 | [Poems by Lathrop in] A masque of poets |  |
68
DON'T OVERDO IT.
I wonder whether
April-weather
Has taught you, lady, how to rule
My eager heart
With frolic art,
And keep it playing still Love's fool.
April-weather
Has taught you, lady, how to rule
My eager heart
With frolic art,
And keep it playing still Love's fool.
Your sunny breeze is
False, and freezes;
And when I think a freshening rain
Has come, the gust
Brings only dust,
And leaves me parched with barren pain.
False, and freezes;
And when I think a freshening rain
Has come, the gust
Brings only dust,
And leaves me parched with barren pain.
A woman's favor
Loses savor
If it be yielded all too soon;—
'Tis very true.
But were I you
I'd heed the changes of the moon.
Loses savor
If it be yielded all too soon;—
'Tis very true.
But were I you
I'd heed the changes of the moon.
69
Your game is losing,
Though amusing.
Pray, have you seen an early bud
In spring unfold,
Then shrink with cold
And hide its blushing flower-blood?
Though amusing.
Pray, have you seen an early bud
In spring unfold,
Then shrink with cold
And hide its blushing flower-blood?
In such a season
There's small reason;
And, though we sport with laughing May,
'Tis constant June
So fair and boon
That wins the flower and makes it stay.
There's small reason;
And, though we sport with laughing May,
'Tis constant June
So fair and boon
That wins the flower and makes it stay.
Once overdo it,
And you'll rue it:
Too sharp a frost will kill, I fear.
The bloom you waste
Can't be replaced,—
At least, until another year!
And you'll rue it:
Too sharp a frost will kill, I fear.
The bloom you waste
Can't be replaced,—
At least, until another year!
167
IMMORTAL CLOUDS.
O clouds, immortal clouds!
You rise and float like flowers
Whose shaken dew might pour
Through space, in perfumed showers.
You rise and float like flowers
Whose shaken dew might pour
Through space, in perfumed showers.
Like flowers you bloom and fade;
Like stricken hearts you tremble
And pass, yet seem to stay—
So swift you reassemble.
Like stricken hearts you tremble
And pass, yet seem to stay—
So swift you reassemble.
O clouds, immortal clouds!
With you I fain would wander;
So spirit-like you grow,
Floating to Heaven yonder!
With you I fain would wander;
So spirit-like you grow,
Floating to Heaven yonder!
129
THE RHONE CRADLE.
(A Vignette of Travel.)
This is the fair bed of the infant Rhone,
A cradle broad with fruits and sunshine strown,
A dreamy valley guarded by tall shapes
They call the Alps; where miles of clustering grapes,
Purple of eye, in leafy garments green
Load down the hills, that near and nearer lean
To watch the rushing river and the small
Traffic of men close under that scarred wall
Of some free-booting baron's ancient tower.
Gone are the baron and his murderous power,
And like some uncouth beast of earliest time
The gray bones of the ruined castle climb
The steep, yet utterly inert remain,—
A fossil record, which the years disdain
To wipe away. Here once the Cæsar bore
His Roman eagle above the icy roar
Of mountain-torrents.
Many centuries passed;
But Gaul sent forth her eagle, at the last:
Napoleon's iron hand cut out a path
Across the rocky Simplon; poured his wrath
From out the clouds; and where the deep gorge breaks
Through caverned gloom, to reach the Lombard lakes,
His legions swept to Italy, to Rome,—
The conqueror's goal, the world-subduer's home.
A cradle broad with fruits and sunshine strown,
A dreamy valley guarded by tall shapes
They call the Alps; where miles of clustering grapes,
Purple of eye, in leafy garments green
Load down the hills, that near and nearer lean
To watch the rushing river and the small
Traffic of men close under that scarred wall
Of some free-booting baron's ancient tower.
Gone are the baron and his murderous power,
And like some uncouth beast of earliest time
The gray bones of the ruined castle climb
The steep, yet utterly inert remain,—
A fossil record, which the years disdain
To wipe away. Here once the Cæsar bore
His Roman eagle above the icy roar
Of mountain-torrents.
130
But Gaul sent forth her eagle, at the last:
Napoleon's iron hand cut out a path
Across the rocky Simplon; poured his wrath
From out the clouds; and where the deep gorge breaks
Through caverned gloom, to reach the Lombard lakes,
His legions swept to Italy, to Rome,—
The conqueror's goal, the world-subduer's home.
Lo, whatsoe'er befall or tribe or town,
The growing river still flows broadening down,
Not otherwise than when it first began;
Still young, still wild, though many a white-hair'd man
Hath laid him down beside its foamy bank,
Nor ever risen again from where he sank.
Child Rhone, thy course is marked by death and woe:
Wilt thou thus swift and laughing always go?
The growing river still flows broadening down,
Not otherwise than when it first began;
Still young, still wild, though many a white-hair'd man
Hath laid him down beside its foamy bank,
Nor ever risen again from where he sank.
Child Rhone, thy course is marked by death and woe:
Wilt thou thus swift and laughing always go?
66
YACHTING.
How the breezes bend and bow her,—
This frail yacht, that like a flower
Overfloats the rolling foam!
Swift her sides the waters hiss on,
While yon calmer spaces glisten
With the sunset's monochrome.
This frail yacht, that like a flower
Overfloats the rolling foam!
Swift her sides the waters hiss on,
While yon calmer spaces glisten
With the sunset's monochrome.
'Twixt the deeps of sky and ocean
Holdeth she her eager motion:
So, between thy spirit's height
And my answering depth of passion,
My frail being seems to dash on,
Buoyant, through the sunset-light!
Holdeth she her eager motion:
So, between thy spirit's height
And my answering depth of passion,
My frail being seems to dash on,
Buoyant, through the sunset-light!
32
LOVE AND FATE.
I.
Wry Fate denies me joy,But Venus' boy
Still strings my heart-strings to his bow:
They thrill whene'er his arrows go.
O Fate, how can I view thee?
O Love, how still pursue thee?
II.
Though Love, indeed, be master,Fate follows faster
And snares us slyly from behind
Ere yet Love's distant goal we find.
O Fate, how can I view thee?
O Love, how still pursue thee?
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