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 | [Poems by Howells in] Poems of two friends |  |
90
THE OLD BOUQUET.
Such odd things gather on one's hands!
I found an old bouquet
(The buds all faded whity-brown)
Among forgotten things to-day.
I found an old bouquet
(The buds all faded whity-brown)
Among forgotten things to-day.
I recollect 'twas Clarence Young
That gave it, long ago—
O, years and years, my child—how long,
Ah me! I don't exactly know.
That gave it, long ago—
O, years and years, my child—how long,
Ah me! I don't exactly know.
We quarreled—we were foolish both—
He married Susan Gray,
Who died last summer—and I heard
That he was buried yesterday.
He married Susan Gray,
Who died last summer—and I heard
That he was buried yesterday.
There's something blurs my glasses, dear;
I wish you'd read to me
These scribbled lines I found among
The faded flowers. Can you see?
I wish you'd read to me
These scribbled lines I found among
The faded flowers. Can you see?
Within this golden-hearted rose
(Sad in their sweet eclipse)
I send Regrets. Ah, smile them free
To fly in kisses to your lips.
(Sad in their sweet eclipse)
I send Regrets. Ah, smile them free
To fly in kisses to your lips.
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A silly rhyme! I never knew
What there the boy had writ—
Alas! I smiled not!—I'm too old,
And you too young, to talk of it!
What there the boy had writ—
Alas! I smiled not!—I'm too old,
And you too young, to talk of it!
Ah me! we quarreled. We were fools.
He married Susan Gray,
Who died last summer—and I heard
That he was buried yesterday.
He married Susan Gray,
Who died last summer—and I heard
That he was buried yesterday.
95
THE AUTUMN-LAND.
At last, the sorrowing wind
Hath moaned itself to sleep—
Over all the autumn-land
Broods silence strange and deep.
Hath moaned itself to sleep—
Over all the autumn-land
Broods silence strange and deep.
Like bright but songless birds
Along the naked leas,
All day the crimson leaves have flown,
Vexed by the wayward breeze.
Along the naked leas,
All day the crimson leaves have flown,
Vexed by the wayward breeze.
The while the stricken elms
Through all their boughs have sighed
For the summer birds that sang,
The summer flowers that died.
Through all their boughs have sighed
For the summer birds that sang,
The summer flowers that died.
Night falls. I scarce can see
The cattle where they droop
Together about the barnyard bars,
A mute and steadfast group.
The cattle where they droop
Together about the barnyard bars,
A mute and steadfast group.
Ah! well that the sorrowing wind
Hath moaned itself asleep!
That over the autumn-land
Broods silence dull and deep!
Hath moaned itself asleep!
That over the autumn-land
Broods silence dull and deep!
96
For all too long hath been
The brief November day,
Of barren field and somber wold,
And sky of sullen gray.
The brief November day,
Of barren field and somber wold,
And sky of sullen gray.
Too long the leaves were vexed,
Too long the sad elms sighed
For the summer birds that sang,
The summer flowers that died.
Too long the sad elms sighed
For the summer birds that sang,
The summer flowers that died.
Alas! that Autumn-land
Where the sad wind never sleeps;
Where over the summer-mourning soul
No silence ever creeps;
Where the sad wind never sleeps;
Where over the summer-mourning soul
No silence ever creeps;
Where the thoughts are ever vexed,
The heart is ever tried—
O! the summer birds that sang,
The summer flowers that died!
The heart is ever tried—
O! the summer birds that sang,
The summer flowers that died!
97
ALL FOUR.
AN AFTERNOON PICTURE.
A little child before the shady door,
A kitten lying on the cottage floor—
Beneath a locust tree, from whose white bloom
A passing breeze shook out a rich perfume,
An old man sitting in his easy chair—
A hale old man, with silver-flowing hair—
The house-dog stretched beneath his master's feet,
On bed of cool, green grasses, dark and sweet:
And dog, and child, and cat on cottage floor,
And hale old man, were wrapped in sleep—all four!
A kitten lying on the cottage floor—
Beneath a locust tree, from whose white bloom
A passing breeze shook out a rich perfume,
An old man sitting in his easy chair—
A hale old man, with silver-flowing hair—
The house-dog stretched beneath his master's feet,
On bed of cool, green grasses, dark and sweet:
And dog, and child, and cat on cottage floor,
And hale old man, were wrapped in sleep—all four!
A partridge, piping in the dead'ning near,
Called to “Bob White,” in whistle soft and clear;
From marshy pasture rose a lark in mirth,
Spilled his brief song, and silent sunk to earth;
In a new-furrowed field, a noisy crew
Of blackbirds picked the worms the plow up-threw;
The panting farmer, as he held the plow,
With his straw-hat brim fanned his streaming brow:
While dog, and child, and cat on cottage floor,
And hale old man, slept sound and cool—all four!
Called to “Bob White,” in whistle soft and clear;
From marshy pasture rose a lark in mirth,
Spilled his brief song, and silent sunk to earth;
In a new-furrowed field, a noisy crew
Of blackbirds picked the worms the plow up-threw;
The panting farmer, as he held the plow,
With his straw-hat brim fanned his streaming brow:
While dog, and child, and cat on cottage floor,
And hale old man, slept sound and cool—all four!
Loud crows uprising from the neighboring field,
With cawings hoarse, in lazy circles wheeled,
Then downward sank again in less'ning rings,
Flashing the sunlight from their sable wings;
Higher up a hawk, too, circled—cunning spy,
Watching the barn-yard with a hungry eye,
Where Chanticleer with wings distended stood,
And clucking Partlet called her screaming brood:
While dog, and child, and cat on cottage floor,
And gray old man, slept sound and sweet—all four!
With cawings hoarse, in lazy circles wheeled,
98
Flashing the sunlight from their sable wings;
Higher up a hawk, too, circled—cunning spy,
Watching the barn-yard with a hungry eye,
Where Chanticleer with wings distended stood,
And clucking Partlet called her screaming brood:
While dog, and child, and cat on cottage floor,
And gray old man, slept sound and sweet—all four!
In dreams through memory land the old man strayed,
Re-trod his traveled path—and child-like played
Along each stream, upon each flowery plain—
Lived all his happy boy-life o'er again;
In dreams the child, through hope's bright fairy-land,
Roamed glad and far with loving angel band,
Saw sights that childhood only dreaming, sees,
Marvelous flowers, and birds, and streams, and trees:
But dog and cat a dreamless slumber slept,
While round to four, the clock's slow finger crept!
Re-trod his traveled path—and child-like played
Along each stream, upon each flowery plain—
Lived all his happy boy-life o'er again;
In dreams the child, through hope's bright fairy-land,
Roamed glad and far with loving angel band,
Saw sights that childhood only dreaming, sees,
Marvelous flowers, and birds, and streams, and trees:
But dog and cat a dreamless slumber slept,
While round to four, the clock's slow finger crept!
Sudden a white cloud vailed the sun's bright face—
Another joined it in its resting-place—
The sky that, erewhile, bent an arch of blue,
Grew black with clouds—with tempest threatening grew;
Quick-flashing lightnings rent the storm in twain,
And in its bosom sheathed themselves again;
From its torn breast the sky its life-tide spills,
And its hoarse moans re-echo through the hills,
And dog, and child, and cat on cottage floor,
And hale old man, are roused from sleep—all four.
Another joined it in its resting-place—
The sky that, erewhile, bent an arch of blue,
Grew black with clouds—with tempest threatening grew;
Quick-flashing lightnings rent the storm in twain,
And in its bosom sheathed themselves again;
From its torn breast the sky its life-tide spills,
And its hoarse moans re-echo through the hills,
And dog, and child, and cat on cottage floor,
And hale old man, are roused from sleep—all four.
99
THISTLES.
I.
I plucked them from the weedy lane,And from the barren hillside-field,
Where years ago, for goodlier yield,
The sterile soil was sown in vain.
II.
In every desolate place they grow—Neglected gardens, stony lands,
And acres tilled by drunken hands—
In baleful beauty, thrive and blow.
III.
Armed well, they keep the land alone,Stinging all gentle flowers to death,
And filling the sweet zephyr's breath
With poison seeds for lands unknown.
IV.
I send them to you! You, whose scornSo glad a soul made desolate,
And left unto the desert-fate
Of thistle-bloom and thistle-thorn!
100
V.
And so I send my thistle seeds,And trust to find them bloomed again
In that rude heart where Love, in vain,
Toiled in the rocks and evil weeds.
VI.
Blow, thistles, blow! and ripe and fallUpon the sterile soil below,
Where never fragrant flower shall grow—
Lo! yours the desert place is all!
102
THE SHEPHERD.
The comely shepherd loitered by
The castle of the king;
The princess from the turrets gazed
With love's sweet sorrowing.
The castle of the king;
The princess from the turrets gazed
With love's sweet sorrowing.
She called to him a tender word—
“O were I down by thee, my dear!
How whitely show the lambkins there,
How red the flow'rets here!”
“O were I down by thee, my dear!
How whitely show the lambkins there,
How red the flow'rets here!”
The shepherd called to her again—
“O camest thou but down to me;
How blossom there thy cheeks so red—
How white thine armès be.”
“O camest thou but down to me;
How blossom there thy cheeks so red—
How white thine armès be.”
And as he now in silent pain
His flock at every dawning drove,
He looked above, till on the tower
Appeared his tender love.
His flock at every dawning drove,
He looked above, till on the tower
Appeared his tender love.
Then called he joyfully to her,
“O welcome, princess, sweet and fair!”
And sweetly still she answered him,
“O thanks! thou shepherd dear.”
“O welcome, princess, sweet and fair!”
And sweetly still she answered him,
“O thanks! thou shepherd dear.”
103
The winter passed, the spring appeared,
The flowers were blooming as before;
The shepherd loitered by the tower,
But she appeared no more.
The flowers were blooming as before;
The shepherd loitered by the tower,
But she appeared no more.
He called to her, all sorrowful,
“O, welcome, princess, sweet and fair!”—
A phantom voice replied to him,
“Adieu, thou shepherd dear.”
“O, welcome, princess, sweet and fair!”—
A phantom voice replied to him,
“Adieu, thou shepherd dear.”
104
EVENING VOICES.
Broken snatch of cow-boy's song,
Swelling high and sinking low,
Mingles, as he plods along,
With the lowing of his cow.
Swelling high and sinking low,
Mingles, as he plods along,
With the lowing of his cow.
Wagon rattling o'er the road,
(White top gleaming like a sail),
Wakes the echoes harsh and loud,
Of the dusk and distant vale.
(White top gleaming like a sail),
Wakes the echoes harsh and loud,
Of the dusk and distant vale.
On the night-air faintly swell,
From the whitely-peopled meads,
Silver sounds of lambkin's bell,
Singly tinkling while it feeds.
From the whitely-peopled meads,
Silver sounds of lambkin's bell,
Singly tinkling while it feeds.
On the listless winds that pass,
Insects fling their harmonies;
Crickets chirping in the grass,
Locusts trilling in the trees:
Insects fling their harmonies;
Crickets chirping in the grass,
Locusts trilling in the trees:
And like music of a Fay,
'Mong the maple's foliage hid,
Comes thy sad and changeless lay,
Melancholy Katy-did!—
'Mong the maple's foliage hid,
Comes thy sad and changeless lay,
Melancholy Katy-did!—
105
Comes the dull and sullen roar
Of the distant waterfall,
Where the swift waves foam and pour,
Wrapped in vapors like a pall.
Of the distant waterfall,
Where the swift waves foam and pour,
Wrapped in vapors like a pall.
Sweetly mingled, yet distinct,
Countless witching voices are;
Sweetly various, sweetly linked,
Trembling on the dewy air.
Countless witching voices are;
Sweetly various, sweetly linked,
Trembling on the dewy air.
106
THE HEAVEN-WREATH.
The blooming halos of the garden trees,
All sweetly murmurous with clustering bees,
Fling a rich odor on the air around;
And broad, cool shadows on the grassy ground;
And in their shade a little child at play,
Whileth the hours through all the sunny day.
All sweetly murmurous with clustering bees,
Fling a rich odor on the air around;
And broad, cool shadows on the grassy ground;
And in their shade a little child at play,
Whileth the hours through all the sunny day.
A placid child, that never strayeth out
Into the sunshine with unruly shout,
But sitteth still, the fragrant boughs beneath,
Striving in vain to weave himself a wreath;
About his feet blue violets are strown,
And golden dandelions and willows thrown.
Into the sunshine with unruly shout,
But sitteth still, the fragrant boughs beneath,
Striving in vain to weave himself a wreath;
About his feet blue violets are strown,
And golden dandelions and willows thrown.
The children watch him as he sitteth there,
With earnest mien, and sweet, abstracted air;
And while they gaze, they cease their boisterous sport,
And speak of him in sober, childish sort;
And oft they call their mother to behold
His fruitless toil, and flowers of blue and gold.
With earnest mien, and sweet, abstracted air;
And while they gaze, they cease their boisterous sport,
And speak of him in sober, childish sort;
And oft they call their mother to behold
His fruitless toil, and flowers of blue and gold.
107
But as the mother looketh on her child,
So young, so fair, and so unearthly mild,
Though she would haply have them seem more bright,
Her eyes grow dimmer for the simple sight;
And her pained heart feels with foreboding love,
Fond Death hath woven him a wreath above.
So young, so fair, and so unearthly mild,
Though she would haply have them seem more bright,
Her eyes grow dimmer for the simple sight;
And her pained heart feels with foreboding love,
Fond Death hath woven him a wreath above.
109
THE VIOLETS.
I.
After long cold, the wind blows soft and mild,And fair young violets brings the beggar-child.
II.
Ah! sad to think the sweetest gift of springTo me the child of Misery must bring.
III.
And yet this earnest of the day to me,Is dearer from hand of Misery.
IV.
For to the Future our own grief doth bringThe gentle promises of coming spring.
110
SONNET.
Alone I wander o'er the path we pressedWith lingering footsteps in the Long-ago,
And the soft summer moon hangs warm and low,
While languid stars are faint through all the West,
And though the form that then mine arm caressed,
Thrilling to feel the heart's quick ebb and flow,
Its zoning clasp no more shall ever know,
Still, still I wander with a sweet unrest:
For silver whispers haunt the dreamy air,
Like ghosts of words I never may forget;
The smiles, the welcome thou wert wont to wear,
Meet my fond seeking as of yore they met;
And at my side, grief-sanctified and rare,
The glory of thy presence lingers yet.
111
THE DEATH OF MAY.
“O, I am weary!” sighed the languid May,
And so lay down, and on the breast of June
Her fair head pillowing, breathed away her life.
None knew that she was dying, and the stars
Shone bright and tearless from their far-off sky,
And kindled other stars in lake and river;
The south wind whispered lovingly to her
That slept so long; and lifted her bright hair,
And kissed her playfully, yet never dreamed
That May was dead! Earth felt not her deep loss,
But glad in presence of the lusty June,
Nor grieved nor cared for one who was no more.
And the sad soul of May, that lingered nigh,
Was panged with bitterness, to be forgot
So soon.
And so lay down, and on the breast of June
Her fair head pillowing, breathed away her life.
None knew that she was dying, and the stars
Shone bright and tearless from their far-off sky,
And kindled other stars in lake and river;
The south wind whispered lovingly to her
That slept so long; and lifted her bright hair,
And kissed her playfully, yet never dreamed
That May was dead! Earth felt not her deep loss,
But glad in presence of the lusty June,
Nor grieved nor cared for one who was no more.
And the sad soul of May, that lingered nigh,
Was panged with bitterness, to be forgot
So soon.
'Twas night—but when the blushing Morn
Looked forth from out the portals of the East,
And saw not May, though lovelier than May,
Her sweet young sister, reigned—in somber clouds
She pensive vailed her radiant face, and wept.
Looked forth from out the portals of the East,
And saw not May, though lovelier than May,
Her sweet young sister, reigned—in somber clouds
She pensive vailed her radiant face, and wept.
112
Then May was glad, and rose on glowing plumes
And rippling robes, far into the bright realm
Appointed for the pure and early dead.
And rippling robes, far into the bright realm
Appointed for the pure and early dead.
O, what if noisy Fame ignore thy fall,
And pass thee in forgetfulness or mirth?
Still in the memory of some dear friend
The fragrance of thy better self shall live,
And be an holier sorrow for thy loss!
And pass thee in forgetfulness or mirth?
Still in the memory of some dear friend
The fragrance of thy better self shall live,
And be an holier sorrow for thy loss!
113
COMPLIMENT.
Cleverly done, it is certain!
And nobody can complain.
There was something about old friendship,
And hopes to meet often again.
And nobody can complain.
There was something about old friendship,
And hopes to meet often again.
When one is to die, it is pleasant
To have the knife bright and keen;
This awkward hacking is horrid—
Work not fit to be seen.
To have the knife bright and keen;
This awkward hacking is horrid—
Work not fit to be seen.
Here comes your friend, my darling—
A compliment to your art!
Who would think, to see you together,
You had stabbed him to the heart!
A compliment to your art!
Who would think, to see you together,
You had stabbed him to the heart!
114
DRIFTING AWAY.
As one whom seaward winds beat from the shore,
Sees all the land go from him out of sight,
And waits with doubtful heart the stooping night,
In some frail shallop without sail or oar,
Drifting away!
Sees all the land go from him out of sight,
And waits with doubtful heart the stooping night,
In some frail shallop without sail or oar,
Drifting away!
I ride forlorn upon the sea of life,
Far out and farther unto unknown deeps,
Down the dark gulfs and up the dizzy steeps,
Whirled in the tumult of the ocean strife,
Drifting away!
Far out and farther unto unknown deeps,
Down the dark gulfs and up the dizzy steeps,
Whirled in the tumult of the ocean strife,
Drifting away!
Like faint, faint lights, I see my old beliefs
Fade from me one by one, and shine no more;
Old loves, old hopes lie dead upon the shore,
Wept all about by ghosts of childhood griefs,
Drifting away!
Fade from me one by one, and shine no more;
Old loves, old hopes lie dead upon the shore,
Wept all about by ghosts of childhood griefs,
Drifting away!
O never more the happy land shall glow,
With the fair light of morning on mine eyes;
Upon its loftiest peak the sunset dies,
And night is in the peaceful vales below,
Drifting away!
With the fair light of morning on mine eyes;
Upon its loftiest peak the sunset dies,
And night is in the peaceful vales below,
Drifting away!
115
I rise and stretch my longing arms in vain,
And fold in void embraces on my breast
The nothing claspt, and with dim fears opprest,
Cry to the shores I shall not see again,
Drifting away!
And fold in void embraces on my breast
The nothing claspt, and with dim fears opprest,
Cry to the shores I shall not see again,
Drifting away!
118
SPRING.
I feel thy coming in the balmy air,That woos the landscape from its winter-dream
Of leafless grove, bleak field, and frozen stream,
And in the warmth and freshness everywhere.
Oh, Earth is passing beautiful and fair!
Birds, trees, and flowers—the morning's golden beam,
Noon's glow, and sunset's mellow glory, seem
The bright belongings of some happier sphere!
And lured by these, and loathing the mean fame
That man doth yield to long, unworthy strife,
The heart turns heavenward with a holier aim,
Soars every thought, and every sense grows rife,
Till all the world and all its hopes look tame,
And the pent soul longs for a larger life.
119
THE CAGED ROBIN.
Oh, like the laughter of a broken heart
That tells of sorrow in its hollow ring,
Yet strives to hide beneath a show of art
The joyless spirit's silent cankering—
Seems the sweet strain thou art caroling,
Poor patient Robin, in thy prison home—
Shut from the opening beauties of the spring
In the thick, somber silence of this room,
Where scarce through curtained glass a sickly light can come.
That tells of sorrow in its hollow ring,
Yet strives to hide beneath a show of art
The joyless spirit's silent cankering—
Seems the sweet strain thou art caroling,
Poor patient Robin, in thy prison home—
Shut from the opening beauties of the spring
In the thick, somber silence of this room,
Where scarce through curtained glass a sickly light can come.
Erst when the day in peaceful panoply,
With crimson banners decked the glowing east,
Thy matin gushed in joyous notes and free,
And only with the morning's freshness ceased.
So when the sunset reddened all the west,
Thy vesper rose, and with its beauty died,
And the sad whippowil beguiled the rest.
But here alike are morn and eventide,
The sunset's purple glory and Aurora's pride!
With crimson banners decked the glowing east,
Thy matin gushed in joyous notes and free,
And only with the morning's freshness ceased.
So when the sunset reddened all the west,
Thy vesper rose, and with its beauty died,
And the sad whippowil beguiled the rest.
But here alike are morn and eventide,
The sunset's purple glory and Aurora's pride!
120
Erewhile I marked thee on thy bounding wing,
In aerial gambols whirling through the sky,
Stooping, anon, to taste the little spring,
That, pebbly-channeled, leapt translucently
Down a green hill-side—sparkling in its glee.
In crystal vase thy still warm drink now stands,
Its unrefreshing moisture mocking thee!
Dost loathe the bounty of thy captor's hands,
And long for that bright spring?—its silver shifting sands?
In aerial gambols whirling through the sky,
Stooping, anon, to taste the little spring,
That, pebbly-channeled, leapt translucently
Down a green hill-side—sparkling in its glee.
In crystal vase thy still warm drink now stands,
Its unrefreshing moisture mocking thee!
Dost loathe the bounty of thy captor's hands,
And long for that bright spring?—its silver shifting sands?
Can this carved roof and colonnaded hall
Vie with the blue sky and wild-wood grove,
Where now unanswered sounds the tender call
Of thy lone partner, plaining for her love?
What though thy cage be hung with fruits above?
Its wires be hid in freshly-gathered flowers—
Sweeter the fruits that thou mightst pluck, and rove
Through woods a-bloom, and fair, vine-clambered bowers,
The while shaking bright dew from clustering leaves in showers.
Vie with the blue sky and wild-wood grove,
Where now unanswered sounds the tender call
Of thy lone partner, plaining for her love?
What though thy cage be hung with fruits above?
Its wires be hid in freshly-gathered flowers—
Sweeter the fruits that thou mightst pluck, and rove
Through woods a-bloom, and fair, vine-clambered bowers,
The while shaking bright dew from clustering leaves in showers.
O! sing no more, but fold thy useless wings,
And drop thy head upon thy bosom low—
Thou art too like the grief-worn soul that flings
A vail of gladsomeness upon its woe,
And mocks with gayety its bitterest throe!
O! hush the song now rising in thy throat!
Bid the sweet lay be still—or rough its flow,
Till sorrow speaks in every lilting note,
And sob-like strains along the carved arches float!
And drop thy head upon thy bosom low—
Thou art too like the grief-worn soul that flings
A vail of gladsomeness upon its woe,
And mocks with gayety its bitterest throe!
O! hush the song now rising in thy throat!
Bid the sweet lay be still—or rough its flow,
Till sorrow speaks in every lilting note,
And sob-like strains along the carved arches float!
123
DROWNED.
Like a bird of evil presage,
To the lonely house on the shore,
Came the wind with a tale of shipwreck,
And shrieked at the closed door.
To the lonely house on the shore,
Came the wind with a tale of shipwreck,
And shrieked at the closed door.
And flapped its wing in the gables,
And shouted the well-known names,
And buffeted the windows,
Afeard in their shuddering frames.
And shouted the well-known names,
And buffeted the windows,
Afeard in their shuddering frames.
It was night, and it is morning—
The summer sun is bland,
The white-cap waves come rocking, rocking,
In to the summer land.
The summer sun is bland,
The white-cap waves come rocking, rocking,
In to the summer land.
The white-cap waves come rocking, rocking,
In the sun so soft and bright,
And toss and play with the dead man,
Drowned in the storm last night.
In the sun so soft and bright,
And toss and play with the dead man,
Drowned in the storm last night.
124
UNDER THE LOCUSTS.
O listen to the bees,
Weaving their honeyed harmonies,
In the white bloom of the locust-trees!
Weaving their honeyed harmonies,
In the white bloom of the locust-trees!
O faint, and soft, and slow,
Come the delicious winds that blow
Through the sweet drifts of Summer snow!
Come the delicious winds that blow
Through the sweet drifts of Summer snow!
I sit with closed eyes:
Dimly the golden dreams arise,
All my soul in warm languor lies.
Dimly the golden dreams arise,
All my soul in warm languor lies.
O swoon, enchanted brain!
Heart, why shouldst thou ever beat again?
Death is delight, and life is pain.
Heart, why shouldst thou ever beat again?
Death is delight, and life is pain.
125
MIDNIGHT RAIN.
At twilight Auster, like a gossip, came
And told the secret to the listening leaves:
And they did whisper it among themselves,
The while that dark clouds, purpling in the west,
Heaved up and blotted out the sunset's glory:
The while that lightnings darted from the folds
Of the thick mass, and sprang in fiery shapes
Like weird, fantastic trees and flowers, and withered:
The while the storm-sprite, mounting on damp plumes,
Brushed, as he passed, the cresset stars, and quenched:
The while that Luna hid behind the dusk;
But, as night grew apace, the leaves grew still,
And hung in mute expectance of the rain,
And told the secret to the listening leaves:
And they did whisper it among themselves,
The while that dark clouds, purpling in the west,
Heaved up and blotted out the sunset's glory:
The while that lightnings darted from the folds
Of the thick mass, and sprang in fiery shapes
Like weird, fantastic trees and flowers, and withered:
The while the storm-sprite, mounting on damp plumes,
Brushed, as he passed, the cresset stars, and quenched:
The while that Luna hid behind the dusk;
But, as night grew apace, the leaves grew still,
And hung in mute expectance of the rain,
And now the thunder, that had murmured long
Among the western clouds, rose as they rose,
And shook the fabric of the night. Slow rolled
Along the vault, and nearing earth, grew loud,
And burst with iron clangor on the hills.
Frequent and ghast the lurid lightnings shone
With wide-pervading glow.
At last, some drops,
Shaken from out the sky, fell down to earth;
Then others came, and following fast and many,
The sweet-voiced, sibilant-show'ring gushes fell.
There had long time been drouth, and grateful fields
Drank the pure offering of the teeming clouds
With eager joy. The forest-trees, by heat
Untimely tinted with the hues of autumn,
Held out their stiff leaves, and their branches waved,
And crooned a dreamy measure to the wind.
The rills that arteried the valley-sides,
Swelled and ran down, and mingled in the stream
That flowed beneath. Flowers that had drooped,
Lifted themselves and gave their chalices
For the soft rain to brim. Brute-life partook
The common joy; and men did sweetly sleep.
Among the western clouds, rose as they rose,
And shook the fabric of the night. Slow rolled
Along the vault, and nearing earth, grew loud,
And burst with iron clangor on the hills.
Frequent and ghast the lurid lightnings shone
With wide-pervading glow.
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Shaken from out the sky, fell down to earth;
Then others came, and following fast and many,
The sweet-voiced, sibilant-show'ring gushes fell.
There had long time been drouth, and grateful fields
Drank the pure offering of the teeming clouds
With eager joy. The forest-trees, by heat
Untimely tinted with the hues of autumn,
Held out their stiff leaves, and their branches waved,
And crooned a dreamy measure to the wind.
The rills that arteried the valley-sides,
Swelled and ran down, and mingled in the stream
That flowed beneath. Flowers that had drooped,
Lifted themselves and gave their chalices
For the soft rain to brim. Brute-life partook
The common joy; and men did sweetly sleep.
As, when a fever long hath burned the frame,
Haply comes health, and bathes the aching brow
With dewy drops: relax the tensioned nerves,
The palms grow moist, the temples throb no more,
A pleasing languor spreads throughout the soul;—
So, welcome to the parched earth, came the rain!
And when the storm had passed, and far away
The thunder faintly murmured, slumber came
Upon her, and she slept the gentle sleep
That health doth ever bring.
Haply comes health, and bathes the aching brow
With dewy drops: relax the tensioned nerves,
The palms grow moist, the temples throb no more,
A pleasing languor spreads throughout the soul;—
So, welcome to the parched earth, came the rain!
And when the storm had passed, and far away
The thunder faintly murmured, slumber came
Upon her, and she slept the gentle sleep
That health doth ever bring.
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THE BIRD.
Her bird in his cage sang songs
Of summer-time and love:
The snow was white on the winter fields,
The sky was dark above.
Of summer-time and love:
The snow was white on the winter fields,
The sky was dark above.
The tears came into the eyes
Of the lady so fair and wan—
“O bird,” she sobbed, “sing another song!
The summer-time is gone.
Of the lady so fair and wan—
“O bird,” she sobbed, “sing another song!
The summer-time is gone.
“The snow is white on my winter-heart,
And heaven is dark above:
My heart will break if you sing to me
Of summer-time and love.”
And heaven is dark above:
My heart will break if you sing to me
Of summer-time and love.”
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THE FISHER-MAIDEN.
Beautiful fisher-maiden,
Drive thy light boat to land—
Come to me, and sit down beside me;
We whisper, hand in hand.
Drive thy light boat to land—
Come to me, and sit down beside me;
We whisper, hand in hand.
Rest on my heart thy head, love,
Nor tremble for fear of me,—
Thou trustest thyself without trembling
Still to the stormy sea!
Nor tremble for fear of me,—
Thou trustest thyself without trembling
Still to the stormy sea!
My heart is like the sea,—
Has storm, and ebb, and flow,
And many a beautiful pearl sleeps
In its calm depths below.
Has storm, and ebb, and flow,
And many a beautiful pearl sleeps
In its calm depths below.
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WORDS OF WARNING.
FRAGMENT.
Life's made up of partings and meetings
At the best!
Sorrowful farewells and joyous greetings—
Hands are ever shaken, lips are pressed!
At the best!
Sorrowful farewells and joyous greetings—
Hands are ever shaken, lips are pressed!
Wherefore, though the frown of heaven darken
Love's blue sky,
And thy soul in its forlornness hearken
To thy darling's tremulous good-bye,
Love's blue sky,
And thy soul in its forlornness hearken
To thy darling's tremulous good-bye,
Take thou heart, for all the world hath kindred
To thy woe;
Everywhere are longing spirits hindered
By the cruel fate that bids thee go!
To thy woe;
Everywhere are longing spirits hindered
By the cruel fate that bids thee go!
Take thou heart—perchance the paths now parting
Shall be joined,
And the goal shall be the point of starting,
And the soul forgets that it hath pined.
Shall be joined,
And the goal shall be the point of starting,
And the soul forgets that it hath pined.
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Yet—yet, linger on those lips awhile;
Time may come
They shall wear for thee no loving smile,
And to all thy tender words be dumb.
Time may come
They shall wear for thee no loving smile,
And to all thy tender words be dumb.
Look into those tearful eyes that mirror
Love again;
Clasp her fair form near and nearer,
They may turn from thee in cold disdain.
Love again;
Clasp her fair form near and nearer,
They may turn from thee in cold disdain.
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THE STRAW HAT.
A PICTURE AT THE DOCTOR'S.
The sweet shade falls athwart her face,
And leaves half shadow and half light—
Dimples and lips in open day,
And dreamy brows and eyes in night.
And leaves half shadow and half light—
Dimples and lips in open day,
And dreamy brows and eyes in night.
So low the languid eyelids fall,
They rest their silk upon her cheek,
And give delicious laziness
To glances arch and cunning meek.
They rest their silk upon her cheek,
And give delicious laziness
To glances arch and cunning meek.
It cannot frown, the placid brow!
Hidden in rare obscurity;
They cannot hate, the indolent eyes!
The sins they do not strive to see.
Hidden in rare obscurity;
They cannot hate, the indolent eyes!
The sins they do not strive to see.
And in the sunshine of her cheeks,
The wanton dimples are at play,
So frolic-earnest in their sport,
They do not care to look away.
The wanton dimples are at play,
So frolic-earnest in their sport,
They do not care to look away.
And oh, if Love, kiss-winged, should come,
And light on such a rose as this,
Could brow, or eye, or dimples blame
Such lips for giving back a kiss?
And light on such a rose as this,
Could brow, or eye, or dimples blame
Such lips for giving back a kiss?
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“SIR PHILIP SYDNEY.”
A PET DOVE, WHICH FELL A PREY UNTO THE RAVENING CAT.
(For his Mistress.)
IN MEMORIAM.
Erst mirror of the stateliest chivalry,And not misnamed for that most gentle knight,
In whom sweet love made shining deeds more bright,
And gracious even the fault of vanity—
Thee in the groves of heaven flying free,
Flashing thy silver wings in that rare light,
Whereof to think doth hurt our mortal sight—
Thee, glorified through death; I weep not thee!
But rather deem, thou stooping from on high,
Hauntest my heart, the spirit of a dove,—
Oh! guard it with a loving jealousy,
That none but gentle thoughts therein may move,
Ah! nestle there, and keep me ever nigh—
Thou beauteous word of God for Peace and Love!
| [Poems by Howells in] Poems of two friends | |