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Poems by Frederick Goddard Tuckerman

Tuckerman, Frederick Goddard (1821-1873)
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PART I.
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PART II.
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Sonnets.
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PART 1.
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[I. Sometimes, when winding slow by brook and bower]
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[II. Wherefore, with this belief, held like a blade]
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[III. And borne with theirs, my proudest thoughts do seem]
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[IV. Nor looks that backward life so bare to me]
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[V. And so the day drops by; the horizon draws]
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[VI. Not sometimes, but, to him that heeds the whole]
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[VII. Dank fens of cedar; hemlock-branches gray]
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[VIII. As when, down some broad River dropping, we]
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[IX. Yet wear we on; the deep light disallowed]
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[X. An upper chamber in a darkened house]
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[XI. What profits it to me, though here allowed]
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[XII. Tall, stately plants, with spikes and forks of gold]
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[XIII. As one who walks and weeps by alien brine]
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[XIV. Not proud of station; nor in worldly pelf]
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[XV. And she, her beauty never made her cold]
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[XVI. Yet Nature, where the thunder leaves its trace]
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[XVII. All men,—the Preacher saith,—whate'er or whence]
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[XVIII. Perchance his own small field some charge demands]
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[XIX. Yet vain, perhaps, the fruits our care applaud]
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[XX. Still craves the spirit: never Nature solves]
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[XXI. O Father, God! to whom, in happier days]
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[XXII. The morning comes; not slow, with reddening gold]
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[XXIII. Shall I not see her? Yes; for one has seen]
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[XXIV. Perhaps a dream; yet surely truth has beamed]
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[XXV. By this low fire I often sit to woo]
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[XXVI. For Nature daily through her grand design]
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[XXVII. So, to the mind long brooding but on it]
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[XXVIII. Not the round natural world, not the deep mind]
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PART II.

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193

[XXIII. Shall I not see her? Yes; for one has seen]

Shall I not see her? Yes; for one has seen
Her in her beauty, since we called her dead,
One like herself, a fair young mother, led
By her own lot to feel compassion keen;
And unto her last night my Anna came,
And sat within her arms, and spoke her name,
“While the old smile,” she said, “like starlight gleamed;
And like herself in fair young bloom,” she said,
“Only the white more white, the red more red;
And fainter than the mist her pressure seemed.”
And words there were, though vague, yet beautiful,
Which she who heard them could not tell to me,—
It is enough! my Anna did not flee
To grief or fear, nor lies in slumber dull.
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