 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
51
ALIEN WATERS.
I wandered along beside the alien waters,
For summer suns were warm, and winds were dead:
Fields fair as hope were stretching on before me,
Forbidden paths were pleasant to my tread.
For summer suns were warm, and winds were dead:
Fields fair as hope were stretching on before me,
Forbidden paths were pleasant to my tread.
From boughs that hung between me and the heavens
I gathered summer fruitage, red and gold:
For me, the idle singers sang of pleasure:
My days went by like stories that are told.
I gathered summer fruitage, red and gold:
For me, the idle singers sang of pleasure:
My days went by like stories that are told.
On my rose-tree grew roses for my plucking,
As red as love, or pale as tender pain,—
I found no thorns to vex me in my garlands:
Each day was good, and no rose bloomed in vain.
As red as love, or pale as tender pain,—
I found no thorns to vex me in my garlands:
Each day was good, and no rose bloomed in vain.
Sometimes I danced, as in a dream, to music,
And kept quick time with many flying feet,
And some one praised me in the music's pauses,
And very young was life, and love was sweet.
And kept quick time with many flying feet,
And some one praised me in the music's pauses,
And very young was life, and love was sweet.
How could I listen to the low voice calling,
“Come hither,—leave thy music and thy mirth?”
How could I stop to hear of far-off Heaven?
I lived, and loved, and was a child of earth.
“Come hither,—leave thy music and thy mirth?”
How could I stop to hear of far-off Heaven?
I lived, and loved, and was a child of earth.
52
Then came a hand and took away my treasures,
Dimmed my fine gold, cut my fair rose-tree down,
Changed my dance music into notes of wailing,
Quenched the bright day, and turned my green fields brown.
Dimmed my fine gold, cut my fair rose-tree down,
Changed my dance music into notes of wailing,
Quenched the bright day, and turned my green fields brown.
Till, walking lonely through the empty places
Where Love and I no more kept holiday,
My sad eyes, growing wonted to the darkness,
Beheld a new light shining far away:
Where Love and I no more kept holiday,
My sad eyes, growing wonted to the darkness,
Beheld a new light shining far away:
And I could bear my hopes should lie around me,
Dead like my roses, fall'n before their time,—
For well I knew some tender Spring would raise them
To brighter blossoming in Hope's fair clime.
Dead like my roses, fall'n before their time,—
For well I knew some tender Spring would raise them
To brighter blossoming in Hope's fair clime.
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |