 | Post-Laureate Idyls and other poems by Oscar Fay Adams |  |
157
Sonnets.
How oft the sonnet's fourteen lines
Fail to convey the bardling's thought:
The poet in that space enshrines
Some theme with mighty meaning fraught.
Fail to convey the bardling's thought:
The poet in that space enshrines
Some theme with mighty meaning fraught.
159
RECONCILIATION.
As one who, wandering in a weary land
Alone, where thorns and briers beset the way,
And clouds and darkness have o'ercome the day,
Suddenly feels from out the dark a hand
In his, and hears a voice of mild command
At which the clouds disperse, the sunshine gay
Returns, and all within his heart is May
As forth he goes unto some happy strand,—
Alone, where thorns and briers beset the way,
And clouds and darkness have o'ercome the day,
Suddenly feels from out the dark a hand
In his, and hears a voice of mild command
At which the clouds disperse, the sunshine gay
Returns, and all within his heart is May
As forth he goes unto some happy strand,—
So I, in darkness groping, hear your voice
Again, and feel your hand in mine,
(For what is distance to true hearts that love?)
And all my darkness ends, for at the sign
Of your forgiveness I once more rejoice
And feel sweet Peace descending like a dove.
Again, and feel your hand in mine,
(For what is distance to true hearts that love?)
And all my darkness ends, for at the sign
Of your forgiveness I once more rejoice
And feel sweet Peace descending like a dove.
160
INDIFFERENCE.
What is indifference, do you ask of me?
O well I know the meaning of the phrase.
It is to find grey ash instead of blaze
That warmed you once; to lose, alas! the key
Which turned in friendship's wards; to sometime see
The eyes that shone for you in other days
Now coldly meet your own in passing gaze;
To know that what has been no more shall be.
O well I know the meaning of the phrase.
It is to find grey ash instead of blaze
That warmed you once; to lose, alas! the key
Which turned in friendship's wards; to sometime see
The eyes that shone for you in other days
Now coldly meet your own in passing gaze;
To know that what has been no more shall be.
It is to find that you in naught believe,
To know that youth has fled far down the past,
To feel that hope will ne'er again be born,
And love is but a poor worn cheat at last.
It is all this, yet not for this to grieve,—
To live, and heed not that one lives forlorn!
To know that youth has fled far down the past,
To feel that hope will ne'er again be born,
And love is but a poor worn cheat at last.
It is all this, yet not for this to grieve,—
To live, and heed not that one lives forlorn!
161
EASTER-FRIDAY, 1883.
O year gone down into the sullen past,
Relentless year that hast no tidings brought
Of him who suddenly from earth was caught
And lifted higher while our tears fell fast;
Thou canst not triumph over us at last,
Because thy silence so with grief is fraught
That joy is weighted with a mournful thought
When at this Easter eyes are backward cast;
Relentless year that hast no tidings brought
Of him who suddenly from earth was caught
And lifted higher while our tears fell fast;
Thou canst not triumph over us at last,
Because thy silence so with grief is fraught
That joy is weighted with a mournful thought
When at this Easter eyes are backward cast;
For, past all doubting, well each heart doth know,
Howe'er it fare with us whose heavy load
Each moment lends its petty might to swell,
With him no longer sorrow makes abode,
But peace and rest abide, and never go;
And with his noble soul it now is well!
Howe'er it fare with us whose heavy load
Each moment lends its petty might to swell,
With him no longer sorrow makes abode,
But peace and rest abide, and never go;
And with his noble soul it now is well!
162
TO JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
What rarer, finer bliss than his who feels,
While happy friends and neighbors press his hands,
The warmth of handclasps given in other lands
Still left upon his palms? Though o'er him steals
The rapture of home-coming, on its heels
Follows the joy of holding in the bands
Of memory all the hours whose golden sands
Were run with friends remote whom space conceals.
While happy friends and neighbors press his hands,
The warmth of handclasps given in other lands
Still left upon his palms? Though o'er him steals
The rapture of home-coming, on its heels
Follows the joy of holding in the bands
Of memory all the hours whose golden sands
Were run with friends remote whom space conceals.
Such bliss is thine, O poet, coming back
After long absence from thy native shores:
For, while all England saddens with farewells,
Thine own dear land, expectant, opens doors
Of welcome wide for thee on homeward track,
And every voice the heartfelt greeting swells.
After long absence from thy native shores:
For, while all England saddens with farewells,
Thine own dear land, expectant, opens doors
Of welcome wide for thee on homeward track,
And every voice the heartfelt greeting swells.
163
TO ONE WHO HAS SUFFERED MUCH.
I know, dear friend, your hours are drear and cold;
I know your path is harsh with briers and flints;
Yet in the darkest day come happy glints
Of distant brightness underneath the fold
Of blackest cloud, and ever to the bold
The roughest road will show the faintest prints
Of weary feet. Look up! When morning tints
Are in the sky the night grows pale and old.
I know your path is harsh with briers and flints;
Yet in the darkest day come happy glints
Of distant brightness underneath the fold
Of blackest cloud, and ever to the bold
The roughest road will show the faintest prints
Of weary feet. Look up! When morning tints
Are in the sky the night grows pale and old.
The longest lane a sad world hath will turn
At last, and, round the turning, mayhap, waits
Some joy to greet you that shall fill your life
With bliss past all belief. Not always stern
The future, nearer seen. Sometimes the Fates
Do smile, and Peace comes surely after strife.
At last, and, round the turning, mayhap, waits
Some joy to greet you that shall fill your life
With bliss past all belief. Not always stern
The future, nearer seen. Sometimes the Fates
Do smile, and Peace comes surely after strife.
164
TO MODJESKA AS ROSALIND.
When from the poet's brain fair Arden's glades
Were peopled with the lightsome folk we know,
A shade of discontent was seen to grow
Upon his brow, as he through long decades
In vision saw this loveliest of his maids
By beardless boys enacted, and her show
Of maiden grace obscured and hidden so
In guise of youths half-won from boyish trades.
Were peopled with the lightsome folk we know,
A shade of discontent was seen to grow
Upon his brow, as he through long decades
In vision saw this loveliest of his maids
By beardless boys enacted, and her show
Of maiden grace obscured and hidden so
In guise of youths half-won from boyish trades.
Soon changed the vision, and through centuries far
A group of women fair he then did see,
Whose hearts, one after other, were beguiled
By some Orlando's youth and bravery,
And in the throng, and radiant as a star,
On thee, the mighty Master, looking, smiled!
A group of women fair he then did see,
Whose hearts, one after other, were beguiled
By some Orlando's youth and bravery,
And in the throng, and radiant as a star,
On thee, the mighty Master, looking, smiled!
165
TO MODJESKA AS JULIA OF VERONA.
The tender maid of old Verona's town,
Whom Proteus loved and yet could lightly leave
When sight of Silvia did his soul bereave
Of friendship's dues and honor's fair renown,
(More faithless he than many an untaught clown,)
Has waited long for one who should conceive
Her gentle nature best, and thus inweave
All maiden graces in the woman's crown.
Whom Proteus loved and yet could lightly leave
When sight of Silvia did his soul bereave
Of friendship's dues and honor's fair renown,
(More faithless he than many an untaught clown,)
Has waited long for one who should conceive
Her gentle nature best, and thus inweave
All maiden graces in the woman's crown.
Not until now has the interpreter
Appeared. No other eyes than ours have seen
Verona's constant Julia as she seemed.
To thee was given the skill to plead in her
The cause of hapless maids with fervor keen.
Before of Julia we had merely dreamed!
Appeared. No other eyes than ours have seen
Verona's constant Julia as she seemed.
To thee was given the skill to plead in her
The cause of hapless maids with fervor keen.
Before of Julia we had merely dreamed!
166
HIGH-WATER MARK.
One glorious day gleams through my memory still,
Though lagging years have come and gone erewhile;
That day whereon I seemed to reconcile
My aspirations with myself, to thrill
With noblest ardor and to feel no chill
Of low-born aim nor motive, nor the vile
Persuasions of my baser self beguile
My soul from resolution pure to ill.
Though lagging years have come and gone erewhile;
That day whereon I seemed to reconcile
My aspirations with myself, to thrill
With noblest ardor and to feel no chill
Of low-born aim nor motive, nor the vile
Persuasions of my baser self beguile
My soul from resolution pure to ill.
My soul may never mount so high again,
And never may my sluggish spirit glow
With feeling free as then from all alloy:
But yet should this be bitter truth, the pain
Is deadened when within my heart I know
That I rose once and burned with highest joy!
And never may my sluggish spirit glow
With feeling free as then from all alloy:
But yet should this be bitter truth, the pain
Is deadened when within my heart I know
That I rose once and burned with highest joy!
| Post-Laureate Idyls and other poems by Oscar Fay Adams | |