 | [Poems by Piatt in] Poems of two friends |  |
JOHN J. PIATT.
3
BELOW AND ABOVE.
“It might have been:” To the heart's deeps are cast
Those slow, sad words. To funeral trains they move
Within the soul. The deserts we have passed
We cross again—from Eden-dreams of Love!
Those slow, sad words. To funeral trains they move
Within the soul. The deserts we have passed
We cross again—from Eden-dreams of Love!
“It might have been,” we say, whene'er we give
Into the grave our coffin silently;
But the sad tears some unknown gleam receive—
We lift our eyes and say, “It still may be.”
Into the grave our coffin silently;
But the sad tears some unknown gleam receive—
We lift our eyes and say, “It still may be.”
6
GHOSTS.
In the olden mansion lying
That has known me—long ago—
Far I see the long white river
Flash the lightnings of the snow.
That has known me—long ago—
Far I see the long white river
Flash the lightnings of the snow.
The moon so close by the window
Freezes in the trees with her light,
A glitter of motionless silence
All the ice-lit branches bright!
Freezes in the trees with her light,
A glitter of motionless silence
All the ice-lit branches bright!
Working at the drowsy silence
There are footsteps on the stair,
Lifting up their ghostly echoes
From the chambers—everywhere!
There are footsteps on the stair,
Lifting up their ghostly echoes
From the chambers—everywhere!
Some arising, slow and heavy,
Toiling with the clogs of heart,
As the dreary and weary languor
Of their toil will ne'er depart.
Toiling with the clogs of heart,
As the dreary and weary languor
Of their toil will ne'er depart.
Some seem borne on childhood laughter,
As if all life's roses were red!
Children's footsteps speak their language—
But all are the feet of the dead!
As if all life's roses were red!
Children's footsteps speak their language—
But all are the feet of the dead!
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How near they startle the stairway!
I feel the opening door!
Now far and fainter dying
They echo in me no more.
I feel the opening door!
Now far and fainter dying
They echo in me no more.
In a moment the door will open!
How near they grow again!
They have left the ghost of their silence
Walking in my brain!
How near they grow again!
They have left the ghost of their silence
Walking in my brain!
Growing up the haunted stairway
I have heard them oft before,
In this olden house forever,
Haunting me forevermore.
I have heard them oft before,
In this olden house forever,
Haunting me forevermore.
Strangers here have never heard them,
For I know they are all mine,
Rising ever, O heart! and dying
On that haunted stair of thine!
For I know they are all mine,
Rising ever, O heart! and dying
On that haunted stair of thine!
To me, forever returning,
My souls forever fled—
Startling the stair forever and ever,
I hear my footsteps dead!
My souls forever fled—
Startling the stair forever and ever,
I hear my footsteps dead!
O heart, make braver beating,
The funeral haunting the stair,
Is the long, long dead procession
That follows thee everywhere!
The funeral haunting the stair,
Is the long, long dead procession
That follows thee everywhere!
13
POSTSCRIPT.
I shall not hear from her again:
In all my blushing letters, long
I stole the secret from my pen,
And hid it in unwritten song.
Her letters, sweet as roses pressed,
Bloom from my dreaming heart to-day.
Flushing I wrote, in sweet unrest:
My rose forgot to climb for May.
In all my blushing letters, long
I stole the secret from my pen,
And hid it in unwritten song.
Her letters, sweet as roses pressed,
Bloom from my dreaming heart to-day.
Flushing I wrote, in sweet unrest:
My rose forgot to climb for May.
Long years: for her another's name—
Another's lip—another's arm—
(Ah, crawl into the ashes, flame!)
Another heart—though mine was warm.
My cricket, hush! his mirth is stilled;
Dream-flames among dream-embers play;
Another my Lost Heaven has filled:
My rose forgot to climb for May.
Another's lip—another's arm—
(Ah, crawl into the ashes, flame!)
Another heart—though mine was warm.
My cricket, hush! his mirth is stilled;
Dream-flames among dream-embers play;
Another my Lost Heaven has filled:
My rose forgot to climb for May.
Ah, well—the Postscript steals at last
Beneath shy letters, buried—dead:
“I love”—in my regret are cast
Low echoes, whispering words unsaid.
Sweet flowers, remember her, apart;
Write your sweet postscript here to-day
Upon her headstone—in my heart;
My rose forgot to climb for May.
Beneath shy letters, buried—dead:
“I love”—in my regret are cast
Low echoes, whispering words unsaid.
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Write your sweet postscript here to-day
Upon her headstone—in my heart;
My rose forgot to climb for May.
CAGED BIRDS.
Spell-bound within their cage, my heart,
Are sweetest birds that ever sing
On beams to heaven; they dream apart
Silent, with folded wing.
Are sweetest birds that ever sing
On beams to heaven; they dream apart
Silent, with folded wing.
Spring lays her blessing hands on all
The earth: it blossoms! Everything
Breathes—sings! They pass the festival
Silent, with folded wing.
The earth: it blossoms! Everything
Breathes—sings! They pass the festival
Silent, with folded wing.
You have the word, beloved one,
The magic key of opening:
O give these larks a morning sun—
Earth, heaven of you shall sing!
The magic key of opening:
O give these larks a morning sun—
Earth, heaven of you shall sing!
15
IN THE ORCHARD.
O the beautiful apples, so golden and mellow,
They will fall at the kiss of the breeze!
While it breathes through the foliage, frosty and yellow,
When the sunshine is filling the trees.
Though high in the light wind they gladly would linger
On the boughs where their blossoms were found,
Yet they drop at a breath—at the touch of a finger,
They shatter their cores on the ground!
They will fall at the kiss of the breeze!
While it breathes through the foliage, frosty and yellow,
When the sunshine is filling the trees.
Though high in the light wind they gladly would linger
On the boughs where their blossoms were found,
Yet they drop at a breath—at the touch of a finger,
They shatter their cores on the ground!
Through the morns of October, while Autumn is trying
With all things to whisper of Spring,
How the leaves of the orchard around us are flying,
And the heavens seem ready to sing!
How the ladders in breezes of sunshine are swinging!
The farmer boys gladden and climb!
To gather the fruit they are swaying and singing—
Glad hearts to glad voices keep time!
With all things to whisper of Spring,
How the leaves of the orchard around us are flying,
And the heavens seem ready to sing!
How the ladders in breezes of sunshine are swinging!
The farmer boys gladden and climb!
To gather the fruit they are swaying and singing—
Glad hearts to glad voices keep time!
Far down the bright air they are happy to listen
The noise of the mill and the flail,
And the waters that laugh, as they leap and they glisten,
From the dam that is lighting the vale;
The wild flutter of bells that so breezily rises
From glades where the yellow leaves blow—
And the laughter of faces in childish surprises,
If the wind fling an apple below!
The noise of the mill and the flail,
And the waters that laugh, as they leap and they glisten,
From the dam that is lighting the vale;
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From glades where the yellow leaves blow—
And the laughter of faces in childish surprises,
If the wind fling an apple below!
Oh see in the trees that are drinking the splendor,
How the gladness of boyhood is seen!
How they shake all the branches so windy and slender,
And a bright golden rain is between!
And higher they climb, till the grasses are covered
With the fruits that were sweet April flowers,
And the yellowing leaves that all over them hovered,
Flutter down with the apples in showers!
How the gladness of boyhood is seen!
How they shake all the branches so windy and slender,
And a bright golden rain is between!
And higher they climb, till the grasses are covered
With the fruits that were sweet April flowers,
And the yellowing leaves that all over them hovered,
Flutter down with the apples in showers!
The harvests are garnered—the meadows are burning,
Every sunset in golden and brown;
The apples are gathered, the wains are returning,
And the winter may bluster and frown:
The blind drifting snows may make barren the even—
Golden twilights may shiver in rain—
But the Apples and Cider by Summer are given
To give Winter to Summer again!
Every sunset in golden and brown;
The apples are gathered, the wains are returning,
And the winter may bluster and frown:
The blind drifting snows may make barren the even—
Golden twilights may shiver in rain—
But the Apples and Cider by Summer are given
To give Winter to Summer again!
19
ROSE.
I came to find her blithe and bright,
Breathing the household full of bloom,—
Wreathing the fireside with delight:
I found her—in her tomb!
Breathing the household full of bloom,—
Wreathing the fireside with delight:
I found her—in her tomb!
I came to find her gathering flowers—
Their fragrant souls so pure and clear
Haunting her face with lovelier love:
The flowers—she gathers here!
Their fragrant souls so pure and clear
Haunting her face with lovelier love:
The flowers—she gathers here!
Sweet Rose! the loving name that wore
Her love, her beauty and her bloom:
One rose, her only epitaph,
“In Memory,” on her tomb!
Her love, her beauty and her bloom:
One rose, her only epitaph,
“In Memory,” on her tomb!
20
THE SPRING.
The Spring! The Spring! She comes again! In the sunny world once more!
The children sweet, they meet and greet, and pull her to the door!
The children sweet, they meet and greet, and pull her to the door!
Like a maiden, dancing home her song: O, echoes sad, depart!
Her smile's the key in every door of the prison of the heart!
Her smile's the key in every door of the prison of the heart!
All things remember, seeing her—her traveling choir the birds;
What singing in the sunshine, and what lowing of the herds!
What singing in the sunshine, and what lowing of the herds!
The lambs, that only Winter knew, have like a garland bound her—
As if they knew her long ago, all gladdening, dance around her!
As if they knew her long ago, all gladdening, dance around her!
The trees she only looks upon—green leaves begin to grow;
The orchard blushes! Is it snow?—but oh! how fragrant snow!
The orchard blushes! Is it snow?—but oh! how fragrant snow!
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All things are in the sunny air, whatever can learn to fly;
The very worm has the brightest wings, in its heaven—the butterfly!
The very worm has the brightest wings, in its heaven—the butterfly!
The Spring! The Spring! She is here again—her train the brightest Hours!
And the last o' the snow, she is smiling so forgets it was not—flowers!
And the last o' the snow, she is smiling so forgets it was not—flowers!
22
THE LOST SONGS.
He lived and died: he sang sweet songs
Of flower that blooms—of bird that sings—
Of feelings sweet that through the dust
Of life lift their forgotten wings.
His earth was God's: he deemed he saw
In every path His image stand;
On every flower unseen by all,
He saw the Sabbath-resting Hand!
Of flower that blooms—of bird that sings—
Of feelings sweet that through the dust
Of life lift their forgotten wings.
His earth was God's: he deemed he saw
In every path His image stand;
On every flower unseen by all,
He saw the Sabbath-resting Hand!
All things to him were dear—the voice
Of childhood-glee, of mother-love—
He clasped the dear world to his heart,
And lifted eyes to bless above,
The brother-world—he knew so well—
Their brother saw and knew him not:
He roamed an exile in their land;
He died without their doors—forgot.
Of childhood-glee, of mother-love—
He clasped the dear world to his heart,
And lifted eyes to bless above,
The brother-world—he knew so well—
Their brother saw and knew him not:
He roamed an exile in their land;
He died without their doors—forgot.
Years passed: the sunshine seemed more bright—
The Mays more blithe—the earth more young.
Years passed: oh, sweetest lips grew sweet
When many an orphan song was sung.
Flowers human grew, to musing men,
By those song-children plucked and given;
All mornings gladdening took the pulse
Of those strange skylarks in their heaven!
The Mays more blithe—the earth more young.
Years passed: oh, sweetest lips grew sweet
When many an orphan song was sung.
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By those song-children plucked and given;
All mornings gladdening took the pulse
Of those strange skylarks in their heaven!
Now many a little orphan child
Of song looks up into the eyes
Of Pride, and Hate, and Wrong, and sings
Till tears of love and pity rise.
These are the songs the poet sang
Unnoticed o'er the earth long years—
And the world wonders where he lies:
They seek to name his grave with tears!
Of song looks up into the eyes
Of Pride, and Hate, and Wrong, and sings
Till tears of love and pity rise.
These are the songs the poet sang
Unnoticed o'er the earth long years—
And the world wonders where he lies:
They seek to name his grave with tears!
None knows: no rose was planted there,
Remembering him—no lettered stone:
Those little songs, that wandered lost,
Are all that knew the poet lone.
“Ah,” the world cries, “our brother died
Without—we heeded not his call.”
The proud world sighs: “These orphan songs
May live within the hearts of all.”
Remembering him—no lettered stone:
Those little songs, that wandered lost,
Are all that knew the poet lone.
“Ah,” the world cries, “our brother died
Without—we heeded not his call.”
The proud world sighs: “These orphan songs
May live within the hearts of all.”
25
A GLAD SEPTEMBER MORNING.
All things breathe full of life this Autumn, morn;The hills seem growing under silver cloud;
A fresher spirit in Nature's veins is born;
The woodlands are blowing lustily and loud—
The crows fly cawing among the flying leaves—
On sunward lifted branches struts the jay—
The fluttering brooklet, dashing bright, receives
Bright frosty silverings, slow from ledges gray
Of rock among fresh sunlight glittering out—
Cold apples drop through orchards mellowing—
'Neath forest eaves quick squirrels laugh and shout—
Farms answer farms, as through bright morns of spring,
And joy, with dewiest pulses, full and strong,
Joy, everywhere, goes Maying with a song.
32
THE FORGOTTEN STREET.
Through Midnight's holy hush, with hushing feet,
Seeming to hear the sleeping heart-beat plain,
I wandered slow through the forgotten street,
Toil's weary tread-mill—Traffic's noisy brain—
Where flashed the wheels—the busy dust was blown—
Where all went masked—Life lost his brother Death—
Where sat the God Gold on his golden throne
Last noon, last eve—and through the crowded breath,
Mocking the Babel, crept the funerals through;
Lo! all the dust lies down in heaven's dew!
Seeming to hear the sleeping heart-beat plain,
I wandered slow through the forgotten street,
Toil's weary tread-mill—Traffic's noisy brain—
Where flashed the wheels—the busy dust was blown—
Where all went masked—Life lost his brother Death—
Where sat the God Gold on his golden throne
Last noon, last eve—and through the crowded breath,
Mocking the Babel, crept the funerals through;
Lo! all the dust lies down in heaven's dew!
The holy Crown of every weary Day—
The Night—the Rest, the Sleep, the Dream—is here;
The star-light glitters, the pure dew-winds play,
Where swarmed the myriad feet—the smile, the tea—
The bride's rose-wreath of joy-lit girls—the train
Funereal, hushing through the singing hours—
The waking-dream of Life and Death. Again
The seeds of Sleep sow all the dark with flowers,
Blooming in some returning Paradise:
The World, a Child, pulls them with loving eyes!
The Night—the Rest, the Sleep, the Dream—is here;
The star-light glitters, the pure dew-winds play,
Where swarmed the myriad feet—the smile, the tea—
The bride's rose-wreath of joy-lit girls—the train
Funereal, hushing through the singing hours—
The waking-dream of Life and Death. Again
The seeds of Sleep sow all the dark with flowers,
Blooming in some returning Paradise:
The World, a Child, pulls them with loving eyes!
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Where are they vanished? Here an hour ago!
The hiving purposes that hum no more?
Napoleon-wills that made the Alps seem low?
To Dream-land!—what far sunrise finds that shore?
To that New World—who but Columbus knows?
Where are the homeless exiles? Gone to dreams!
To the green lands the love of Heaven blows;
Laugh in their eyes green England's village-gleams;
The German all-forgets he left the Rhine—
Sings in the Past—the golden hills of wine!
The hiving purposes that hum no more?
Napoleon-wills that made the Alps seem low?
To Dream-land!—what far sunrise finds that shore?
To that New World—who but Columbus knows?
Where are the homeless exiles? Gone to dreams!
To the green lands the love of Heaven blows;
Laugh in their eyes green England's village-gleams;
The German all-forgets he left the Rhine—
Sings in the Past—the golden hills of wine!
Hope, bee-like, cradled in the morrow-rose,
Dreams on the dead, cold bosom of To-day,
Despair, at Morning's threshold, finds repose—
Wearing the face of Hope and heart of May;
The young, the old—rich, poor—the evil, good—
Take God's rich alms alike in blinded eyes
To beggar-hearts—sweet sleep!—in gratitude;
The Eve with Adam still in Eden lies;
The fallen from the heaven of human love,
Rise from the scornful flame—singing above!
Dreams on the dead, cold bosom of To-day,
Despair, at Morning's threshold, finds repose—
Wearing the face of Hope and heart of May;
The young, the old—rich, poor—the evil, good—
Take God's rich alms alike in blinded eyes
To beggar-hearts—sweet sleep!—in gratitude;
The Eve with Adam still in Eden lies;
The fallen from the heaven of human love,
Rise from the scornful flame—singing above!
Where yonder vine-top, in the moonshine gleams,
To some bright breeze's fingering, sleeps a girl—
Clasping the white dove of her bosom, dreams;
The silver moonlight clasps the golden curl,
And the leaf's shadow plays o'er her pure eyes.
She sleeps—she dreams the morn to wake her joy!
The dream is there. The gate of Paradise
(Those angels have forgot their old employ),
To-morrow opes. To-morrow clasps to-day;
The lark sings up into her heaven of May!
To some bright breeze's fingering, sleeps a girl—
Clasping the white dove of her bosom, dreams;
The silver moonlight clasps the golden curl,
And the leaf's shadow plays o'er her pure eyes.
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The dream is there. The gate of Paradise
(Those angels have forgot their old employ),
To-morrow opes. To-morrow clasps to-day;
The lark sings up into her heaven of May!
There haunts a prison. White, pure, holy stars!
Through all the dark, reach ye the darkness there?
Rains your sweet influence through the ghastly bars—
The grated soul? Sleep opes the prison-air!
God's sweetest human angel, loving all,
Kisses the lips and hovers happy wings;
A child sings forth from some rose-clasping hall,
Dancing his song into all loving things!
And who is she that keeps his hand?—the gleam
Losing his dark! That angel leaves his dream!
Through all the dark, reach ye the darkness there?
Rains your sweet influence through the ghastly bars—
The grated soul? Sleep opes the prison-air!
God's sweetest human angel, loving all,
Kisses the lips and hovers happy wings;
A child sings forth from some rose-clasping hall,
Dancing his song into all loving things!
And who is she that keeps his hand?—the gleam
Losing his dark! That angel leaves his dream!
Pleasure lies in the rose's heart asleep,
And sorrow falls asleep in Pleasure's arms;
The mighty torrent, Life, seems slumbering deep
Over the precipice. Time's hive no more swarms
In the charmed palace of the Soul's distress;
All dream their dream, and wait the morrow's kiss
To sing the sunshine from their happiness,
And give the trees, the flowers, the clouds their bliss
The Ixion-world wakes in To-morrow's ray,
Turning the ever-turning wheel To-day!
And sorrow falls asleep in Pleasure's arms;
The mighty torrent, Life, seems slumbering deep
Over the precipice. Time's hive no more swarms
In the charmed palace of the Soul's distress;
All dream their dream, and wait the morrow's kiss
To sing the sunshine from their happiness,
And give the trees, the flowers, the clouds their bliss
The Ixion-world wakes in To-morrow's ray,
Turning the ever-turning wheel To-day!
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COUSINS BELLE AND KITTIE.
I have two cousins. One is sweetly shy;Her heart's sweet roses climb into her cheek
In lovely answers. If you hear her speak,
You love her voice—forgetting she is by.
O, she is beautiful! Her pure large eyes
Keep heaven's azure in their soul's far deeps,
Ay, both are beautiful! The other weeps
And smiles—to steal a rainbow in your skies!
Dark mischief-eyes, and raven ringlets, which
Are shaken o'er her darling scorn. The kisses
She'll toss to you (despair)! may never reach
Your lips, that, bee-like, wait the rosy blisses!
I love them both. Which most? I dare not know;
I weigh them in the dice-box: darlings, throw!
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PILGRIMS.
We may not be contented: 'tis our lifeTo drag slow footsteps after the far mind—
The long Endeavor toiling up behind
The bright-winged Aspiration—ceaseless strife
Clasping the cold hand Guerdon for warm heart
Of all desires. No man may feel the goal:
The want divine—the hunger of the soul
Moves like a star—the thirst will not depart,
Howe'er we drink. 'Tis that before us goes
Keeps us a-weary—will not leave us lay
Our heads in dream-land, though the enchanted palm
Rise from our desert—though the fountain grows
Up in our path, and slumber's flowery balm;
The soul is o'er the horizon—far away.
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THE BOUQUET.
“I love her, Fairy Rose,” I said,
“But, darling, whisper not:”
The rose within her bosom laid,
Blushing, my blushing thought.
“But, darling, whisper not:”
The rose within her bosom laid,
Blushing, my blushing thought.
“I love her,” then I whispered deep
In Violet's heavenly heart:
In her sweet eyes a child asleep
The secret dreamed apart.
In Violet's heavenly heart:
In her sweet eyes a child asleep
The secret dreamed apart.
“I love her, gentle Lily, bright
As her pure soul's sweet springs:”
The Angel of the flowers, white,
Around it drew her wings.
As her pure soul's sweet springs:”
The Angel of the flowers, white,
Around it drew her wings.
“I love her,” to the other flowers
I whispered—every one:
“We must not tell this Queen of ours
The secret we have won.”
I whispered—every one:
“We must not tell this Queen of ours
The secret we have won.”
They came to her: they all forgot
Their fairy promise true.
Ah, flowers can have no secret thought:
Their Queen their secret knew!
Their fairy promise true.
Ah, flowers can have no secret thought:
Their Queen their secret knew!
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My love the Rose had overflushed;
Lisped Violet tenderest things;
The Angel of the flowers blushed
Till Love stole from her wings.
Lisped Violet tenderest things;
The Angel of the flowers blushed
Till Love stole from her wings.
THE LETTER WITH A ROSE-LEAF.
I greet thee, loving letter—
Unopen, kiss thee, free,
And dream her soul within thee
Gives back the kiss to me.
Unopen, kiss thee, free,
And dream her soul within thee
Gives back the kiss to me.
The fragrant little rose-leaf
She sends by thee, is come:
Ah, in her heart was blooming
The rose she stole it from!
She sends by thee, is come:
Ah, in her heart was blooming
The rose she stole it from!
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SABBATH EVENING AFTER A SHOWER.
Fresh, breezy trees are shaking into gold,Against the sinking of the cool, broad sun;
Far spires shown o'er them, tremulously fold
Their sunny mingling presence scarcely won
Through the bright distance in the gush of light;
Long streets hang quiet down the golden air;
Low eaves and windows fresh are hidden bright
In vines sweet-fluttering, sunlit, everywhere.
How slow and calm and solemn afar are tolled
The evening bells down through the city wide,
With melancholy echoes through the gold.
Hushed twilight breathes along the river's tide,
Like music in a soul whispering to Peace
Of Sabbath Hours and Days that never cease.
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FROST-BLOOM.
It blossoms on the windows,
All the long December night,
While the Earth, 'neath the moon lies dreaming,
Heart-hushed, with a face all bright.
All the long December night,
While the Earth, 'neath the moon lies dreaming,
Heart-hushed, with a face all bright.
It blossoms on the windows,
The Phantom-Summer of Frost,
The trees, the flowers and the foliage—
All that of lovely is lost.
The Phantom-Summer of Frost,
The trees, the flowers and the foliage—
All that of lovely is lost.
The children will waken at dawning,
With childhood's hushed surprise:
Oh! a beautiful summer blossoms
From the frost, in their hearts and eyes!
With childhood's hushed surprise:
Oh! a beautiful summer blossoms
From the frost, in their hearts and eyes!
The beautiful summer blossoms
To their hearts' enchanted charm;
They think not of vanished summers—
Hearth and heart are happy and warm.
To their hearts' enchanted charm;
They think not of vanished summers—
Hearth and heart are happy and warm.
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It blossoms a phantom summer—
The phantom summer of frost;
For the old man's dreams it blossoms
With the lovely, the loving and lost.
The phantom summer of frost;
For the old man's dreams it blossoms
With the lovely, the loving and lost.
He wakens in the dawning,
Alone in the world again.
The frost in his heart had blossomed,
While the Frost bloomed on the pane!
Alone in the world again.
The frost in his heart had blossomed,
While the Frost bloomed on the pane!
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DEW.
While the one star flutters in golden blue,Over the sweet young moon, and everything
Clasps slumber to the heart—with folded wing
All vulture-cares—breathes down the loving Dew,
God's benediction o'er the cradled Day.
All things that breathe the sunshine everywhere,
Leaves, flowers that hold their prayerful faces fair,
Purest of all earth's children, as to pray—
All the sweet blessing feel, tree, flower and weed,
And man's wide soul: the restless Ocean billows
And the Soul's waves—a peace the stars to view!
O emblem sweet of God's sweet love! The need
The prayer, the gift. Lo! on their quiet pillows
All things are lying in God's falling Dew!
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ANONYMOUS.
He walked forgotten o'er the earth,
But still his songs were singing there—
Sweet ghosts that came with heavenlier air,
His dreams, his loves, his woes, his mirth!
But still his songs were singing there—
Sweet ghosts that came with heavenlier air,
His dreams, his loves, his woes, his mirth!
None knew his grave but poet-eyes:
Flowers wrote their memory lovingly
About his mound: “He loved us; we
Loved him and love him: Here he lies.”
Flowers wrote their memory lovingly
About his mound: “He loved us; we
Loved him and love him: Here he lies.”
Few friends were his. Ah, few his need
Of friendship knew: they, coffined dreams!
But first they buried him, it seems:
His epitaph, “He sowed the seed.”
Of friendship knew: they, coffined dreams!
But first they buried him, it seems:
His epitaph, “He sowed the seed.”
And lo, the Harvest! Through the land
Beauty has bloomed among the wheat!
The reapers toil to music sweet;
The gleaners, weary, singing stand.
Beauty has bloomed among the wheat!
The reapers toil to music sweet;
The gleaners, weary, singing stand.
Sweet flowers looked up! The maidens kissed
Their lips his God-light human made;
The violets lifted in the shade—
Heaven's children lost—blue eyes a-mist!
Their lips his God-light human made;
The violets lifted in the shade—
Heaven's children lost—blue eyes a-mist!
51
He toiled not in the Harvest hours
(Yet took his harvest home indeed)
Whispers the grave, “He sowed the seed.”
Lo! Heaven filled all his wheat with flowers!
(Yet took his harvest home indeed)
Whispers the grave, “He sowed the seed.”
Lo! Heaven filled all his wheat with flowers!
And, here and there—unknown before—
Where fell the dreamer's random seed,
Strange century flowers arose, indeed,
Forever blooming, evermore.
Where fell the dreamer's random seed,
Strange century flowers arose, indeed,
Forever blooming, evermore.
56
FROM THE CRADLE.
A little mound, and only seen
By eyes that dream of lovely death—
A tearful plot of sunny green
Last summer kissed with flowery breath.
By eyes that dream of lovely death—
A tearful plot of sunny green
Last summer kissed with flowery breath.
A little mound, and only sought
For bird-like footprints in the Past,
While Autumn writ a holy thought
On leaf, and blade, and blossom last.
For bird-like footprints in the Past,
While Autumn writ a holy thought
On leaf, and blade, and blossom last.
A little mound, and only known
By tears that here to Faith are wed:
To one, our morrow journey done,
We all are orphans of the dead.
By tears that here to Faith are wed:
To one, our morrow journey done,
We all are orphans of the dead.
A little mound, and only here,
That flowers may gather sweeter ground,
And, sunward lifted from a bier,
A life with holier Hope be crowned.
That flowers may gather sweeter ground,
And, sunward lifted from a bier,
A life with holier Hope be crowned.
57
A little mound, and only made
To wear the earliest wreath of sun,
That morn through heavenly dews shall braid—
The last while heavenly dews are on.
To wear the earliest wreath of sun,
That morn through heavenly dews shall braid—
The last while heavenly dews are on.
For Faith a child's strong hand is given—
Smile through the world your tearful part!
The flower and fragrance bloom in heaven,
Whose root is sorrow in your heart.
Smile through the world your tearful part!
The flower and fragrance bloom in heaven,
Whose root is sorrow in your heart.
62
THE PIONEER CHIMNEY.
I.
Everywhere a Land of Shadow,
Not a footstep echoes o'er;
Song of peace and cry of battle,
Dream-like, dying evermore.
Not a footstep echoes o'er;
Song of peace and cry of battle,
Dream-like, dying evermore.
War-fires in the vales are leaping,
And the glaring dance of war;
But the wildly-gleaming faces
Are a silent dream afar.
And the glaring dance of war;
But the wildly-gleaming faces
Are a silent dream afar.
O'er the valley, clothed in shadow,
Sunlit stands the startled deer,
From the cliff against the morning,
Flashing away as we appear!
Sunlit stands the startled deer,
From the cliff against the morning,
Flashing away as we appear!
Lo! the golden vail of Morning
O'er that Land of Shadow cast—
Where the tomahawk lies buried
In the grave of all the Past!
O'er that Land of Shadow cast—
Where the tomahawk lies buried
In the grave of all the Past!
Nothing of that Land remaining
Save these old historic trees,
Shaking through their glittering branches
Dews of olden memories.
Save these old historic trees,
Shaking through their glittering branches
Dews of olden memories.
63
Yes, the years are easy numbered,
But the Change has traveled fast,
And how far behind, forever,
Lies the dead forsaken Past!
But the Change has traveled fast,
And how far behind, forever,
Lies the dead forsaken Past!
There the Vanished Race forever,
Smoke their calumet of peace;
Fainter-gleaming haunt their faces,
Dim old shadows of the trees!
Smoke their calumet of peace;
Fainter-gleaming haunt their faces,
Dim old shadows of the trees!
II.
Low among the greenery hiding,
Sent'nel of that Shadow Land,
Near the highway ever roaring,
See an old, dead Chimney stand!
Sent'nel of that Shadow Land,
Near the highway ever roaring,
See an old, dead Chimney stand!
Hiding from the highway golden,
'Mong the cherries, old and low,
While their blossoms fill the breezes
With their sunlit fall of snow.
'Mong the cherries, old and low,
While their blossoms fill the breezes
With their sunlit fall of snow.
Dead!—no more a flame is leaping
Through it toward the wintry cold;
Dead!—no more the smoke is wreathing
Wood-lands green and dim and old.
Through it toward the wintry cold;
Dead!—no more the smoke is wreathing
Wood-lands green and dim and old.
Dead!—no more an azure welcome,
Far to eyes that distant roam:
Dead!—no more it seems uplifting
Incense from the heart of Home!
Far to eyes that distant roam:
Dead!—no more it seems uplifting
Incense from the heart of Home!
64
Gone the homely threshold olden—
Feet that joyed and sorrowed o'er;
Gone the happy waiting faces;
Gone the smiles that oped the door.
Feet that joyed and sorrowed o'er;
Gone the happy waiting faces;
Gone the smiles that oped the door.
Gone the hands that shook the forest,
Burying in the April earth
Golden seed of tears, returning
Here their smile of harvest birth.
Burying in the April earth
Golden seed of tears, returning
Here their smile of harvest birth.
Gone the hearts that made pale faces,
When the wolves came through the cold,
And the fireside still was waiting,
Through the twilight snows of old.
When the wolves came through the cold,
And the fireside still was waiting,
Through the twilight snows of old.
Yet I see a light of sparkles
Reddening up old evenings, wild—
Like the fancies sent to wander
Up the chimney from a child.
Reddening up old evenings, wild—
Like the fancies sent to wander
Up the chimney from a child.
Hearts among the years may wander
Echoing through the vanished doors—
Dreaming dreams, returning hither,
Gather footfalls from the floors!
Echoing through the vanished doors—
Dreaming dreams, returning hither,
Gather footfalls from the floors!
Faith and Hope, the heaven-waiters,
Learning o'er their lessons bright,
Their young hearts may here be lifting
Wings of prayer in Heaven's light!
Learning o'er their lessons bright,
Their young hearts may here be lifting
Wings of prayer in Heaven's light!
65
Children here that dewed life's roses
With the smile of early tears,
May be children dreaming hither—
While old gray men lose the years!
With the smile of early tears,
May be children dreaming hither—
While old gray men lose the years!
They may hear the red man's voices—
Through the nights the silence start—
Olden nights that here are haunting
Some old graveyard of the heart!
Through the nights the silence start—
Olden nights that here are haunting
Some old graveyard of the heart!
You may find them growing weary,
Fainting through the mighty lands;
Painted by the years their faces—
Weary, burying years, their hands!
Fainting through the mighty lands;
Painted by the years their faces—
Weary, burying years, their hands!
O, the Fireside and the Threshold!
Where the joys of life we find;
By the beating heart forever,
Both together they are joined!
Where the joys of life we find;
By the beating heart forever,
Both together they are joined!
Nothing speaks their language olden
But the Chimney, crumbling low,
And a gleam of lighted faces,
From a fireside, long ago!
But the Chimney, crumbling low,
And a gleam of lighted faces,
From a fireside, long ago!
66
FAITH.
Beautiful Faith! White angel with no wings!Blind, lovely eyes, feeling their light in heaven!
While from all clouds to thy lone smile is given
A rainbow-bower, where Hope, thy sister, sings.
Strong men, who only smiled to conquer death,
Martyrs whose patience deaped to heaven a-flame,
Most holy faces painted not by fame,
Women that smiled long lives of loving breath,
Planting in childhood-hearts the rose of prayer
Wide dewless desert-noons may wither never—
Or with pure lips kissing their sleep forever,
On thy dear bosom, for heaven's morning air—
These are thy followers through wide, wandering years,
Blind child of God! half-lost, found in this vale of tears!
67
PRAIRIE-FIRES.
How bright this dim Autumnal eve,
While the wild Twilight clings around,
Clothing the silence everywhere,
With scarce a dream of sound!
While the wild Twilight clings around,
Clothing the silence everywhere,
With scarce a dream of sound!
The high horizon's northern line,
With many a silent-leaping spire,
Seems a dark shore—a sea a-flame—
Quick, crawling waves of fire!
With many a silent-leaping spire,
Seems a dark shore—a sea a-flame—
Quick, crawling waves of fire!
I stand in golden solitude,
October breathing low and chill,
And watch the far-off leaps of flame
Playing the wind's wild will!
October breathing low and chill,
And watch the far-off leaps of flame
Playing the wind's wild will!
I see the vanished autumns blown
Through years that leave no leaves lie dead,
To rustle through the Past and stir
Beneath historic tread;
Through years that leave no leaves lie dead,
To rustle through the Past and stir
Beneath historic tread;
These boundless fields of green, once more,
Old summers' rustling sunshine stir,
And wild, wide autumns blowing Fire,
A lone bright harvester!
Old summers' rustling sunshine stir,
And wild, wide autumns blowing Fire,
A lone bright harvester!
68
Ere the wide highway of the sun
Was full of Emigration's dust;
Ere the wide River, wearing heaven,
A sunny fountain thrust.
Was full of Emigration's dust;
Ere the wide River, wearing heaven,
A sunny fountain thrust.
I see wide terror blown before—
Wild steeds, wild herds of bison here,
And, blown before the flying flame,
The flying-footed deer!
Wild steeds, wild herds of bison here,
And, blown before the flying flame,
The flying-footed deer!
Lone wagons bivouack'd in the flames
That, long ago, flashed wildly past:
Faces, from that bright solitude,
A gleam of terror cast!
That, long ago, flashed wildly past:
Faces, from that bright solitude,
A gleam of terror cast!
Lone trains with drowsy bells that rang
Along red twilights dying slow,
Whose wheels turned wearily their way
Through autumns, long ago.
Along red twilights dying slow,
Whose wheels turned wearily their way
Through autumns, long ago.
A gleam of faces like a dream!
No history after nor before—
Inside the horizon with the Flames—
The Flames!—nobody more!
No history after nor before—
Inside the horizon with the Flames—
The Flames!—nobody more!
That Vision vanishes in me—
That Reaper swift, and wild and bright!
Another steals through me—through all
The solitude, to-night.
That Reaper swift, and wild and bright!
Another steals through me—through all
The solitude, to-night.
69
The horizon lightens everywhere;
Wide sunshine hangs in breezy maize:
And, everywhere, the voice of Man,
And Childhood's sunny lays.
Wide sunshine hangs in breezy maize:
And, everywhere, the voice of Man,
And Childhood's sunny lays.
Far city spires against the sun—
White villages of quiet sweet—
And, echoes for the heaven above,
Homes smiling through the wheat.
White villages of quiet sweet—
And, echoes for the heaven above,
Homes smiling through the wheat.
No longer, driven by winds, the Fire
Flashes yon flaming sickle fleet,
But, numberless as the stars of heaven,
Home's window-stars shine sweet!
Flashes yon flaming sickle fleet,
But, numberless as the stars of heaven,
Home's window-stars shine sweet!
70
THE CHURCH PATH.
While my footsteps rustle slow
Fallen leaves of long ago,
In my heart they rise to-night,
Far-off mornings blest and bright!
When the weary week at rest
Slept upon the Sabbath's breast,
(As a mortal orphan weeping
To an angel's bosom creeping).
All their sunshine from the Past
Through these twilight leaves is cast:
From the June-green boughs above
Flutters out the startled dove,
Or in sweet contented mood
Fills the Sabbath neighborhood.
Looking at the sun, so bright,
Flutter and hide the leaves in light;
Everywhere the birds are singing!
Suddenly a bell is ringing,
While I wander here apart:
'Tis the Past rings in my heart!
Years have walked this pathway old
Under green and over gold—
In their graves these years are gone
With the leaves they trod upon—
Vanished years: and every one
Walked with me in shade and sun,
Under clouds, through rainbows bright,
Nights made day and days made night:
Joys that leafed my heart with May
Rustle round my lonely way—
Fallen leaves my footsteps start:
Their bright trees grew in my heart!
Fallen leaves of long ago,
In my heart they rise to-night,
Far-off mornings blest and bright!
When the weary week at rest
Slept upon the Sabbath's breast,
(As a mortal orphan weeping
To an angel's bosom creeping).
All their sunshine from the Past
Through these twilight leaves is cast:
From the June-green boughs above
Flutters out the startled dove,
Or in sweet contented mood
Fills the Sabbath neighborhood.
Looking at the sun, so bright,
Flutter and hide the leaves in light;
Everywhere the birds are singing!
Suddenly a bell is ringing,
While I wander here apart:
'Tis the Past rings in my heart!
71
Under green and over gold—
In their graves these years are gone
With the leaves they trod upon—
Vanished years: and every one
Walked with me in shade and sun,
Under clouds, through rainbows bright,
Nights made day and days made night:
Joys that leafed my heart with May
Rustle round my lonely way—
Fallen leaves my footsteps start:
Their bright trees grew in my heart!
Boys that kissed the Houris then,
Wandered—wandering, weary men!
Maidens blithe and bright and fair,
Guests of beauty to the air,
Dreams were cradled in their eyes:
Eves—we came from Paradise!
To the chapel clothed in white—
Roses—white the bridal train:
To the chapel clothed in white—
Lilies—black the funeral train!
Sad and glad and grave and gay
Years have walked with all away;
From the paths that blessed their feet,
Blessing dust and dewing heat;
From the folded dream of beauty,
Open rose of Woman' duty;
For the path with dew impearled,
Dusty street of the wide world!
Wandered—wandering, weary men!
Maidens blithe and bright and fair,
Guests of beauty to the air,
Dreams were cradled in their eyes:
Eves—we came from Paradise!
To the chapel clothed in white—
Roses—white the bridal train:
To the chapel clothed in white—
Lilies—black the funeral train!
Sad and glad and grave and gay
Years have walked with all away;
From the paths that blessed their feet,
Blessing dust and dewing heat;
72
Open rose of Woman' duty;
For the path with dew impearled,
Dusty street of the wide world!
Through the Church-path often they
Wander, girls in girlhood's May:
Through their hearts and eyes a-dreaming,
Eden-vistas strangely gleaming;
Smiles that open brighter skies—
Tears go back to Paradise!
Wander, girls in girlhood's May:
Through their hearts and eyes a-dreaming,
Eden-vistas strangely gleaming;
Smiles that open brighter skies—
Tears go back to Paradise!
Ah, the sunny time departs:
Weary hands and weary hearts!
Through the world they beat their way,
Dreaming golden, growing gray;
Lose the rose-wreath, lose the rhyme,
Giving weary hands to Time—
Weary tears to days of sorrow,
Weary smiles to clouded morrow.
Only when the flame crawls low
In the embers—ashes slow—
From the girl and from the boy,
Memory gleans fresh sheaves of joy!
Weary hands and weary hearts!
Through the world they beat their way,
Dreaming golden, growing gray;
Lose the rose-wreath, lose the rhyme,
Giving weary hands to Time—
Weary tears to days of sorrow,
Weary smiles to clouded morrow.
Only when the flame crawls low
In the embers—ashes slow—
From the girl and from the boy,
Memory gleans fresh sheaves of joy!
If to all whose prints are here
All that Past could reappear—
If the weary feet could turn
From the valleys dark and dern—
If the desert eyes no more
On the Sphinx's face would pore—
If the lips that thirst in vain
Youth's enchanted draught could drain—
If once more old faces sweet
Here could blossom—here could beat
Hearts (a hearse and funeral train)
Blithe in this old Path again—
What a dusty company
Would go down—in Memory!
Hearts of girls and hearts of boys,
Emptying graves of Hopes and Joys!
All that Past could reappear—
If the weary feet could turn
From the valleys dark and dern—
73
On the Sphinx's face would pore—
If the lips that thirst in vain
Youth's enchanted draught could drain—
If once more old faces sweet
Here could blossom—here could beat
Hearts (a hearse and funeral train)
Blithe in this old Path again—
What a dusty company
Would go down—in Memory!
Hearts of girls and hearts of boys,
Emptying graves of Hopes and Joys!
In the silence—in the chill
Of the autumnal evening still—
Through the golden evenfall—
While the year is 'neath the pall
Of the fallen, falling leaves,
And the breeze, that, sighing, heaves,
Knows a spirit—here I tread,
Lone with Memory's risen dead,
While my footsteps startle slow
Ghost-like leaves of long ago:
Ghost-like memories seem to be
Shrouded, as they come to me.
From Life's busy graves they fill,
And from those green, low, and still
(Yonder gleaming where the breeze
Shivers with moonrise through the trees;
Graves that names remembered keep:
There—alas! but names—they sleep):
Memories leave those days of gold,
Angels, in the Church path old!
Of the autumnal evening still—
Through the golden evenfall—
While the year is 'neath the pall
Of the fallen, falling leaves,
And the breeze, that, sighing, heaves,
Knows a spirit—here I tread,
Lone with Memory's risen dead,
While my footsteps startle slow
Ghost-like leaves of long ago:
Ghost-like memories seem to be
Shrouded, as they come to me.
From Life's busy graves they fill,
And from those green, low, and still
(Yonder gleaming where the breeze
Shivers with moonrise through the trees;
74
There—alas! but names—they sleep):
Memories leave those days of gold,
Angels, in the Church path old!
A POET'S WREATHING.
Though poor the blossom-words I breathe you,Oh, magic be their power:
Loveliest of lovely wreaths shall wreathe you—
If silent wishes flower!
75
THE LETTER CHEST.
You ask, if haply gems be there?
Gems from the heart's deep mine!
Glad friendships gathered long ago—
The grave of “Auld Lang Syne.”
Familiar hands, clasped far, but warm,
Clasp there, o'er desert years apart;
Old words familiar faces wear—
Old autographs of heart!
Gems from the heart's deep mine!
Glad friendships gathered long ago—
The grave of “Auld Lang Syne.”
Familiar hands, clasped far, but warm,
Clasp there, o'er desert years apart;
Old words familiar faces wear—
Old autographs of heart!
No! fling them not into the flames!
Dim, old words, crumbling one by one,
Would start, like ghosts, into our eyes—
Some Memory's dying Sun!
Kindle within our hearts their flame!
Feeling their dreamy eloquence,
The Past—whose flowers in these were sown—
Will rise like frankincense!
Dim, old words, crumbling one by one,
Would start, like ghosts, into our eyes—
Some Memory's dying Sun!
Kindle within our hearts their flame!
Feeling their dreamy eloquence,
The Past—whose flowers in these were sown—
Will rise like frankincense!
The world, in them, turns ever new;
Dead summers live in flowers, and sing;
Old June-lands show their roses through—
Heaven breathes the older Spring!
Those dear old words! they kept glad time
In sunny days, and rainy weather,
And to the music of their feet
Still, all things sing together!
Dead summers live in flowers, and sing;
Old June-lands show their roses through—
Heaven breathes the older Spring!
76
In sunny days, and rainy weather,
And to the music of their feet
Still, all things sing together!
Old lips that speak no more, I hear;
Old vanished faces, brightening come;
Old footsteps travel strangely near
From happy doors of Home!
I feel the red blood of the Past
Pulse through Time's veins again, in light,
I see their warm hands, from their hearts,
Extended while they write!
Old vanished faces, brightening come;
Old footsteps travel strangely near
From happy doors of Home!
I feel the red blood of the Past
Pulse through Time's veins again, in light,
I see their warm hands, from their hearts,
Extended while they write!
78
THE WESTERN PIONEER.
Into the prairies' boundless blossom,
Into the Wide West's sunburnt bosom,
The earliest emigrants came:
The flowers, like sunny miracles, grew
Before them, fragrant, from the dew,
Filling the grass like flame!
Into the Wide West's sunburnt bosom,
The earliest emigrants came:
The flowers, like sunny miracles, grew
Before them, fragrant, from the dew,
Filling the grass like flame!
From some old land of song and life—
Of man, in manhood's glowing strife,
Departing all alone,
And journeying with the journeying sun,
They came—their busy empire won—
Before the white man known.
Of man, in manhood's glowing strife,
Departing all alone,
And journeying with the journeying sun,
They came—their busy empire won—
Before the white man known.
The Indian saw the moving Bees,
From flower to flower, in dream-like breeze
Blowing their pilgrim way;
Or, deep in honey of the flower,
Hanging in sunshine hour by hour,
Dream through the dreaming day.
From flower to flower, in dream-like breeze
Blowing their pilgrim way;
Or, deep in honey of the flower,
Hanging in sunshine hour by hour,
Dream through the dreaming day.
79
He saw the Future's garment gleam
O'er mounds of tribes and legend-stream—
O'er the sweet waste of flowers;
He saw his hunting ground—the Past!
Lit with the domes of cities vast—
Glory of spires and towers!
O'er mounds of tribes and legend-stream—
O'er the sweet waste of flowers;
He saw his hunting ground—the Past!
Lit with the domes of cities vast—
Glory of spires and towers!
Those other Bees! He felt—he saw,
With sorrowing eye, in dreamy awe,
The blossom of the West
Thrill with the sunny-toiling Bees
Of busy Freedom, happy Peace—
Wide blessings and the blest.
With sorrowing eye, in dreamy awe,
The blossom of the West
Thrill with the sunny-toiling Bees
Of busy Freedom, happy Peace—
Wide blessings and the blest.
They come! They came! Lo! they are here!
The Indian heart-beat everywhere
Starts echoes wild no more;
The leaves have fallen from his trees,
Of life: dead leaves, in every breeze,
Rustle forevermore!
The Indian heart-beat everywhere
Starts echoes wild no more;
The leaves have fallen from his trees,
Of life: dead leaves, in every breeze,
Rustle forevermore!
| [Poems by Piatt in] Poems of two friends | |