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The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton

Moulton, Louise Chandler (1835-1908)

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SWALLOW-FLIGHTS
  
SWALLOW-FLIGHTS.
  
MAY-FLOWERS.
  
MY SUMMER.
  
MORNING GLORY.
  
A PAINTED FAN.
  
LONG IS THE WAY.
  
AUTOMNE.
  
OUT IN THE SNOW.
  
A WEED.
  
A QUEST.
  
SOME DAY OR OTHER.
  
THROUGH A WINDOW.
  
WAITING.
  
WIFE TO HUSBAND.
  
AFTER THE MOUNTAINS.
  
ALONE BY THE BAY.
  
MIDSUMMER IN NEW ENGLAND.
  
AT ETRETAT.
  
THE HOUSE OF DEATH.
  
“SHE WAS WON IN AN IDLE DAY.”
  
A LIFE'S LOSS.
  
THE SINGER.
  
HOW LONG?
  
THE SONG OF A SUMMER.
  
IF.
  
FIAT JUSTITIA.
  
AT THE LAST.
  
WHAT SHE SAID IN HER TOMB.
  
A SUMMER'S GHOST.
  
LOVER AND FRIEND HAST THOU PUT FAR FROM ME.
  
BEAUTY FOR ASHES.
  
TO MY HEART.
  
ALIEN WATERS.
  
LOOKING BACK.
  
A PROBLEM.
  
AT A WINDOW.
  
TO A LADY IN A PICTURE.
  
MY CAPTIVE.
  
ROSES.
  
DOWN THE RIVER.
  
LOVE'S LAND.
  
HER WINDOW.
  
A MADRIGAL.
  
QUESTION.
  
I FAIN WOULD GO.
  
THE SPRING IS LATE.
  
SELFISH PRAYER.
  
AD TE DOMINE.
  
IF I COULD KEEP HER SO.
  
ANNIE'S DAUGHTER.
  
LOOKING INTO THE WELL.
  
LIKE A CHILD.
  
A SONG IN THE WOOD.
  
MY BOY.
  
TROTHPLIGHT.
  
THE HOUSE IN THE MEADOW.
  
FROM DUSK TO DAWN.
  
THERE.
  
SOMEBODY'S CHILD.
  
A WOMAN'S WAITING.
  
JOHN A. ANDREW.
  
THE COUNTRY OF “IF.”
  
FOR CUPID DEAD.
  
WE LAY US DOWN TO SLEEP.
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SONNETS.
  
THE NEW DAY.
  
ONE DREAD.
  
AFAR.
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LAST YEAR.
  
FIRST LOVE.
  
LOVE'S FORGIVENESS.
  
IN TIME TO COME.
  
A SUMMER'S GROWTH.
  
MY BIRTHDAY.
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IN THE GARDEN OF DREAMS.
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AT THE WIND'S WILL.
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ADDITIONAL POEMS.

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359

V.
TIME'S PRISONER.

Time was, beloved, when from this far-off place
My words could reach thee, and thine own reply—
Now thou art gone, and my heart's longing cry
Pursues thee, as some runner runs his race—
Cleaves like a bird the emptiness of space,
And falls back, baffled, from the pitiless sky.
Ah, why with thee, so dear, did I not die?
Why should I live benighted of thy face?
Thou wilt have sped so far before I come—
How shall I ever win to where thou art?
Or, if I find thee, shall I not be dumb—
With voiceless longing break my silent heart?
Nay! Surely thou wilt read mine eyes, and know
That for thy sake all heaven I would forego.
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