,
And buried 'neath the grass.
302
THE BIRDS AND I.
A thousand voices whisper it is spring;
Shy flowers start up to greet me on the way,
And homing birds preen their swift wings and sing
The praises of the friendly, lengthening day.
Shy flowers start up to greet me on the way,
And homing birds preen their swift wings and sing
The praises of the friendly, lengthening day.
The buds whose breath the glad wind hither bears,
Whose tender secret the young May shall find,
Seem all for me—for me the softer airs,
The gentle warmth, wherewith the day is kind.
Whose tender secret the young May shall find,
Seem all for me—for me the softer airs,
The gentle warmth, wherewith the day is kind.
Let me rejoice, now skies are blue and bright,
And the round world pays tribute to the spring;
The birds and I will carol our delight,
And every breeze Love's messages shall bring.
And the round world pays tribute to the spring;
The birds and I will carol our delight,
And every breeze Love's messages shall bring.
What matter though sometimes the cup of tears
We drink, instead of the rich wine of mirth?
There are as many springs as there are years;
And, glad or sad, we love this dear old Earth.
We drink, instead of the rich wine of mirth?
There are as many springs as there are years;
And, glad or sad, we love this dear old Earth.
303
Shall we come back, like birds, from some far sphere—
We and the Spring together—and be glad
With the old joy to hail the sweet young year,
And to remember what good days we had?
We and the Spring together—and be glad
With the old joy to hail the sweet young year,
And to remember what good days we had?
304
THE BIRDS COME BACK.
The birds come back to their last year's nest,
And the wild-rose nods in the lane;
And gold in the east, and red in the west,
The sun bestirs him again.
And the wild-rose nods in the lane;
And gold in the east, and red in the west,
The sun bestirs him again.
The thief-bee rifles the hawthorn flower;
And the breezes softly sigh
For the columbine in my lady's bower,
And then at her feet they die.
And the breezes softly sigh
For the columbine in my lady's bower,
And then at her feet they die.
And all the pomp of the June is here—
The mirth and passion and song;
And young is the summer, and life is dear,
And the day is never too long.
The mirth and passion and song;
And young is the summer, and life is dear,
And the day is never too long.
Ah! birds come back to their last year's nest,
And the wild-rose laughs in the lane;
But I turn to the east and I turn to the west—
“She never will come again.”
And the wild-rose laughs in the lane;
But I turn to the east and I turn to the west—
“She never will come again.”
305
A WINTER'S DAWN.
After the long and dreary night
I wake to the blessed morning light,
And the white surprise of the snow.
Dreams have mocked me the dark hours through;
And something cried on the winds that blew
Across the country that dreamers know.
I wake to the blessed morning light,
And the white surprise of the snow.
Dreams have mocked me the dark hours through;
And something cried on the winds that blew
Across the country that dreamers know.
Back from the memory-haunted ways
We trod together in by-gone days,
Came a voice—was it yours, my dear?—
Oh, was it yours? Did I hear you plead,
As I heard you once, when I would not heed—
In that far-off land—in that by-gone year?
We trod together in by-gone days,
Came a voice—was it yours, my dear?—
Oh, was it yours? Did I hear you plead,
As I heard you once, when I would not heed—
In that far-off land—in that by-gone year?
Wild is my heart, with its hopeless pain—
Oh, for one hour of the past again!—
One brief, bright hour—one least little touch!
Do you forgive me the words I said,
As you look back from the realm of the dead?—
Much is forgiven, when one loves much.
Oh, for one hour of the past again!—
One brief, bright hour—one least little touch!
Do you forgive me the words I said,
As you look back from the realm of the dead?—
Much is forgiven, when one loves much.
Grief makes wise; for I knew not then,
While you were alive in the world of men,
How the heart of my heart would starve and die,
When you should be gone, beyond my reach,
Where the death-tide breaks on a ghostly beach,
And spirits bereft on the night wind cry.
While you were alive in the world of men,
How the heart of my heart would starve and die,
306
Where the death-tide breaks on a ghostly beach,
And spirits bereft on the night wind cry.
Spent and done is the lonesome night,
And the sun of the morning is strong and bright—
The sun is bright and the sky is clear—
Yet better the dark, and the winds that blow
Across the country that dreamers know,
And the voice that calls from a by-gone year.
And the sun of the morning is strong and bright—
The sun is bright and the sky is clear—
Yet better the dark, and the winds that blow
Across the country that dreamers know,
And the voice that calls from a by-gone year.
307
THE LURE.
Whence did the music come, my Dear,
That wooed you into the waiting Night,
The song you heard that I could not hear,
The song you followed, my Heart's Delight?
That wooed you into the waiting Night,
The song you heard that I could not hear,
The song you followed, my Heart's Delight?
The moon was full, and the sky was clear—
How did you hide from my longing sight?
Into the Dark we vainly peer,
But I looked as vainly into the Light.
How did you hide from my longing sight?
Into the Dark we vainly peer,
But I looked as vainly into the Light.
Does an echo come to my listening ear
Of music dropped from some far-off height? ...
Nay, I do but dream, for I did not hear
The song that lured you into the Night.
Of music dropped from some far-off height? ...
Nay, I do but dream, for I did not hear
The song that lured you into the Night.
308
DEAD MEN'S HOLIDAY.
AFTER SHIPKA.
Every one kept holiday—except the dead.
Verestschagin.
Verestschagin.
Who dares to say the dead men were not glad,
When all the banners flaunted triumph there
And soldiers tossed their caps into the air,
And cheered, and cheered as they with joy were mad?
When all the banners flaunted triumph there
And soldiers tossed their caps into the air,
And cheered, and cheered as they with joy were mad?
Proudly the General galloped down the line,
And shouted thanks and praise to all his men,
And the free echoes tossed it back again,
And the keen air stung all their lips like wine.
And shouted thanks and praise to all his men,
And the free echoes tossed it back again,
And the keen air stung all their lips like wine.
And there, in front, the dead lay silently—
They who had given their lives the fight to win—
Were their ears deaf, think you, to all the din,
And their eyes blinded that they could not see?
They who had given their lives the fight to win—
Were their ears deaf, think you, to all the din,
And their eyes blinded that they could not see?
I tell you, no! They heard, and hearing knew
How brief a thing this triumph of a day,
From which men journey on, the same old way,
The same old snares and pitfalls struggle through.
How brief a thing this triumph of a day,
From which men journey on, the same old way,
The same old snares and pitfalls struggle through.
309
Theirs the true triumph, for their fight was done;
And with low laughter called they, each to each—
“We are at rest, where foemen cannot reach,
And better this than fighting in the sun.”
And with low laughter called they, each to each—
“We are at rest, where foemen cannot reach,
And better this than fighting in the sun.”
310
WHEN YOU WERE HERE.
When you, my love, were here
My voice was full and loud—
I sang to catch your ear:
Now you are in your shroud
I cannot sing for fear.
My voice was full and loud—
I sang to catch your ear:
Now you are in your shroud
I cannot sing for fear.
That vague world is so near—
Beyond its veil of cloud—
Where you abide, my dear,
If I should sing too loud
Who knows but you would hear?
Beyond its veil of cloud—
Where you abide, my dear,
If I should sing too loud
Who knows but you would hear?
And then your heart would break
With pity, for my sake.
With pity, for my sake.
311
BECAUSE IT IS THE SPRING.
I will be glad because it is the spring.
Amy Levy.
Amy Levy.
Shall I be glad because the year is young?
The shy, swift-coming green is on the trees;
The jonquil's passion to the wind is flung;
I catch the Mayflower's breath upon the breeze.
The shy, swift-coming green is on the trees;
The jonquil's passion to the wind is flung;
I catch the Mayflower's breath upon the breeze.
The birds, aware that mating-time has come,
Swell their plumed, tuneful throats with love and glee;
The streams, beneath the winter's thraldom dumb,
Set free at last, run singing to the sea.
Swell their plumed, tuneful throats with love and glee;
The streams, beneath the winter's thraldom dumb,
Set free at last, run singing to the sea.
Shall I be glad because the year is young?
Nay; you yourself were young that other year:
Though sad and low the tender songs you sung,
My fond heart heard them, and stood still to hear.
Nay; you yourself were young that other year:
Though sad and low the tender songs you sung,
My fond heart heard them, and stood still to hear.
Can I forget the day you said good-by,
And robbed the world and me for alien spheres?
Do I not know, when wild winds sob and die,
Your voice is on them, sadder than my tears?
And robbed the world and me for alien spheres?
Do I not know, when wild winds sob and die,
Your voice is on them, sadder than my tears?
312
You come to tell me heaven itself is cold,—
The world was warm from which you fled away,—
And moon and stars and sun are very old—
And you?—oh, you were young in last year's May:
The world was warm from which you fled away,—
And moon and stars and sun are very old—
And you?—oh, you were young in last year's May:
Now you, who were the very heart of spring,
Are old, and share the secrets of the skies;
But I lack something that no year will bring,
Since May no longer greets me with your eyes.
Are old, and share the secrets of the skies;
But I lack something that no year will bring,
Since May no longer greets me with your eyes.
313
HER PICTURE.
Fair face the Greeks had worshipped, have you come
With me to make your home?
You look at me with those deep, haunting eyes,
And all my life replies.
With me to make your home?
You look at me with those deep, haunting eyes,
And all my life replies.
The silence thrills with vague, bewitching tone;
I am no more alone:
I who have sat upon the shore of Time,
Coaxing my lute to rhyme,
I am no more alone:
I who have sat upon the shore of Time,
Coaxing my lute to rhyme,
Feel in my heart, at impulse of your will,
Youth's eager music thrill;
And since the years have left me not so old,
Now their long tale is told,
Youth's eager music thrill;
And since the years have left me not so old,
Now their long tale is told,
But I can love the lovely, and be glad,
I hide the cypress wreath I had
For garland, and adorn me with the rose
That in your garden glows.
I hide the cypress wreath I had
For garland, and adorn me with the rose
That in your garden glows.
314
A VIOLET SPEAKS.
O passer-by, draw near!
Upon a grave I grow;
That she who died was dear
They planted me to show.
Upon a grave I grow;
That she who died was dear
They planted me to show.
Pluck me as you go by—
I am her messenger;
With her sweet breath I sigh;
In me her pulses stir.
I am her messenger;
With her sweet breath I sigh;
In me her pulses stir.
Through these my quivering leaves
She fain would speak to you—
She whom the grave bereaves
Of the dear life she knew.
She fain would speak to you—
She whom the grave bereaves
Of the dear life she knew.
“How glad I was up there!”
She whispers underground.
“Have they who found me fair
Some other fair one found?
She whispers underground.
“Have they who found me fair
Some other fair one found?
“Has he who loved me best
Learned Love's deep lore again,
Since I was laid to rest
Far from the world of men?
Learned Love's deep lore again,
Since I was laid to rest
Far from the world of men?
315
“Nay! Surely he will come
To dwell here at the last;
In Death's strange silent home
My hand shall hold him fast.
To dwell here at the last;
In Death's strange silent home
My hand shall hold him fast.
“Yet would that he might know
How hard it is to bide
In darkness here below
And miss him from my side!
How hard it is to bide
In darkness here below
And miss him from my side!
“Fain would I send my soul
To lie upon his breast,
And breathe to him Love's whole
That life left unconfest.”
To lie upon his breast,
And breathe to him Love's whole
That life left unconfest.”
Ah, pluck me, passer-by!
For I would bear her breath—
Undying Love's own sigh—
To him who flees from Death.
For I would bear her breath—
Undying Love's own sigh—
To him who flees from Death.
316
LEGEND OF A TOMB IN FLORENCE.
Here he is, in marble, waiting by a tomb—
Strong-winged for flying, yet, the legends say,
Waiting till a maiden buried here below
Shall break forth and join him once again, some day.
Strong-winged for flying, yet, the legends say,
Waiting till a maiden buried here below
Shall break forth and join him once again, some day.
Long ago she lived here, in this Town of Flowers—
She herself a blossom brighter than the rest—
Myrtles blue as Heaven, lilies saintly white,
Ne'er a one was worthy to bloom upon her breast.
She herself a blossom brighter than the rest—
Myrtles blue as Heaven, lilies saintly white,
Ne'er a one was worthy to bloom upon her breast.
Here he saw and loved her—he, the gallant Knight,
Loved this gracious Lady, fairer than the May;
Loved her, and won her, Flower of all Delight—
Then Death, the Robber, stole his love away.
Loved this gracious Lady, fairer than the May;
Loved her, and won her, Flower of all Delight—
Then Death, the Robber, stole his love away.
By her grave he waited, years on weary years,
Sure that Love would sometime triumph over Fate,
Till at length, o'er-tired, he too must go to sleep;
Then he bade them carve him, still by her to wait—
Sure that Love would sometime triumph over Fate,
Till at length, o'er-tired, he too must go to sleep;
Then he bade them carve him, still by her to wait—
317
But with wings for flying, so that when she came
From her narrow chamber he could bear her high,
Over seas and mountains, past the bars of Earth,
To a spacious dwelling somewhere in the sky.
From her narrow chamber he could bear her high,
Over seas and mountains, past the bars of Earth,
To a spacious dwelling somewhere in the sky.
Still the summons comes not—long their silent dream—
But the watching seraphs pity them, I know,
And the tomb will open, and the dead will rise,
And the Knight and Lady Heavenward will go.
But the watching seraphs pity them, I know,
And the tomb will open, and the dead will rise,
And the Knight and Lady Heavenward will go.
318
THE SUMMER'S QUEEN.
I chant the praises of the regal June,
Fair Queen of all the Twelve months' circling sphere,
Hands full of roses, and sweet lips in tune
To all the mirth and music of the year.
Fair Queen of all the Twelve months' circling sphere,
Hands full of roses, and sweet lips in tune
To all the mirth and music of the year.
How gay and glad you are, fair Lady mine!
How proud of conquered world and lavish sun,
And air that sparkles like celestial wine,
And laughing streams that frolic as they run!
How proud of conquered world and lavish sun,
And air that sparkles like celestial wine,
And laughing streams that frolic as they run!
You sow the fields with lilies—wake the choir
Of summer birds to chorus of delight;
Yours is the year's deep rapture—yours the fire
That burns the West, and ushers in the night—
Of summer birds to chorus of delight;
Yours is the year's deep rapture—yours the fire
That burns the West, and ushers in the night—
The short, sweet night—that almost can deceive,
So bright its moon, the birds to sing again,
And fit their morning carols to the eve,
And wake the midnight with the noontide strain.
So bright its moon, the birds to sing again,
And fit their morning carols to the eve,
And wake the midnight with the noontide strain.
O June, fair Queen of sunshine and of flowers,
The affluent year will hold you not again—
Once, only once, can Youth and Love be ours,
And after them the autumn and the rain.
The affluent year will hold you not again—
Once, only once, can Youth and Love be ours,
And after them the autumn and the rain.
319
BEND LOW AND HARK.
Bend low and hark with me, my Dear,
How the winds sigh!
A voice is on them that I fear,
It brings the by-gone days so near,
Like a soul's cry.
How the winds sigh!
A voice is on them that I fear,
It brings the by-gone days so near,
Like a soul's cry.
Those whom we bury out of sight—
How still they lie!
Beyond the reaches of the Light,
Outside the realm of Day and Night—
Do they not die?
How still they lie!
Beyond the reaches of the Light,
Outside the realm of Day and Night—
Do they not die?
Shall we unbar the long-shut door—
You, Dear, or I?—
Could Love be what Love was before
If we should call them back once more,
And they reply?
You, Dear, or I?—
Could Love be what Love was before
If we should call them back once more,
And they reply?
Would they Life's largess claim again?
... They draw too nigh.
Oh, winds, be still! You shall not pain
My heart with that long-hushed refrain
As you sweep by.
... They draw too nigh.
Oh, winds, be still! You shall not pain
My heart with that long-hushed refrain
As you sweep by.
320
The Dead have had their shining day—
Why should they try
To listen to the words we say—
To breathe their blight upon our May—
... Yet the winds sigh.
Why should they try
To listen to the words we say—
To breathe their blight upon our May—
... Yet the winds sigh.
321
A SONG FOR ROSALYS.
Roses lean from their slender stalks—
Oh, but the summer is just begun!
Through her garden Rosalys walks,
And the world is warm with the sun.
Oh, but the summer is just begun!
Through her garden Rosalys walks,
And the world is warm with the sun.
Roses and maiden and year
All blooming together;
Heigho, it is good to be here,
In the summer weather!
All blooming together;
Heigho, it is good to be here,
In the summer weather!
Love thrives well when the days are long,
And hearts, like the summer, are young and gay.
Words turn to music, and hope grows strong;
But the best is what we can never say.
And hearts, like the summer, are young and gay.
Words turn to music, and hope grows strong;
But the best is what we can never say.
Oh, once, just once, to be glad once more,
To listen to words that we heard of old,
To steal again through Youth's open door,
And thrill to the story that then was told!
To listen to words that we heard of old,
To steal again through Youth's open door,
And thrill to the story that then was told!
But never twice is a woman young,
And never twice to the year comes June,
And Age is the echo of songs once sung,
With never again the time or the tune.
And never twice to the year comes June,
And Age is the echo of songs once sung,
With never again the time or the tune.
322
Roses and maiden and year
All blooming together;
Heigho, it is good to be here,
In the summer weather!
All blooming together;
Heigho, it is good to be here,
In the summer weather!
323
THE GENTLE GHOST OF JOY.
A little while ago you knew not I was I—
A little while ago I knew not you were you—
Now the swift hours have run by,
And all the world is new.
I hear the young birds sing
In the rosy light of morn;
Like them I could take wing,
And sing as newly born.
A little while ago I knew not you were you—
Now the swift hours have run by,
And all the world is new.
I hear the young birds sing
In the rosy light of morn;
Like them I could take wing,
And sing as newly born.
A little while from now I shall be far away—
A little while from now your face I shall not see—
But within my heart a ray
To light the dark will be.
Do you not know that pain
So sad, so sweet, so coy,
That comes, and comes again,
The gentle ghost of Joy?
A little while from now your face I shall not see—
But within my heart a ray
To light the dark will be.
Do you not know that pain
So sad, so sweet, so coy,
That comes, and comes again,
The gentle ghost of Joy?
Ah, that shall dwell with me,
When your face I do not see!
When your face I do not see!
324
WHEN I WANDER AWAY WITH DEATH.
This Life is a fleeting breath,
And whither and how shall I go,
When I wander away with Death
By a path that I do not know?
And whither and how shall I go,
When I wander away with Death
By a path that I do not know?
Shall I find the throne of the Moon,
And kneel with her lovers there
To pray for a cold, sweet boon
From her beauty cold and fair?
And kneel with her lovers there
To pray for a cold, sweet boon
From her beauty cold and fair?
Or shall I make haste to the Sun,
And warm at his passionate fire
My heart by sorrow undone,
And sick with a vain desire?
And warm at his passionate fire
My heart by sorrow undone,
And sick with a vain desire?
Shall I steal into Twilight-Land,
When the Sun and the Moon are low,
And hark to the furtive band
Of the winds that whispering go—
When the Sun and the Moon are low,
And hark to the furtive band
Of the winds that whispering go—
Telling and telling again,
And crooning with scornful mirth,
The secrets of women and men
They overheard on the earth?
And crooning with scornful mirth,
The secrets of women and men
They overheard on the earth?
325
Will the dead birds sing once more,
And the nightingale's note be sad
With the passion and longing of yore,
And the thrushes with joy go mad?
And the nightingale's note be sad
With the passion and longing of yore,
And the thrushes with joy go mad?
Nay, what though they carol again,
And the flowers spring to life at my feet,
Can they heal the sting of my pain,
Or quicken a dead heart's beat?
And the flowers spring to life at my feet,
Can they heal the sting of my pain,
Or quicken a dead heart's beat?
What care I for Moon or for stars,
Or the Sun on his royal way?
Only somewhere, beyond Earth's bars,
Let me find Love's long-lost day.
Or the Sun on his royal way?
Only somewhere, beyond Earth's bars,
Let me find Love's long-lost day.
326
HAS LAVISH SUMMER BROUGHT THE ROSE?
Has lavish summer brought the rose?
Why did my heart not know,
When every gossip wind that blows
Made haste to tell me so;
Why did my heart not know,
When every gossip wind that blows
Made haste to tell me so;
And all the birds went mad with glee,
And sang from morn till night;
And then the stars came out to see
What made the world so bright?
And sang from morn till night;
And then the stars came out to see
What made the world so bright?
But I missed something from the time,
And so I did not guess
The meaning of the summer's rhyme,
Or the warm wind's caress.
And so I did not guess
The meaning of the summer's rhyme,
Or the warm wind's caress.
Can gladness be where she is not?
Can roses bud and blow?
Does all the world but me forget
What now we must forego?
Can roses bud and blow?
Does all the world but me forget
What now we must forego?
I care not for the day's kind grace,—
The magic of the night,—
Since with them comes no more the face
That was my heart's delight.
The magic of the night,—
Since with them comes no more the face
That was my heart's delight.
327
A LOST EDEN.
Ah, it was a lonely place,
Where I walked to-day—
That old Garden of Delights,
Where we used to stray.
Where I walked to-day—
That old Garden of Delights,
Where we used to stray.
She is far, whose hand I held
In that bygone time—
Where the summer roses laughed
Clings the winter's rime.
In that bygone time—
Where the summer roses laughed
Clings the winter's rime.
Helen, stately, Helen fair,
Where are you to-night?
Do you gather brighter blooms,
Tranced in new delight?
Where are you to-night?
Do you gather brighter blooms,
Tranced in new delight?
I remember how you stood—
You who wrought my woe—
Wiling me with strange, sweet smile,
When the sun was low;
You who wrought my woe—
Wiling me with strange, sweet smile,
When the sun was low;
And I lingered by your side
Till the stars arose
And looked down with curious eyes
On that Garden Close.
Till the stars arose
And looked down with curious eyes
On that Garden Close.
328
Now you wander, who knows where,
Helen, fair and glad,
Deaf to whispers from the past—
Why should I be sad?
Helen, fair and glad,
Deaf to whispers from the past—
Why should I be sad?
329
THE MOOD OF A MAN.
Through the silence come to mock me
Ancient questions and replies;
A remembered glory blinds me,
From the shining of her eyes.
Ancient questions and replies;
A remembered glory blinds me,
From the shining of her eyes.
Though this Southern sun is glowing,
And this alien sky is fair,
Still between me and the sunshine
Waves the pale gold of her hair.
And this alien sky is fair,
Still between me and the sunshine
Waves the pale gold of her hair.
In these unfamiliar places
Her familiar face I see,—
Scornful in its mocking beauty,
Always pitiless for me.
Her familiar face I see,—
Scornful in its mocking beauty,
Always pitiless for me.
But her scorn no longer moves me—
Reft of hope is free from fear—
So her very coldness warms me,
Her remoteness brings me near.
Reft of hope is free from fear—
So her very coldness warms me,
Her remoteness brings me near.
330
JUNE'S DAUGHTER.
Fair Lady June, proud Queen of all the year,
With blossom-sceptre in thy royal hand—
Vaunt not thyself: though long thy days and dear.
Thy days and thee Time's sway cannot withstand.
With blossom-sceptre in thy royal hand—
Vaunt not thyself: though long thy days and dear.
Thy days and thee Time's sway cannot withstand.
Thy splendid sun may kindle the proud morn;
And the high noon may glow with love of thee:
Sunset shall laugh thy longest day to scorn,
And mocking stars its overthrow shall see.
And the high noon may glow with love of thee:
Sunset shall laugh thy longest day to scorn,
And mocking stars its overthrow shall see.
Roses shall wither, though their lavish praise
The nightingales have chanted all night long:
Their fragrant ghosts shall throng the silent ways
Those swift-winged laureates once thrilled with song.
The nightingales have chanted all night long:
Their fragrant ghosts shall throng the silent ways
Those swift-winged laureates once thrilled with song.
And thou, fair Maid, bright daughter of the June,
Dost thou not know thy youth, like hers, is brief?—
For thee the glad day, and the bird's glad tune;
And then the waning year, the wind-blown leaf.
Dost thou not know thy youth, like hers, is brief?—
For thee the glad day, and the bird's glad tune;
And then the waning year, the wind-blown leaf.
331
The rising stars shall mock thy setting sun,
And watch with curious eyes thy fallen state:
Glad month! glad maid!—for both the swift sands run—
And not for month or maid shall Autumn wait.
And watch with curious eyes thy fallen state:
Glad month! glad maid!—for both the swift sands run—
And not for month or maid shall Autumn wait.
332
A SUMMER WOOING.
The wind went wooing the rose,For the rose was fair.
How the rough wind won her, who knows?
But he left her there.
Far away from her grave he blows:
Does the free wind care?
333
I HAVE CALLED THEE MANY A NIGHT.
I have called thee many a night,
While the rest were sleeping;
Thou wert deaf to all I said,
Heedless of my weeping.
While the rest were sleeping;
Thou wert deaf to all I said,
Heedless of my weeping.
Wilt thou never hear again,
Howsoe'er I pray thee?
Then must I go forth to seek,
On thy way waylay thee.
Howsoe'er I pray thee?
Then must I go forth to seek,
On thy way waylay thee.
Shall I find, beyond the sun,
Some Celestial Garden?
Shall I kneel there at thy feet,
Clamor for thy pardon?
Some Celestial Garden?
Shall I kneel there at thy feet,
Clamor for thy pardon?
Nay; how can I wait so long?
Wilt thou not draw near me?
Wingèd winds are steeds of thine—
Let them hither bear thee.
Wilt thou not draw near me?
Wingèd winds are steeds of thine—
Let them hither bear thee.
Long my ear waits for thy words.
How can I forego thee?
Ah! for one brief hour come back,
Let me see and know thee.
How can I forego thee?
Ah! for one brief hour come back,
Let me see and know thee.
334
A WHISPER TO THE MOON.
Bend low, O Moon, for I fain would tell
My secret to thee, who can keep it well,
And not to the stars that laugh from the sky,
And mock at my pain as they pass me by.
My secret to thee, who can keep it well,
And not to the stars that laugh from the sky,
And mock at my pain as they pass me by.
Bend low, pale Moon! Her face is like thine—
Like thine from afar I can see it shine,
Now hid in a cloud, in a halo now—
She is thy kindred; and fickle art thou.
Like thine from afar I can see it shine,
Now hid in a cloud, in a halo now—
She is thy kindred; and fickle art thou.
335
IN VENICE ONCE.
In Venice once they lived and loved—Fair women with their red-gold hair—
Their twinkling feet to music moved,
In Venice where they lived and loved,
And all Philosophy disproved,
While hope was young and life was fair,
In Venice where they lived and loved.
336
MY QUEEN OF MAY.
The laughing garlanded May-time is here;
The glad laburnum whispers at the gate:
“She comes! She comes! I hear her step draw near,
My Queen of Beauty, Arbitress of Fate!”
The glad laburnum whispers at the gate:
“She comes! She comes! I hear her step draw near,
My Queen of Beauty, Arbitress of Fate!”
The lilacs look at her—“She is more fair
Than the white moon, more proud than the strong sun;
Let him who seeks her royal grace beware,
To be unworthy were to be undone.”
Than the white moon, more proud than the strong sun;
Let him who seeks her royal grace beware,
To be unworthy were to be undone.”
One wild sweet rose, that dreams the May is June,
Blooms for her; and for her a mateless bird
Thrills the soft dusk with his entrancing tune,
Content if by her only he is heard.
Blooms for her; and for her a mateless bird
Thrills the soft dusk with his entrancing tune,
Content if by her only he is heard.
A curious star climbs the far heaven to see
What She it is for whom the waiting night,
To music set, trembles in melody;
Then, by her beauty dazzled, flees from sight.
What She it is for whom the waiting night,
To music set, trembles in melody;
Then, by her beauty dazzled, flees from sight.
337
And I—what am I that my voice should reach
The gracious ear to which it would aspire?
She will not heed my faltering poor speech;
I have no spell to win what all desire.
The gracious ear to which it would aspire?
She will not heed my faltering poor speech;
I have no spell to win what all desire.
Yet will I serve my stately Queen of May;
Yet will I hope, till Hope itself be spent.
Better to strive, though steep and long the way,
Than on some weaker heart to sink content.
Yet will I hope, till Hope itself be spent.
Better to strive, though steep and long the way,
Than on some weaker heart to sink content.
338
WHERE THE NIGHT'S PALE ROSES BLOW.
Ah, the place is wild and sweetWhere my darling went:—
If I chase her flying feet
When the day is spent,
Shall I find her, as I go
Where the Night's pale roses blow?
339
AND YET.
Let me forget! Why should I seek to hold
Thine image in the mirror of my mind?
For him who can no way to please thee find
To house such tenant were indeed too bold—
Let me forget!
Thine image in the mirror of my mind?
For him who can no way to please thee find
To house such tenant were indeed too bold—
Let me forget!
Do I not know the magic of that smile;
The way that wayward color comes and goes,
Fair Lady of the Lily and the Rose,
What time the souls of men thou would'st beguile:
Do I not know?
The way that wayward color comes and goes,
Fair Lady of the Lily and the Rose,
What time the souls of men thou would'st beguile:
Do I not know?
Thou shalt not reign, proud Queen, in this poor heart;
No rash oath of allegiance will I swear—
Though thou art beautiful beyond compare,
Thine art is nature, and thy nature art—
Thou shalt not reign!
No rash oath of allegiance will I swear—
Though thou art beautiful beyond compare,
Thine art is nature, and thy nature art—
Thou shalt not reign!
And yet, and yet—how can I close my door?
It may be thou art weary and acold:—
Come in! Come in! To welcome thee is bold;
But work thy will—I am thy slave once more—
And yet! And yet!
It may be thou art weary and acold:—
Come in! Come in! To welcome thee is bold;
But work thy will—I am thy slave once more—
And yet! And yet!
340
I HEARD A CRY IN THE NIGHT.
I heard a cry in the night,
And swift I stole from my bed,
To find her, my heart's delight,
Once more in the lonesome night,
As before they called her dead.
And swift I stole from my bed,
To find her, my heart's delight,
Once more in the lonesome night,
As before they called her dead.
I pulled the curtains away,
I bent my lips to her cheek:
She had fled from the glare of day,
Afar on her lonesome way;
Night came, and I heard her speak.
I bent my lips to her cheek:
She had fled from the glare of day,
Afar on her lonesome way;
Night came, and I heard her speak.
Again I harked to the call
Of the one little voice so dear;
No matter what might befall,
I had found her, my darling, my all,
And I held her warm and near.
Of the one little voice so dear;
No matter what might befall,
I had found her, my darling, my all,
And I held her warm and near.
I laid me down by her side:
I cooed like a mother dove.
Ah, was it her lips that replied,
Or only the wind that sighed,
And not my dainty, my love?
I cooed like a mother dove.
Ah, was it her lips that replied,
Or only the wind that sighed,
And not my dainty, my love?
341
For cruel the morning came,
And mocking the blue sky smiled,
And the sun arose like a flame,
And vainly I called her name,
And I wept in vain for my child.
And mocking the blue sky smiled,
And the sun arose like a flame,
And vainly I called her name,
And I wept in vain for my child.
342
THE NAME ON A DOOR.
It is only the name on a door—
Why should there be tears in my eyes?
But I never shall knock there more;
And sorrow is not overwise.
Why should there be tears in my eyes?
But I never shall knock there more;
And sorrow is not overwise.
I used to go up the stair
When the day was wearing late,
And come on her unaware
As she sat and dreamed by the grate.
When the day was wearing late,
And come on her unaware
As she sat and dreamed by the grate.
And then, like a sudden flame,
My welcome flashed from her eyes,
And her lips grew warm with my name,
And we saw Love's star arise.
My welcome flashed from her eyes,
And her lips grew warm with my name,
And we saw Love's star arise.
Sometimes I but held her hand,
And never a word said we—
We could always understand
With never a word, you see.
And never a word said we—
We could always understand
With never a word, you see.
Sometimes she chattered like mad,
And laughed—I can hear her now.
Shall I ever again be glad?
I think I 've forgotten how.
And laughed—I can hear her now.
Shall I ever again be glad?
I think I 've forgotten how.
343
It is only the name on a door,
Where I used to come and go;
But never to knock there more—
Why, the world seems dead, you know!
Where I used to come and go;
But never to knock there more—
Why, the world seems dead, you know!
344
VAIN WAITING.
The western sky has begun to darken,
The sun has set, and the wind is low;
And waiting alone I sit and hearken
As I used to hearken, ages ago,
The sun has set, and the wind is low;
And waiting alone I sit and hearken
As I used to hearken, ages ago,
For a voice that now the winds know only—
The winds, and the stars, and the vacant night—
A presence that vanished and left me lonely,
Reft of all that was heart's delight.
The winds, and the stars, and the vacant night—
A presence that vanished and left me lonely,
Reft of all that was heart's delight.
I wait and listen—no step draws nigh me;
Full your world is—empty is mine;
Only the mocking wind sweeps by me,
And flings me never a word or a sign.
Full your world is—empty is mine;
Only the mocking wind sweeps by me,
And flings me never a word or a sign.
345
A WISH.
I wish thee length of days
Filled full of all that's best—
Long years to earn thy bays,
Then twilight time for rest.
Filled full of all that's best—
Long years to earn thy bays,
Then twilight time for rest.
I wish thee love and joy—
Love that is strong and sweet—
Gladness without alloy;
A heart with thine to beat.
Love that is strong and sweet—
Gladness without alloy;
A heart with thine to beat.
And then, when Earth has given
Her best and most to thee,
At last I wish thee Heaven—
Then come again to me!
Her best and most to thee,
At last I wish thee Heaven—
Then come again to me!
346
THE COSTLIEST GIFT.
I give you a day of my life—
Treasure no gold could buy—
For peasant and peer are at one
When the time comes to die;
And all that the monarch has,
His koh-i-noor or his crown,
He would give for one more day
Ere he lay his dear life down.
Treasure no gold could buy—
For peasant and peer are at one
When the time comes to die;
And all that the monarch has,
His koh-i-noor or his crown,
He would give for one more day
Ere he lay his dear life down.
They are winged, like the viewless wind—
These days that come and go—
And we count them, and think of the end,
But the end we cannot know:
The whole world darkens with pain
When a sunset fades in the west—
... I give you a day of my life,
My uttermost gift and my best.
These days that come and go—
And we count them, and think of the end,
But the end we cannot know:
The whole world darkens with pain
When a sunset fades in the west—
... I give you a day of my life,
My uttermost gift and my best.
347
TO HER WHO KNOWS.
Because your eyes are blue, your lips are red,
And the soft hair is golden on your head,
And your sweet smiling can make glad the day,
And on your cheeks pink roses have their way,
Should I adore you?
And the soft hair is golden on your head,
And your sweet smiling can make glad the day,
And on your cheeks pink roses have their way,
Should I adore you?
Since other maids have shining golden hair,
And other cheeks the June's pink roses wear,
And other eyes can set the day alight,
And other lips can smile with youth's delight,
Why bow before you?
And other cheeks the June's pink roses wear,
And other eyes can set the day alight,
And other lips can smile with youth's delight,
Why bow before you?
But if the eyes are blue for me alone,
And if for only me the rose has blown,
And but for me the lips their sweet smile wear,
Then shall you mesh me in your golden hair—
I will adore you.
And if for only me the rose has blown,
And but for me the lips their sweet smile wear,
Then shall you mesh me in your golden hair—
I will adore you.
And as my saint, my soul's one shining star,
That lights my darkness from its throne afar,
As lights the summer moon the waiting sea,
With all I am, and all I strive to be,
I 'll bow before you.
That lights my darkness from its throne afar,
As lights the summer moon the waiting sea,
With all I am, and all I strive to be,
I 'll bow before you.
348
IN THE OFFING.
A ghostly ship sails on a ghostly sea,
And bears afar an anxious company,
Whose dreams, whose hopes, whose constant longings yearn
For some fair port from which no ships return—
Some quiet haven, undisturbed by strife
Of vexing surges from our storm-vext life—
Wind-driven surges from our wind-swept life.
And bears afar an anxious company,
Whose dreams, whose hopes, whose constant longings yearn
For some fair port from which no ships return—
Some quiet haven, undisturbed by strife
Of vexing surges from our storm-vext life—
Wind-driven surges from our wind-swept life.
My longing heart sails with them as they go,
Anxious as they, and heavy with their woe;
Where is the peaceful shore we long to find—
The waves are stormy, and the path is blind—
The distant sky shuts in the distant sea—
What star of promise holds the dark for me?
What star of promise holds the dark for thee?
Anxious as they, and heavy with their woe;
Where is the peaceful shore we long to find—
The waves are stormy, and the path is blind—
The distant sky shuts in the distant sea—
What star of promise holds the dark for me?
What star of promise holds the dark for thee?
349
WITH A BOOK.
You fain would know the story of my life?
Nay, then you shall divine it from my song—
The weariness of ever-baffled strife;
The Joy that fled, the Grief that lingers long;
Nay, then you shall divine it from my song—
The weariness of ever-baffled strife;
The Joy that fled, the Grief that lingers long;
The barren shore, laved by the bitter tide;
The vanity of all beneath the sun;
The longing, that Fate's mockery denied;
The triumph unachieved; the goal unwon;
The vanity of all beneath the sun;
The longing, that Fate's mockery denied;
The triumph unachieved; the goal unwon;
The fleeting moments, vague and sweet and dear
As violets upon a grave that grow:—
Is not the whole vain story written here?
Then turn these leaves, and you my soul shall know.
As violets upon a grave that grow:—
Is not the whole vain story written here?
Then turn these leaves, and you my soul shall know.
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |