 | The high-top sweeting And Other Poems |  |
76
OVER SEA.
We two were lovers; and side by side,
One rare and beautiful summer-tide,
Like children roaming in light and dew,
Broad fields and woodlands and meadows through,
Their faces radiant with morning gleams,
We sought the scenes of our early dreams.
We crossed the waste of the broad blue deep,
Saw sunbeams gild it, or fierce winds sweep;
But all its changes were fair to me,
For calm and tempest were sweet with thee.
One rare and beautiful summer-tide,
Like children roaming in light and dew,
Broad fields and woodlands and meadows through,
Their faces radiant with morning gleams,
We sought the scenes of our early dreams.
We crossed the waste of the broad blue deep,
Saw sunbeams gild it, or fierce winds sweep;
But all its changes were fair to me,
For calm and tempest were sweet with thee.
By English hedges we took our way,
And watched the bloom of the fragrant may;
We paused and listened, with lifted eyes,
The lark translated in morning skies;
We sipped, at close of the dreamy day,
The fruity nectar of Epernay;
We threaded happily, hand in hand,
The blossomy valleys of Switzerland,
And drank the milk of the goats which climb
The high Alp-pastures in summer-time.
And watched the bloom of the fragrant may;
We paused and listened, with lifted eyes,
The lark translated in morning skies;
We sipped, at close of the dreamy day,
The fruity nectar of Epernay;
We threaded happily, hand in hand,
The blossomy valleys of Switzerland,
And drank the milk of the goats which climb
The high Alp-pastures in summer-time.
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We plucked the heath of the Apennines,
And pulled the clusters of Tuscan vines;
We dipped our hands in the azure sea
That kisses the border of Italy;
We walked in the haunted ways of Rome;
We bathed our foreheads in Trevi's foam;
We watched the flow of the storied Rhine,
And saw in moonlight the Arno shine;
And all fair places, I could but see,
Owed half their wonderful charm to thee.
And pulled the clusters of Tuscan vines;
We dipped our hands in the azure sea
That kisses the border of Italy;
We walked in the haunted ways of Rome;
We bathed our foreheads in Trevi's foam;
We watched the flow of the storied Rhine,
And saw in moonlight the Arno shine;
And all fair places, I could but see,
Owed half their wonderful charm to thee.
But sweeter farings were yet to be,—
We were to cross the Indian sea;
To breathe, enchanted, the rich perfume
Where Persia's gardens of roses bloom;
To hear the bulbul at shut of night
Fill all the shadows with rare delight;
To rest in the shade of the Pyramids;
To see the lotus unclose its lids;
And all the marvellous realms that be,
All were to be mine own,—with thee!
We were to cross the Indian sea;
To breathe, enchanted, the rich perfume
Where Persia's gardens of roses bloom;
To hear the bulbul at shut of night
Fill all the shadows with rare delight;
To rest in the shade of the Pyramids;
To see the lotus unclose its lids;
And all the marvellous realms that be,
All were to be mine own,—with thee!
Alas for all that we dreamed and planned!
No more thy careful and loving hand
Will smooth the paths for my happy feet,
As in that summer so brief and sweet.
I shall not walk in the pleasant ways
Of which we talked in the dear bright days;
The paths which wait me lie rough and steep
Across bleak hillsides, through shadows deep,—
Paths sadder than any my feet have known,
Because, alas! I must walk alone.
No more thy careful and loving hand
Will smooth the paths for my happy feet,
As in that summer so brief and sweet.
78
Of which we talked in the dear bright days;
The paths which wait me lie rough and steep
Across bleak hillsides, through shadows deep,—
Paths sadder than any my feet have known,
Because, alas! I must walk alone.
The spring will shine on the distant shore
So fondly pictured in days of yore;
Fair ships will sail on the Indian sea,
With glad hearts freighted; but not for me
Will Persia's love-songs be softly sung,
Or Stamboul's roses in chaplets strung,
And not for me will the sweet airs blow
Through odorous groves where the plantains grow,
And the palm's fair fruit, and the banyan-tree;
I lost them all, love, in losing thee!
So fondly pictured in days of yore;
Fair ships will sail on the Indian sea,
With glad hearts freighted; but not for me
Will Persia's love-songs be softly sung,
Or Stamboul's roses in chaplets strung,
And not for me will the sweet airs blow
Through odorous groves where the plantains grow,
And the palm's fair fruit, and the banyan-tree;
I lost them all, love, in losing thee!
For since that summer, a grievous change
Has made my future all dark and strange;
Thy grave is under a northern sky
Where tempests frown, and the winds go by;
Thy rest is watched by the northern star;
And kneeling by thee, I hear afar
The surf's faint roar and the sea-bird's call;
The trees stand bare, by the frosty wall;
The sleet slants sharply and bitterly,
And all is winter, away from thee.
Has made my future all dark and strange;
Thy grave is under a northern sky
Where tempests frown, and the winds go by;
Thy rest is watched by the northern star;
And kneeling by thee, I hear afar
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The trees stand bare, by the frosty wall;
The sleet slants sharply and bitterly,
And all is winter, away from thee.
I shall not rove where the tamarinds grow,
And breaths of spice from the gardens flow;
The lovely places we should have known
Would be but anguish to me, alone;
The orange-flowers and roses rare
Would fade and wither adown my hair;
The bulbul's love-notes, from thee apart,
Would stab like daggers, and pierce my heart;
The far fair tropics are not for me,
For all my summer is gone with thee!
And breaths of spice from the gardens flow;
The lovely places we should have known
Would be but anguish to me, alone;
The orange-flowers and roses rare
Would fade and wither adown my hair;
The bulbul's love-notes, from thee apart,
Would stab like daggers, and pierce my heart;
The far fair tropics are not for me,
For all my summer is gone with thee!
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