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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.
 1. 
[I. You thought, O Love, you loved me then, I know]
 2. 
[II. You surely must remember, though to-day]
  
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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463

“BEYOND.”

How many times has shone the morning sun
On this so lonesome world bereft of thee—
And still I wonder, with each day begun,
Can any sun shine from its sky for me?
Dost thou watch some far dawn, and wish good cheer
To glad new friends who meet thee on thy way,
Or, by the past compelled, dost thou draw near
And whisper old words on this new-born day?
I cannot see thee, for my eyes are blind—
My ears are deaf to unaccustomed speech;
Vainly I grope an outstretched hand to find—
Why didst thou go so far beyond my reach?
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