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| 6. | PART VI.
LOVE-LETTERS. |
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 | A lover's diary |  |
139
6. PART VI.
LOVE-LETTERS.
141
I.
TO MONA.
Strange fancies I sometimes pursue,—
I have been thinking now, to-day,
If I perforce must write to you
A letter, what things could I say?
I have been thinking now, to-day,
If I perforce must write to you
A letter, what things could I say?
142
My wits, in truth, cannot suppose
A first line,—'t would not do, I think,
If I were writing of a rose,
To say geranium or pink.
A first line,—'t would not do, I think,
If I were writing of a rose,
To say geranium or pink.
And of the serching were no end,
For synonymes of love, or sweet,
Therefore, I must begin with friend,
And leave my meaning incomplete.
For synonymes of love, or sweet,
Therefore, I must begin with friend,
And leave my meaning incomplete.
And so I sit and muse my hour
Without a single word to say,
My thoughts like bees to some sweet flower
Flying back to that delicious day,
Without a single word to say,
My thoughts like bees to some sweet flower
Flying back to that delicious day,
When, shadowed by the hill so high,—
That all in dress of summer state
Was standing at the sunset sky
Like some old shepherd at his gate,—
That all in dress of summer state
Was standing at the sunset sky
Like some old shepherd at his gate,—
143
I bade you listen to the call
Of wind to wind, and to the birds,
And told you these were telling all
That I could never tell in words.
Of wind to wind, and to the birds,
And told you these were telling all
That I could never tell in words.
But if I should a letter send
Tinged with the light of that sweet sky,
What answer would you make, my friend?
Heart-sick, I wait for your reply.
Tinged with the light of that sweet sky,
What answer would you make, my friend?
Heart-sick, I wait for your reply.
144
II.
MONA'S ANSWER.
Your letter came three hours ago,
And musing on it still I sit,—
For, to be plain, I hardly know
In what I should answer it!
And musing on it still I sit,—
For, to be plain, I hardly know
In what I should answer it!
You write about a certain day
When there were colors in the sky
That pleased your fancy,—then you say,
If you could get them back, would I
When there were colors in the sky
That pleased your fancy,—then you say,
If you could get them back, would I
Be charmed as you are? Here I wait,
Reminding you, my honored sir,
That you have quite forgot to state,
In asking this, what hues they were!
Reminding you, my honored sir,
That you have quite forgot to state,
In asking this, what hues they were!
145
I have my preference, that 's true,
And hold myself still ready, when
Your color is named, to answer you,
And so, dear sir, am yours, till then.
And hold myself still ready, when
Your color is named, to answer you,
And so, dear sir, am yours, till then.
146
III.
TO MONA.
Granted the briefest interview,
With fullest, freest leave to speak,
And I engage to paint the hue
That charms me, on my lady's cheek.
With fullest, freest leave to speak,
And I engage to paint the hue
That charms me, on my lady's cheek.
No likeness that I could enclose
In words would imitate the hue;
Not even the ripest mid-May rose.
Therefore I ask the interview,
In words would imitate the hue;
Not even the ripest mid-May rose.
Therefore I ask the interview,
And promise my part to fulfil
At any hour of any day,—
Name one, the earliest that you will,
I pray, and so will ever pray.
At any hour of any day,—
Name one, the earliest that you will,
I pray, and so will ever pray.
147
IV.
MONA'S ANSWER.
From day-dawn till the sunset hours
My mother keeps me within call:
Besides, I'm busy with my flowers,
And cannot name a day at all.
My mother keeps me within call:
Besides, I'm busy with my flowers,
And cannot name a day at all.
I'm sorry; but the world is full
Of things for which we have to sigh;
But, lest my letter grow too dull,
I'll break it off,—and so, good by.
Of things for which we have to sigh;
But, lest my letter grow too dull,
I'll break it off,—and so, good by.
148
[V. My cruel little Mona]
My cruel little Mona,
In vain you banish me!
Your face is blushing through the leaves
Of every rose I see.
In vain you banish me!
Your face is blushing through the leaves
Of every rose I see.
And wheresoe'er along my path
A modest daisy stands,
I take her slender fingers up
And kiss them for your hands.
A modest daisy stands,
I take her slender fingers up
And kiss them for your hands.
The careful little violet,
She makes me think of you,
Holding her leafy petticoats
From out the morning dew.
She makes me think of you,
Holding her leafy petticoats
From out the morning dew.
149
And when I see the daffodils
A-shining in their beds,
I cannot choose but walk that way,
And touch their lovely heads.
A-shining in their beds,
I cannot choose but walk that way,
And touch their lovely heads.
The buttercups, they nod to me,—
I whisper with the wind,—
O Lord, it is a gracious boon
That nature is so kind!
I whisper with the wind,—
O Lord, it is a gracious boon
That nature is so kind!
A gracious boon, my cruel love,
If we must live apart,
That fancies such as these can come
To my poor crazy heart.
If we must live apart,
That fancies such as these can come
To my poor crazy heart.
150
[VI. Before the daybreak I arise]
Before the daybreak I arise,
And search to find if earth or air
Hold anywhere
The likeness of thy sweet, sweet eyes,
My loveliest love, my excellently fair.
And search to find if earth or air
Hold anywhere
The likeness of thy sweet, sweet eyes,
My loveliest love, my excellently fair.
In nature's book
I mark each place
Where semblances of thee I trace,
With flowers that have a bleeding look,
For pity, gentleness, and grace,
With lilies white,
And roses that are burning bright,
I take for blushes; then I catch
The sunbeams, making all the air
Jealously cold,—they cannot match
The beauteous crowning of thy hair.
I mark each place
Where semblances of thee I trace,
With flowers that have a bleeding look,
For pity, gentleness, and grace,
With lilies white,
And roses that are burning bright,
I take for blushes; then I catch
The sunbeams, making all the air
Jealously cold,—they cannot match
The beauteous crowning of thy hair.
151
The pink wild-brier
Shines through the book in many a place,
Her good attire
Stolen from the smiling of thy face.
The dews that stay in thirsty lands
Or withered wood,
Are like thy hands,
Quietly busy doing good.
The brown-eyed sunflower, all the day
Looking one way,
I take for patience, made divine
By melancholy fears, like thine.
From June till May,
I'm searching, searching earth and air,
To find out where
Nature hath copied, to her praise,
The beauty of thy gracious ways.
I make believe the brooks that run
From sun to shade and shade to sun,
Mimic the murmur of thy joys,
Making their pleasant noise.
Shines through the book in many a place,
Her good attire
Stolen from the smiling of thy face.
The dews that stay in thirsty lands
Or withered wood,
Are like thy hands,
Quietly busy doing good.
The brown-eyed sunflower, all the day
Looking one way,
I take for patience, made divine
By melancholy fears, like thine.
From June till May,
I'm searching, searching earth and air,
To find out where
Nature hath copied, to her praise,
The beauty of thy gracious ways.
I make believe the brooks that run
From sun to shade and shade to sun,
152
Making their pleasant noise.
Sometimes I walk the stubbly ways
That have small praise,
But spy out, ne'ertheless,
Some patch of moss, all softly pied,
Or rude stone, with a speckled side,
Telling thy loveliness.
The songs of birds,
Floating the orchard tops among,
Echo the music of thy tongue;
And fancy tries to find what words
Come nestling to my breast
With melody so consummately dressed.
That have small praise,
But spy out, ne'ertheless,
Some patch of moss, all softly pied,
Or rude stone, with a speckled side,
Telling thy loveliness.
The songs of birds,
Floating the orchard tops among,
Echo the music of thy tongue;
And fancy tries to find what words
Come nestling to my breast
With melody so consummately dressed.
So, dearest heart,
I cheat the cruelty
That keeps us all too long apart,
With many a poor conceit of thee.
Before the daybreak I arise,
But never anywhere
Find I, in earth or air,
The likeness of thy sweet, sweet eyes.
I cheat the cruelty
153
With many a poor conceit of thee.
Before the daybreak I arise,
But never anywhere
Find I, in earth or air,
The likeness of thy sweet, sweet eyes.
154
[VII. My days dawn upon me in sadness]
My days dawn upon me in sadness,
In sadness depart;
For, darling, the old and sweet madness
Is still in my heart.
A cloud on my noontime doth hover,
But O the delight
That comes to me over and over,
And night upon night!
In sadness depart;
For, darling, the old and sweet madness
Is still in my heart.
A cloud on my noontime doth hover,
But O the delight
That comes to me over and over,
And night upon night!
For, light as the light on the billow
In June's sunny hours,
Thou liest, in dreams, on my pillow,
My flower of flowers!
I'm drowned in thy tresses of brightness,
Unloosed from their bands;
I'm kissing those marvels of whiteness,
Thy dear little hands!
In June's sunny hours,
Thou liest, in dreams, on my pillow,
My flower of flowers!
I'm drowned in thy tresses of brightness,
Unloosed from their bands;
I'm kissing those marvels of whiteness,
Thy dear little hands!
155
I cover thy eyes, lest my praising
Should do them a wrong,
And lest I should wake thee with gazing
Too fondly and long.
I say, when I hear the brook's purling,
And silvery fret,
Flow gently, and leave me my darling
A little while yet!
Should do them a wrong,
And lest I should wake thee with gazing
Too fondly and long.
I say, when I hear the brook's purling,
And silvery fret,
Flow gently, and leave me my darling
A little while yet!
Thy smile is more sweet in its beaming
Of kindness for me,
Than thoughts of their homes in the dreaming
Of sad men at sea.
Without thee, my life is so lonely,
And with thee, so bright,
I cannot believe thou art only
A dream of the night.
Of kindness for me,
Than thoughts of their homes in the dreaming
Of sad men at sea.
Without thee, my life is so lonely,
And with thee, so bright,
I cannot believe thou art only
A dream of the night.
156
VIII.
ON RECEIVING SOME FADED FLOWERS.
Just come into that tender lapse,
That beauty from bloom apart;
Not so sweet to the sight, perhaps,
But all as sweet to the heart.
That beauty from bloom apart;
Not so sweet to the sight, perhaps,
But all as sweet to the heart.
More than is lost from their primal dyes
They have gained, you understand;
They speak, with their little, half-closed eyes,
O' the clasp of your loving hand.
They have gained, you understand;
They speak, with their little, half-closed eyes,
O' the clasp of your loving hand.
You gathered them for me! that 's it,—
Not another, in your stead;
What matter though they are faded a bit!
What matter though they were dead!
Not another, in your stead;
What matter though they are faded a bit!
What matter though they were dead!
157
Their charm is not of the bloom or blight
Of Time's inconstant hours;
Ah no! 't is in the immortal light
O' the flowers, within the flowers.
Of Time's inconstant hours;
Ah no! 't is in the immortal light
O' the flowers, within the flowers.
158
IX.
WHEN SHE HAD PROMISED TO MEET ME.
I'm waiting under the apple-tree, dear,
Each moment a weary while,
And the beetle has crept from his furrow near,
To sun himself in your smile.
Each moment a weary while,
And the beetle has crept from his furrow near,
To sun himself in your smile.
Now comes the moon, and the flaunting pride
Of the twilight fades to gray,
The while she shoulders the clouds aside
To light your steps this way.
Of the twilight fades to gray,
The while she shoulders the clouds aside
To light your steps this way.
Such mortal meanings my love begets
In things which else were dumb,
I think that the very violets
Are looking the way you'll come!
In things which else were dumb,
I think that the very violets
Are looking the way you'll come!
159
That the dandelions from the beds
Wherein they softly lie
Are lifting their yellow and curly heads
Whenever a step goes by.
Wherein they softly lie
Are lifting their yellow and curly heads
Whenever a step goes by.
The owl, as I listen, seems to drown
In his muffled coat his cries,
And the hollyhock folds her red skirt down
To please my jealous eyes.
In his muffled coat his cries,
And the hollyhock folds her red skirt down
To please my jealous eyes.
I know, my love, you are coming now,
For the beetle is creeping higher,
And every blossom of every bough
Is red in the face as fire.
For the beetle is creeping higher,
And every blossom of every bough
Is red in the face as fire.
160
X.
AFTER WE MET.
My Mona, my sweet Mona! twenty times
I heard your coming step before you came,
And heard the repetition of your name
In every song of every different bird;
The bluebird's trill, the blackbird's merry start,
All had but one sweet meaning for my heart;
For thought was all of you, and all the same,
No matter what I heard. The butterfly,
Sunning his purples on the clover-top,
Was ashen to the color of my sky
Low-slanting to the woods. If Time could stop,
And in his old wings hide his scythe awhile,
He must have done so then. The sugar-tree
And thawing March less honeyedly agree
Than did the adversest growths of mortal soil
That blesséd, blesséd time.
I heard your coming step before you came,
And heard the repetition of your name
In every song of every different bird;
The bluebird's trill, the blackbird's merry start,
All had but one sweet meaning for my heart;
For thought was all of you, and all the same,
No matter what I heard. The butterfly,
Sunning his purples on the clover-top,
Was ashen to the color of my sky
Low-slanting to the woods. If Time could stop,
And in his old wings hide his scythe awhile,
161
And thawing March less honeyedly agree
Than did the adversest growths of mortal soil
That blesséd, blesséd time.
It is not past,—
Some joys are born immortal,—that was one,—
Nor rising up nor going down of sun,
Nor months nor years, till all have passed away,
Shall make it seem a thing of yesterday.
Some joys are born immortal,—that was one,—
Nor rising up nor going down of sun,
Nor months nor years, till all have passed away,
Shall make it seem a thing of yesterday.
162
[XI. Would you bide in sweet content]
Would you bide in sweet content
High and high above
Reach of mortal accident?
Listen, for the way is clear:
Rise and go with me, my dear,
To the land of love!
High and high above
Reach of mortal accident?
Listen, for the way is clear:
Rise and go with me, my dear,
To the land of love!
Never any rainy weather
Falleth there, I guess,
Never any frost nor snow
Nor rude wind there,—will you go?
Will you go, my darling, thither?
Say, and say me yes!
Falleth there, I guess,
Never any frost nor snow
Nor rude wind there,—will you go?
Will you go, my darling, thither?
Say, and say me yes!
163
In that blissful land, so near,
In that life of life,
All your little discontents
Shall be worn as ornaments,—
Will you go with me, my dear?
Will you be my wife?
In that life of life,
All your little discontents
Shall be worn as ornaments,—
Will you go with me, my dear?
Will you be my wife?
| A lover's diary | |