 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
121
Lyrics.
'T is my delight alone in summer shade
To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.
Wordsworth.
To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.
Wordsworth.
123
COME BACK, DEAR DAYS.
Come back, dear days, from out the past!
... I see your gentle ghosts arise;
You look at me with mournful eyes,
And then the night grows vague and vast:
You have gone back to Paradise.
... I see your gentle ghosts arise;
You look at me with mournful eyes,
And then the night grows vague and vast:
You have gone back to Paradise.
Why did you fleet away, dear days?
You were so welcome when you came!
The morning skies were all aflame;
The birds sang matins in your praise;
All else of life you put to shame.
You were so welcome when you came!
The morning skies were all aflame;
The birds sang matins in your praise;
All else of life you put to shame.
Did I not honor you aright,—
I, who but lived to see you shine,
Who felt your very pain divine,
Thanked God and warmed me in your light,
Or quaffed your tears as they were wine?
I, who but lived to see you shine,
Who felt your very pain divine,
Thanked God and warmed me in your light,
Or quaffed your tears as they were wine?
124
What wooed you to those stranger skies,—
What love more fond, what dream more fair,
What music whispered in the air?
What soft delight of smiles and sighs
Enchanted you from otherwhere?
What love more fond, what dream more fair,
What music whispered in the air?
What soft delight of smiles and sighs
Enchanted you from otherwhere?
You left no pledges when you went:
The years since then are bleak and cold;
No bursting buds the Junes unfold.
While you were here my all I spent;
Now I am poor and sad and old.
The years since then are bleak and cold;
No bursting buds the Junes unfold.
While you were here my all I spent;
Now I am poor and sad and old.
125
LOVE'S RESURRECTION DAY.
Round among the quiet graves,
When the sun was low,
Love went grieving,—Love who saves:
Did the sleepers know?
When the sun was low,
Love went grieving,—Love who saves:
Did the sleepers know?
At his touch the flowers awoke,
At his tender call
Birds into sweet singing broke,
And it did befall
At his tender call
Birds into sweet singing broke,
And it did befall
From the blooming, bursting sod
All Love's dead arose,
And went flying up to God
By a way Love knows.
All Love's dead arose,
And went flying up to God
By a way Love knows.
126
THE STRENGTH OF THE HILLS.
FOR L. I. G.
My thoughts go home to that old brown house
With its low roof sloping down to the east,
And its garden fragrant with roses and thyme
That blossom no longer except in rhyme,
Where the honey-bees used to feast.
With its low roof sloping down to the east,
And its garden fragrant with roses and thyme
That blossom no longer except in rhyme,
Where the honey-bees used to feast.
Afar in the west the great hills rose,
Silent and steadfast and gloomy and gray:
I thought they were giants, and doomed to keep
Their watch while the world should wake or sleep,
Till the trumpet should sound on the judgment day.
Silent and steadfast and gloomy and gray:
I thought they were giants, and doomed to keep
Their watch while the world should wake or sleep,
Till the trumpet should sound on the judgment day.
I used to wonder of what they dreamed
As they brooded there in their silent might,
While March winds smote them, or June rains fell,
Or snows of winter their ghostly spell
Wrought in the long and lonesome night.
As they brooded there in their silent might,
While March winds smote them, or June rains fell,
Or snows of winter their ghostly spell
Wrought in the long and lonesome night.
They remembered a younger world than ours,
Before the trees on their top were born,
When the old brown house was itself a tree,
And waste were the fields where now you see
The winds astir in the tasselled corn.
Before the trees on their top were born,
When the old brown house was itself a tree,
And waste were the fields where now you see
The winds astir in the tasselled corn.
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And I was as young as the hills were old,
And the world was warm with the breath of spring,
And the roses red and the lilies white
Budded and bloomed for my heart's delight,
And the birds in my heart began to sing.
And the world was warm with the breath of spring,
And the roses red and the lilies white
Budded and bloomed for my heart's delight,
And the birds in my heart began to sing.
But calm in the distance the great hills rose,
Deaf unto rapture and dumb unto pain,
Since they knew that Joy is the mother of Grief,
And remembered a butterfly's life is brief,
And the sun sets only to rise again.
Deaf unto rapture and dumb unto pain,
Since they knew that Joy is the mother of Grief,
And remembered a butterfly's life is brief,
And the sun sets only to rise again.
They will brood and dream and be silent as now,
When the youngest children alive to-day
Have grown to be women and men,—grown old,
And gone from the world like a tale that is told,
And even whose echo forgets to stay.
When the youngest children alive to-day
Have grown to be women and men,—grown old,
And gone from the world like a tale that is told,
And even whose echo forgets to stay.
128
“IF THERE WERE DREAMS TO SELL.”
If there were dreams to sell,
What would you buy?
Beddoes.
What would you buy?
Beddoes.
If there were dreams to sell,
Do I not know full well
What I would buy?
Hope's dear delusive spell
Its happy tale to tell,
Joy's fleeting sigh.
Do I not know full well
What I would buy?
Hope's dear delusive spell
Its happy tale to tell,
Joy's fleeting sigh.
I would be young again:
Youth's madding bliss and bane
I would recapture;
Though it were keen with pain,
All else seems void and vain
To that fine rapture.
Youth's madding bliss and bane
I would recapture;
Though it were keen with pain,
All else seems void and vain
To that fine rapture.
I would be glad once more,
Slip through an open door
Into Life's glory;
Keep what I spent of yore,
Find what I lost before,
Hear an old story.
Slip through an open door
Into Life's glory;
Keep what I spent of yore,
Find what I lost before,
Hear an old story.
129
As it one day befell,
Breaking Death's frozen spell,
Love should draw nigh:
If there were dreams to sell,
Do I not know too well
What I would buy?
Breaking Death's frozen spell,
Love should draw nigh:
If there were dreams to sell,
Do I not know too well
What I would buy?
130
IN THE RANKS.
His death-blow struck him there in the ranks,—
There in the ranks, with his face to the foe:
Did his dying lips utter curses or thanks?
No one will know.
There in the ranks, with his face to the foe:
Did his dying lips utter curses or thanks?
No one will know.
Still he marched on, he with the rest,—
Still he marched on, with his face to the foe,
To the day's bitter business sternly addressed:
Dead—did they know?
Still he marched on, with his face to the foe,
To the day's bitter business sternly addressed:
Dead—did they know?
When the day was over, the fierce fight done,
His cheeks were red with the sunset's glow;
And they crowned him there with their laurels won:
Dead—did he know?
His cheeks were red with the sunset's glow;
And they crowned him there with their laurels won:
Dead—did he know?
Laurels or roses, all one to him now:
What to a dead man is glory or glow?
Rose wreaths for love, or a crown on his brow:
Dead—does he know?
What to a dead man is glory or glow?
Rose wreaths for love, or a crown on his brow:
Dead—does he know?
And yet you will see him march on with the rest,—
No man of them all makes a goodlier show,—
In the thick of the tumult jostled and pressed:
Dead—would you know?
No man of them all makes a goodlier show,—
In the thick of the tumult jostled and pressed:
Dead—would you know?
131
EROS.
Fill the swift days full, my dear,
Since life is fleet;
Love, and hold Love fast, my dear,
He is so sweet—
Sweetest, dearest, fleetest comer,
Fledgling of the sudden summer.
Since life is fleet;
Love, and hold Love fast, my dear,
He is so sweet—
Sweetest, dearest, fleetest comer,
Fledgling of the sudden summer.
Love, but not too well, my dear!
When skies are gray,
And the autumn winds are here,
Love will away—
Fleetest, vaguest, farthest rover
When the summer's warmth is over.
When skies are gray,
And the autumn winds are here,
Love will away—
Fleetest, vaguest, farthest rover
When the summer's warmth is over.
132
LAUS VENERIS:
A PICTURE BY BURNE JONES.
Pallid with too much longing,
White with passion and prayer,
Goddess of love and beauty,
She sits in the picture there,—
White with passion and prayer,
Goddess of love and beauty,
She sits in the picture there,—
Sits with her dark eyes seeking
Something more subtle still
Than the old delights of loving
Her measureless days to fill.
Something more subtle still
Than the old delights of loving
Her measureless days to fill.
She has loved and been loved so often
In her long, immortal years,
That she tires of the worn-out rapture,
Sickens of hopes and fears.
In her long, immortal years,
That she tires of the worn-out rapture,
Sickens of hopes and fears.
No joys or sorrows move her,
Done with her ancient pride;
For her head she found too heavy
The crown she has cast aside.
Done with her ancient pride;
For her head she found too heavy
The crown she has cast aside.
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Clothed in her scarlet splendor,
Bright with her glory of hair,
Sad that she is not mortal,—
Eternally sad and fair,
Bright with her glory of hair,
Sad that she is not mortal,—
Eternally sad and fair,
Longing for joys she knows not,
Athirst with a vain desire,
There she sits in the picture,
Daughter of foam and fire.
Athirst with a vain desire,
There she sits in the picture,
Daughter of foam and fire.
134
PARLEYING.
I hold a shadow's cold, soft hand,
I look in eyes you cannot see,
And words you cannot understand
Come back, as from a distant land,—
The far-off land of Memory.
I look in eyes you cannot see,
And words you cannot understand
Come back, as from a distant land,—
The far-off land of Memory.
Forgive me that I sit apart
And hold the shadow's hand in mine,
The past broods darkly in my heart,
And bitter are the tears that start;
I would not mix them with the wine.
And hold the shadow's hand in mine,
The past broods darkly in my heart,
And bitter are the tears that start;
I would not mix them with the wine.
The hour will pass: the shade will go
To his dark home, and swift forget,
At rest the daisied turf below,
The sun-warmed hours we used to know,
And the old paths wherein we met.
To his dark home, and swift forget,
At rest the daisied turf below,
The sun-warmed hours we used to know,
And the old paths wherein we met.
I am alive! Why should the dead
With cold hand hold the quick in thrall?
To his far place the shade has sped,
Now Life with Life may gayly wed!
... My heart misgives me, after all.
With cold hand hold the quick in thrall?
To his far place the shade has sped,
Now Life with Life may gayly wed!
... My heart misgives me, after all.
135
IN BOHEMIA.
I came between the glad green hills,
Whereon the summer sunshine lay,
And all the world was young that day,
As when the Spring's soft laughter thrills
The pulses of the waking May—
You were alive—yet scarce I knew
The world was glad because of you.
Whereon the summer sunshine lay,
And all the world was young that day,
As when the Spring's soft laughter thrills
The pulses of the waking May—
You were alive—yet scarce I knew
The world was glad because of you.
I came between the sad green hills,
Whereon the summer twilight lay,
And all the world was old that day,
And hoary age forgets the thrills
That woke the pulses of the May—
And you were dead—too well I knew
The world was sad because of you.
Whereon the summer twilight lay,
And all the world was old that day,
And hoary age forgets the thrills
That woke the pulses of the May—
And you were dead—too well I knew
The world was sad because of you.
136
TO NIGHT.
Bend low, O dusky Night,
And give my spirit rest;
Hold me to your deep breast,
And put old cares to flight;
Give back the lost delight
That once my soul possessed,
When Love was loveliest,—
Bend low, O dusky Night!
And give my spirit rest;
Hold me to your deep breast,
And put old cares to flight;
Give back the lost delight
That once my soul possessed,
When Love was loveliest,—
Bend low, O dusky Night!
Enfold me in your arms,—
The sole embrace I crave
Until the embracing grave
Shield me from life's alarms.
I dare your subtlest charms;
Your deepest spell I brave,—
O, strong to slay or save,
Enfold me in your arms!
The sole embrace I crave
Until the embracing grave
Shield me from life's alarms.
I dare your subtlest charms;
Your deepest spell I brave,—
O, strong to slay or save,
Enfold me in your arms!
137
WHEN DAY WAS DONE.
FOR L. W.
The clouds that watched in the west have fled;
The sun has set and the moon is high;
And nothing is left of the day that is dead
Save a fair white ghost in the eastern sky.
The sun has set and the moon is high;
And nothing is left of the day that is dead
Save a fair white ghost in the eastern sky.
While the day was dying we knelt and yearned,
And hoped and prayed till its last breath died;
But since to a radiant ghost it has turned,
Shall we rest with that white grace satisfied?
And hoped and prayed till its last breath died;
But since to a radiant ghost it has turned,
Shall we rest with that white grace satisfied?
The fair ghost smiles with a pale, cold smile,
As mocking as life and as hopeless as death—
Shall passionless beauty like this beguile?
Who loves a ghost without feeling or breath?
As mocking as life and as hopeless as death—
Shall passionless beauty like this beguile?
Who loves a ghost without feeling or breath?
I remember a maiden as fair to see,
Who once was alive, with a heart like June;
She died, but her spirit wanders free,
And charms men's souls to the old mad tune.
Who once was alive, with a heart like June;
She died, but her spirit wanders free,
And charms men's souls to the old mad tune.
Warm she was, in her life's glad day,—
Warm and fair, and faithful and sweet;
A man might have thrown a kingdom away
To kneel and love at her girlish feet.
Warm and fair, and faithful and sweet;
A man might have thrown a kingdom away
To kneel and love at her girlish feet.
138
But the night came down, and her day was done;
Hoping and dreaming were over for aye;
And then her career as a ghost was begun—
Cold she shone, like the moon on high.
Hoping and dreaming were over for aye;
And then her career as a ghost was begun—
Cold she shone, like the moon on high.
For maiden or moon shall a live man yearn?
Shall a breathing man love a ghost without breath?
Shine, moon, and chill us, you cannot burn;
Go home, Girl-Ghost, to your kingdom of death.
Shall a breathing man love a ghost without breath?
Shine, moon, and chill us, you cannot burn;
Go home, Girl-Ghost, to your kingdom of death.
139
MAUD'S ROSES.
Alone all day in my cabin,
With never a mortal to see,
I look at Maud's delicate roses,
And the roses look at me.
With never a mortal to see,
I look at Maud's delicate roses,
And the roses look at me.
Like her they are fair and stately;
Like her they are proud and sweet;
And their hue seems made of her blushes,
Where the roses and lilies meet.
Like her they are proud and sweet;
And their hue seems made of her blushes,
Where the roses and lilies meet.
And what is their subtle fragrance
But the love that she bade them tell,
Or the breath she breathed through their petals
When she lingered to say farewell?
But the love that she bade them tell,
Or the breath she breathed through their petals
When she lingered to say farewell?
Ah! roses that stayed when she vanished,
Ah! roses that smile, though she went,
How you mock at the sadness of parting,
With your passionless, perfect content!
Ah! roses that smile, though she went,
How you mock at the sadness of parting,
With your passionless, perfect content!
140
“THEIR CANDLES ARE ALL OUT.”
FOR L. C. B.
What hap dismays the dead? Their couch is low;
And over it the summer grasses creep,
Or winter snows enshroud it, white and deep,
Or long-prevailing winds of autumn blow.
And over it the summer grasses creep,
Or winter snows enshroud it, white and deep,
Or long-prevailing winds of autumn blow.
They hear no rumor of our joy or woe:
The ways we tread are perilous and steep;
They climb no longer, free at last to sleep,
Our weariful, vexed life no more to know.
The ways we tread are perilous and steep;
They climb no longer, free at last to sleep,
Our weariful, vexed life no more to know.
Do they forget their loves of long ago,
And the glad hopes that made their glad hearts leap?
Or the spent joys for which they used to weep,
When Love and Sorrow buffeted them so?
And the glad hopes that made their glad hearts leap?
Or the spent joys for which they used to weep,
When Love and Sorrow buffeted them so?
On us, by winds of Fate swept to and fro,
Do they have pity, whom no rude winds sweep?
How can I tell? Their mystery they keep,
Beneath the blossoms as beneath the snow.
Do they have pity, whom no rude winds sweep?
How can I tell? Their mystery they keep,
Beneath the blossoms as beneath the snow.
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And yet, I think, from that deep rest below,
They would be glad to rise and love and weep;
Once more the thankless harvest field to reap
Of human joy and pain,—life's whole to know.
They would be glad to rise and love and weep;
Once more the thankless harvest field to reap
Of human joy and pain,—life's whole to know.
142
TO MISTRESS ROSE.
A rose by any other name?
Nay, that could hardly be.
No other name, my Flower of June,
Could be the name for thee.
Nay, that could hardly be.
No other name, my Flower of June,
Could be the name for thee.
Dear darling of the summer-time
And love-child of the sun,
Whether by thy sweet breath beguiled
Or by thy thorns undone,
And love-child of the sun,
Whether by thy sweet breath beguiled
Or by thy thorns undone,
I know thee for the Queen of Flowers,
And toast thee by thy name,—
“Here 's to the sweet young loveliness
That sets our hearts aflame!”
And toast thee by thy name,—
“Here 's to the sweet young loveliness
That sets our hearts aflame!”
143
AT MIDNIGHT.
The room is cold and dark to-night:
The fire is low,—
Why come you, you who love the light,
To mock me so?
The fire is low,—
Why come you, you who love the light,
To mock me so?
I pray you leave me now alone;
You worked your will,
And turned my heart to frozen stone,—
Why haunt me still?
You worked your will,
And turned my heart to frozen stone,—
Why haunt me still?
I got me to this empty place;
I shut the door,—
Yet through the dark I see your face
Just as of yore.
I shut the door,—
Yet through the dark I see your face
Just as of yore.
The old smile curves your lips to-night;
Your deep eyes glow
With that old gleam that made them bright
So long ago.
Your deep eyes glow
With that old gleam that made them bright
So long ago.
I listen: do I hear your tone
The silence thrill?
Why come you? I would be alone;
Why vex me still?
The silence thrill?
Why come you? I would be alone;
Why vex me still?
144
What! Would you that we re-embrace,—
We two once more?
Are these your tears that wet my face
Just as before?
We two once more?
Are these your tears that wet my face
Just as before?
You left to seek some new delight,
Yet your tears flow;
What sorrow brings you back to-night?
Shall I not know?
Yet your tears flow;
What sorrow brings you back to-night?
Shall I not know?
I will not let you grieve alone,—
The night is chill,—
Though love is dead and hope has flown,
Pity lives still.
The night is chill,—
Though love is dead and hope has flown,
Pity lives still.
How silent is the empty space!
Dreamed I once more?
Henceforth against your haunting face
I bar the door.
Dreamed I once more?
Henceforth against your haunting face
I bar the door.
145
IN A BOWER.
A maiden sits in her bower and sings,
And your heart keeps time to the tune;
In the garden walks the red rose springs,—
The month is June.
And your heart keeps time to the tune;
In the garden walks the red rose springs,—
The month is June.
The month is June, and full are the days,—
Fair days, of the summer fed;
And softly the singer sings her lays:
Her lips are red.
Fair days, of the summer fed;
And softly the singer sings her lays:
Her lips are red.
A face she has that is pale as Sleep,
And hair like the midnight skies
When the wings of tempest across them sweep,
And strange dark eyes.
And hair like the midnight skies
When the wings of tempest across them sweep,
And strange dark eyes.
The song she sings is a siren's song,
A tempting, dangerous rune,—
If you hark at all you will hear too long
That fatal tune.
A tempting, dangerous rune,—
If you hark at all you will hear too long
That fatal tune.
146
ROSES.
Roses that briefly live,Joy is your dower;
Blest be the Fates that give
One perfect hour.
And, though too soon you die,
In your dust glows
Something the passer-by
Knows was a Rose.
147
THE GHOST'S RETURN.
Back through the rain and mist
Of my far way,
I have come, whom you kissed
That other day.
Of my far way,
I have come, whom you kissed
That other day.
See, love, I wait outside
While the rains fall:
Through the night, void and wide,
Hark to my call.
While the rains fall:
Through the night, void and wide,
Hark to my call.
Do you falter, you who loved
So long and well,
Now I my love have proved,
Breaking Death's spell?
So long and well,
Now I my love have proved,
Breaking Death's spell?
Leaving those pale delights
Dead folk that thrill,
Through their dim days and nights,
Wait I your will.
Dead folk that thrill,
Through their dim days and nights,
Wait I your will.
Dear love, unbar the door,
Life is so sweet!
Warmed on your heart once more,
My heart shall beat.
Life is so sweet!
Warmed on your heart once more,
My heart shall beat.
148
Snatch me from very Death:
Heaven will forgive.
Breathe in my lips your breath:
Then I shall live.
Heaven will forgive.
Breathe in my lips your breath:
Then I shall live.
Nay, but you shrink with fear,
No welcome speak,—
Now shall the grave be dear,
Love is so weak.
No welcome speak,—
Now shall the grave be dear,
Love is so weak.
149
AS I SAIL.
Far on the gray sea glooms and glowers,
Far off the salt winds vaguely stray,
And through the long monotonous hours
My thoughts go wandering on their way;
Far off the salt winds vaguely stray,
And through the long monotonous hours
My thoughts go wandering on their way;
Go back to find that earlier time
When, lingering by a bluer sea,
A poet wooed me with his rhyme,
And all the world was changed for me.
When, lingering by a bluer sea,
A poet wooed me with his rhyme,
And all the world was changed for me.
The winds to music strange were set,
The sunsets glowed with sudden flame,
And all the shining sands were wet
With waves that whispered as they came,
The sunsets glowed with sudden flame,
And all the shining sands were wet
With waves that whispered as they came,
And told a tender low-breathed tale
Of love that always should be young;
Dear love that should not change or fail,—
Such love as love-lorn bards have sung.
Of love that always should be young;
Dear love that should not change or fail,—
Such love as love-lorn bards have sung.
Pale roses bloomed by that far sea,
And shivered at the sea-wind's breath;
A bird flew low, and sang to me—
“The end of love and life is death.”
And shivered at the sea-wind's breath;
A bird flew low, and sang to me—
“The end of love and life is death.”
150
I left the pale rose where it grew;
I would not heed the warning bird;
Of all the world I, only, knew
How sweet the music I had heard,—
I would not heed the warning bird;
Of all the world I, only, knew
How sweet the music I had heard,—
How dear the love, how true the truth
My poet uttered in his rhyme;
And how it gave me back my youth
In that deep-hearted summer-time.
My poet uttered in his rhyme;
And how it gave me back my youth
In that deep-hearted summer-time.
Then winter came; the pale rose died,
And to the south the wise bird flew;
And I—ah me, the world is wide,
And poets love while love is new.
And to the south the wise bird flew;
And I—ah me, the world is wide,
And poets love while love is new.
151
A GIRL'S FUNERAL IN MILAN.
There in the strange old gilded hearse
With a mound of paper-flowers on her breast,
Her life being over, for better or worse,
They bore her on to her final rest.
With a mound of paper-flowers on her breast,
Her life being over, for better or worse,
They bore her on to her final rest.
And the women followed her, two by two,
And talked of how young she was to die;
And the cold drops drenched them through and through,
As under the pitiless, frowning sky
And talked of how young she was to die;
And the cold drops drenched them through and through,
As under the pitiless, frowning sky
On they marched in the drizzling rain
To the little old church in the Milan square,
Where the choir-boys chanted with shrill refrain,
And the toothless Padre muttered his prayer;
To the little old church in the Milan square,
Where the choir-boys chanted with shrill refrain,
And the toothless Padre muttered his prayer;
Then straight to the waiting grave they went;
And the rain rained on, and the wind was still;
Since, all her treasure of life being spent,
It was time Death had of the girl his will.
And the rain rained on, and the wind was still;
Since, all her treasure of life being spent,
It was time Death had of the girl his will.
And they left her there with the rain and the wind,
Glad, I think, to have come to the end;
For the grave folds close, and the sod is kind,
And thus do the friendless find a friend.
Glad, I think, to have come to the end;
For the grave folds close, and the sod is kind,
And thus do the friendless find a friend.
152
IN A GARDEN.
Pale in the pallid moonlight,
White as the rose on her breast,
She stood in the fair Rose-garden
With her shy young love confessed.
White as the rose on her breast,
She stood in the fair Rose-garden
With her shy young love confessed.
The roses climbed to kiss her,
The violets, purple and sweet,
Breathed their despair in the fragrance
That bathed her beautiful feet.
The violets, purple and sweet,
Breathed their despair in the fragrance
That bathed her beautiful feet.
She stood there, stately and slender,
Gold hair on her shoulders shed,
Clothed all in white, like the visions
When the living behold the dead.
Gold hair on her shoulders shed,
Clothed all in white, like the visions
When the living behold the dead.
There, with her lover beside her,
With life and with love she thrilled—
What mattered the world's wide sorrow
To her with her joy fulfilled?
With life and with love she thrilled—
What mattered the world's wide sorrow
To her with her joy fulfilled?
Next year, in the fair Rose-garden,
He waited, alone and dumb,
If perchance from the silent country
The soul of the dead would come,
He waited, alone and dumb,
If perchance from the silent country
The soul of the dead would come,
153
To comfort the living and loving
With the ghost of a lost delight,
And thrill into quivering welcome
The desolate, brooding night:
With the ghost of a lost delight,
And thrill into quivering welcome
The desolate, brooding night:
Till softly a wind from the distance
Began to blow and blow;
The moon bent nearer and nearer,
And, solemn and sweet and slow,
Began to blow and blow;
The moon bent nearer and nearer,
And, solemn and sweet and slow,
Came a wonderful rapture of music
That turned to her voice, at last:
Then a cold, soft touch on his forehead,
Like the breath of the wind that passed,—
That turned to her voice, at last:
Then a cold, soft touch on his forehead,
Like the breath of the wind that passed,—
Like the breath of the wind she touched him;
Thin was her voice and cold;
And something that seemed like a shadow
Slipped through his feverish hold:
Thin was her voice and cold;
And something that seemed like a shadow
Slipped through his feverish hold:
But the voice had said, “I love you,
With my first love and my last”—
Then again that wonderful music,
And he knew that her soul had passed.
With my first love and my last”—
Then again that wonderful music,
And he knew that her soul had passed.
154
AT END.
At end of Love, at end of Life,
At end of Hope, at end of Strife,
At end of all we cling to so—
The sun is setting—must we go?
At end of Hope, at end of Strife,
At end of all we cling to so—
The sun is setting—must we go?
At dawn of Love, at dawn of Life,
At dawn of Peace that follows Strife,
At dawn of all we long for so—
The sun is rising—let us go!
At dawn of Peace that follows Strife,
At dawn of all we long for so—
The sun is rising—let us go!
155
THE COQUETTE'S DEFENCE.
Red, red roses glowing in the garden,
Rare, white lilies swaying on your stalks,
Did you hear me pray my sweet love for pardon,
Straying with him through your garden walks?
Rare, white lilies swaying on your stalks,
Did you hear me pray my sweet love for pardon,
Straying with him through your garden walks?
Ah, you glow and smile when the sun shines upon you—
You thrill with delight at the tears of the dew,
And the wind that caresses you boasts that he won you—
Do you think, fair flowers, to them all to be true?
You thrill with delight at the tears of the dew,
And the wind that caresses you boasts that he won you—
Do you think, fair flowers, to them all to be true?
Sun, dew, and wind, ah, they all are your lovers—
Sun, dew, and wind, and you love them back again—
And you flirt with the idle, white moth that hovers
Above your sweet beauty, and laugh at his pain.
Sun, dew, and wind, and you love them back again—
And you flirt with the idle, white moth that hovers
Above your sweet beauty, and laugh at his pain.
Must I, then, be deaf to the wooers that love me,
And because I can hear should my sweet Love complain?
Does he not, in forgiving me, stand high above me,
And punish my fault with his gentle disdain?
And because I can hear should my sweet Love complain?
Does he not, in forgiving me, stand high above me,
And punish my fault with his gentle disdain?
156
You trifle, fair flowers, with the many, but one lord
Wooes you, and wins you, and conquers the throng:
Dews and winds cool you, for warmth you turn sunward,—
You know and I know to whom we belong.
Wooes you, and wins you, and conquers the throng:
Dews and winds cool you, for warmth you turn sunward,—
You know and I know to whom we belong.
157
DO NOT GRIEVE.
I would not have you mourn too much,
When I am lying low,—
Your grief would grieve me even then,
Should your tears flow.
When I am lying low,—
Your grief would grieve me even then,
Should your tears flow.
But only plant above my grave
One little sprig of rue;
Then find yourself a fairer love,
But not more true.
One little sprig of rue;
Then find yourself a fairer love,
But not more true.
The summer winds will come and go
Above me as I lie;
And if I think at all, my dear,
As they pass by,
Above me as I lie;
And if I think at all, my dear,
As they pass by,
I shall remember the old love,
With all its bliss and bane,—
Though Life nor Death can bring me back
The old, sweet pain.
With all its bliss and bane,—
Though Life nor Death can bring me back
The old, sweet pain.
158
OLD JONES IS DEAD.
I sat in my window, high overhead,
And heard them say, below in the street,
“I suppose you know that old Jones is dead?”
Then the speakers passed, and I heard their feet
Heedlessly walking their onward way,—
“Dead!” what more could there be to say?
And heard them say, below in the street,
“I suppose you know that old Jones is dead?”
Then the speakers passed, and I heard their feet
Heedlessly walking their onward way,—
“Dead!” what more could there be to say?
But I sat and pondered what it might mean
Thus to be dead while the world went by:
Did Jones see farther than we have seen?
Was he one with the stars in the watching sky?
Or down there under the growing grass
Did he hear the feet of the daylight pass?
Thus to be dead while the world went by:
Did Jones see farther than we have seen?
Was he one with the stars in the watching sky?
Or down there under the growing grass
Did he hear the feet of the daylight pass?
Were daytime and night-time as one to him now,
And grieving and hoping a tale that is told?
A kiss on his lips, or a hand on his brow,
Could he feel them under the church-yard mould,
As he surely had felt them his whole life long,
Though they passed with his youth-time, hot and strong?
And grieving and hoping a tale that is told?
A kiss on his lips, or a hand on his brow,
Could he feel them under the church-yard mould,
As he surely had felt them his whole life long,
Though they passed with his youth-time, hot and strong?
159
They called him “Old Jones” when at last he died;
“Old Jones” he had been for many a year;
Yet his faithful memory Time defied,
And dwelt in the days so distant and dear,
When first he had found that love was sweet
And recked not the speed of its hurrying feet.
“Old Jones” he had been for many a year;
Yet his faithful memory Time defied,
And dwelt in the days so distant and dear,
When first he had found that love was sweet
And recked not the speed of its hurrying feet.
Does he brood, in the long night under the sod,
On the joys and sorrows he used to know;
Or far in some wonderful world of God,
Where the shining seraphs stand, row on row,
Does he wake like a child at the daylight's gleam,
And know that the past was a night's short dream?
On the joys and sorrows he used to know;
Or far in some wonderful world of God,
Where the shining seraphs stand, row on row,
Does he wake like a child at the daylight's gleam,
And know that the past was a night's short dream?
Is he dead, and a clod there, down below;
Or dead and wiser than any alive;
Which? Ah, who of us all may know,
Or who can say how the dead folk thrive?—
But the summer morning is cool and sweet,
And I hear the live folk laugh in the street.
Or dead and wiser than any alive;
Which? Ah, who of us all may know,
Or who can say how the dead folk thrive?—
But the summer morning is cool and sweet,
And I hear the live folk laugh in the street.
160
GRANDMAMMA'S WARNING.
“Love is a fire,” she said. “Love is a fire,Beware the madness of that wild desire!
I know, for I was young, and now am old”. ...
“Oh, did you learn by what your elders told?”
161
MAID MARION.
Little Maid Marion, Rose in June,
What breath of prophecy comes and goes,
And stirs your heart like a vagrant tune
Till the deepening bloom on your soft cheek glows,
What breath of prophecy comes and goes,
And stirs your heart like a vagrant tune
Till the deepening bloom on your soft cheek glows,
And your blue eyes shine like the morning sky
Just alight with the morning star—
Hopeful and happy and sweet and shy,
While day and its glare are yet afar?
Just alight with the morning star—
Hopeful and happy and sweet and shy,
While day and its glare are yet afar?
Have you heard a name that we do not hear
And set it to music all your own?
Has there come to you in a vision, Dear,
A face that only your eyes have known?
And set it to music all your own?
Has there come to you in a vision, Dear,
A face that only your eyes have known?
Or is it still but a wandering voice
That whispers you something vague and sweet,
Of days of wooing and days of choice,
And hearts that meet as the waters meet?
That whispers you something vague and sweet,
Of days of wooing and days of choice,
And hearts that meet as the waters meet?
Days that will come to you, Rose in June—
Days that will test you and try you and show
The sacredest meaning, the secretest tune,
Of all that your maidenly heart can know.
Days that will test you and try you and show
The sacredest meaning, the secretest tune,
Of all that your maidenly heart can know.
162
They will leave you not as they find you, Dear—
The morning star gives place to the sun;
But your blue eyes meet me, faithful and clear,
I can trust your soul, when the dream is done.
The morning star gives place to the sun;
But your blue eyes meet me, faithful and clear,
I can trust your soul, when the dream is done.
163
A LITTLE COMEDY.
Is the world the same, do you think, my dear,
As when we walked by the sea together,
And the white caps danced and the cliffs rose sheer,
And we were glad in the autumn weather?
As when we walked by the sea together,
And the white caps danced and the cliffs rose sheer,
And we were glad in the autumn weather?
You played at loving that day, my dear,—
How well you told me your tender story,—
And I made answer, with smile and tear,
While the sky was flushed with the sunset's glory.
How well you told me your tender story,—
And I made answer, with smile and tear,
While the sky was flushed with the sunset's glory.
Now I shut my eyes, and I see, my dear,
That far-off path by the surging ocean,—
I shut my eyes, and I seem to hear
Your voice surmounting the tide's commotion.
That far-off path by the surging ocean,—
I shut my eyes, and I seem to hear
Your voice surmounting the tide's commotion.
It was but a comedy slight, my dear,—
Why should its memory come to vex me?
Can it be I am longing that you should appear
And play it again? My thoughts perplex me.
Why should its memory come to vex me?
Can it be I am longing that you should appear
And play it again? My thoughts perplex me.
'T is the sea and the shore that I miss, my dear,—
The sea and the shore, and the sunset's glory:
Or would these be nothing without you near,
To murmur again that fond, old story?
The sea and the shore, and the sunset's glory:
Or would these be nothing without you near,
To murmur again that fond, old story?
164
I know you now but too well, my dear,—
With your heart as light as a wind-blown feather,—
Yet somehow the world seems cold and drear
Without your acting, this autumn weather.
With your heart as light as a wind-blown feather,—
Yet somehow the world seems cold and drear
Without your acting, this autumn weather.
165
IN AUTUMN.
With the leaves around her dying,
And the wind around her sighing,
And her listless hands together,
She sits in the autumn weather.
And the wind around her sighing,
And her listless hands together,
She sits in the autumn weather.
The sad little streams are grieving,
The poor little birds are leaving,
And the flowers and she together
Fade in the autumn weather.
The poor little birds are leaving,
And the flowers and she together
Fade in the autumn weather.
166
AT FIVE O'CLOCK.
TO K. F. POURING TEA.
Fair Lady Rose, round whom black-coated bees
Make murmurous humming all the afternoon,—
Thou dost belong to the soft, summer ease
Of purple islands, where the southern seas
Break on the shore with soft beguiling rune.
Make murmurous humming all the afternoon,—
Thou dost belong to the soft, summer ease
Of purple islands, where the southern seas
Break on the shore with soft beguiling rune.
Lands fair as the far-famed Hesperides
Should be thy home, O Lady of the June!
And thou shouldst pour, instead of cups like these,
Some magic draught, which to the subtle lees
Thy slaves should quaff, and praise thee all in tune
Should be thy home, O Lady of the June!
And thou shouldst pour, instead of cups like these,
Some magic draught, which to the subtle lees
Thy slaves should quaff, and praise thee all in tune
To playing of such melodies as please
Fair ladies' ears, and win for Love love's boon:
And sweet, beneath the gently-drooping trees,
Should be the tender whisper of the breeze,
And time should pause for thee at golden noon.
Fair ladies' ears, and win for Love love's boon:
And sweet, beneath the gently-drooping trees,
Should be the tender whisper of the breeze,
And time should pause for thee at golden noon.
167
BESIDE A BIER.
I had never kissed her her whole life long,—
Now I stand by her bier does she feel
How, with love that the waiting years made strong,
I set on her lips my seal?
Now I stand by her bier does she feel
How, with love that the waiting years made strong,
I set on her lips my seal?
Will she wear my kiss in the grave's long night,
And wake sometimes with a thrill
From dreams of the old life's missed delight,
To feel that the grave is chill?
And wake sometimes with a thrill
From dreams of the old life's missed delight,
To feel that the grave is chill?
“It was warm,” will she say, “in that world above;
It was warm, but I did not know
How he loved me there, with his whole life's love—
It is cold, down here below.”
It was warm, but I did not know
How he loved me there, with his whole life's love—
It is cold, down here below.”
168
RED AND WHITE ROSES.
Roses the lover gives to his love;
Roses we lay on the breast of death
That nevermore fondest whisper can move,—
Which is the sweeter, answer and prove,
Passionate love, or sleep without breath?
Roses we lay on the breast of death
That nevermore fondest whisper can move,—
Which is the sweeter, answer and prove,
Passionate love, or sleep without breath?
For love you burn with a crimson fire,
For death you are pale as the winter's snow:
Warm for the one, with the heart's desire,
Cold for the other, since hopes expire,—
Which is the sweeter? When shall we know?
For death you are pale as the winter's snow:
Warm for the one, with the heart's desire,
Cold for the other, since hopes expire,—
Which is the sweeter? When shall we know?
169
MY SAINT.
Oh long the weary vigils since you left me,—
In your far home, I wonder, can you know
To what dread uttermost your loss bereft me,
Or half it meant to me that you should go?
In your far home, I wonder, can you know
To what dread uttermost your loss bereft me,
Or half it meant to me that you should go?
This world is full, indeed, of fair hopes perished,
And loves more fleet than this poor fleeting breath;
But that deep heart in which my heart was cherished
Must surely have survived what we call Death.
And loves more fleet than this poor fleeting breath;
But that deep heart in which my heart was cherished
Must surely have survived what we call Death.
They cannot cease—our own true dead—to love us,
And you will hear this far-off cry of mine,
Though you keep holiday so high above us,
Where all the happy spirits sing and shine.
And you will hear this far-off cry of mine,
Though you keep holiday so high above us,
Where all the happy spirits sing and shine.
Steal back to me to-night, from your far dwelling,
Beyond the pilgrim moon, beyond the sun:
They will not miss your single voice for swelling
Their rapture-chorus—you are only one.
Beyond the pilgrim moon, beyond the sun:
They will not miss your single voice for swelling
Their rapture-chorus—you are only one.
Ravish my soul, as with divine embraces;
Teach me, if Life is false, that Death is true;
With pledge of new delights in heavenly places
Entice my spirit,—take me hence with you!
Teach me, if Life is false, that Death is true;
With pledge of new delights in heavenly places
Entice my spirit,—take me hence with you!
170
WARNING.
Fly away, O white-winged moth!
Wherefore burn your tender wings?
Fatal is the flame you love
To such gauzy things.
Wherefore burn your tender wings?
Fatal is the flame you love
To such gauzy things.
That too ardent crimson ray
Only steel may safely prove:
Use your wings to fly away—
You 're too slight for love.
Only steel may safely prove:
Use your wings to fly away—
You 're too slight for love.
171
THE ROSE SHE WORE IN WINTER.
TO R. H.
O rose, so subtly sweet!
What dost thou in the snow—
The time of frost and sleet,
When roses should not blow—
Playing at summer so?
What dost thou in the snow—
The time of frost and sleet,
When roses should not blow—
Playing at summer so?
When we that beauty meet,
Which nightingales in June
For love and bliss entreat,
With what cold, wintry rune
Shall we thy praise entune?
Which nightingales in June
For love and bliss entreat,
With what cold, wintry rune
Shall we thy praise entune?
My Rose, so subtly sweet,
Thy rose-red lips I kiss;
I kneel at thy dear feet,
Dear Rose, and do not miss
The summer's by-gone bliss.
Thy rose-red lips I kiss;
I kneel at thy dear feet,
Dear Rose, and do not miss
The summer's by-gone bliss.
172
SHALL I NOT KNOW?
When over me the heedless wild things grow,
Will any mourn for me a little space,
Or grieve that in that grave so cool and low
I find my resting-place?
Will any mourn for me a little space,
Or grieve that in that grave so cool and low
I find my resting-place?
The strong world will go on though I am still,
The morning sun mock darkness with his pride,
The sunset splendors clothe the western hill,
As though I had not died.
The morning sun mock darkness with his pride,
The sunset splendors clothe the western hill,
As though I had not died.
The spring flowers will awake in field and hedge,
And summer roses answer to the sun;
The lone, last bird wail in the icy sedge
For winter's reign begun;
And summer roses answer to the sun;
The lone, last bird wail in the icy sedge
For winter's reign begun;
And loves, like summer blossoms, burst to bloom
And sweeten with their fragrance all the air,
And hates grow strong, like weeds about a tomb,
While I am silent there.
And sweeten with their fragrance all the air,
And hates grow strong, like weeds about a tomb,
While I am silent there.
No fleeting joys shall mock me where I lie;
No hate so keen that it can pierce that rest:
I shall not hear Life's footsteps passing by,
Or know that Death is best.
No hate so keen that it can pierce that rest:
I shall not hear Life's footsteps passing by,
Or know that Death is best.
173
Yet, shouldst thou come, when all the stars are bright
And all the sky by their cold light possest,
And hark to hear, through voices of the night,
Her voice who loved thee best,
And all the sky by their cold light possest,
And hark to hear, through voices of the night,
Her voice who loved thee best,
Perchance, though I were frozen in the grave,
My heart might quicken when it heard thy call,
And even then strong Love be strong to save—
Love who is lord of all:
My heart might quicken when it heard thy call,
And even then strong Love be strong to save—
Love who is lord of all:
Or if, sealed fast by Death, even to that cry
My ears were deaf and my closed lips were dumb,
My soul, heedless of others passing by,
Might know that Thou hadst come.
My ears were deaf and my closed lips were dumb,
My soul, heedless of others passing by,
Might know that Thou hadst come.
For me the busy world will not stand still,
Nor in one heart the summer cease to glow;
And Love and Life on earth shall have their will:
But, come! shall I not know?
Nor in one heart the summer cease to glow;
And Love and Life on earth shall have their will:
But, come! shall I not know?
174
FOR A BIRTHDAY.
M. B. A.
Thrice happy day, that saw our Fair Maid's eyes
First open to the sunshine! Art thou come
To see if yet the light of Paradise
Has faded from them, in her earthly home?
First open to the sunshine! Art thou come
To see if yet the light of Paradise
Has faded from them, in her earthly home?
Nay, there it shines! As innocent and true
As that first day, she dwells among us yet;
Look in those eyes of Heaven's serenest blue,
And see the Heaven she never can forget.
As that first day, she dwells among us yet;
Look in those eyes of Heaven's serenest blue,
And see the Heaven she never can forget.
175
A MOOD OF LOVE.
Do I love thee? Who can tell?
Time was when I loved thee well:
Is this love that now I bear,
Or does Use Love's semblance wear?
Time was when I loved thee well:
Is this love that now I bear,
Or does Use Love's semblance wear?
Should I grieve if thou wert gone?
Should I miss thee, left alone?
Would the summer be less sweet
If our lips should never meet?
Should I miss thee, left alone?
Would the summer be less sweet
If our lips should never meet?
If some other fairer Fair
Fettered thee with silken snare,
Should I sorrow to behold
Thee her captive—mine of old?
Fettered thee with silken snare,
Should I sorrow to behold
Thee her captive—mine of old?
Ah, it may be, should we part,
I should learn how dear thou art,—
When the gods withdraw we know
How divine the feet that go.
I should learn how dear thou art,—
When the gods withdraw we know
How divine the feet that go.
176
NAY.
TO A. W. K.
Shall we grow old together?Nay! though 't is wintry weather
The earth awaits the spring,
When suns shall warm the heather,
When birds will moult and feather,
And happy things take wing:
And thou and I together,
Defying wintry weather,
We, too, will wait our spring.
177
THE ROSES OF LA GARRAYE.
Among the ruins of La Garraye
Grow wonderful roses, as pale as death,—
Roses that never a fervid breath
Of the Breton summer glad and gay
Can warm with a single crimson ray.
Grow wonderful roses, as pale as death,—
Roses that never a fervid breath
Of the Breton summer glad and gay
Can warm with a single crimson ray.
Mid ruins and roses two lovers sighed,
And talked of the old time far away
When the roses were red at La Garraye,
When the gay young lord and his fair young bride
Rode forth on their swift steeds, side by side,
And talked of the old time far away
When the roses were red at La Garraye,
When the gay young lord and his fair young bride
Rode forth on their swift steeds, side by side,
And met the sudden and terrible blight—
Like the lightning flash from a summer cloud
Followed by thunder long and loud—
That turned, in an instant, their noon to night,
And slew, not Love, but Love's delight.
Like the lightning flash from a summer cloud
Followed by thunder long and loud—
That turned, in an instant, their noon to night,
And slew, not Love, but Love's delight.
And they pitied those lovers of long ago—
These modern lovers that told the tale—
And honored the love that could not fail:
And she said,—“My dear, do you love me so?”
And he,—“Do you love me, and do not know?”
These modern lovers that told the tale—
And honored the love that could not fail:
And she said,—“My dear, do you love me so?”
And he,—“Do you love me, and do not know?”
178
Then he gathered those blossoms of ruin and blight,
And—“I give you the roses of Love,” said he:
“No, you give me the roses of Death,” said she,
“The roses that spring from sorrow and night,
For love and for living too coldly white.”
And—“I give you the roses of Love,” said he:
“No, you give me the roses of Death,” said she,
“The roses that spring from sorrow and night,
For love and for living too coldly white.”
She shuddered a little, yet pinned them fast—
The pallid roses of Fate were they,
And died at the close of a brief bright day,
Like a brief bright love that came and passed,
Leaving only its ghost at last.
The pallid roses of Fate were they,
And died at the close of a brief bright day,
Like a brief bright love that came and passed,
Leaving only its ghost at last.
179
NOW AND THEN.
And had you loved me then, my dear,
And had you loved me there,
When still the sun was in the east
And hope was in the air,—
When all the birds sang to the dawn
And I but sang to you,—
Oh, had you loved me then, my dear,
And had you then been true!
And had you loved me there,
When still the sun was in the east
And hope was in the air,—
When all the birds sang to the dawn
And I but sang to you,—
Oh, had you loved me then, my dear,
And had you then been true!
But ah! the day wore on, my dear,
And when the noon grew hot
The drowsy birds forgot to sing,
And you and I forgot
To talk of love, or live for faith,
Or build ourselves a nest;
And now our hearts are shelterless,
Our sun is in the west.
And when the noon grew hot
The drowsy birds forgot to sing,
And you and I forgot
To talk of love, or live for faith,
Or build ourselves a nest;
And now our hearts are shelterless,
Our sun is in the west.
180
“THE KING IS DEAD, LONG LIVE THE KING.”
Do you see how the Old Year hides his eyes,
Hides his eyes as he steals away?
Yet they shone like stars with a glad surprise
Only a twelvemonth ago to-day.
He had come to be king o'er the world of men;
Gifts he had brought in his lavish hand,
And we, his subjects, trusted him then,
And shouted and laughed at the king's command.
Hides his eyes as he steals away?
Yet they shone like stars with a glad surprise
Only a twelvemonth ago to-day.
He had come to be king o'er the world of men;
Gifts he had brought in his lavish hand,
And we, his subjects, trusted him then,
And shouted and laughed at the king's command.
The bells they rang, and the people cheered,
And the preachers praised him and welcomed him in—
Never a king more royal appeared,
Or ever was hailed with a lordlier din.
Then, sooth, he began his gifts to bestow,
As a monarch might on a waiting band
Of his courtiers, smiling and bowing below,
Waiting his pleasure and kissing his hand.
And the preachers praised him and welcomed him in—
Never a king more royal appeared,
Or ever was hailed with a lordlier din.
Then, sooth, he began his gifts to bestow,
As a monarch might on a waiting band
Of his courtiers, smiling and bowing below,
Waiting his pleasure and kissing his hand.
He was a giver impartial as Fate,—
Donor to one and donor to all,—
And the crowds that gathered his pleasure to wait
Caught each of them something his hand let fall:
To these it was Love, that is strong as life;
To those it was Death, more tender than love;
To some it was victory after strife,
To others defeat and the sorrow thereof.
Donor to one and donor to all,—
And the crowds that gathered his pleasure to wait
Caught each of them something his hand let fall:
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To those it was Death, more tender than love;
To some it was victory after strife,
To others defeat and the sorrow thereof.
Till at last his courtiers grew ill content,
And each man sighed for his neighbor's dole,
And the Year was old, and his strength was spent—
Toll the bell for his parting soul!
Toll, but be glad, for the old should die,
And love and life belong to the new—
Why over the Old Year should we sigh?
He was but a niggard to me—to you.
And each man sighed for his neighbor's dole,
And the Year was old, and his strength was spent—
Toll the bell for his parting soul!
Toll, but be glad, for the old should die,
And love and life belong to the new—
Why over the Old Year should we sigh?
He was but a niggard to me—to you.
But this glad New Year, with smiles in his eyes,
This new young king, who is good to see,
He will make us happy and wealthy and wise,
And for him we will clamor joyously—
Shout till our throats with shouting are hoarse,
Ring the bells and kindle the fires,
For he will bring to us joy, perforce—
Give to our hearts our hearts' desires.
This new young king, who is good to see,
He will make us happy and wealthy and wise,
And for him we will clamor joyously—
Shout till our throats with shouting are hoarse,
Ring the bells and kindle the fires,
For he will bring to us joy, perforce—
Give to our hearts our hearts' desires.
Surely he cannot be stern or sad,—
He, with the light in his shining eyes,—
We, his subjects, shall all be glad,
Dowered at last with some sweet surprise:
What the hard Old Year to our prayers denied
We shall win from the New Year, glad and gay,
And live, with his bounty satisfied,—
Welcome him in! It is New Year's Day.
He, with the light in his shining eyes,—
We, his subjects, shall all be glad,
Dowered at last with some sweet surprise:
What the hard Old Year to our prayers denied
We shall win from the New Year, glad and gay,
And live, with his bounty satisfied,—
Welcome him in! It is New Year's Day.
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |