 | A lover's diary |  |
165
7. PART VII.
SOLILOQUIES.
167
[I. As one who from a troubled dream]
As one who from a troubled dream
Awakes, and finds the tender gleam
Of morning round him, and with strength
And joy arises, even so
From my long trance of pain and woe
I wake, and find the day at length.
Awakes, and finds the tender gleam
Of morning round him, and with strength
And joy arises, even so
From my long trance of pain and woe
I wake, and find the day at length.
The hills, so dark awhile ago,
Are all ablaze with flowers, and lo!
Among her corn and hedge-rows sweet
Lies Krumley Valley at my feet.
Are all ablaze with flowers, and lo!
Among her corn and hedge-rows sweet
Lies Krumley Valley at my feet.
168
Who would not feel her beauty's charm!
A river lying in each arm,
And clad in all excelling hues
Which summer from the year may choose.
A river lying in each arm,
And clad in all excelling hues
Which summer from the year may choose.
My heart beats quick,—the scornful rose
Of Krumley Valley tenderer grows,
And pities me at last: my pride
Forsakes me, and my arms are wide.
Of Krumley Valley tenderer grows,
And pities me at last: my pride
Forsakes me, and my arms are wide.
About my neck I softly wear
The shining wonder of her hair.
A gentle word, a smile, a sigh,
A light touch of her little hand,
And my rapt soul is up so high
All heaven beneath me seems to lie,
A dim-discovered, rainy land.
The shining wonder of her hair.
A gentle word, a smile, a sigh,
A light touch of her little hand,
And my rapt soul is up so high
All heaven beneath me seems to lie,
A dim-discovered, rainy land.
169
[II. Why hast thou forgot the snow]
Why hast thou forgot the snow,
And the leaves so dead and brown?
Why are little tunes and low
Running softly up and down
Through thee all the night and day?
Tell me, heart of mine, I pray!
And the leaves so dead and brown?
Why are little tunes and low
Running softly up and down
Through thee all the night and day?
Tell me, heart of mine, I pray!
Thou hast been so long, so long,
Musing all of lonely places,—
Of whatever things are wrong,—
Of disasters, of disgraces,—
How were those dim thoughts undone,
And these sweet low tunes begun?
Musing all of lonely places,—
Of whatever things are wrong,—
Of disasters, of disgraces,—
How were those dim thoughts undone,
And these sweet low tunes begun?
Fancy, that was used to be,
At her gayest, tinged with care,
Doth not any longer see
Killing cankers anywhere
But all things within her range
Shine with gladness; whence this change?
At her gayest, tinged with care,
170
Killing cankers anywhere
But all things within her range
Shine with gladness; whence this change?
Hope forgetteth quite the clipping
Of her wings awhile ago,
For like silver dewdrops slipping
On a thread of sunshine, so
Run sweet tunes along thee, heart!
Pray they never more depart.
Of her wings awhile ago,
For like silver dewdrops slipping
On a thread of sunshine, so
Run sweet tunes along thee, heart!
Pray they never more depart.
171
[III. Mona hath a slender waist]
Mona hath a slender waist,
Mona hath a mouth rose-red;
Once I caught and held her fast,
And in tender whispers said:
“Dearest, if I let you go,
Will you kiss me? Yes, or no!”
Mona hath a mouth rose-red;
Once I caught and held her fast,
And in tender whispers said:
“Dearest, if I let you go,
Will you kiss me? Yes, or no!”
Mona's step is light as air,
Mona hath a thousand charms;
Like a wild bird in a snare,
So she fluttered in my arms,
Giving ne'er a kiss to me,—
If she loved me, would n't she?
Mona hath a thousand charms;
Like a wild bird in a snare,
So she fluttered in my arms,
Giving ne'er a kiss to me,—
If she loved me, would n't she?
172
Mona hath a neck milk-white,
Mona's thoughts are free from art;
Being mad with my delight,
In the beating of her heart,
Said I, “If I let you go,
Will you love me? Yes, or no!”
Mona's thoughts are free from art;
Being mad with my delight,
In the beating of her heart,
Said I, “If I let you go,
Will you love me? Yes, or no!”
Mona hath a russet gown,—
To the hem about her feet
Low she cast her eyelids down,
And she answered, sweet, so sweet,
“Love you, if you let me go!”
Was her answer yes, or no?
To the hem about her feet
Low she cast her eyelids down,
And she answered, sweet, so sweet,
“Love you, if you let me go!”
Was her answer yes, or no?
Close I clasped her slender waist,
Down I drew her to my knee;
Neck and cheek and mouth I kissed,—
“Mona, will you marry me?
Did your little, light caress,
Lily fingers, mean me yes?”
Down I drew her to my knee;
Neck and cheek and mouth I kissed,—
“Mona, will you marry me?
Did your little, light caress,
Lily fingers, mean me yes?”
173
[IV. Down either way, from gentle, dove-like eyes]
Down either way, from gentle, dove-like eyes,
And brows as sweet as ever they can be,
Falls her long hair, and on her bosom lies,
Wide, like the golden light of charity.
And brows as sweet as ever they can be,
Falls her long hair, and on her bosom lies,
Wide, like the golden light of charity.
Lips sweet as July cherries, and o'errun
With smiles that dim the sunshine's noontide hours;
In spirit saintly even as a nun,
In heart as full of love as May of flowers.
With smiles that dim the sunshine's noontide hours;
In spirit saintly even as a nun,
In heart as full of love as May of flowers.
All of herself her pleasure she doth make,
By giving, and by ever giving more,
Like to the moon that, for her rough sea's sake,
Maketh her wan face virgin, o'er and o'er.
By giving, and by ever giving more,
Like to the moon that, for her rough sea's sake,
Maketh her wan face virgin, o'er and o'er.
174
[V. Love's light is strange to you? Ah me]
Love's light is strange to you? Ah me!
Your heart is an unquickened seed,
And whatsoe'er your fortunes be,
I tell you, you are poor indeed.
Your heart is an unquickened seed,
And whatsoe'er your fortunes be,
I tell you, you are poor indeed.
What toucheth it, it maketh bright,
Yet loseth nothing, like the sun,
Within whose great and gracious light
A thousand dewdrops shine as one.
Yet loseth nothing, like the sun,
Within whose great and gracious light
A thousand dewdrops shine as one.
175
[VI. Whene'er I see the evening's sober gray]
Whene'er I see the evening's sober grayI cannot choose but think about the day
We quarrelled, I and Mona. Strange we do
The things that we foreknow our hearts must rue
Until the day we die! Is 't fate, or we
That doth so oft forecast a destiny
Against ourselves,—even to our utter woe?
But to the quarrel. In a valley low,
We sat upon the flowery grass of June;
The westering sun had struck the hills, and bright
Fell through the woods the fragments of his light.
176
Gray evening posted out to meet the night,
Starry with splendors. What it was about
I quite forget,—some trifle like the hue
Of a moth's wings, I think,—but we fell out,
Mona and I; and as the quarrel ran,
(Ah! 't was about the daisies we began,)
Each lied to each, and said the lie was true,—
Then pined and plained, and, as all lovers do,
Made up with kisses; for the love that 's true
Doth knit his pretty blushing work anew
Often as quarrels ravel it away,—
Against true love's enthronéd majesty,
Experiment is treason; yet, alas!
We have our rebel moments, all of us,
When we essay to thwart and overpass
His gentle laws, and call them tyrannous
We quarrelled, sitting thus among the clovers,
177
True friends, and kissed again, and said true lovers.
And in the ending of our foolish strife
My Mona promised me to be my wife.
| A lover's diary | |