 | The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich |  |
35
INTERLUDES
HESPERIDES
If thy soul, Herrick, dwelt with me,This is what my songs would be;
Hints of our sea-breezes, blent
With odors from the Orient;
Indian vessels deep with spice;
Star-showers from the Norland ice;
Wine-red jewels that seem to hold
Fire, but only burn with cold;
Antique goblets, strangely wrought,
Filled with the wine of happy thought.
Bridal measures, vain regrets,
Laburnum buds and violets;
Hopeful as the break of day;
Clear as crystal; new as May;
Musical as brooks that run
O'er yellow shallows in the sun;
Soft as the satin fringe that shades
The eyelids of thy Devon maids;
Brief as thy lyrics, Herrick, are,
And polished as the bosom of a star.
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BEFORE THE RAIN
We knew it would rain, for all the morn,
A spirit on slender ropes of mist
Was lowering its golden buckets down
Into the vapory amethyst
A spirit on slender ropes of mist
Was lowering its golden buckets down
Into the vapory amethyst
Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens—
Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers,
Dipping the jewels out of the sea,
To scatter them over the land in showers.
Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers,
Dipping the jewels out of the sea,
To scatter them over the land in showers.
We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed
The white of their leaves, the amber grain
Shrunk in the wind—and the lightning now
Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain!
The white of their leaves, the amber grain
Shrunk in the wind—and the lightning now
Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain!
AFTER THE RAIN
The rain has ceased, and in my room
The sunshine pours an airy flood;
And on the church's dizzy vane
The ancient Cross is bathed in blood.
The sunshine pours an airy flood;
And on the church's dizzy vane
The ancient Cross is bathed in blood.
From out the dripping ivy-leaves,
Antiquely carven, gray and high,
A dormer, facing westward, looks
Upon the village like an eye.
Antiquely carven, gray and high,
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Upon the village like an eye.
And now it glimmers in the sun,
A square of gold, a disk, a speck:
And in the belfry sits a Dove
With purple ripples on her neck.
A square of gold, a disk, a speck:
And in the belfry sits a Dove
With purple ripples on her neck.
A SNOWFLAKE
Once he sang of summer,Nothing but the summer;
Now he sings of winter,
Of winter bleak and drear:
Just because there's fallen
A snowflake on his forehead
He must go and fancy
'T is winter all the year!
FROST-WORK
These winter nights, against my window-paneNature with busy pencil draws designs
Of ferns and blossoms and fine spray of pines,
Oak-leaf and acorn and fantastic vines,
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Quaint arabesques in argent, flat and cold,
Like curious Chinese etchings. ... By and by
(I in my leafy garden as of old)
These frosty fantasies shall charm my eye
In azure, damask, emerald, and gold.
THE ONE WHITE ROSE
A sorrowful woman said to me,
“Come in and look on our child.”
I saw an Angel at shut of day,
And it never spoke—but smiled.
“Come in and look on our child.”
I saw an Angel at shut of day,
And it never spoke—but smiled.
I think of it in the city's streets,
I dream of it when I rest—
The violet eyes, the waxen hands,
And the one white rose on the breast!
I dream of it when I rest—
The violet eyes, the waxen hands,
And the one white rose on the breast!
LANDSCAPE
Gaunt shadows stretch along the hill;
Cold clouds drift slowly west;
Soft flocks of vagrant snowflakes fill
The redwing's frozen nest.
Cold clouds drift slowly west;
Soft flocks of vagrant snowflakes fill
The redwing's frozen nest.
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By sunken reefs the hoarse sea roars;
Above the shelving sands,
Like skeletons the sycamores
Uplift their wasted hands.
Above the shelving sands,
Like skeletons the sycamores
Uplift their wasted hands.
The air is full of hints of grief,
Faint voices touched with pain—
The pathos of the falling leaf
And rustling of the rain.
Faint voices touched with pain—
The pathos of the falling leaf
And rustling of the rain.
In yonder cottage shines a light,
Far-gleaming like a gem—
Not fairer to the Rabbins' sight
Was star of Bethlehem!
Far-gleaming like a gem—
Not fairer to the Rabbins' sight
Was star of Bethlehem!
NOCTURNE
Up to her chamber window
A slight wire trellis goes,
And up this Romeo's ladder
Clambers a bold white rose.
A slight wire trellis goes,
And up this Romeo's ladder
Clambers a bold white rose.
I lounge in the ilex shadows,
I see the lady lean,
Unclasping her silken girdle,
The curtain's folds between.
I see the lady lean,
Unclasping her silken girdle,
The curtain's folds between.
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She smiles on her white-rose lover,
She reaches out her hand
And helps him in at the window—
I see it where I stand!
She reaches out her hand
And helps him in at the window—
I see it where I stand!
To her scarlet lip she holds him,
And kisses him many a time—
Ah, me! it was he that won her
Because he dared to climb!
And kisses him many a time—
Ah, me! it was he that won her
Because he dared to climb!
APPRECIATION
To the sea-shell's spiral round
'T is your heart that brings the sound:
The soft sea-murmurs that you hear
Within, are captured from your ear.
'T is your heart that brings the sound:
The soft sea-murmurs that you hear
Within, are captured from your ear.
You do poets and their song
A grievous wrong,
If your own soul does not bring
To their high imagining
As much beauty as they sing.
A grievous wrong,
If your own soul does not bring
To their high imagining
As much beauty as they sing.
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PALABRAS CARIÑOSAS
(SPANISH AIR)
Good-night! I have to say good-night
To such a host of peerless things!
Good-night unto the slender hand
All queenly with its weight of rings;
Good-night to fond, uplifted eyes,
Good-night to chestnut braids of hair,
Good-night unto the perfect mouth,
And all the sweetness nestled there—
The snowy hand detains me, then
I'll have to say Good-night again!
To such a host of peerless things!
Good-night unto the slender hand
All queenly with its weight of rings;
Good-night to fond, uplifted eyes,
Good-night to chestnut braids of hair,
Good-night unto the perfect mouth,
And all the sweetness nestled there—
The snowy hand detains me, then
I'll have to say Good-night again!
But there will come a time, my love,
When, if I read our stars aright,
I shall not linger by this porch
With my farewells. Till then, good-night!
You wish the time were now? And I.
You do not blush to wish it so?
You would have blushed yourself to death
To own so much a year ago—
What, both these snowy hands! ah, then
I'll have to say Good-night again!
When, if I read our stars aright,
I shall not linger by this porch
With my farewells. Till then, good-night!
You wish the time were now? And I.
You do not blush to wish it so?
You would have blushed yourself to death
To own so much a year ago—
What, both these snowy hands! ah, then
I'll have to say Good-night again!
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APPARITIONS
At noon of night, and at the night's pale end,
Such things have chanced to me
As one, by day, would scarcely tell a friend
For fear of mockery.
Such things have chanced to me
As one, by day, would scarcely tell a friend
For fear of mockery.
Shadows, you say, mirages of the brain!
I know not, faith, not I.
Is it more strange the dead should walk again
Than that the quick should die?
I know not, faith, not I.
Is it more strange the dead should walk again
Than that the quick should die?
UNSUNG
As sweet as the breath that goes
From the lips of the blown rose,
As weird as the elfin lights
That glimmer of frosty nights,
As wild as the winds that tear
The curled red leaf in the air,
Is the song I have never sung.
From the lips of the blown rose,
As weird as the elfin lights
That glimmer of frosty nights,
As wild as the winds that tear
The curled red leaf in the air,
Is the song I have never sung.
In slumber, a hundred times
I have said the mystic rhymes,
But ere I open my eyes
This ghost of a poem flies;
Of the interfluent strains
Not even a note remains:
I know by my pulses' beat
It was something wild and sweet,
And my heart is deeply stirred
By an unremembered word!
I have said the mystic rhymes,
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This ghost of a poem flies;
Of the interfluent strains
Not even a note remains:
I know by my pulses' beat
It was something wild and sweet,
And my heart is deeply stirred
By an unremembered word!
I strive, but I strive in vain,
To recall the lost refrain.
On some miraculous day
Perhaps it will come and stay;
In some unimagined Spring
I may find my voice, and sing
The song I have never sung.
To recall the lost refrain.
On some miraculous day
Perhaps it will come and stay;
In some unimagined Spring
I may find my voice, and sing
The song I have never sung.
AN UNTIMELY THOUGHT
I wonder what day of the week,
I wonder what month of the year—
Will it be midnight, or morning,
And who will bend over my bier? ...
I wonder what month of the year—
Will it be midnight, or morning,
And who will bend over my bier? ...
—What a hideous fancy to come
As I wait at the foot of the stair,
While Lilian gives the last touch
To her robe, or the rose in her hair.
As I wait at the foot of the stair,
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To her robe, or the rose in her hair.
Do I like your new dress—pompadour?
And do I like you? On my life,
You are eighteen, and not a day more,
And have not been six years my wife.
And do I like you? On my life,
You are eighteen, and not a day more,
And have not been six years my wife.
Those two rosy boys in the crib
Up-stairs are not ours, to be sure!—
You are just a sweet bride in her bloom,
All sunshine, and snowy, and pure.
Up-stairs are not ours, to be sure!—
You are just a sweet bride in her bloom,
All sunshine, and snowy, and pure.
As the carriage rolls down the dark street
The little wife laughs and makes cheer—
But ... I wonder what day of the week,
I wonder what month of the year.
The little wife laughs and makes cheer—
But ... I wonder what day of the week,
I wonder what month of the year.
ONE WOMAN
Thou listenest to us with unheeding ear;
Alike to thee our censure and our praise:
Thou hearest voices that we may not hear;
Thou livest only in thy yesterdays.
Alike to thee our censure and our praise:
Thou hearest voices that we may not hear;
Thou livest only in thy yesterdays.
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We see thee move, erect and pale and brave;
Soft words are thine, sweet deeds, and gracious will;
Yet thou art dead as any in the grave—
Only thy presence lingers with us still.
Soft words are thine, sweet deeds, and gracious will;
Yet thou art dead as any in the grave—
Only thy presence lingers with us still.
With others, joy and sorrow seem to slip
Like light and shade, and laughter kills regret;
But thou—the fugitive tremor of thy lip
Lays bare thy secret—thou canst not forget!
Like light and shade, and laughter kills regret;
But thou—the fugitive tremor of thy lip
Lays bare thy secret—thou canst not forget!
REALISM
Romance beside his unstrung luteLies stricken mute.
The old-time fire, the antique grace,
You will not find them anywhere.
To-day we breathe a commonplace,
Polemic, scientific air:
We strip Illusion of her veil;
We vivisect the nightingale
To probe the secret of his note.
The Muse in alien ways remote
Goes wandering.
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DISCIPLINE
In the crypt at the foot of the stairs
They lay there, a score of the Dead:
They could hear the priest at his prayers,
And the litany overhead.
They lay there, a score of the Dead:
They could hear the priest at his prayers,
And the litany overhead.
They knew when the great crowd stirred
As the Host was lifted on high;
And they smiled in the dark when they heard
Some light-footed nun trip by.
As the Host was lifted on high;
And they smiled in the dark when they heard
Some light-footed nun trip by.
Side by side on their shelves
For years and years they lay;
And those who misbehaved themselves
Had their coffin-plates taken away.
For years and years they lay;
And those who misbehaved themselves
Had their coffin-plates taken away.
Thus is the legend told
In black-letter monkish rhyme,
Explaining those plaques of gold
That vanished from time to time!
In black-letter monkish rhyme,
Explaining those plaques of gold
That vanished from time to time!
DESTINY
Three roses, wan as moonlight and weighed down
Each with its loveliness as with a crown,
Drooped in a florist's window in a town.
Each with its loveliness as with a crown,
Drooped in a florist's window in a town.
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The first a lover bought. It lay at rest,
Like flower on flower, that night, on Beauty's breast.
Like flower on flower, that night, on Beauty's breast.
The second rose, as virginal and fair,
Shrunk in the tangles of a harlot's hair.
Shrunk in the tangles of a harlot's hair.
The third, a widow, with new grief made wild,
Shut in the icy palm of her dead child.
Shut in the icy palm of her dead child.
NAMELESS PAIN
In my nostrils the summer wind
Blows the exquisite scent of the rose:
Oh for the golden, golden wind,
Breaking the buds as it goes!
Breaking the buds and bending the grass,
And spilling the scent of the rose.
Blows the exquisite scent of the rose:
Oh for the golden, golden wind,
Breaking the buds as it goes!
Breaking the buds and bending the grass,
And spilling the scent of the rose.
O wind of the summer morn,
Tearing the petals in twain,
Wafting the fragrant soul
Of the rose through valley and plain,
I would you could tear my heart to-day
And scatter its nameless pain!
Tearing the petals in twain,
Wafting the fragrant soul
Of the rose through valley and plain,
I would you could tear my heart to-day
And scatter its nameless pain!
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HEREDITY
A soldier of the Cromwell stamp,
With sword and psalm-book by his side,
At home alike in church and camp:
Austere he lived, and smileless died.
With sword and psalm-book by his side,
At home alike in church and camp:
Austere he lived, and smileless died.
But she, a creature soft and fine—
From Spain, some say, some say from France;
Within her veins leapt blood like wine—
She led her Roundhead lord a dance!
From Spain, some say, some say from France;
Within her veins leapt blood like wine—
She led her Roundhead lord a dance!
In Grantham church they lie asleep;
Just where, the verger may not know.
Strange that two hundred years should keep
The old ancestral fires aglow!
Just where, the verger may not know.
Strange that two hundred years should keep
The old ancestral fires aglow!
In me these two have met again;
To each my nature owes a part:
To one, the cool and reasoning brain,
To one, the quick, unreasoning heart.
To each my nature owes a part:
To one, the cool and reasoning brain,
To one, the quick, unreasoning heart.
IDENTITY
Somewhere—in desolate wind-swept space—
In Twilight-land—in No-man's-land—
Two hurrying Shapes met face to face,
And bade each other stand.
In Twilight-land—in No-man's-land—
Two hurrying Shapes met face to face,
And bade each other stand.
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“And who are you?” cried one a-gape,
Shuddering in the gloaming light.
“I know not,” said the second Shape,
“I only died last night!”
Shuddering in the gloaming light.
“I know not,” said the second Shape,
“I only died last night!”
LYRICS AND EPICS
I would be the LyricEver on the lip,
Rather than the Epic
Memory lets slip.
I would be the diamond
At my lady's ear,
Rather than the June-rose
Worn but once a year.
A WINTER PIECE
Sous le voile qui vous protége,
Défiant les regards jaloux,
Si vous sortez par cette neige,
Redoutez vos pieds andalous.
Théophile Gautier
Défiant les regards jaloux,
Si vous sortez par cette neige,
Redoutez vos pieds andalous.
Théophile Gautier
Beneath the heavy veil you wear,
Shielded from jealous eyes you go;
But of your pretty feet have care
If you should venture through the snow.
Shielded from jealous eyes you go;
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If you should venture through the snow.
Howe'er you tread, a tiny mould
Betrays that light foot all the same;
Upon this glistening, snowy fold
At every step it signs your name.
Betrays that light foot all the same;
Upon this glistening, snowy fold
At every step it signs your name.
Thus guided, one might come too close
Upon the slyly-hidden nest
Where Psyche, with her cheek's cold rose,
On Love's warm bosom lies at rest.
Upon the slyly-hidden nest
Where Psyche, with her cheek's cold rose,
On Love's warm bosom lies at rest.
KRISS KRINGLE
(Written in a child's album)
Just as the moon was fading amid her misty rings,And every stocking was stuffed with childhood's precious things,
Old Kriss Kringle looked round, and saw on the elm-tree bough,
High-hung, an oriole's nest, silent and empty now.
“Quite like a stocking,” he laughed, “pinned up there on the tree!
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Then old Kriss Kringle, who loves a joke as well as the best,
Dropped a handful of flakes in the oriole's empty nest.
RENCONTRE
Toiling across the Mer de Glace,
I thought of, longed for thee;
What miles between us stretched, alas!—
What miles of land and sea!
I thought of, longed for thee;
What miles between us stretched, alas!—
What miles of land and sea!
My foe, undreamed of, at my side
Stood suddenly, like Fate.
For those who love, the world is wide,
But not for those who hate.
Stood suddenly, like Fate.
For those who love, the world is wide,
But not for those who hate.
LOVE'S CALENDAR
The Summer comes and the Summer goes;
Wild-flowers are fringing the dusty lanes,
The swallows go darting through fragrant rains,
Then, all of a sudden—it snows.
Wild-flowers are fringing the dusty lanes,
The swallows go darting through fragrant rains,
Then, all of a sudden—it snows.
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Dear Heart, our lives so happily flow,
So lightly we heed the flying hours,
We only know Winter is gone—by the flowers,
We only know Winter is come—by the snow.
So lightly we heed the flying hours,
We only know Winter is gone—by the flowers,
We only know Winter is come—by the snow.
LOST ART
I
When I was young and light of heartI made sad songs with easy art:
Now I am sad, and no more young,
My sorrow cannot find a tongue.
II
Pray, Muses, since I may not singOf Death or any grievous thing,
Teach me some joyous strain, that I
May mock my youth's hypocrisy!
| The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | |