 | Songs of Doubt and Dream (Poems) |  |
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LYRIC INTERLUDE.
[I. You tell me, friend, that seeing how fate has said]
You tell me, friend, that seeing how fate has said
The vetoing word which bids my footsteps fare
No longer where elysian meadows lie,
'Twere worthier wisdom than to yearn and sigh,
Hereafter with meek earthward-bended head
To walk below the burden I must bear.
The vetoing word which bids my footsteps fare
No longer where elysian meadows lie,
'Twere worthier wisdom than to yearn and sigh,
Hereafter with meek earthward-bended head
To walk below the burden I must bear.
And then you promise that in days to be
The love which I in stoic mood resign,
Smitten with self-denial as with a sword,
Shall pass and perish of its own accord—
Shall drop as drops the dead leaf from the tree,
The o'er-luscious cluster from the vine.
The love which I in stoic mood resign,
Smitten with self-denial as with a sword,
Shall pass and perish of its own accord—
Shall drop as drops the dead leaf from the tree,
The o'er-luscious cluster from the vine.
Oh, friend, and while your quiet counsel gives
This that you deem sweet comfort to appease,
The inexorable truth you have not guessed!
Learn that the heart within my desolate breast
Shudders to choose between alternatives
Harshly unequal as are these!
This that you deem sweet comfort to appease,
The inexorable truth you have not guessed!
Learn that the heart within my desolate breast
Shudders to choose between alternatives
Harshly unequal as are these!
Oh, learn that I would count it bitter gain
To have been thus lightened of the bond I wore!
For I would rather sorrow long years through
Than lose the right to sorrow as I do!
Rather love on, though love were life-long pain,
Than suffer not, yet love no more!
To have been thus lightened of the bond I wore!
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Than lose the right to sorrow as I do!
Rather love on, though love were life-long pain,
Than suffer not, yet love no more!
II.—A Graveyard.
Beneath no arch of earthly skies
It lies;
The long luxuriant grasses gleam
From dream;
The headstones, white as grief's white cheek, are wrought
Of thought;
With incorporeal emerald round its graves
The willow or cypress wards and waves.
It lies;
The long luxuriant grasses gleam
From dream;
The headstones, white as grief's white cheek, are wrought
Of thought;
With incorporeal emerald round its graves
The willow or cypress wards and waves.
No human dead once treasured dear,
Sleep here;
But here a life's ambition knows
Repose;
Here a life's friendship (warm and fond, of old!)
Rests cold;
And here a life's poor slain love buried dwells
Below phantasmal immortelles!
Sleep here;
But here a life's ambition knows
Repose;
Here a life's friendship (warm and fond, of old!)
Rests cold;
And here a life's poor slain love buried dwells
Below phantasmal immortelles!
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III.—In Poverty.
My one poor candle sputters,
My feeble firelight wanes;
The north-wind bangs my shutters
Against the frosted panes.
My feeble firelight wanes;
The north-wind bangs my shutters
Against the frosted panes.
When the bitter night was younger
I craved bread in good truth,
But now I feel hard hunger
Fret me with iron tooth.
I craved bread in good truth,
But now I feel hard hunger
Fret me with iron tooth.
And while I shiver, keeping
This ghastly vigil here,
Across my soul is creeping
A fancy wild and queer.
This ghastly vigil here,
Across my soul is creeping
A fancy wild and queer.
I tell myself that hiding
In some far reach of earth,
Girt with dense dark, is biding
Some diamond of vast worth!
In some far reach of earth,
Girt with dense dark, is biding
Some diamond of vast worth!
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IV.—Low Life.
Let your soul put on rags to-night; we are going where life is low;
Not, I mean, where murder will smite, not to dens that with thieves o'erflow;
Not to haunts that shall shock, distress; but to low life, nevertheless!
For caste hath lairs packed with pride not of righteous deeds but of race,
And avarice hath slums where bide the misanthropies that debase—
Though in either the rich light falls between grandeurs of gilded walls.
Not, I mean, where murder will smite, not to dens that with thieves o'erflow;
Not to haunts that shall shock, distress; but to low life, nevertheless!
For caste hath lairs packed with pride not of righteous deeds but of race,
And avarice hath slums where bide the misanthropies that debase—
Though in either the rich light falls between grandeurs of gilded walls.
Nay, the outcasts not all may be found among alley-ways noisome with dirt;
There are paupers unclean, unsound, whom penury's harms may not hurt;
There are lives wealth-defended from ill, yet whose days are one poverty still!
There are paupers unclean, unsound, whom penury's harms may not hurt;
There are lives wealth-defended from ill, yet whose days are one poverty still!
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[V. The year was dying, the wind went sighing]
The year was dying, the wind went sighing,
The leaves were flying on many a gust.
At day's last splendor I saw them render,
With reverence tender, dust unto dust.
The leaves were flying on many a gust.
At day's last splendor I saw them render,
With reverence tender, dust unto dust.
From earth upmounded the first clod sounded;
My sad heart bounded with pity deep
For him forsaking the light and taking
This cold unwaking eternal sleep!
My sad heart bounded with pity deep
For him forsaking the light and taking
This cold unwaking eternal sleep!
But closer gazing, my soul amazing
Past power of phrasing, I marked, erelong,
That she, his nearest in life and dearest,
Wore brow the clearest of all that throng.
Past power of phrasing, I marked, erelong,
That she, his nearest in life and dearest,
Wore brow the clearest of all that throng.
And while I wonder, as dull clods thunder
On him whereunder the worm shall grope.
O'er that low coffin, anon and often,
Her sweet lips soften with smiles of hope.
On him whereunder the worm shall grope.
O'er that low coffin, anon and often,
Her sweet lips soften with smiles of hope.
And half in spurning, half, too, in yearning,
Yet envious-burning, my soul avers:
“No king could measure all earthly pleasure
Against the treasure of trust like hers!”
Yet envious-burning, my soul avers:
“No king could measure all earthly pleasure
Against the treasure of trust like hers!”
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VI.—To E. N. C.
(Died at Oxford, England, January 4, 1875.)
I knew thee not amid those sunnier times
When wealth and homage waited thy command,
When youth and flattery mixed their festal chimes,
And life went singing lightly, lute in hand.
I knew thee only when thy soul was sore
From bitter loss and tired with earthly din,
And when thou stoodst upon a twilight shore
To watch the wrecks of hopes come drifting in.
When wealth and homage waited thy command,
When youth and flattery mixed their festal chimes,
And life went singing lightly, lute in hand.
I knew thee only when thy soul was sore
From bitter loss and tired with earthly din,
And when thou stoodst upon a twilight shore
To watch the wrecks of hopes come drifting in.
And oh, 'twas sweeter to have known thee thus!
Through sundering years thy picture still to praise,
Dear as the echoing of some angelus
Whose music floats from unforgotten days!
To have seen thy placid fortitude, and how,
The wearier that thy wounded spirit grew,
As many a one wears halcyon roses, thou
Didst wear thy sad rosemary and thy rue!
Through sundering years thy picture still to praise,
Dear as the echoing of some angelus
Whose music floats from unforgotten days!
To have seen thy placid fortitude, and how,
The wearier that thy wounded spirit grew,
As many a one wears halcyon roses, thou
Didst wear thy sad rosemary and thy rue!
To call thee friend was far more precious gain
Than half the accomplished aims of men's desire,
Patient where others would have moaned for pain,
Gentle where others would have flushed with ire;
Tender in charities to all thy race,
Mild, courteous, kindly, sympathetic, good,
Dowered with culture's most alluring grace,
And matchless in devoted motherhood!
Than half the accomplished aims of men's desire,
Patient where others would have moaned for pain,
Gentle where others would have flushed with ire;
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Mild, courteous, kindly, sympathetic, good,
Dowered with culture's most alluring grace,
And matchless in devoted motherhood!
For me, when others mocked my distant goal
As shadowy fancy of an idle boy,
Thy counsellings fell sweet upon my soul,
Like holiest benedictions, bringing joy;
And thine the inspiring word that gave me heart
To watch with gaze more steadfast and more strong,
Far in the blue unsullied heaven of art
The elusive and upwavering wings of song!
As shadowy fancy of an idle boy,
Thy counsellings fell sweet upon my soul,
Like holiest benedictions, bringing joy;
And thine the inspiring word that gave me heart
To watch with gaze more steadfast and more strong,
Far in the blue unsullied heaven of art
The elusive and upwavering wings of song!
So now, o'er wastes of alienating sea
I make my farewell as a bird to fly,
And eastward wandering, pause at last by thee,
To linger near thy grave, but not to die.
For if the summer's mellowing smile shall set
A single flower above thy sleep, I trust
Downward through this to thrill with my regret
The dumbness of thine irresponsive dust!
I make my farewell as a bird to fly,
And eastward wandering, pause at last by thee,
To linger near thy grave, but not to die.
For if the summer's mellowing smile shall set
A single flower above thy sleep, I trust
Downward through this to thrill with my regret
The dumbness of thine irresponsive dust!
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[VII. The clouded east was fiery-creased where the late moon mounted up]
The clouded east was fiery-creased where the late moon mounted up;
The frost hung white on the garden box and white on the poppy's cup.
As a faint wind woke in the autumn oak, the sere leaves earthward fell,
And harshly the wrangling katydids called through the misty dell.
The frost hung white on the garden box and white on the poppy's cup.
As a faint wind woke in the autumn oak, the sere leaves earthward fell,
And harshly the wrangling katydids called through the misty dell.
Unrestful grown in her grave alone, she had left its midnight gloom,
She had crossed the churchyard's rimy sward from gleaming tomb to tomb.
With not a sound o'er the sodden ground of meadow and road she came,
And saw from the garden paths beneath the moonlit windows flame.
She had crossed the churchyard's rimy sward from gleaming tomb to tomb.
With not a sound o'er the sodden ground of meadow and road she came,
And saw from the garden paths beneath the moonlit windows flame.
Sad-faced and wan, she glided on; she neared the darksome porch,
Where flashed in the faded clematis a fire-fly's dizzy torch.
No summons heard, no hinges stirred, as mortal guest were there,
She slipped along the shadowy hall and clomb the silent stair!
Where flashed in the faded clematis a fire-fly's dizzy torch.
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She slipped along the shadowy hall and clomb the silent stair!
And now her tread beside his bed paused in the chamber dim;
A pitying moonbeam touched his head; she stooped to gaze on him.
And at his side the youthful bride lay sleeping pure and fair,
With folded hands upon her breast, as though she dreamed a prayer.
A pitying moonbeam touched his head; she stooped to gaze on him.
And at his side the youthful bride lay sleeping pure and fair,
With folded hands upon her breast, as though she dreamed a prayer.
From brow to throat a glory smote the bridegroom's placid face;
She searched it long but only found content's benignant trace.
“The years have brought new joy,” she thought; “the mourning-hours are done.
Back to thy tomb in the cold and gloom, thou pale night-wandering one!”
She searched it long but only found content's benignant trace.
“The years have brought new joy,” she thought; “the mourning-hours are done.
Back to thy tomb in the cold and gloom, thou pale night-wandering one!”
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VIII.—A Blackberry Idyl.
Two graceful shapes, they moved at morn
Through grass that scarce had lost its dew,
And where, keen-girt with many a thorn,
The beaded berries darkly grew.
Through grass that scarce had lost its dew,
And where, keen-girt with many a thorn,
The beaded berries darkly grew.
And while they leaned to pluck the fruit,
And talked of love, as maidens please,
One voice was like a merry flute,
One plaintive as an autumn breeze!
And talked of love, as maidens please,
One voice was like a merry flute,
One plaintive as an autumn breeze!
At last with heat gay Fanny cried:
“You starve your soul on hope's poor crust.”
And gentle Elsie softly sighed:
“I only love because I must!”
“You starve your soul on hope's poor crust.”
And gentle Elsie softly sighed:
“I only love because I must!”
But now a man's deep murmur said:
“No other love is worth the name!”
And Fanny laughed and lightly fled,
But Elsie lingered, thrilled with shame.
“No other love is worth the name!”
And Fanny laughed and lightly fled,
But Elsie lingered, thrilled with shame.
He bent her fluttered hand above,
He pressed it close, in fervent wise,
This brown young farmer of her love,
With golden beard and winsome eyes.
He pressed it close, in fervent wise,
This brown young farmer of her love,
With golden beard and winsome eyes.
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When Elsie, in an hour and more,
Came homeward to her father's farm,
The little basket that she bore
Was almost empty on her arm.
Came homeward to her father's farm,
The little basket that she bore
Was almost empty on her arm.
But Fanny ran to meet her, here,
And said, with eyes whence laughter shot,
“Your basket may be empty, dear,
But oh, I see your heart is not!”
And said, with eyes whence laughter shot,
“Your basket may be empty, dear,
But oh, I see your heart is not!”
IX.—Pigeons.
Pink-footed, sleekly white or delicate fawn,
Or darklier plumed, with glossy throat where clings
One soft perpetual ripple of rainbow rings,
How often to your beauty our sight is drawn
When back from roamings wide you suddenly dawn,
A dainty turbulence of fluttering wings,
And light on some brown slanted roof, like Spring's
Pale showers of blossoms on an orchard lawn!
Or darklier plumed, with glossy throat where clings
One soft perpetual ripple of rainbow rings,
How often to your beauty our sight is drawn
When back from roamings wide you suddenly dawn,
A dainty turbulence of fluttering wings,
And light on some brown slanted roof, like Spring's
Pale showers of blossoms on an orchard lawn!
You haunt our barnyard life, plain, stolid, rude,
With tender purity it is dear to note,
And innocent gladness blithe as morning dew,
In many a long and mellow interlude
Through homelier sound serenely letting float
The smooth luxurious music of your coo!
With tender purity it is dear to note,
And innocent gladness blithe as morning dew,
In many a long and mellow interlude
Through homelier sound serenely letting float
The smooth luxurious music of your coo!
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X.—A Dead World.
Oft when I gaze on the clear moon's full round,
Reveries amid my spirit form and float
Of how unaltering in her orb remote
One icy annihilation broods profound.
Yet radiant life may there have thriven renowned,
With intellectual aims of noblest note,
With patriots, heroes, men that ruled or wrote,
With progress widening to thought's utmost bound.
Reveries amid my spirit form and float
Of how unaltering in her orb remote
One icy annihilation broods profound.
Yet radiant life may there have thriven renowned,
With intellectual aims of noblest note,
With patriots, heroes, men that ruled or wrote,
With progress widening to thought's utmost bound.
But now, poor moon, wan shadow of your past pride,
You bear a look like some pale glorious flower's
When treacherous autumn wakes with poignant breath,—
Forever lifting, while slow centuries glide,
Above this live and populous earth of ours
Your silence, pallor and apathy of death!
You bear a look like some pale glorious flower's
When treacherous autumn wakes with poignant breath,—
Forever lifting, while slow centuries glide,
Above this live and populous earth of ours
Your silence, pallor and apathy of death!
XI.—For a Book of Light Rhymes.
Come, volatile Folly, of the roguish eyes
And locks blown refluent from fair mirthful face,
Come, brilliant in your bell-besprinkled guise,
Come, delicate as the first shy rose of June,
With childlike upcurled lips and dancing eyes,
With helm-shaped jingling cap and scarlet shoon.
And locks blown refluent from fair mirthful face,
Come, brilliant in your bell-besprinkled guise,
Come, delicate as the first shy rose of June,
With childlike upcurled lips and dancing eyes,
With helm-shaped jingling cap and scarlet shoon.
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Come forth and wake the indolent echoes well,
With many a random burst of reckless glee,
With tinkle of wrist-bell and of ankle-bell,
With clear insatiate song and laughter bold!
Thou red-lipped romp, come forth, I charge of thee,
Come, chide the old weary world for growing old!
With many a random burst of reckless glee,
With tinkle of wrist-bell and of ankle-bell,
With clear insatiate song and laughter bold!
Thou red-lipped romp, come forth, I charge of thee,
Come, chide the old weary world for growing old!
For oh, 'tis a world of yearnings and of tears,
A world of labor and death and chilling loss!
And rarely enough the parsimonious years
Give heartsease, and full oft unsavory rue;
And many a frail back bears a heavy cross,
And many a sweet bloom dies for lack of dew.
A world of labor and death and chilling loss!
And rarely enough the parsimonious years
Give heartsease, and full oft unsavory rue;
And many a frail back bears a heavy cross,
And many a sweet bloom dies for lack of dew.
But better if we laugh blithely now and then,
Turning upon the past sad memory's key;
Ah, better in truth, worn women, weary men,
Than waste an hour with grief, regret or spleen,
Watch this mad Folly of mine, in songful glee,
Pirouette beneath her ribboned tambourine!
Turning upon the past sad memory's key;
Ah, better in truth, worn women, weary men,
Than waste an hour with grief, regret or spleen,
Watch this mad Folly of mine, in songful glee,
Pirouette beneath her ribboned tambourine!
XII.—Environment.
This earth, where so mysteriously we came,
Girds us with kinships: in robust oaks dwell
Our fortitudes; the willow and fern too well
Our foolish frailty or pliancy proclaim;
The dawns are our pure deeds; the erratic flame
Of lightning flares our passions; the grave spell
Of moonlight speaks our sorrow—and scarce we tell
Our pictured lives from their terrestrial frame.
Girds us with kinships: in robust oaks dwell
Our fortitudes; the willow and fern too well
Our foolish frailty or pliancy proclaim;
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Of lightning flares our passions; the grave spell
Of moonlight speaks our sorrow—and scarce we tell
Our pictured lives from their terrestrial frame.
Wherefore, the closlier that we lean to look
On those material and yet airy ties
Which bind us to this orb through fated years,
We almost feel as if great Nature took
Our joys to make her sunshine with, our sighs
To weave her winds, and for her rains our tears!
On those material and yet airy ties
Which bind us to this orb through fated years,
We almost feel as if great Nature took
Our joys to make her sunshine with, our sighs
To weave her winds, and for her rains our tears!
XIII.—Death's Plaint.
I dreamed of Death, a maid with spotless gear,
With slumberous eyes, with bosom warm and deep
As though some tired head there might sink to sleep
In rapturous rest unflawed by one least fear.
“Oh, surely,” I said to her, “no cause were here
For all the eternal terrors that o'ersweep
Humanity, and that oft so whelm and steep
Its last weak hours in torment so austere!”
With slumberous eyes, with bosom warm and deep
As though some tired head there might sink to sleep
In rapturous rest unflawed by one least fear.
“Oh, surely,” I said to her, “no cause were here
For all the eternal terrors that o'ersweep
Humanity, and that oft so whelm and steep
Its last weak hours in torment so austere!”
“Ah, true,” with pale and beauteous lips Death grieved;
“I bring man but the oblivious boon he needs,..
Yet note thou my dim realm where cypress waves;”
Then following her sad gesture, I perceived
The myriad spectres of man's own void creeds,
That crawled like haggard ghouls among his graves!
“I bring man but the oblivious boon he needs,..
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Then following her sad gesture, I perceived
The myriad spectres of man's own void creeds,
That crawled like haggard ghouls among his graves!
[XIV. Ho! for Dreamland's happy harbors]
Ho! for Dreamland's happy harbors!
Who's for Dreamland, by the ferry?
Who's to breast the waves that bind it,
Breast the fairy waves and find it,
Rich in flowering groves and arbors,
Though the boat's a timorous wherry
And the sailors, vague in features,
Are the shadowiest of creatures?
Ho! for Dreamland! Heigh! for Dreamland!
Who's for Dreamland, by the ferry?
Who's for Dreamland, by the ferry?
Who's to breast the waves that bind it,
Breast the fairy waves and find it,
Rich in flowering groves and arbors,
Though the boat's a timorous wherry
And the sailors, vague in features,
Are the shadowiest of creatures?
Ho! for Dreamland! Heigh! for Dreamland!
Who's for Dreamland, by the ferry?
Here are scholors pale with musing;
Revellers that no more are merry;
Maids whose loves were empty anguish;
Lovers that for life must languish;
Patriots passionately choosing
All the old haughty hopes to bury;
Sculptor, painter, bard, musician,
With unreached ideals elysian..
These for Dreamland! those for Dreamland!
Straight for Dreamland, by the ferry!
Revellers that no more are merry;
Maids whose loves were empty anguish;
Lovers that for life must languish;
Patriots passionately choosing
All the old haughty hopes to bury;
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With unreached ideals elysian..
These for Dreamland! those for Dreamland!
Straight for Dreamland, by the ferry!
Off they push, and out they wander,
Faring fleetly toward the very
Midmost heart of that great curly
Cloud that roseate and yet pearly
Haunts the dubious distance yonder,—
Bound where blossoming sprays of cherry,
Apple, and all sweet trees are vernal
With a plenteous pomp eternal!
Ho! for Dreamland! Heigh! for Dreamland!
Halcyon Dreamland, by the ferry!
Faring fleetly toward the very
Midmost heart of that great curly
Cloud that roseate and yet pearly
Haunts the dubious distance yonder,—
Bound where blossoming sprays of cherry,
Apple, and all sweet trees are vernal
With a plenteous pomp eternal!
Ho! for Dreamland! Heigh! for Dreamland!
Halcyon Dreamland, by the ferry!
XV.—Meteors.
How strangely through the immense unclouded gleam
Of shadowy skies, to solemn calmness given,
Flash out these hurrying golden lights that seem
The wild aerial accidents of heaven!
Of shadowy skies, to solemn calmness given,
Flash out these hurrying golden lights that seem
The wild aerial accidents of heaven!
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Silent as blossoms that in odorous Mays
Fall at the tremulous breeze's mild caress,
Down dim serenities of night's awful ways
They float mysteriously to nothingness.
Fall at the tremulous breeze's mild caress,
Down dim serenities of night's awful ways
They float mysteriously to nothingness.
But while in volatile beauty speeding so,
They touch the infinite with scarce deeper trace
Than if some languorous hand should vaguely throw
A glimmering lily through the dusk of space.
They touch the infinite with scarce deeper trace
Than if some languorous hand should vaguely throw
A glimmering lily through the dusk of space.
Along its measureless purple, densely-starred,
No answering tremor wakes, or faintest noise;
Eternally by these mishaps unmarred,
Reigns the cold radiance of its equipoise.
No answering tremor wakes, or faintest noise;
Eternally by these mishaps unmarred,
Reigns the cold radiance of its equipoise.
Even thus, one after one, the friends we prize
Drop from life's maze when the ordained hour shall doom,
Closing at last their dulled indifferent eyes
And journeying forth amid unfathomed gloom.
Drop from life's maze when the ordained hour shall doom,
Closing at last their dulled indifferent eyes
And journeying forth amid unfathomed gloom.
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Yet when they are passed, at fate's commandment signs,
Too often, against the darkness death shall weave,
Their memory's brightness perishably shines,
Like those pale furrows that the meteors leave!
Too often, against the darkness death shall weave,
Their memory's brightness perishably shines,
Like those pale furrows that the meteors leave!
| Songs of Doubt and Dream (Poems) | |