 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
242
ONCE FOR ALL.
'T was in the bright morning of life and of love,
And earth in her springtime was smiling and gay,
I walked with my lady
A lane green and shady,
And all overblown with the rose-leaves of May,—
With pale and with bright leaves,
With red and with white leaves,—
O'erblown and o'erstrown with the roses of May.
And earth in her springtime was smiling and gay,
I walked with my lady
A lane green and shady,
And all overblown with the rose-leaves of May,—
With pale and with bright leaves,
With red and with white leaves,—
O'erblown and o'erstrown with the roses of May.
The sun up the east rode serenely and slow,
And swung back the silver-barred gates of the day;
'T was all so ideal
That nothing seemed real,
And which was the substance we hardly could say,
Ourselves, or our shadows,
As down the green meadows
We walked, through the leaves of the roses of May!
And swung back the silver-barred gates of the day;
'T was all so ideal
That nothing seemed real,
And which was the substance we hardly could say,
Ourselves, or our shadows,
As down the green meadows
We walked, through the leaves of the roses of May!
All sounds were so sweet, so celestially sweet,
We scarce could dissever the grave from the gay.
O blending confusions,
O darling illusions,
That filled up our hearts to o'erflowing that day!
Not we, but our shadows,
Along the green meadows,
Seemed brushing the dew from the daisies away.
We scarce could dissever the grave from the gay.
O blending confusions,
O darling illusions,
That filled up our hearts to o'erflowing that day!
Not we, but our shadows,
Along the green meadows,
Seemed brushing the dew from the daisies away.
Like butterfly wings caught with butterfly wings,
My fancies in speech fluttered this and that way,
As, deep among mazes
Of golden-eyed daisies,
I said, “Will you love me a little to-day?
'T is only a minute
Can have heaven in it;
Lady and lady-love, what do you say?”
My fancies in speech fluttered this and that way,
243
Of golden-eyed daisies,
I said, “Will you love me a little to-day?
'T is only a minute
Can have heaven in it;
Lady and lady-love, what do you say?”
Her spirit stood calm, poised like butterfly wings,
And her eyes stabbed me through with a still, steady ray,
As turning serenely,
And standing so queenly,
She said, “Love a little? and just for a day!
Why, sir, the rough bramble
With scorn stands a-tremble,
And blushes up scarlet to hear what you say!”
And her eyes stabbed me through with a still, steady ray,
As turning serenely,
And standing so queenly,
She said, “Love a little? and just for a day!
Why, sir, the rough bramble
With scorn stands a-tremble,
And blushes up scarlet to hear what you say!”
Then, soft as the melting of frost into mist,
Her taunt to a tender reproach fell away;
“Is love an adorning,
To pluck of a morning,”
She said, “and to wear like a rose of the May?
Love lost is loved never—
Loved once is loved ever—
The joy of eternity, not of a day!”
Her taunt to a tender reproach fell away;
“Is love an adorning,
To pluck of a morning,”
She said, “and to wear like a rose of the May?
Love lost is loved never—
Loved once is loved ever—
The joy of eternity, not of a day!”
'T was all in the heyday of life, long ago,
And the gold and the black hair are both growing gray,
And through the rough weather
We walk on together,
For the wife of the years is my lady of May;
And still she says, ever,
“Loved once is loved never,”
And I answer, “Eternity—that is love's day!”
And the gold and the black hair are both growing gray,
And through the rough weather
We walk on together,
For the wife of the years is my lady of May;
And still she says, ever,
“Loved once is loved never,”
And I answer, “Eternity—that is love's day!”
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |