 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
453
ADDITIONAL POEMS.
455
TO JULIA WARD HOWE.
On her Eighty-seventh Birthday, May 27, 1907.
Youth is thy gift—the youth that baffles Time,
And smiles derisively at vanished years.
Since the long past the present more endears,
And life but ripens in its golden prime,
Who knows to what proud heights thou still may'st climb—
What summoning call thy listening spirit hears—
What triumphs wait, ere conquering death appears—
What magic beauty thou may'st lend to rhyme?
And smiles derisively at vanished years.
Since the long past the present more endears,
And life but ripens in its golden prime,
Who knows to what proud heights thou still may'st climb—
What summoning call thy listening spirit hears—
What triumphs wait, ere conquering death appears—
What magic beauty thou may'st lend to rhyme?
Sovereign of Love and May, we kiss the hand
Such noble work has wrought, and add our bays
To those with which the world has crowned thy brow:
Thy subjects we, in this the happy land,
Thy presence gladdens, and thy gracious ways
Enchant—Queen of the Long-Ago and Now.
Such noble work has wrought, and add our bays
To those with which the world has crowned thy brow:
Thy subjects we, in this the happy land,
Thy presence gladdens, and thy gracious ways
Enchant—Queen of the Long-Ago and Now.
456
WHY?
The New Year comes with her radiant face,
Clad in white, like a waiting bride—
But she brings no word through the empty space,
No message has reached me since you died.
Clad in white, like a waiting bride—
But she brings no word through the empty space,
No message has reached me since you died.
Was Death Life's ending, or did you go
To a realm so vast, and a task so high,
That you have forgotten this world below,
Where Life is a Dream, and the Dreamers die?
To a realm so vast, and a task so high,
That you have forgotten this world below,
Where Life is a Dream, and the Dreamers die?
Shall I know, some day, when a cold, still hand
Leads me, in my turn, from this transient sphere,
And guides me on to that Unseen Land,
Why you were taken, and I left here?
Leads me, in my turn, from this transient sphere,
And guides me on to that Unseen Land,
Why you were taken, and I left here?
457
ALL IN ONE.
The pomp of Day and Night—The sunset and the sun—
Thou, my own Heart's Delight,
Art Day and Night in one.
458
IF ONCE, JUST ONCE.
Why do I never see you in my dreams?
The lips are cold that you no longer kiss;
And missing you, the Universe I miss.
The far stars lure me with evasive gleams,
But no new Joy the dead Past's pledge redeems.
Though you have found a larger world than this,
Can you not spare one hour from that wide bliss?
Why do I never see you in my dreams?
The lips are cold that you no longer kiss;
And missing you, the Universe I miss.
The far stars lure me with evasive gleams,
But no new Joy the dead Past's pledge redeems.
Though you have found a larger world than this,
Can you not spare one hour from that wide bliss?
Why do I never see you in my dreams?
One little touch, and I should know you near,—
One whispered word would wake my soul from sleep,
And all I thought was dead, alive would be,
Saved from the blank forgetfulness I fear,—
Immortal then your image I could keep,
If once, just once, you would come back to me.
One whispered word would wake my soul from sleep,
And all I thought was dead, alive would be,
Saved from the blank forgetfulness I fear,—
Immortal then your image I could keep,
If once, just once, you would come back to me.
459
THE BOLD GHOST.
The year was young, but the place was old,
And the house had gone to sleep,
And the ghost that came by night was bold,
For the silence was so deep.
And the house had gone to sleep,
And the ghost that came by night was bold,
For the silence was so deep.
Aloud he called to his heart's fair queen,
But she would not unbar the door,
And the window from which she used to lean
Stirred at her touch no more.
But she would not unbar the door,
And the window from which she used to lean
Stirred at her touch no more.
In vain through the empty night he cried,
But there came no answering tone;
And then he bethought him that since he died
A hundred years had flown.
But there came no answering tone;
And then he bethought him that since he died
A hundred years had flown.
But a hundred years should have brought more near
The Love that he loved so well;
And the bold ghost's heart turned cold with fear—
Where was the old-time spell?
The Love that he loved so well;
And the bold ghost's heart turned cold with fear—
Where was the old-time spell?
Had she forgotten what he held fast?—
They say 't is a woman's way;
Was it only a dream that Love could last,
The dream of an idle day?
They say 't is a woman's way;
Was it only a dream that Love could last,
The dream of an idle day?
460
From the silent house the bold ghost turned—
Why dream that a dream is true?—
Ashes were where Love's fire once burned;
Death's meaning at last he knew.
Why dream that a dream is true?—
Ashes were where Love's fire once burned;
Death's meaning at last he knew.
461
ONCE MORE.
Once more the Morning mocks me with its scorn,
The Sun derides me with its radiant face,
Since you vouchsafe no word from your far place,
And, lacking you, there is no joy of morn.
Did you but speak, my heart would be new-born,
And I—alive again, through that dear grace
Of love, that scoffs at time and conquers space—
Could laugh at those who call my fate forlorn.
The Sun derides me with its radiant face,
Since you vouchsafe no word from your far place,
And, lacking you, there is no joy of morn.
Did you but speak, my heart would be new-born,
And I—alive again, through that dear grace
Of love, that scoffs at time and conquers space—
Could laugh at those who call my fate forlorn.
Why are you silent? Does your heart forget,
In the proud affluence of joys untold,
Old ways, old words that I remember yet
And treasure, as a miser counts his gold?
Is it that your far ear I cannot reach—
Or am I, earth-enslaved, deaf to Heaven's speech?
In the proud affluence of joys untold,
Old ways, old words that I remember yet
And treasure, as a miser counts his gold?
Is it that your far ear I cannot reach—
Or am I, earth-enslaved, deaf to Heaven's speech?
462
ONE DAY.
How glad we were of the morn,
When the royal Sun climbed high,
And the winds went wild with glee,
And the birds flew singing by—
Till the swift, bright hours were spent,
And the scornful stars looked down,
For Night is stronger than Day—
And hearts turn cold at its frown.
When the royal Sun climbed high,
And the winds went wild with glee,
And the birds flew singing by—
Till the swift, bright hours were spent,
And the scornful stars looked down,
For Night is stronger than Day—
And hearts turn cold at its frown.
Ah well, it is so with Life—
We hope, we despair, we die—
We joy in the transient strife—
Then low in the dust we lie—
And over us blossoms creep—
And the moon and the stars look down—
What matter when we are asleep?
We heed neither smile, nor frown.
We hope, we despair, we die—
We joy in the transient strife—
Then low in the dust we lie—
And over us blossoms creep—
And the moon and the stars look down—
What matter when we are asleep?
We heed neither smile, nor frown.
463
“BEYOND.”
How many times has shone the morning sun
On this so lonesome world bereft of thee—
And still I wonder, with each day begun,
Can any sun shine from its sky for me?
On this so lonesome world bereft of thee—
And still I wonder, with each day begun,
Can any sun shine from its sky for me?
Dost thou watch some far dawn, and wish good cheer
To glad new friends who meet thee on thy way,
Or, by the past compelled, dost thou draw near
And whisper old words on this new-born day?
To glad new friends who meet thee on thy way,
Or, by the past compelled, dost thou draw near
And whisper old words on this new-born day?
I cannot see thee, for my eyes are blind—
My ears are deaf to unaccustomed speech;
Vainly I grope an outstretched hand to find—
Why didst thou go so far beyond my reach?
My ears are deaf to unaccustomed speech;
Vainly I grope an outstretched hand to find—
Why didst thou go so far beyond my reach?
464
FOR EASTER MORN.
How gladly dawns the Easter sun!
The wide world thrills with prayer and praise.
Gone by are all Lent's mournful days,
And Hope and Joy seem just begun.
The wide world thrills with prayer and praise.
Gone by are all Lent's mournful days,
And Hope and Joy seem just begun.
The laughing streams to seaward run—
Wild flowers bedeck the woodland ways,
And homing birds sing merry lays
Of triumph over winter done.
Wild flowers bedeck the woodland ways,
And homing birds sing merry lays
Of triumph over winter done.
Shall we not joy? We, too, have won,
Through winter's hostile ice-bound days,
To this new dawn that all things praise;
Let us be glad—aye, every one—
When gladly dawns the Easter sun.
Through winter's hostile ice-bound days,
To this new dawn that all things praise;
Let us be glad—aye, every one—
When gladly dawns the Easter sun.
465
LIFE'S SEASONS.
The seasons come, and the seasons go—
Winter begins them, white with snow;
Then Spring steals on, with her wayward grace,
And the glad world smiles to see her face,
Till Summer, her rival, warms the day,
And the year's proud Queen holds regal sway—
But Autumn follows, and roses die,
And birds fly Southward, and sad winds sigh.
Winter begins them, white with snow;
Then Spring steals on, with her wayward grace,
And the glad world smiles to see her face,
Till Summer, her rival, warms the day,
And the year's proud Queen holds regal sway—
But Autumn follows, and roses die,
And birds fly Southward, and sad winds sigh.
So is our life, with its changeful days—
Shadow and sunlight, and blame and praise—
Its seasons come, and its seasons go—
But God is Our Father—'t is all we know.
Shadow and sunlight, and blame and praise—
Its seasons come, and its seasons go—
But God is Our Father—'t is all we know.
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |