My Lyrical Life :: :: University of Virginia Library

Tenderly did he usher us within
The holy of holies of a Father's heart,
Where gloomed the first great sorrow still and stern—
The dark, unfeatured Guest—now fading slow
In hallowed, healing light.
Ah, few there be
But miss some sweetest thing Earth lifted up
In her old arms to take Heaven's blessing—pure
As white foam-spirit flashing to the Moon,
And gone as quickly from our mortal night.

154

I.

Twice the Mother had divèd down
Into her sea of sorrow;
O my love! O my life! my own sweet Wife!
God send you a merry good-morrow.
Betide her weal, or betide her woe,
Her smile it was calm and fearless;
And proud were her eyes as she rose with the prize,
A pearl in her palms! my Peerless!

O found you a little Sea-Syren,
In some perilous palace left?
Or is it a little Child-Angel,
Of her high-born kin bereft?
Or came she out of the Elfin-land,
By earthly love beguiled?
Or hath the sweet Spirit of Beauty
Taken shape as our starry Child?

Dear, do but look in her love-nest of sweets,
Where she lies in a smiling calm:
Wee armful of fruitage; a sheaf of ripe bliss;
On a bosom breathing balm.
Pure as the drop of dew, pride of the morn,
On leaves of a lily in blossom;
Fresh as the fragrance newly born
In a violet's virgin bosom!

155

II.

God's Butterfly drawn to the flower of our love!
It seemeth the beautiful thing,
At the first surmise of the heaven she hath left,
For the Winterless World may wing.
So we fold her about with our love as 'twere heaven,
Around her weave many a wile;
And our hearts up-leap, living fountains of joy,
In the golden dream of her smile.

III.

On my ripely rounding Rose-tree,
Dreaming of life are three flowers:
One pusheth up her ruby-rose-cup,
For the rain of God's quickening showers.
With a magical burst of beauty, one glows
Dewily-dear in the sheen of love;
And one pretty Softling, our baby-bud-rose,
Lies tenderly shut in the green of love.

IV.

O fair befall my dainty flowers,
Summering on their stem;
Smiling up to the crowning Rose,
As she smileth down upon them.
Smiling up to their Queen in her beauty,
That smiles on each bonny breast-gem:
Blossoming, brimming with love for her
Who leans ruddy with love over them!
O fair befall my dainty flowers,
Summering on their stem!

156

And O the armful of rich love,
My fragrant human posies!
Smile on them all, sweet Heaven,
And kiss my darling Roses.

V.

There be three little Maidens; three loving Maidens;
Three bonny Maidens mine;
Three precious jewels are set in Life's crown,
On prayer-lifted brows to shine.
Six starry eyes, all love-luminous,
Look out of our heaven so tender;
Since the Honey-moon, glowing and glorious,
Arose in its ripening splendour.

There's Lilybell, Duchess of Wonderland,
With dance of life, dimples and curls;
Whose bud of a mouth will burst into flower
A-smile with the wanton white pearls:
And Sweetcheek, our rosily-goldening peach
On the sunniest side o' the wall,
But Marian's Mother's darling,
Marian's Idol of all.

VI.

Like the merry voice-bird that sings on the bough,
I sing, O my woman Dove,
To a nest I know in the leaves below,
Full of eyes alive with love.
Two of our little Birds wander on wings,
One can but flutter and fall;
Sing, Marian Mother's wee darling,
Marian's Idol of all.

157

VII.

Parents of Children three;
Two of them ruddy with glee;
One your White Child, your Pearl!
Do you feel as I feel with my Girl?
For I peer in her tender face,
And I fear that its light of grace
Is too still and too starry a birth
For our noisy, dim dwellings of Earth.
She looks like a Changeling child
Of the heavens—too lustrous, too mild
For us. Other Roses are blowing
While ours seems upfolding and going,—
Dreamily happy in going.
Yet on it more soft is the thorn
Than the tiniest little snail's horn,
And golden at heart is the Morn
Of a day that will never be born.

Just a spirit of light is my Girl,
Seen through a body of pearl;
A spirit of life that will fleet
Away, more on wings than on feet.
Her cheek is so waxenly thin,
As if deathward 'twere dimpling in,
And the cloud of her flesh, still more white
Were clearing till soul is in sight.
She leans as the wind-flowers stoop;
All their loveliness seen as they droop!
Her eyes have the sweet native hue
Of the heaven they are melting into,
Blue as the Violets above
The grave of some tender babe-love

158

That back to us wistfully bring
The buried blue eyes with the Spring.
Her large eyes too liquidly glister!
Her mouth is too red.

Have they kissed her—
The Angels that bend down to pull
Our buds of the Beautiful,
And whispered their own little Sister?

O Parents of children three!
Two of them bright of blee;
One, your White Child, your Pearl!
Do you feel as I feel with my Girl?
For I think I could give half her wealth
Of heaven for a little more health:
The halo of Saints for the simple
Blithe graces that dip in a dimple!
Nay, I feel in my heart I could revel
To see but a wee dash of devil;
A touch of the old Adam in her;
A glimpse of his fair fellow-sinner;
Any likeness of earth that would give
Me a promise my Darling should live.
I feel I could pray—“O my Maker,
Take me too, if Thou must take her.”

VIII.

All in our Marriage Garden
Grew, smiling up to God,
A bonnier Flower than ever
Sucked the warmth of sun and sod.
O beautiful unfathomably
Its little life unfurled;

159

Love's crowning sweetness was our wee
White Rose of all the world.

From out a balmy bosom,
Our Bud of Beauty grew;
It fed on smiles for sunshine,
And tears for daintier dew.
Aye nestling warm and tenderly,
Our leaves of love were curled
So close and close about our wee
White Rose of all the world.

Two flowers of glorious crimson
Grew with our Rose of light;
Still kept the sweet heaven-grafted slip
Her whiteness saintly white.
They caught the breeze and danced with glee;
They reddened as it whirled;
White, white and wondrous grew our wee
White Rose of all the world.

With mystical faint fragrance,
Our House of Life she filled—
Revealed each hour some Fairy Tower,
Where wingèd Hopes might build.
We saw—though none like us might see—
Such precious promise pearled
Upon the petals of our wee
White Rose of all the world.

But evermore the halo
Of Angel-light increased;
Like the mystery of Moonlight,
That folds some fairy feast.

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Snow-white, snow-soft, snow-silently,
Our darling bud up-curled,
And dropped i' the Grave-God's lap—our wee
White Rose of all the world.

Our Rose was but in blossom;
Our life was but in spring;
When down the solemn midnight
We heard the Spirits sing:
“Another bud of infancy,
With holy dews impearled;”
And in their hands they bore our wee
White Rose of all the world.

You scarce could think so small a thing
Would leave a loss so large;
Her little light such shadow fling,
From Dawn to Sunset's marge.
In other Springs our life may be
In other flowers unfurled;
But never, never match our wee
White Rose of all the world.

IX.

This is a curl of little Marian's hair!
A ring of sinless gold that weds two worlds!
Our one thing left with her dear life in it.
Poor Misers! o'er it secretly we sum
Our little savings hoarded up above,—
Our rich love-thoughts heart-hid to doat upon,—
And glimpse our lost heaven in a flood of tears.
A magic ring, through which fond Sorrow reads
Of strange heart-histories, and conjures up

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A vanished face, with its sweet spirit-smiles,
Babe-wonderings, and little tender ways.
At birth her hair was dark as it were dipped
In the death-shadow; but it rarefied
In radiance as her head rose nigher heaven,
Till she—white Glory!—looked from a golden midst.
This is her still face as she lay in death!
Spirit-like face, set in a silver cloud,
It comes to us in silent glooms of night;
The wee wan face that gradually withdrew
And darkened into the great cloud of death.

O ye who say, “We have a Child in heaven;”
And know how far away that heaven may seem;
Who have felt the desolate isolation sharp
Defined in Death's own face; who have stood beside
The Silent River, and stretched out pleading hands
For some sweet Babe upon the other bank,
That went forth where no human hand might lead,
And left the shut house with no light, no sound,
No answer, when the Mourners wail without!
What we have known, ye know, ye only know.

She came like April, who with tender grace
Smiles in Earth's face, and sets upon her breast
The bud of all her glory yet to come,
Then bursts in tears, and takes her sorrowful leave.
She brought heaven to us just within the space
Of the dear depths of her large, dream-like eyes,
Then o'er the vista fell the death-veil dark.
She only caught three words of human speech:
One for her Mother, one for me, and one

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She crowed with, for the fields, and open air.
That last she sighed with a sharp farewell pathos
A minute ere she left the house of life,
To come for kisses never any more.

Pale Blossom! how she leaned in love to us!
And how we feared a hand might reach from heaven
To pluck our sweetest flower, our loftiest flower
Of life, that sprang from lowliest root of love!
Some tender trouble in her eyes complained
Of Life's rude stream, as meek Forget-me-nots
Make sweet appeal when winds and waters fret.
And oft she looked beyond Us with sad eyes,
As for the coming of the Unseen Hand.
We saw, but feared to speak of, her strange beauty,
As some hushed Bird that dares not sing i'the night,
Lest lurking foe should find its secret place,
And seize it through the dark. With twin-love's strength
All crowded in the softest nestling-touch,
We fenced her round—exchanging silent looks.
We went about the house with listening hearts,
That kept the watch for Danger's stealthiest step,
Our spirits felt the Shadow ere it fell.

Then the Physician left our door ajar
A moment, and the grim thief Death stole in.
Some Angel passing o'er Life's troubled sea,
Had seen our Jewel shine celestial pure,
And Death must win it for her bosom-pearl.
We stood at Midnight in the Presence dread.
At midnight, when Men die, we strove with Death,
To wrench our jewel from his grasping hand.

163

Ere the soul loosed from its last ledge of life,
Her little face peered round with anxious eyes,
Then, seeing all the old faces, dropped content.

The mystery dilated in her look,
Which, on the darkening death-ground, faintly caught
Some likeness of the Angel shining near.
Her passing soul flashed back a glimpse of bliss.
She was a Child no more, but strong and stern
As a mailed Knight that had been grappling Death.
A crown of conquest bound her baby-brow;
Her little hands could take the heirdom large;
And all her Childhood's vagrant royalty
Sat staid and calm in some eternal throne.
Love's kiss is sweet, but Death's doth make immortal.

The Mornings came, with all their glory on;
Birds, brooks, and bees were singing in the sun,
Earth's blithe heart breathing bloom into her face,
The flowers all crowding up like Memories
Of lovelier life in some forgotten world,
Or dreams of peace and beauty yet to come.
The soft south-breezes rocked the baby-buds
In fondling arms upon a balmy breast;
And all was gay as universal life
Swam down the stream that glads the City of God.

But we lay dark where Death had struck us down
With that stern blow which made us bleed within,
And bow while the Inevitable went by.

And there our little one lay in coffined calm;
Beyond the breakers and the moaning now!

164

And o'er her flowed the white, eternal peace:
All dim the living lustres motion makes!
No life-dew in the sweet cups of her eyes!
The breathing miracle into silence passed:
Never to stretch wee hands, with her dear smile
As soft as light-fall on unfolding flowers;
Never to wake us crying in the night:
Our little hindering thing for ever gone,
We might toil on in tearful quiet now.

A young Immortal came to us disguised,
And in the joy-dance dropped her mask, and fled.
Nought there of our wee darling save the mask.

The world went lightly by and heeded not
Our death-white windows blinded to the sun;
The hearts that ached within; the measureless loss;
The Idol broken; our first tryst with Death.
O Life, how strange thy face behind the veil!
And stranger yet will thy strange mystery look,
When we awake in death and tell our Dream.
'Tis hard to solve the secret of the Sphinx!
We had a little gold Love garnered up,
To richly robe our Babe: the Mother's half
Was turned to mourning-raiment for her dead:
Mine bought the first land we called ours—Her grave.
We were as treasure-seekers in the earth,
When lo, a death's-head on a sudden stares.

Clad all in her babe-beauty forth she went;
Her budding spring of life in tiny leaf;
Her faint dawn whitened in the perfect day.
Our early wede awa' went back to God,

165

Bearing her life-scroll folded, without stain,
And only three words written on it—two
Our names! Ah, may they plead for us in heaven!

X.

Very softly hold the Rose,
On thy happy breast that blows!
Thus from out my heart there sprang a flower of tender pride.
All too wild my passion burned:
For the cooling dews it yearned:
In my hot hands drooped my gentle flower and died.

Be thy glory meekly worn:
Fairest fruit is lowliest borne:
Mine grew high as Life could climb, and arms could reach above.
O, so proudly heaved my breast;
All the world should see how blest;
And the seeing Heavens took my lifted love.

XI.

There is her nest where balmily smiled
Our Babe, as we leaned above;
There she asked with her face for the tenderest place
In all our world of love.
Very silent and empty now! yet we feel
It rock; and a tiny footfall
Comes over the floor in the thrilling night-hush,
And our hearts leap up for the call

166

Of our puir wee lammie dead and gone;
Our bonnie wee lammie dead and gone.

Last night, with hands to cracking clasped
In the furnace-fire of my heart,
Sitting, I saw the dead world
All into spirit-life start
At the mystic touch of the white Moonlight.
My spirit arose likewise,
And wandered away to the Graveyard,
Where, a jewel in Death's hand, lies
Our puir wee lammie dead and gone;
Our bonnie wee lammie dead and gone.

Slowly, slowly uprose the dead,
All in their robes of white!
Weirdly, weirdly uprose the dead,
All in the silent night!
Like lilies for God, from the dark grave-bed,
They grew in a glory-rain;
And the crownèd Darling of Heaven, at the head
Of all that glorified train,
Was our puir wee lammie dead and gone;
Our bonnie wee lammie dead and gone.

In my dream I stood at the death-door dark,
Alone and tremblingly,
Till a Shining One came in a crescent bark,
Moonlike, o'er a purple sea.
She smiled to say that she knew the way,
And at some secret sign,
A memory of the old life stirred,
And I knew that Angel mine!
Our puir wee lammie dead and gone;
Our bonnie wee lammie dead and gone.

167

XII.

Within a mile of Edinburgh Town
We laid our little darling down;
Our first seed in God's acre sown!

So sweet a place! Death looked beguiled
Of half his gloom; or softly smiled
To win our wondrous spirit-child.

God giveth His Beloved sleep
So calm, within its silence deep,
As Angel-guards the watch might keep.

The City looketh solemn and sweet;
It bares a gentle brow, to greet
The Mourners mourning at its feet.

The sea of human life breaks round
This shore o' the dead, with softened sound:
Wild-flowers climb each mossy mound

To place in resting hands their palm,
And breathe their beauty, bloom, and balm;
Folding the dead in fragrant calm.

A lighter shadow Grief might wear;
And old Heartache come gather there
The peace that falleth after prayer.

Poor heart, that danced among the vines
All reeling-ripe with sweet love-wines,
Thou walk'st with Death among the pines!

Lorn Mother, at the dark grave-door,
She kneeleth, pleading o'er and o'er,
But it is shut for evermore.

168

Blind, blind! She feels, but cannot read
Aright; then leans as she would feed
The dear dead lips that never heed.

The spirit of life may leap above,
But in that grave her prisoned Dove
Lies, cold to th' warm embrace of love,

And dark, though all the world is bright;
And lonely, with a City in sight;
And desolate in the rainy night.

Ah, God! when in the glad life-cup
The face of Death swims darkly up;
The crowning flower is sure to droop!

And so we laid our Darling down,
When Summer's face grew ripely brown,
And still, though grief hath milder grown,

Unto the Stranger's land we cleave,
Like some poor Birds that grieve and grieve,
Round the robbed nest, and cannot leave.

XIII.

Ah, the sweet Dream, the singing Dream, that sang
We knew not what, so sweet the melody!
Made dim woe glimmer golden while we slept;
And when we woke the lulling Dream was gone.

We who had glowed like Angels in the sun,
With life so lighted by her loveliness:
We let her down into the drowning gloom,
Sailing the awful Sea in our World-bark.

169

God's messenger of death seems blindly stern:
And 'tis so hard to leave a little babe
Within the Grave's cold arms, alone! while Sorrow
Comes Home and chills the nest her sweet life warmed.

So little to the world! but what a world
Of difference in our little world of home!
This Stillness where the sweet Bird chirped to us;
This good-night-parting, this morn-greeting loss.

And yet perchance the kind dark-Angel drew
Her in the secret shadow of his cloud,
Out of our warm and golden air, to hide
Her from some fearful Fate far-hurrying up?

XIV.

To-day, when winds of Winter blow,
And Nature sits in dream of snow,
With Ugolino-look of woe:

Wife from the window came to me,
Now leaves were fallen she could see
That wee grave in the Cemet'ry.

With wintriness all life did ache
For that dead darling's sainted sake;
And lips might kiss, but hearts would quake.

Ho, ye who pass her narrow house,
By which the dark Leith sea-ward flows;
O clasp your pretty nurslings close;

And if some tender bud of light
Is drooping, as the snowdrop white,
With looks that weird wild heart strings smite

170

Think of our babe that will not wake,
And fold your own till fond hearts ache,
Sweet souls, for little Marian's sake.

XV.

O happy Tree;
Green and fragrant Tree;
Spring with budding jewels decked it like a Bride!
All so fair it bloomed,
And the summer air perfumed;
Golden autumn fruitage smiled in crowns of pride.

O human tree;
Waesome wailing tree;
In the winter wind how it rocks! how it grieves!
On a little low grave-mound,
All its bravery lies discrowned:
O'er its fallen fruit it heaps the withered leaves.

XVI.

“ Pretty flowers on Baby's head;
Who'll cry flowers when Baby's dead?”
Singing hearts oft questionèd,
In the sweetest Summer fled.
Marian, Marian.

Tearful words, how lightly said!
Mournfully rememberèd,
Now the sweet New Year doth spread
Blossom-life on Baby's bed.
Marian, Marian.

171

Tender emerald, white and red,
Flowers of her beauty bred:
Breathing all of her that's dead,
Cry, “We crown her Baby-head!”
Marian, Marian.

“Who'll cry flowers when Baby's dead?”
Praying looks to heaven are led,
And it smiles as though it said,
“Early her sweet fame hither sped.”
Marian, Marian.

“Faith, look up and firmly tread:
Poor Bereaved, be comforted;
I will nurse the Child instead;
My Flowers garland Baby's head.’
Marian, Marian.

God's unguessed reply is read:
Tears that came not, tears that pled
Crying darkly, here are shed:
Soft rest you, Darling! dead
Marian, Marian.

XVII.

Our leaves are shaken from the Tree,
Our hopes laid low,
That after our Spring-nurslings, we
May long to go.

The warm love-nest our little Doves leave
With helpless moan,
As they for us at heart would grieve
In heaven—alone!

172

The tender Shepherd beckoningly
Our Lambs doth hold,
That we may take our own when He
Makes up the fold.

XVIII.

With seeking hearts we still grope on,
Where dropped our jewel in the dust:
The looking crowd have long since gone,
And still we seek with lonely trust:
O little Child with radiant eyes!

In all our heart-ache we are drawn,
Unweeting, to your little grave;
There, on your heavenly shores of dawn,
Breaks gentlier Sorrow's sobbing wave:
O little Child with radiant eyes!

Dark underneath the brightening sod,
The sweetest life of all our years
Is crowded in ae gift to God,—
Outside the gate we stand in tears.
O little Child with radiant eyes!

Heart-empty as the Acorn-cup
That only fills with wintry showers;
The breaking cloud but brimmeth up
With tears this pleading life of ours.
O little Child with radiant eyes!

We think of you, our Angel kith,
Till life grows light with starry leaven:
We never forget you, Darling with
The gold hair waving high in heaven;
Our little Child with radiant eyes!

173

Your white wings grown you will conquer Death!
You are coming through our dreams even now,
With azure peep of heaven beneath
The arching glory of your brow,
Our little Child with radiant eyes!

We cannot pierce the dark, but oft
You see us with looks of pitying balm;
A hint of heaven—a touch more soft
Than kisses—all the trouble is calm.
Our little Child with radiant eyes!

Think of us wearied in the strife,
And when we sit by Sorrow's streams,
Shake down upon our drooping life
The dew that brings immortal dreams.
Our little Child with radiant eyes!

XIX.

Come hither, Friends! Come hither, Friends!
So great the joy our Father sends,
I want to share with you.
For He hath made the blind receive
New sight! Come, help me to believe
The miracle is true!

“O what the joy? and whence the beam
That lights your look as with the gleam
Of waters in the waste?”
Come kneel by me on bended knee;
Ye must stoop low if ye would see,—
Lower, if ye would taste!

174

Sweet Friends, ye know the little grave
To which my heart would crawl and crave,
As 'twere a worm o' the dust?
I writhed so low, it rose so high,
The mound that shut out all my sky;
So broken was my trust.

This morn I sought it! hardly one
Of all my unshed tears would run;
Instead—from out the sod—
A spring had gushed through dust and weeds!
And in the light of God it feeds
My life, direct from God.

XX.

Spring comes with violet eyes unveiled,
Her fragrant lips apart!
And Earth smiles up as though she held
Most honeyed thoughts at heart.
But nevermore will Spring arise
Dancing in sparkles of her eyes.

A gracious wind low-breathing comes
As from the fields of God;
The old lost Eden newly blooms
From out the sunny sod.
My buried joy stirs with the earth,
And tries to sun its sweetness forth.

The Trees move in their slumbering,
Dreaming of one that's near!
Put out their feelers for the Spring,
To wake, and find her here!

175

My spirit on the threshold stands,
And stretches out its waiting hands;

Then goeth from me in a stream
Of yearning; wave on wave
Slides through the stillness of a dream,
To little Marian's grave:
For all the miracle of Spring
My long lost Child will never bring.

Where blooms the golden crocus-burst,
And Winter's tenderling,
There lies our little Snowdrop,—first
Of Flowers in our love's spring!
How all the year's young beauties blow
About her there, I know, I know.

The Blackbird with his warble wet,
The Thrush with reedy thrill,
Open their hearts to Heav'n, and let
The influence have its will!
Though all around the Spring hath smiled,
She seems to have kissed where lies my child.

In purple shadow and golden shine
Old Arthur's Seat is crowned;
Like shapes of Silence crystalline
The great white clouds sail round!
The Dead at rest the long day through
Lie calm against the pictured blue.

At shut of Eve the stars may peep,
But still there comes no night;
Only the Day hath fallen asleep,
And smiles in dreams of light:

176

As though she felt the heart of Love
Beat on in silent stars above.

O Marian, my maid Marian,
So strange it seems to me!
That you, the Household's darling one,
So soon should cease to be.
Ah, was it that our praying breath
Might kindle heavenward fires of faith?

So much forgiven for your sake
When bitter words were said,
And little arms about the neck
With blessings bowed the head!
So happy as we might have been,
Our hearts more close with you between.

Dear early Dew-drop! such a gleam
Of sun from heaven you drew,
We little thought that smiling beam
Would drink the precious dew!
But back to heaven our dew was kissed,
We saw it pass in mournful mist.

Our lowly home was lofty-crowned
With three sweet budding girls!
Our Marriage-ring was wreathen round
With darling wee love-pearls!
One jewel from the ring is gone,
One fills a grave in Warriston.

We bore her beauty in our breast,
As heaven bears the Dawn,
We brooded over her dear nest,
Still close and closer drawn.

177

Hearts thrilled and listened, watched and throbbed,
And strayed not,—yet the nest was robbed.

“Stay yet a little while, Beloved!”
In vain our prayerful breath:
Across heaven's lighted window moved
The shadow of black Death.
In vain our hands were stretched to save;
There closed the gateways of the Grave!

Could my death-vision have darkened up
In her sweet face, my child;
I scarce should see the bitter cup
I could have drunk and smiled:
Blessing her with my last-wrung breath,
Dear Angel in my dream of death.

Her memory is like music we
Have heard some singer sing,
That thrills life through, and echoingly
Our hearts forever ring;
We try it o'er and o'er again,
But ne'er recall that wondrous strain.

My proud heart like a river runs,
Lying awake o' nights;
I see her with the shining Ones
Upon the shining heights.
And a wee Angel-face will peep
Down starlike through the veil of sleep.

My yearnings try to get them wings
And float me up afar,
As in the Dawn the Skylark springs
To reach some distant Star

178

That all night long swam down to him
In brightness, but at morn grew dim.

She is a spirit of light that leavens
The darkness where we wait;
And starlike opens in the heavens
A little golden gate!
O may we wake and find her near
When work and sleep are over here!

No sweetness to this world of ours
Is without purpose given,
The fragrance that goes up from flowers
May be their seed in Heaven.
We saw Heaven in her face, may we
Her future face in Heaven see.

In some far spring of brighter bloom,
More life, and ampler breath,
My bud hath burst the folding gloom,
A-flower from dusty death!
We wonder will she be much grown?
And how will her new name be known?

I saw her ribboned robe this morn,
Mine own lost little child;
Wee shoes her tiny feet had worn,
And then my heart grew wild.
We only trust ourselves to peep
In on them when we want to weep.

But hearts will break or eyes must weep,
And so we bend above
These treasures of old days that keep
The fragrance of young love.

179

The harvest-field though reaped and bare
Still hath two patient gleaners there.

I never think of her sweet eyes
In dusky death now dim,
But waters of my heart will rise,
And there they smile and swim,
Forget-me-nots so blue, so dear,
Swim in the waters of a tear.

How often in the days gone by
She lifted her dear head,
And stretched wee arms for me to lie
Down in her little bed;
And cradled in my happy breast
Was softly carried into rest.

And now when life is sore oppressed
And runs with weary wave,
I long to lay me down and rest
In little Marian's grave:
To smile as peaceful as she smiled—
For I am now the nestling child.

Immortal Love, a spirit of bliss
And brightness, moves above,
While here forever Sorrow is
A shadow cast by Love.
But love for her no sorrow will bring
And no more tearful leaves-taking.

No passing sorrows on their march
Will leave sad foot-prints now,
No troubles strain the tender arch
Of that white baby brow.

180

No cares to cloud, no tears that come
To rob the cheek of dainty bloom.

All sweetest shapes that Beauty wears
Are round about her drawn;
Auroral hues, and vernal airs,
And blessings of the dawn;
All loveliness that ne'er grows less;
Time cannot touch her tenderness.

The patient calm that comes with years,
Hath made us cease to fret,
Though sometimes in the sudden tears
Dumb hearts will quiver yet:
And each one turns the face, and tries
To hide Who looks through parent eyes.