 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
POEMS OF GRIEF AND CONSOLATION.
DYING.
My Love, I love but only thee,
Yet of a truth I must avow
That I have taken an enemy
Closer in my embrace, than thou.
Yet of a truth I must avow
That I have taken an enemy
Closer in my embrace, than thou.
And if thou comest home some day,
And find'st the household door shut up,
Be not disconsolate, I pray,
Because of that one bitter cup;
And find'st the household door shut up,
Be not disconsolate, I pray,
Because of that one bitter cup;
But think of all the pleasant years
Our paths did gently downward slope,
And of the land where fall no tears,
And live in memory and hope.
Our paths did gently downward slope,
And of the land where fall no tears,
And live in memory and hope.
In memory of the sacred hours
When still from heaven some gracious gleam
Ran like the tender hues through flowers,
Making of all our lives a dream.
When still from heaven some gracious gleam
Ran like the tender hues through flowers,
Making of all our lives a dream.
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In hope of that celestial birth
From death to life, apart from woe;
Of love, that to the love of earth
Is as the sunshine to the snow.
From death to life, apart from woe;
Of love, that to the love of earth
Is as the sunshine to the snow.
Spring, ay, the summer too, is gone,
And autumn shadows darken all;
Why should I care to linger on
Till the wild storms of winter fall!
And autumn shadows darken all;
Why should I care to linger on
Till the wild storms of winter fall!
KILLVALY.
O the sweet waters, the silvery waters—
O the gay grass where together we strayed!
Killvaly, Killvaly! wild, woody Killvaly,
O for a day, with my love, in thy shade!
O the gay grass where together we strayed!
Killvaly, Killvaly! wild, woody Killvaly,
O for a day, with my love, in thy shade!
O for a touch of the dear little fingers!
O for a kiss of the mouth of my maid!
Killvaly, Killvaly! glorious Killvaly,
O for the silent consent of thy shade!
O for a kiss of the mouth of my maid!
Killvaly, Killvaly! glorious Killvaly,
O for the silent consent of thy shade!
O the glad whir of the wings that flew o'er us,
Downy with linings of ruby and fawn;
Killvaly, Killvaly! musical Killvaly,
O for a day of the days that are gone!
Downy with linings of ruby and fawn;
Killvaly, Killvaly! musical Killvaly,
O for a day of the days that are gone!
O the kind zephyr, my sweet, sweet accomplice,
That drowned me almost in the waves of her hair;
Killvaly, Killvaly! generous Killvaly,
How couldst thou yield me a treasure so rare!
That drowned me almost in the waves of her hair;
Killvaly, Killvaly! generous Killvaly,
How couldst thou yield me a treasure so rare!
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O the ripe flush of the royal red roses
I gathered, and gave to my fine little maid;
Killvaly, Killvaly! cold, cruel Killvaly,
How couldst thou hide that bright head in thy shade!
I gathered, and gave to my fine little maid;
Killvaly, Killvaly! cold, cruel Killvaly,
How couldst thou hide that bright head in thy shade!
What to me now are the dulcetest pleasures?
What is the world since my pretty one died?
Killvaly, Killvaly! calm, quiet Killvaly,
Take me, and lull me to sleep by her side.
What is the world since my pretty one died?
Killvaly, Killvaly! calm, quiet Killvaly,
Take me, and lull me to sleep by her side.
SORROW.
All the long weary day
When I my tune would play,
He maketh sad stops in my sweetest reed;
And when the daylight ceases
He breaketh up my sleep to little pieces,
And thereupon doth feed.
When I my tune would play,
He maketh sad stops in my sweetest reed;
And when the daylight ceases
He breaketh up my sleep to little pieces,
And thereupon doth feed.
Alway at my spare feast,
Ere yet the meat I taste,
He cometh, and beside my board doth sit,
And giveth me such looks
As though that he were drawing with sharp hooks
The marrow out of it.
Ere yet the meat I taste,
He cometh, and beside my board doth sit,
And giveth me such looks
As though that he were drawing with sharp hooks
The marrow out of it.
I may no longer use
Such colors as I choose—
Scarlet or lively green to be my gowns,
For still he letteth fall
His salt and bitter tears on one and all,
Fading my reds to browns.
Such colors as I choose—
Scarlet or lively green to be my gowns,
For still he letteth fall
His salt and bitter tears on one and all,
Fading my reds to browns.
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Long whiles I stay apart
From my most sweet sweetheart,
Because of eyelids drooping in disgrace,
For whatsoe'er I say,
He maketh me to stammer such a way,
As shames me to his face.
From my most sweet sweetheart,
Because of eyelids drooping in disgrace,
For whatsoe'er I say,
He maketh me to stammer such a way,
As shames me to his face.
The littlest room of all
My house, is not so small,
But there he maketh space and doth abide;
O friends, for pity's sake,
Out of your love a secret chamber make,
And therein let me hide.
My house, is not so small,
But there he maketh space and doth abide;
O friends, for pity's sake,
Out of your love a secret chamber make,
And therein let me hide.
For all the weary day
When I my tune would play,
He maketh sad stops in my sweetest reed;
And when the daylight ceases
He breaketh up my sleep to little pieces,
And thereupon doth feed.
When I my tune would play,
He maketh sad stops in my sweetest reed;
And when the daylight ceases
He breaketh up my sleep to little pieces,
And thereupon doth feed.
TRACKS.
My lost love, your spirit such quietude brings,
I know that you live, and are well, as I know
By the tracks of the birds that I see in the snow,
That songs must be somewhere, that somewhere are wings.
I know that you live, and are well, as I know
By the tracks of the birds that I see in the snow,
That songs must be somewhere, that somewhere are wings.
Lost, yet you were never all lost for a day;
I know you are gone to your higher estate,
And sitting low down in the shadows, I wait
Till I too am ripe to be gathered away.
I know you are gone to your higher estate,
And sitting low down in the shadows, I wait
Till I too am ripe to be gathered away.
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Never lost, never lost! yet, my dear little friend,
I miss the glad light of your wonderful eyes;
And something I miss from the earth and the skies,
That will not, and cannot come back, to the end.
I miss the glad light of your wonderful eyes;
And something I miss from the earth and the skies,
That will not, and cannot come back, to the end.
Our paths through the fields seem to be as strange ways;
I wish that some night I could dream a sweet dream,
Wherein the old nights and the old days would seem
Like the old happy nights and the happy old days.
I wish that some night I could dream a sweet dream,
Wherein the old nights and the old days would seem
Like the old happy nights and the happy old days.
I wish you could leave the good angels above!
I wish I could have you, just one fleeting hour,
To hold in my bosom, my sweet little flower,
And tell you the height and the depth of my love.
I wish I could have you, just one fleeting hour,
To hold in my bosom, my sweet little flower,
And tell you the height and the depth of my love.
Sometimes such a doubt from the last darkness springs;
My heart turneth sick, and my faith falleth low,
But when the faint bird-tracks appear in the snow,
I trust and believe in the songs and the wings.
My heart turneth sick, and my faith falleth low,
But when the faint bird-tracks appear in the snow,
I trust and believe in the songs and the wings.
A MOTHER'S SOLACE.
My little darling seems to me
Lying here dead upon my knee:
I know it is not so—that I
Am dead as much as she can die.
Lying here dead upon my knee:
I know it is not so—that I
Am dead as much as she can die.
Her hair in many a curl that lies,
Would grow no nearer to her eyes
That any sight of mine could know,
Though I kept her always lying so.
Would grow no nearer to her eyes
That any sight of mine could know,
Though I kept her always lying so.
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Her hands would seem like a snowy cross,
One on the other, and I her loss
Would mourn with tears, though while they fell
I knew she was alive and well.
One on the other, and I her loss
Would mourn with tears, though while they fell
I knew she was alive and well.
So lay this clay that seems to be
My little darling, from my knee:
The life she lives is too divine
To be interpreted to mine.
My little darling, from my knee:
The life she lives is too divine
To be interpreted to mine.
My senses shut me in their cell—
She is outside, alive and well,—
I am sinful, she is sinless, I
Am dying—she has ceased to die.
She is outside, alive and well,—
I am sinful, she is sinless, I
Am dying—she has ceased to die.
The love that made her thus to be
Is more than mine is, therefore she
Needs me not, or I need not her—
Love, so loving her, could not err.
Is more than mine is, therefore she
Needs me not, or I need not her—
Love, so loving her, could not err.
SPRING.
Patches of snow may still be seen,
And the boughs are black and bare,
But the grass will soon be growing green,
For the spring is in the air.
And the boughs are black and bare,
But the grass will soon be growing green,
For the spring is in the air.
The wintry silence seems to take
Almost the shape of sound,
As if the flowery folk were awake
In their beds beneath the ground.
Almost the shape of sound,
As if the flowery folk were awake
In their beds beneath the ground.
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The clouds that overhung the hills
All winter, cold and white,
Have taken the hue of the daffodils,
For the spring is in the light.
All winter, cold and white,
Have taken the hue of the daffodils,
For the spring is in the light.
O mourners, as the fields grow fair,
Let all your fears depart,
For He who wakes the spring-time there
Can waken it in the heart.
Let all your fears depart,
For He who wakes the spring-time there
Can waken it in the heart.
The hopes you mourn as dead, but sleep,
And will come to life like the flowers;
The Lord hath taken, and he can keep,
For his love is more than ours.
And will come to life like the flowers;
The Lord hath taken, and he can keep,
For his love is more than ours.
When winter cometh, fear no ill,
For his care is never done,
And the heart of man it draweth him still
As the dewdrop draws the sun.
For his care is never done,
And the heart of man it draweth him still
As the dewdrop draws the sun.
OVER THE SHIPS THE WHITE MISTS LIE.
Over the ships the white mists lie,
And the sea is cold and gray;
The moon has taken her place in the sky,
But her face is turned away.
And the sea is cold and gray;
The moon has taken her place in the sky,
But her face is turned away.
The half of her lovely light is gone,
And the sea is cold and gray,
But the ships are sailing on and on
To their haven in the bay.
And the sea is cold and gray,
But the ships are sailing on and on
To their haven in the bay.
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They cut the mist, they stem the gale,
And, till their ports be won,
Sail to the land of morn, and sail
To the land of the setting sun.
And, till their ports be won,
Sail to the land of morn, and sail
To the land of the setting sun.
My lover is sailing away from me,
Sailing night and day,
And wherever I look I seem to see
The sea-mist, cold and gray.
Sailing night and day,
And wherever I look I seem to see
The sea-mist, cold and gray.
But I know the while my heart is tossed,
And the mists of sorrow fall,
“That better 't is to have loved and lost
Than not to have loved at all.”
And the mists of sorrow fall,
“That better 't is to have loved and lost
Than not to have loved at all.”
TO A PICTURE.
Is this all? all? my rose-red lips,
Where, where are your gentle sighs?
You have only one of your thousand lights,
My beautiful, beautiful eyes!
Where, where are your gentle sighs?
You have only one of your thousand lights,
My beautiful, beautiful eyes!
The same sweet brow and dazzling hair—
On the cheek the same warm glow—
Ah, come and be folded in mine again,
My dear little hands of snow!
On the cheek the same warm glow—
Ah, come and be folded in mine again,
My dear little hands of snow!
O cruel death, wilt thou not yield
To the might of love like ours?
I have seen the bleak cold earth in the rain
Blaze wild and red with flowers!
To the might of love like ours?
I have seen the bleak cold earth in the rain
Blaze wild and red with flowers!
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Still, still. If ever I did you wrong
That your tender love concealed,
Break this silence, life of my life,
And say that my wound is healed!
That your tender love concealed,
Break this silence, life of my life,
And say that my wound is healed!
See, see! I am on my knees! No flush
In the cheek? in the pulse, no start?
O come from the canvas and make me live—
Come, come to me, heart of my heart!
In the cheek? in the pulse, no start?
O come from the canvas and make me live—
Come, come to me, heart of my heart!
One sign, my little white hands! one word,
My rose-red mouth! though it kill—
Change, change, my darling, your smile to a frown—
Be anything, but so still.
My rose-red mouth! though it kill—
Change, change, my darling, your smile to a frown—
Be anything, but so still.
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |