University of Virginia Library

RIPENING MANHOOD.

Have the old blossoms dwindled—is the past
Become one distant ever-lessening dream,
Fast-lessening like some vessel's tapering mast
Seen over wide waves of the ocean-stream?
Must passion's joys no more be song's sweet theme?
Are all Love's tender rosebuds waxing white?
And is the gold past but a silver gleam
Soon to shade gently into utter night,
Soon to be known but by one threadbare beam?
Is such Love's piteous, unmeasured plight
Now that Death's feet e'en at life's doorway seem?
Are all the summers fluttering out of sight
With bird-like widespread tense sarcastic wings?
Is such the message ripening manhood brings?

ALL THE SUMMERS.

Yea, all the summers! Are they all departing?
Their sweet low music ripples on the blast;
The tender music leaves the pierced heart smarting—
Yea, on the waves of sound our soul is cast,
Remembering every blossom of the past,
Recalling sacred moons long vanishèd,
And summer nights whose glory could not last,
And many a maiden's gentle gold-crowned head;
Ah! where are all the summers?—are they dead?
Where are the white dear roses?—are they gone?
Where are the lush carnations that flamed red
Amid their nest of stalks grey-blue and wan?
O all ye sacred summers that are past,
Into my farewell song your music cast!

ALL THE MAIDENS.

And all ye maidens who have filled with pleasure
The byways and the highways of the years,
Some golden-tressed, some dark-eyed with sweet treasure
Of coal-black locks, now Death the loveless nears,
Sing your soft silver music in mine ears
Once more; and, lady of the early days,
Before whose feet I cast all hopes and fears
Of youth, and all my passion for the bays,
List yet again to these far-murmuring lays;
And let thine eyes fill tenderly, as of old
They filled, when through the moonlit silent ways
We walked, and watched the slow sea burn to gold
Beneath the rippling flood of splendid light
The soaring moon flung fierce athwart the night.

MY QUEEN.

Thou wast my Queen! Thou badest me achieve
Fame, and a wreath of laurels for thy sake;
When my sad, lonely footpath thou didst leave,
Thou badest me my harp with vigour take
And o'er the strings quick singing fingers shake,
That so thy splendour might be known of men,
And other hearts with love of thee might break,
As, at thy swift departure, mine broke then.
Have I not, lady, with my fervent pen,
Rung thy sweet fame around our sea-girt land,
Till the bright waves laughed, echoing again
My tender praise of eyes, or lip, or hand?
Have I not, sweetheart, since that sad, far time,
Crowned thee with living wreaths of steadfast rhyme?

NOUGHT.

And hast thou nought, O lady of the sea,
For whom I've traversed such far leagues of song,
No gentle word divine to say to me,
Now that, like fluttering plumes of birds who throng
The leafy coverts when June's days are long,
My crowds of linnet-sonnets round thy head
Chant, and my throstle-poems wail their strong
Lament for thee as vanished—yea, as dead?
Shall not one gracious word of hope be said?
Art thou as changeful as the meadow-sweet
That blooms divine one day—the next is shed
In powdery perfumed dust about our feet?
O lady, if my song be worthy thee,
Speak thou one worthy, tender word to me!

OLDER.

WHAT IS TIME?

THY WHITENESS.

O thou wast white! Beyond all earthly splendour
Of utmost love thine utter whiteness shone:
Moon-radiant, subtle, sweet, supremely tender,
Luring with gentle might my passion on—
No singing words can all thy beauty render,
It gleamed one perfect moment—then 'twas gone!
A lily waved on earth her flower-stalk slender,
And seemed to smile up at me soft and wan!
But thou hadst vanished, sweet, and never more
Shall I set foot on that far heavenly shore;
Or see thy whiteness glittering through my sleep.
The lily yet I have—but not thy form,
As for one awful moment, white and warm,
It mingled into mine in rapture deep.