University of Virginia Library

IMPROMPTUS

TO WILLIAM WATSON

ON HIS CORONATION ODE

In this high ode with its great shadow-kings,
More real than real things;
In this proud pageant of imperial verse
That nobly doth rehearse
England's true glories, for the world to read,
The King is crowned indeed!

“LIFE IS THE HAMMER”

(SIDNEY LANIER)

“THE CRITIC SCANNED THE POET'S BOOK”

The critic scanned the poet's book
And ranged it calmly in its place;—
A soul that felt its music shook
As if a bolt struck down through space;
And in that soul, like flower from seed,
The music turned to lofty deed
That sanctified a race.

“HER DELICATE FORM”

Her delicate form, her night of hair,
Took me, unaware.
They called her poet, and the word
Strangely I heard;
For that I thought: Can she
A poem write, and be?

FRANCESCA MIA

No verses I can bring her,
No song that I can sing her,
Can be so sweet, by half,
As the music of her laugh,
As the murmur of her voice,
As the sound of her violin.
These make my heart rejoice,
These me to heaven can win.
But something in her face,
Sad, wild, and full of grace—
A look in those dark eyes
That dream, and flash, and dance,
And with soft shadows fill—
These bring one long-loved glance,
Tender, and deep, and wise;
Then doth my heart stand still.

AGE, AND THE SCORNER

As I hobble, old and halt,
Daily, nightly,
By you, hectoring on the corner,
I know you for a graybeard scorner,
Tho' you raise your hat politely:
I know you hold it for a fault
That I bend with burdening years,
Dull of eye, and dull of ears;
That this poll
Whitens like a flax-wigged doll.
'T is a fault, you think; but wait!
Something marches, men call Fate;
If you, boy! succeed in keeping
Safe from sweep of Old Time's reaping,
You'll be the bent-back one that hobbles
Over the cobbles—
Wondering why, all young at heart,
With the old you're pushed apart.

TO JACOB A. RIIS

ON HIS SILVER WEDDING

Were true hearts bells, all breezes would be bringing,
Straight to your heart to-day, a silver ringing
From those you've blest, the heavy hearts and sore;—
Hark the sweet sound from here to Elsinore!

MUSIC AND FRIENDSHIP

Thrice is sweet music sweet when every word
And lovely tone by kindred hearts are heard;
So when I hear true music, Heaven send,
To share that heavenly joy, one dear, dear friend!

FRIENDSHIP

TO ---

TO E. C. S.

ON HIS SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY

His life was generous as his life was long—
Filled to the brim with friendship and with song.

“TELL ME GOOD-BY”

FAREWELL TO CHARLESTON

Enchanted city, O farewell, farewell!
If farewell it can be
When here, 'twixt the dark pines and sunrise sea,
Our hearts remain,
While fare our bodies to the North again!
Here stay our hearts amid these mansions stately,
These oaks, forever green, that guard sedately
The living and the dead—
Thrilled through with song that hath interpreted
The beauty and the gladness of the day.
O, yes, our hearts remain; they must forever stay
'Midst happy gardens, unforgettable,
And where St. Michael's chimes
The fragrant hours exquisitely tell,
Making the world one loveliness, like a true poet's rhymes.

“THE PINES”

These are the sounds that I heard at the home in “The Pines”:
The frightened cry of the yellowthroat hid in the trees;
The chipmunk's rustling tread on the autumn leaves
That fringe with brown the green of the wave and the wood;
The purr of the quick canoe where it curves the wave
And the liquid push of the oar; the voice of the wind
Now far, now near, as it sighs through the swaying boughs—
Through the boughs that sway with a slow and wave-like motion
Like growths of the sea that swing in the moving waters;
The voice of the wind I heard, now near, now far;
Voice of the grieving world that murmurs and calls
And wakes in the spirit of man an answering cry.

“NOT WREATHS ALONE”

Not wreaths alone, for him who wins the fight
'Twixt public Wrong and Right;—
The heavy burden of the people's cares
The civic conqueror bears.
So to the chief, on this victorious night,
Pledge hands and hearts and heaven-climbing prayers.

FOR THE CITY CLUB

In Love of City here we take our stand:—
Love of the City is no narrow love;
Who loves it not he cannot love his land
With love that shall protect, exalt, endure.
Here are our homes, our hearts; great God above!
The City shall be noble, shall be pure.

TO C. H. RUSSELL

WHOSE FATHER WAS ONE OF LINCOLN'S HELPERS

I give this token to the son of him
That was a type of those brave, prescient souls
Who when dire trouble fell upon the land
From the beginning saw the fateful end,
Bending strong backs to the tremendous strain.
Higher than knighthood's honor lives your line
For that the mighty Lincoln hurriedly called
To your true sire, in a perilous hour,
And got true answer—succor swift, complete.
On such as he the patient President,
The tender elder brother of us all,
The sad, wise leader leaned, and not in vain.
Therefore the nation lives—therefore shall live,
Inheriting the spirit of great days.

“GIVE THY DAY TO DUTY”

Give thy day to Duty!
To that high thought be given
Thine every hour.
So shall the bending heaven,
As from the root the flower,
Bring to thy glad soul Beauty.

TWO OPTIMISTS

(A LETTER TO JOSEPH JEFFERSON, ACKNOWLEDGING A COPY OF HELEN KELLER'S ESSAY ON “OPTIMISM”)

To send fit thanks, I would I had the art,
For this small book that holds a mighty heart,
Enshrining, as it does, brave Helen's creed.
In thought and word; in many a lovely deed;
In facing what would crush a lesser soul,
Making of barriers helps to reach the goal;
In sympathy with all; in human kindness
To the blind of heart (dear girl! not this her blindness!),
As well as to her brethren of the dark
And silent world, who through her see and hark;
In bringing out of darkness a great light,
Which burns and beacons high in all men's sight,
That exquisite spirit is true optimist!
Yet there are other names in the bright list:
If faith in man and woman that still lasts,
Tho' chilled by seventy winters' bitter blasts;
If seeing, as you see, the good in evil,
And even something Christian in the devil;
If power to take misfortune as a friend
And to be cheerful to the darkening end;
Not to be spoiled by praise, nor deeply stung
By the detractor's sharp and envious tongue;
If living in fairy-land as really now
As when heaven's dew was fresh on childhood's brow;
If seeing, in fine, this world as through a prism
Of lovely colors be true optimism,
Then Jefferson is true optimist no less,
And Heaven sent both this troubled world to bless.