 | My Lyrical Life |  |
17
COUSIN WINNIE.
The glad spring-green grows luminous
With coming Summer's golden glow;
Merry Birds sing as they sang to us
In far-off seasons, long ago:
The old place brings the young Dawn back,
That moist eyes mirror in their dew;
My heart goes forth along the track
Where oft it danced, dear Winnie, with you.
A world of Time, a sea of change,
Have rolled between the paths we tread,
Since you were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
With coming Summer's golden glow;
Merry Birds sing as they sang to us
In far-off seasons, long ago:
The old place brings the young Dawn back,
That moist eyes mirror in their dew;
My heart goes forth along the track
Where oft it danced, dear Winnie, with you.
A world of Time, a sea of change,
Have rolled between the paths we tread,
Since you were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
There's where I nearly broke my neck,
Climbing for nests! and hid my pain:
And then I thought your heart would break,
To have the Birds put back again!
Yonder, with lordliest tenderness,
I carried you across the Brook;
So happy in my arms to press
You, triumphing in your timid look:
So lovingly you leaned to mine
Your cheek of sweet and dusky red:
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
Climbing for nests! and hid my pain:
And then I thought your heart would break,
To have the Birds put back again!
Yonder, with lordliest tenderness,
I carried you across the Brook;
So happy in my arms to press
You, triumphing in your timid look:
So lovingly you leaned to mine
Your cheek of sweet and dusky red:
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
My Being in your presence basked,
And kitten-like for pleasure purred;
A higher heaven I never asked
Than watching, wistful as a bird,
To hear that voice so rich and low;
Or sun me in the rosy rise
Of some soul-ripening smile, and know
The thrill of opening paradise.
The Boy might look too tenderly,
All lightly 'twas interpreted:
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
And kitten-like for pleasure purred;
A higher heaven I never asked
Than watching, wistful as a bird,
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Or sun me in the rosy rise
Of some soul-ripening smile, and know
The thrill of opening paradise.
The Boy might look too tenderly,
All lightly 'twas interpreted:
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
Ay me, but I remember how
I felt the heart-break, bitterly,
When the Well-handle smote your brow,
Because the blow fell not on me!
Such holy longing filled my life,
I could have died, Sweet, for your sake;
But never thought of you as Wife;
A cure to clasp for love's heart-ache.
You entered my soul's temple, Dear,
Something to worship, not to wed:
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
I felt the heart-break, bitterly,
When the Well-handle smote your brow,
Because the blow fell not on me!
Such holy longing filled my life,
I could have died, Sweet, for your sake;
But never thought of you as Wife;
A cure to clasp for love's heart-ache.
You entered my soul's temple, Dear,
Something to worship, not to wed:
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
I saw you, heaven on heaven higher,
Grow into stately womanhood;
Your beauty kindling with the fire
That swims in proud old English blood:
Away from me,—a radiant Joy!—
You soared; fit for a Hero's bride:
While I, a Man in soul, a Boy
In stature, nestled at your side!
You saw not how the poor wee Love
Pined dumbly, and thus doubly pled:
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
Grow into stately womanhood;
Your beauty kindling with the fire
That swims in proud old English blood:
Away from me,—a radiant Joy!—
You soared; fit for a Hero's bride:
While I, a Man in soul, a Boy
In stature, nestled at your side!
You saw not how the poor wee Love
Pined dumbly, and thus doubly pled:
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
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And then that other voice came in!
There my Life's music suddenly stopped.
Silence and darkness fell between
Us, and my Star from heaven dropped.
I led Him by the hand to you—
He was my Friend—whose name you bear:
I had prayed for some great task to do,
To prove my love. I did it, Dear!
He was not jealous of poor me;
Nor saw my life bleed under his tread:
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
There my Life's music suddenly stopped.
Silence and darkness fell between
Us, and my Star from heaven dropped.
I led Him by the hand to you—
He was my Friend—whose name you bear:
I had prayed for some great task to do,
To prove my love. I did it, Dear!
He was not jealous of poor me;
Nor saw my life bleed under his tread:
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
I smiled, Dear, at your happiness—
So Martyrs smile upon the spears—
The smile of your reflected bliss
Flashed from my heart's dark tarn of tears!
In love, that made the suffering sweet,
My blessing with the rest was given—
“God's softest flowers kiss her feet
On Earth, and crown Her head in Heaven!”
And lest the heart should leap to tell
Its tale i' the eyes, I bowed the head:
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
So Martyrs smile upon the spears—
The smile of your reflected bliss
Flashed from my heart's dark tarn of tears!
In love, that made the suffering sweet,
My blessing with the rest was given—
“God's softest flowers kiss her feet
On Earth, and crown Her head in Heaven!”
And lest the heart should leap to tell
Its tale i' the eyes, I bowed the head:
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
I do not blame you, Darling mine;
You could not know the love that lurked
To make my life so intertwine
With yours, and with mute mystery worked.
And, had you known, how distantly
Your calm eyes would have looked it down,
Darkling with all the majesty
Of Midnight wearing her star-crown!
Into its virgin veil of cloud,
The startled dearness would have fled.
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
You could not know the love that lurked
To make my life so intertwine
With yours, and with mute mystery worked.
And, had you known, how distantly
Your calm eyes would have looked it down,
Darkling with all the majesty
Of Midnight wearing her star-crown!
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The startled dearness would have fled.
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
I stretch my hand across the years;
Feel, Dear, the heart still pulses true:
I have often dropped internal tears,
Thinking the kindest thoughts of you.
I have fought like one in iron, they said,
Who through the battle followed me.
I struck the blows for you, and bled
Within my armour secretly.
Not caring for the cheers, my heart
Far into the golden time had fled:
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
Feel, Dear, the heart still pulses true:
I have often dropped internal tears,
Thinking the kindest thoughts of you.
I have fought like one in iron, they said,
Who through the battle followed me.
I struck the blows for you, and bled
Within my armour secretly.
Not caring for the cheers, my heart
Far into the golden time had fled:
You were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
I sometimes see you in my dreams,
Asking for aid I may not give:
Down from your eyes the sorrow streams,
And helplessly I look and grieve
At arms that toss with wild heart-ache,
And secrets writhing to be told:
I start to hear your voice, I wake—
There's nothing but the moaning cold!
Sometimes I pillow in mine arms
The darling little rosy head.
You are my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Am your “own little, good little Ned.”
Asking for aid I may not give:
Down from your eyes the sorrow streams,
And helplessly I look and grieve
At arms that toss with wild heart-ache,
And secrets writhing to be told:
I start to hear your voice, I wake—
There's nothing but the moaning cold!
Sometimes I pillow in mine arms
The darling little rosy head.
You are my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Am your “own little, good little Ned.”
I bear the name of Hero now,
And flowers at my feet are cast;
I feel the crown upon my brow—
So keen the thorns that hold it fast!
Ay me, and I would rather wear
The cooling green and luminous glow
Of one you made with Cowslips, Dear,
A many golden Springs ago.
Your gentle fingers did not give
This ache of heart, this throb of head,
When you were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
And flowers at my feet are cast;
I feel the crown upon my brow—
So keen the thorns that hold it fast!
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The cooling green and luminous glow
Of one you made with Cowslips, Dear,
A many golden Springs ago.
Your gentle fingers did not give
This ache of heart, this throb of head,
When you were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
Alone, unwearying, year by year,
I go on laying up my love.
I think God makes no promise here
But it shall be fulfilled above;
I think my wild weed of the waste
Will one day prove a flower most sweet;
My love shall bear its fruit at last—
'Twill all be righted when we meet;
And I shall find them gathered up
In pearls for you—the tears I've shed
Since you were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
I go on laying up my love.
I think God makes no promise here
But it shall be fulfilled above;
I think my wild weed of the waste
Will one day prove a flower most sweet;
My love shall bear its fruit at last—
'Twill all be righted when we meet;
And I shall find them gathered up
In pearls for you—the tears I've shed
Since you were my “Cousin Winnie,” and I
Was your “own little, good little Ned.”
| My Lyrical Life | |