Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton collected and arranged by H. Augusta Dodge |
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AILANTHÈ |
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 | Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton |  |
AILANTHÈ
In this valley of shadows a maiden walketh—
Her delicate feet press the sweet-scented clover—
Her feet brush the webs from the purple clover
When she cometh to meet me, and I am her lover.
Her delicate feet press the sweet-scented clover—
Her feet brush the webs from the purple clover
When she cometh to meet me, and I am her lover.
Sweeter her breath than the new-mown hay—
Lighter her tread than the snow-flake's fall—
Thus you may know when she cometh this way,
And I am the master and lord of all.
Lighter her tread than the snow-flake's fall—
Thus you may know when she cometh this way,
And I am the master and lord of all.
117
Ye may know by the ripples of shining hair
That swell to the zephyrs' viewless touch,
Floating a moment in golden air,
Then gently sink to their rest again—
Beautiful ripples—beautiful rest.
And this shower of quivering, fluttering gold
May freely fall down my tranquil breast—
May dance into forms of grace untold,
But only for me shall their glory unfold—
My cheek and none other shall feel their caresses,
My lips and none other shall press the soft tresses—
My fingers, none others, may carelessly twine—
They are mine! They are mine!
That swell to the zephyrs' viewless touch,
Floating a moment in golden air,
Then gently sink to their rest again—
Beautiful ripples—beautiful rest.
And this shower of quivering, fluttering gold
May freely fall down my tranquil breast—
May dance into forms of grace untold,
But only for me shall their glory unfold—
My cheek and none other shall feel their caresses,
My lips and none other shall press the soft tresses—
My fingers, none others, may carelessly twine—
They are mine! They are mine!
Ye may know by the light of her luminous eyes—
Nay—for they never will shine on you—
Veiled from you by the blue-veined lids—
Shaded from you by the sweeping lashes,
Downcast under a stranger's gaze—
Veiled and shaded, ah! you should see
How they sparkle and glow for me!
Sometimes dimmed by a tearful haze,
When she listeneth tales of woe,
But never so dimmed but love for me
Ever and ever shineth through!
Nay—for they never will shine on you—
Veiled from you by the blue-veined lids—
Shaded from you by the sweeping lashes,
Downcast under a stranger's gaze—
Veiled and shaded, ah! you should see
How they sparkle and glow for me!
Sometimes dimmed by a tearful haze,
When she listeneth tales of woe,
But never so dimmed but love for me
Ever and ever shineth through!
When “the sun looketh forth from the halls of the morning”
Ye may watch for her foot-fall among the flowers.
She loveth the rosy, dewy hours
That bear up the train of the regal dawning—
She loveth the warm and purple rim
Of the cold and gray and eastern cloud
Floating in seas of liquid fire.
She loveth the happy choral hymn
Of the birds in the meadow and woodland and grove
Soaring upward higher and higher
Into that sea of crimson fire,
Into the great immensity.
Ye may watch for her foot-fall among the flowers.
118
That bear up the train of the regal dawning—
She loveth the warm and purple rim
Of the cold and gray and eastern cloud
Floating in seas of liquid fire.
She loveth the happy choral hymn
Of the birds in the meadow and woodland and grove
Soaring upward higher and higher
Into that sea of crimson fire,
Into the great immensity.
The murmuring winds have a tone for her
Whispering unto the forest pines:
Loud in joyousness, hushed through fears
Low and soft and laden with tears,
Like the many-voiced lutes of far Stamboul
Swept by the hands of her captive daughters,
Wafting the lays of their mountain homes,
Over the still and moonlit waters.
Whispering unto the forest pines:
Loud in joyousness, hushed through fears
Low and soft and laden with tears,
Like the many-voiced lutes of far Stamboul
Swept by the hands of her captive daughters,
Wafting the lays of their mountain homes,
Over the still and moonlit waters.
I whisper love when I whisper “Ailanthe.”
O life-giving name! O draught of Nepenthe,
For all the world bringeth of sorrow and dole!
Visions of beauty around me are springing,
Voices of music are ceaselessly ringing,
Surges of harmony beating the shore,
Whereon sitteth my regnant soul
Crownèd a monarch forevermore.
O life-giving name! O draught of Nepenthe,
For all the world bringeth of sorrow and dole!
Visions of beauty around me are springing,
Voices of music are ceaselessly ringing,
Surges of harmony beating the shore,
Whereon sitteth my regnant soul
Crownèd a monarch forevermore.
July, 1856.
| Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton | |