 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
255
French Tunes.
Friend, let us pay the wonted fee.
Andrew Lang.
Andrew Lang.
Then let me live one long romance
And learn to trifle well,
And write my motto “Vive la France!”
And “Vive la bagatelle!”
William Mackworth Praed.
And learn to trifle well,
And write my motto “Vive la France!”
And “Vive la bagatelle!”
William Mackworth Praed.
257
THE SPRING IS HERE.
I miss you, sweet! The spring is here;
The young grass trembles on the leas;
The violet's breath enchants the breeze;
And the blue sky bends low and near.
The young grass trembles on the leas;
The violet's breath enchants the breeze;
And the blue sky bends low and near.
Home-coming birds, with carol clear,
Make their new nests in budding trees—
I miss you, sweet, now spring is here,
And young grass trembles on the leas.
Make their new nests in budding trees—
I miss you, sweet, now spring is here,
And young grass trembles on the leas.
You were my Spring, and spring is dear;
Without you can the May-time please?
Let lavish June withhold her fees,
And winter reign throughout the year—
I miss you, sweet, though spring is here.
Without you can the May-time please?
Let lavish June withhold her fees,
And winter reign throughout the year—
I miss you, sweet, though spring is here.
258
EASTER SUNDAY.
On Easter morn she kneels and prays,
A gentle saint in baby blue—
Forgive her that her hat is new,
And all those dear, coquettish ways.
A gentle saint in baby blue—
Forgive her that her hat is new,
And all those dear, coquettish ways.
Her loyal soul pure tribute pays
To that high throne where prayers are due,
At Easter, when she kneels and prays,
A gentle saint in baby blue.
To that high throne where prayers are due,
At Easter, when she kneels and prays,
A gentle saint in baby blue.
So innocent her girlish days
She scarcely knows what sins to rue,
What pard'ning grace from Heaven to sue,
As, glad with morning's gladdest rays,
A gentle saint, she kneels and prays.
She scarcely knows what sins to rue,
What pard'ning grace from Heaven to sue,
As, glad with morning's gladdest rays,
A gentle saint, she kneels and prays.
259
HEART, SAD HEART.
Heart, sad heart, for what are you pleading?
The sun has set, and the night is cold;
To go on hoping were over bold;
Dead is the fire for want of feeding.
The sun has set, and the night is cold;
To go on hoping were over bold;
Dead is the fire for want of feeding.
Tears are keeping your eyes from reading
The old, old story, so often told—
Heart, sad heart, for what are you pleading?
The sun has set, and the night is cold.
The old, old story, so often told—
Heart, sad heart, for what are you pleading?
The sun has set, and the night is cold.
The wind and the rain in the dark are breeding
Storms to sweep over valley and wold;
Love, the outcast, with longing bold,
Clamors and prays to a power unheeding.
Heart, sad heart, for what are you pleading?
Storms to sweep over valley and wold;
Love, the outcast, with longing bold,
Clamors and prays to a power unheeding.
Heart, sad heart, for what are you pleading?
260
TWO RED ROSES.
TO M. R. L.
I wish they could live forever,—
These roses my darling brought!
Their breath from her lips they caught,
And still with her touch they quiver.
These roses my darling brought!
Their breath from her lips they caught,
And still with her touch they quiver.
As bright as their bright sweet giver,
With a charm like her own charm fraught,
I wish they could live forever,—
These roses my darling brought!
With a charm like her own charm fraught,
I wish they could live forever,—
These roses my darling brought!
But loving from loved must sever,
And hoping must come to nought—
I know what the years have taught;
Yet I wish they could live forever,—
These roses my darling brought.
And hoping must come to nought—
I know what the years have taught;
Yet I wish they could live forever,—
These roses my darling brought.
261
THE SHADOW DANCE.
She sees her image in the glass,—
How fair a thing to gaze upon!
She lingers while the moments run,
With happy thoughts that come and pass,
How fair a thing to gaze upon!
She lingers while the moments run,
With happy thoughts that come and pass,
Like winds across the meadow grass
When the young June is just begun:
She sees her image in the glass,—
How fair a thing to gaze upon!
When the young June is just begun:
She sees her image in the glass,—
How fair a thing to gaze upon!
What wealth of gold the skies amass!
How glad are all things 'neath the sun!
How true the love her love has won!
She recks not that this hour will pass;
She sees her image in the glass.
How glad are all things 'neath the sun!
How true the love her love has won!
She recks not that this hour will pass;
She sees her image in the glass.
262
IN FEBRUARY.
And the second month of the year
Puts heart in the earth again.
P. B. Marston.
Puts heart in the earth again.
P. B. Marston.
Already the feet of the Winter fly,
And the pulse of the Earth begins to leap,
Waking up from her frozen sleep,
And knowing the beautiful Spring is nigh.
And the pulse of the Earth begins to leap,
Waking up from her frozen sleep,
And knowing the beautiful Spring is nigh.
Good Saint Valentine wanders by,
Pausing his festival gay to keep;
Already the feet of the Winter fly,
And the pulse of the Earth begins to leap.
Pausing his festival gay to keep;
Already the feet of the Winter fly,
And the pulse of the Earth begins to leap.
To life she wakes; and a smile and a sigh—
Language the scoffer holds so cheap—
Thrill her with melody dear and deep.
Spring, with its mating time is nigh;
Already the feet of the Winter fly,
And the pulse of the Earth begins to leap.
Language the scoffer holds so cheap—
Thrill her with melody dear and deep.
Spring, with its mating time is nigh;
Already the feet of the Winter fly,
And the pulse of the Earth begins to leap.
263
THE OLD BEAU.
He was a gay deceiver when
The century was young, they say,
And triumphed over other men,
And wooed the girls, and had his way.
The century was young, they say,
And triumphed over other men,
And wooed the girls, and had his way.
No maiden ever said him nay;
No rival ever crossed him then;
And painters vied to paint him when
The century was young, they say.
No rival ever crossed him then;
And painters vied to paint him when
The century was young, they say.
Now the new dogs must have their day;
And the old beau has found that when
He pleads things go another way,
And lonely 'mong the younger men,
He hears their heartless laughter when
He boasts about that other day.
And the old beau has found that when
He pleads things go another way,
And lonely 'mong the younger men,
He hears their heartless laughter when
He boasts about that other day.
264
TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER,
ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY.
Poet and friend, beloved of us so long,
What shall we wish thee on thy natal day?
What rhymes and roses strew along thy way,—
Thine, unto whom all suffrages belong?
What shall we wish thee on thy natal day?
What rhymes and roses strew along thy way,—
Thine, unto whom all suffrages belong?
Through the dark night we caught thy thrilling song,
Singer and prophet of the higher way:
Poet and friend beloved of us so long,
What shall we wish thee on thy natal day?
Singer and prophet of the higher way:
Poet and friend beloved of us so long,
What shall we wish thee on thy natal day?
Through all thy life the foe of every wrong,
Strong of heart to labor, high of soul to pray,
Guide to recall when errant footsteps stray;
What blessed memories round thy dear name throng!
Poet and friend, beloved of us so long,
God bless and keep thee on thy natal day!
Strong of heart to labor, high of soul to pray,
Guide to recall when errant footsteps stray;
What blessed memories round thy dear name throng!
Poet and friend, beloved of us so long,
God bless and keep thee on thy natal day!
265
“WITH THOSE CLEAR EYES.”
TO A. C. W.
Look at me, love, with those clear eyes
In which I see the thoughts arise,
As, gazing in a limpid well,
Unto Narcissus it befell
To see himself with glad surprise.
In which I see the thoughts arise,
As, gazing in a limpid well,
Unto Narcissus it befell
To see himself with glad surprise.
Blue with the blue of summer skies,—
Dear skies, behind which heaven lies,—
With one swift gaze my gloom dispel.
Look at me, love!
Dear skies, behind which heaven lies,—
With one swift gaze my gloom dispel.
Look at me, love!
See all my heart! Its weakest cries,
Its lonely prayers, its longing sighs,
A language are which you can spell;
You do not need what words can tell
On printed page to make you wise.
Look at me, love!
Its lonely prayers, its longing sighs,
A language are which you can spell;
You do not need what words can tell
On printed page to make you wise.
Look at me, love!
266
LOVE'S GHOST.
Is Love at end? How did he go?
His coming was full sweet, I know;
But when he went he slipped away
And never paused to say good-day—
How could the traitor leave me so?
His coming was full sweet, I know;
But when he went he slipped away
And never paused to say good-day—
How could the traitor leave me so?
There 's something in the summer, though,
That brings the old time back, and lo!
This phantom that would bar my way
Is dead Love's ghost.
That brings the old time back, and lo!
This phantom that would bar my way
Is dead Love's ghost.
His footfall is as soft as snow,
And in his path the lilies blow;
He quenches the just-kindled ray
With which I fain would light my way,
And bids me newer joys forego,
This tyrant ghost.
And in his path the lilies blow;
He quenches the just-kindled ray
With which I fain would light my way,
And bids me newer joys forego,
This tyrant ghost.
267
HOW COULD I TELL?
How could I tell skies would be gray
When you, dear heart, had gone away?
How could I know the summer sun
Was glad of you to look upon,
And it was you who warmed the day?
When you, dear heart, had gone away?
How could I know the summer sun
Was glad of you to look upon,
And it was you who warmed the day?
What part you had to make the May,
And how the very June was gay
With something from your presence won,
How could I tell?
And how the very June was gay
With something from your presence won,
How could I tell?
When you were here, a fervid ray
Of sudden summer lit my way;
Now you with love and life are done,
The very light seems me to shun,
And through the dark I darkly stray—
How could I tell?
Of sudden summer lit my way;
Now you with love and life are done,
The very light seems me to shun,
And through the dark I darkly stray—
How could I tell?
268
WHEN LOVE WAS YOUNG.
When Love was young, in days of yore,
On bended knee full oft I swore
To him alone I 'd homage pay;
I 'd love forever and a day,
And love with every day the more.
On bended knee full oft I swore
To him alone I 'd homage pay;
I 'd love forever and a day,
And love with every day the more.
I sang his praises o'er and o'er;
I conned no missal but his lore—
Oh, but the world and I were gay
When Love was young!
I conned no missal but his lore—
Oh, but the world and I were gay
When Love was young!
His blazonry the morning bore,
And all the larks that sing and soar
Praised him upon their skyward way.
... Ah, happy choir of yesterday,
When Love was young!
And all the larks that sing and soar
Praised him upon their skyward way.
... Ah, happy choir of yesterday,
When Love was young!
269
IF LOVE COULD LAST.
If Love could last, I'd spend my all
And think the price were yet too small
To buy his light upon my way,
His sun to turn my night to day,
His cheer whatever might befall.
And think the price were yet too small
To buy his light upon my way,
His sun to turn my night to day,
His cheer whatever might befall.
Were I his slave, or he my thrall,
No terrors should my heart appall;
I 'd fear no wreckage or dismay
If Love could last.
No terrors should my heart appall;
I 'd fear no wreckage or dismay
If Love could last.
Heaven's lilies grow up white and tall,
But warm within earth's garden wall
With roses red the soft winds play—
Ah, might I gather them to-day!
My hands should never let them fall,
If Love could last.
But warm within earth's garden wall
With roses red the soft winds play—
Ah, might I gather them to-day!
My hands should never let them fall,
If Love could last.
270
O SWEETEST MAID!
TO M. R. L.
O sweetest maid, in other days
The troubadours had sung your praise,
And knights had died and joyed to die
To win a smile as you passed by,
While lord and lackey stood at gaze.
The troubadours had sung your praise,
And knights had died and joyed to die
To win a smile as you passed by,
While lord and lackey stood at gaze.
What wonder that the task dismays
To wreathe your brow with modern bays,
Or rhyming tricks for you to try,
O sweetest maid!
To wreathe your brow with modern bays,
Or rhyming tricks for you to try,
O sweetest maid!
For you should be those loftier lays
Of which from far the echo strays,
In matchless, murmurous melody
That dies in Love's divinest sigh—
Still Love's strong will my rhyme obeys,
O sweetest maid!
Of which from far the echo strays,
In matchless, murmurous melody
That dies in Love's divinest sigh—
Still Love's strong will my rhyme obeys,
O sweetest maid!
271
IF YOU WERE HERE.
TO F. M. S.
If you were here, or I were there,
Then would I find the season fair.
How blissfully the day would rise!
How blue would be the summer skies!
And all the world a smile would wear.
Then would I find the season fair.
How blissfully the day would rise!
How blue would be the summer skies!
And all the world a smile would wear.
What pleasant things we two would share!
By what green paths we two would fare!
How sweet would be each day's surprise
If you were here!
By what green paths we two would fare!
How sweet would be each day's surprise
If you were here!
But now my joy is otherwhere;
Each day's a burden that I bear;
And Pleasure mocks at me and flies,
And Pain stands by my side and sighs;
And yet I know skies would be fair
If you were here.
Each day's a burden that I bear;
And Pleasure mocks at me and flies,
And Pain stands by my side and sighs;
And yet I know skies would be fair
If you were here.
272
SUCH JOY IT WAS.
Such joy it was with Love to walk!The month it was the month of May
When we with Love began to talk.
Such joy it was with Love to walk
We did not see Fate's shadow stalk
Beside us, where flowers hid the way,
Such joy it was with Love to walk—
The month it was the month of May.
273
WE LOVED SO WELL.
We loved so well in that old time;But we and Love grew old together:
Old age forgets youth's golden prime.
We loved so well in that old time;
But youth and truth it is that rhyme,
And winter follows summer weather.
We loved so well in that old time;
But we and Love grew old together.
274
SO BLITHELY ROSE.
So blithely rose the happy dayWhen you and I began to kiss,
The birds believed December May,
So blithely rose the happy day,
And blossoms bloomed along our way,
Though it was time for snow, I wis,—
So blithely rose the happy day
When you and I began to kiss.
275
THISTLE-DOWN.
Thistle-down is a woman's love,—Thistle-down with the wind at play.
Let him who wills this truth to prove,
“Thistle-down is a woman's love,”
Seek her innermost heart to move.
Though the wind should blow her vows his way,
Thistle-down is a woman's love,—
Thistle-down with the wind at play.
276
LOVE PLUMES HIS WINGS.
Love plumes his wings to fly away,And laughs to scorn our idle pain:
Ah, vain it is to laugh and pray!
Love plumes his wings to fly away:
What prayer of ours his flight can stay
When, mocking us with high disdain,
Love plumes his wings to fly away,
And laughs to scorn our idle pain?
277
IN WINTER.
Oh, to go back to the days of June,
Just to be young and alive again,
Hearken again to the mad sweet tune
Birds were singing with might and main!
South they flew at the summer's wane,
Leaving their nests for storms to harry,
Since time was coming for wind and rain
Under the wintry skies to marry.
Just to be young and alive again,
Hearken again to the mad sweet tune
Birds were singing with might and main!
South they flew at the summer's wane,
Leaving their nests for storms to harry,
Since time was coming for wind and rain
Under the wintry skies to marry.
Wearily wander hy dale and dune
Footsteps fettered with clanking chain:
Free they were in the days of June;
Free they never can be again.
Fetters of age and fetters of pain,
Joys that fly, and sorrows that tarry;
Youth is over, and hope were vain
Under the wintry skies to marry.
Footsteps fettered with clanking chain:
Free they were in the days of June;
Free they never can be again.
Fetters of age and fetters of pain,
Joys that fly, and sorrows that tarry;
Youth is over, and hope were vain
Under the wintry skies to marry.
Now we chant but a desolate rune,—
“Oh, to be young and alive again!”
But never December turns to June,
And length of living is length of pain.
Winds in the nestless trees complain;
Snows of winter about us tarry;
And never the birds come back again
Under the wintry skies to marry.
“Oh, to be young and alive again!”
But never December turns to June,
And length of living is length of pain.
278
Snows of winter about us tarry;
And never the birds come back again
Under the wintry skies to marry.
ENVOI.
Youths and maidens, blithesome and vain,
Time makes thrusts that you cannot parry;
Mate in season, for who is fain
Under the wintry skies to marry?
Time makes thrusts that you cannot parry;
Mate in season, for who is fain
Under the wintry skies to marry?
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |