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461
POEMS OF FANCY AND FEELING.
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KITTY PALMER.
But “Kitty Palmer”—not a word
Beyond,—the mossy head-stone's showing;
Not even a date; it seems absurd,
To care for one, one can't be knowing;
Yet I can't help it; she lies nigh
The quiet road I travel often,
And always, when I pass her by,
T'wards Kitty there, my heart will soften.
Beyond,—the mossy head-stone's showing;
Not even a date; it seems absurd,
To care for one, one can't be knowing;
Yet I can't help it; she lies nigh
The quiet road I travel often,
And always, when I pass her by,
T'wards Kitty there, my heart will soften.
There's nothing there her age to say;
Young? old? all's hid by time's thick curtain;
Was she a babe, scarce born a day?
A girl? a woman? all's uncertain.
Was she maid, wife, or widow? Well,
That knowledge—we must do without it;
We know there's nothing here to tell,
And that's all we can know about it.
Young? old? all's hid by time's thick curtain;
Was she a babe, scarce born a day?
A girl? a woman? all's uncertain.
Was she maid, wife, or widow? Well,
That knowledge—we must do without it;
We know there's nothing here to tell,
And that's all we can know about it.
What conquests were hers? Did she reign,
A child, but in her home's affections,
Or, older grown, seek, not in vain,
Heart-triumphs, for sweet recollections?
Was she vain? humble? foolish? wise?
Rich? poor? coy? bold? quite dull? or witty?
O were you wicked with your eyes,
A plague to men? I hope not, Kitty.
A child, but in her home's affections,
Or, older grown, seek, not in vain,
Heart-triumphs, for sweet recollections?
Was she vain? humble? foolish? wise?
Rich? poor? coy? bold? quite dull? or witty?
O were you wicked with your eyes,
A plague to men? I hope not, Kitty.
Did children make her smile or sigh,
A blessed or afflicted mother?
Did she at weddings laugh? or try
By death-beds, sobs in vain to smother?
At her grand-children's christenings, eyes,
Half tears—half laughter, did she show now?
Or weep their flight to Paradise
From cradles here? ah, who can know now?
A blessed or afflicted mother?
Did she at weddings laugh? or try
By death-beds, sobs in vain to smother?
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Half tears—half laughter, did she show now?
Or weep their flight to Paradise
From cradles here? ah, who can know now?
Yet still my fancy will go on
About this long-gone Kitty dreaming,
She, freed from all we think upon
Of worldly toils and cares and scheming;
Whatever she was, here her rest,
How pleasantly these green elms shade it!
How calm and throbless is her breast,
However wild or sad life made it!
About this long-gone Kitty dreaming,
She, freed from all we think upon
Of worldly toils and cares and scheming;
Whatever she was, here her rest,
How pleasantly these green elms shade it!
How calm and throbless is her breast,
However wild or sad life made it!
As here I see her lie, forgot
By all who used to hate or love her,
By all but she who makes this spot
So sweet with thymy turf above her,
I cannot come to picture her
But as a sweet one life could render
With smiles to heaven,—one fit to stir
In me but thoughts serene and tender
By all who used to hate or love her,
By all but she who makes this spot
So sweet with thymy turf above her,
I cannot come to picture her
But as a sweet one life could render
With smiles to heaven,—one fit to stir
In me but thoughts serene and tender
So I think of her—think her fair,
And, on the painted sunshine gazing,
See laughing eyes and golden hair,
All beauty that one should be praising;
A happy girlish wife, before
My sight she lives, to fancy giving
Content more calm—more sweet, since more
Undimmed by fears—than do the living.
And, on the painted sunshine gazing,
See laughing eyes and golden hair,
All beauty that one should be praising;
A happy girlish wife, before
My sight she lives, to fancy giving
Content more calm—more sweet, since more
Undimmed by fears—than do the living.
For we are things that know no peace,
Poor slaves of care and toil and pleasure,
Of wants and hopes that never cease;
For calm content, we have no leisure;
But hers no more are sin and death,
All we must fear—with which we've striven;
Earth's must be still unquiet breath;
She breathes but Heaven's, we trust—forgiven.
Poor slaves of care and toil and pleasure,
Of wants and hopes that never cease;
For calm content, we have no leisure;
But hers no more are sin and death,
All we must fear—with which we've striven;
Earth's must be still unquiet breath;
She breathes but Heaven's, we trust—forgiven.
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All they who knew her, too, have passed
From time; all broken heart-ties mended,
They have rejoined her where at last
All tears are dried, all sorrows ended;
What matters then that here her name
Alone is written! she is faring
As well as most who cared for fame,
For whom now not a soul is caring.
From time; all broken heart-ties mended,
They have rejoined her where at last
All tears are dried, all sorrows ended;
What matters then that here her name
Alone is written! she is faring
As well as most who cared for fame,
For whom now not a soul is caring.
Ah, you who here are writing this,
And dream perhaps in future story
Your name may live—who, catch or miss,
Snatch at a little gleam of glory,
Is it so much that men should know
Your words years hence? nay, man, breathe calmer!
Will you not sleep as well, below
The grass, forgot, like Kitty Palmer!
And dream perhaps in future story
Your name may live—who, catch or miss,
Snatch at a little gleam of glory,
Is it so much that men should know
Your words years hence? nay, man, breathe calmer!
Will you not sleep as well, below
The grass, forgot, like Kitty Palmer!
THE MISTAKE OF THE LOVES.
To-day as idly in my chair
I hardly half-awake was dreaming,
Methought, in through the sunny air,
A swarm of laughing Loves came streaming;
Winged mischiefs, here and there, without
My leave, the wantons gleamed and fluttered,
Buzzing, like bees, the room about,
Ere half a sentence could be uttered.
I hardly half-awake was dreaming,
Methought, in through the sunny air,
A swarm of laughing Loves came streaming;
Winged mischiefs, here and there, without
My leave, the wantons gleamed and fluttered,
Buzzing, like bees, the room about,
Ere half a sentence could be uttered.
In fact, with such glad hushed surprise
I saw the little urchins flying,
Like humming-birds, before my eyes,
In every nook and corner prying,
Now handling this—now into that
With childish laughs and chatter peeping,
I did not care to stay their chat,
But silent sat, as I'd been sleeping.
I saw the little urchins flying,
Like humming-birds, before my eyes,
In every nook and corner prying,
Now handling this—now into that
With childish laughs and chatter peeping,
I did not care to stay their chat,
But silent sat, as I'd been sleeping.
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What would they do? quick, every one
Found every moment new employment;
They paused at last; well, now what fun
Would yield their smallships fresh enjoyment?
My scrap-book lay before me there;
One saw and straightway courage mustered,
Helped by five more, the prize to bear
To where all close around it clustered.
Found every moment new employment;
They paused at last; well, now what fun
Would yield their smallships fresh enjoyment?
My scrap-book lay before me there;
One saw and straightway courage mustered,
Helped by five more, the prize to bear
To where all close around it clustered.
Swift, over, leaf on leaf was turned;
Small praise, each sketch, while passing under
Those tiny curious quick eyes, earned,
Till, ah, at last, one waked their wonder;
My pencil there had vainly tried,
How vainly! as it oft had striven,
To do that, unto it denied,
Image the beauty to you given.
Small praise, each sketch, while passing under
Those tiny curious quick eyes, earned,
Till, ah, at last, one waked their wonder;
My pencil there had vainly tried,
How vainly! as it oft had striven,
To do that, unto it denied,
Image the beauty to you given.
Yet passion there, to labouring art,
A strength beyond its own had granted;
Enough was there to make them start,
However much of you was wanted;
Eyes—dimples—hair—those peeping pearls,
As those red lips so archly show them,
They saw them and, O flower of girls,
How strange! at once, they seemed to know them.
A strength beyond its own had granted;
Enough was there to make them start,
However much of you was wanted;
Eyes—dimples—hair—those peeping pearls,
As those red lips so archly show them,
They saw them and, O flower of girls,
How strange! at once, they seemed to know them.
O what a storm of pretty noise,
Of cries and clappings straight I heard then,
Of little feet that stamped the joys,
Enough their small tongues couldn't word then;
What with delight could thrill them so?
Hardly my wonder I could smother,
Till, listening, soon I laughed to know
They, in your likeness, saw their mother.
Of cries and clappings straight I heard then,
Of little feet that stamped the joys,
Enough their small tongues couldn't word then;
What with delight could thrill them so?
Hardly my wonder I could smother,
Till, listening, soon I laughed to know
They, in your likeness, saw their mother.
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MY SAINT.
Sit to me; let my pencil paint
The heavenly beauty of a saint,
The dear blue peace that ever makes
Those eyes, that only calm are knowing,
The images of summer lakes
That still to heaven, but heaven, are showing,
Eyes, with heaven's perfect calmness, full,
In their deep peace, how beautiful!
The heavenly beauty of a saint,
The dear blue peace that ever makes
Those eyes, that only calm are knowing,
The images of summer lakes
That still to heaven, but heaven, are showing,
Eyes, with heaven's perfect calmness, full,
In their deep peace, how beautiful!
Through that brown hair, there sure has strayed
The radiance that through heaven has played;
Those golden waves, that light, have known;
That lustre through their amber stealing,
Tangled in them, to heaven has shown
The glory that they're now revealing;
Gazing on them, we breathe the air,
The brightness that makes angels fair.
The radiance that through heaven has played;
Those golden waves, that light, have known;
That lustre through their amber stealing,
Tangled in them, to heaven has shown
The glory that they're now revealing;
Gazing on them, we breathe the air,
The brightness that makes angels fair.
And, fair as are your form and face,
Is your sweet soul's celestial grace;
Clear, as through lucid waves, we see,
Through those deep eyes, the fair thoughts sleeping,
Each whitest dream and phantasy
That those untroubled depths are keeping,
Until they give the world to see,
Unveiled, their spotless purity.
Is your sweet soul's celestial grace;
Clear, as through lucid waves, we see,
Through those deep eyes, the fair thoughts sleeping,
Each whitest dream and phantasy
That those untroubled depths are keeping,
Until they give the world to see,
Unveiled, their spotless purity.
Yes, not a vision harbours there
But has the virtue of a prayer,
And not a hope that steals to sound,
But in its holy music's living
The peace that spreads its gladness round,
And, to vexed hearts, its calm is giving,
Its faith that breathes unmoved above
The world's vain stir—all truth and love.
But has the virtue of a prayer,
And not a hope that steals to sound,
But in its holy music's living
The peace that spreads its gladness round,
And, to vexed hearts, its calm is giving,
Its faith that breathes unmoved above
The world's vain stir—all truth and love.
Yet earth's dread shadows that have crost
Those eyes, have not on them been lost;
What pity, in that pure soul dwells,
For vice and sin it's most abhorring!
Pain, hunger, woe—each of them tells
Your praise, you, next to heaven, adoring,
You who walk earth's dark haunts to bless
Its worst with hope and happiness.
Those eyes, have not on them been lost;
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For vice and sin it's most abhorring!
Pain, hunger, woe—each of them tells
Your praise, you, next to heaven, adoring,
You who walk earth's dark haunts to bless
Its worst with hope and happiness.
Walk on, a light of heaven on earth,
You only knowing not your worth,
You only caring not to see
Your radiance that all gloom is brightening,
Asking no more than so to be
For ever here, life's burdens lightening,
So, through the gleaming gates of death,
Pass in, to breathe celestial breath.
You only knowing not your worth,
You only caring not to see
Your radiance that all gloom is brightening,
Asking no more than so to be
For ever here, life's burdens lightening,
So, through the gleaming gates of death,
Pass in, to breathe celestial breath.
HOW MUCH YOUR BEAUTIES OWE.
How much your beauties owe,
O, sweetest sweet, to me,
I'd have you, dear one, know,
Though in your glass you see
How fair you can but be.
O, sweetest sweet, to me,
I'd have you, dear one, know,
Though in your glass you see
How fair you can but be.
There will you see those eyes,
I know, more sweetly bright
Than stars in frostiest skies,
But, if you see them right,
I've added to their light.
I know, more sweetly bright
Than stars in frostiest skies,
But, if you see them right,
I've added to their light.
Those cheeks—that rippled hair,
Whereon the sun will lie,
'Twill show you both most fair,
That I do not deny,
But I've enriched them—I.
Whereon the sun will lie,
'Twill show you both most fair,
That I do not deny,
But I've enriched them—I.
So while your laughing wit
By nature's given, I own,
My praise has lent to it,
Point, to it, else unknown,
Due to my pen alone.
By nature's given, I own,
My praise has lent to it,
Point, to it, else unknown,
Due to my pen alone.
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The music of your tongue,
All graces you possess,
Had I not, dear one, sung
Their fame, their praise were less;
Mine is their perfectness.
All graces you possess,
Had I not, dear one, sung
Their fame, their praise were less;
Mine is their perfectness.
So you are jewelled o'er
With diamonds of my mind,
And marvels, all adore,
My fancy makes them find,
To which they else were blind.
With diamonds of my mind,
And marvels, all adore,
My fancy makes them find,
To which they else were blind.
And living song ensures
Charms that shall ever please;
These that my pen makes yours,
Whatever Time may seize,
He robs you not of these.
Charms that shall ever please;
These that my pen makes yours,
Whatever Time may seize,
He robs you not of these.
Then, since I've to you shown
That it must be confest
I so much beauty own
Of that with which you're blest,
Why not make mine, the rest?
That it must be confest
I so much beauty own
Of that with which you're blest,
Why not make mine, the rest?
An ingrate you'll not prove;
These gifts I, to you, gave
To treasure, that my love
These and the rest, might have,
That I from fading save.
These gifts I, to you, gave
To treasure, that my love
These and the rest, might have,
That I from fading save.
Then, nobly honest be!
Those beauties, to me, due,
Give with yourself to me;
They'll still be owned by you,
Though mine you make them, too.
Those beauties, to me, due,
Give with yourself to me;
They'll still be owned by you,
Though mine you make them, too.
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TO A SKYLARK.
Quiverer up the golden air,
Nested in a golden earth,
Mate of hours when thrushes pair,
Hedges green and blooms have birth,
Up! thou very shout of joy!
Gladness wert thou made to fling
O'er all moods of Earth's annoy;
Up! through morning, soar and sing.
Nested in a golden earth,
Mate of hours when thrushes pair,
Hedges green and blooms have birth,
Up! thou very shout of joy!
Gladness wert thou made to fling
O'er all moods of Earth's annoy;
Up! through morning, soar and sing.
Shade by shade hath gloom decreast;
Westward, stars and night have gone;
Up and up the crimsoning east
Slowly mounts the golden dawn;
Up! thy radiant life was given
Rapture over earth to fling;
Morning hushes; hushed is heaven,
Dumb to hear thee soaring sing.
Westward, stars and night have gone;
Up and up the crimsoning east
Slowly mounts the golden dawn;
Up! thy radiant life was given
Rapture over earth to fling;
Morning hushes; hushed is heaven,
Dumb to hear thee soaring sing.
Up! thy utterance, silence, robs
Of the ecstasies of Earth;
Dowering sound with all the throbs
Of its madness—of its mirth;
Trancèd lies its golden prime,
Dumb with utter joy; oh, fling
Listening air the raptured time!
Quivering gladness, soar and sing.
Of the ecstasies of Earth;
Dowering sound with all the throbs
Of its madness—of its mirth;
Trancèd lies its golden prime,
Dumb with utter joy; oh, fling
Listening air the raptured time!
Quivering gladness, soar and sing.
Up! no white star hath the west;
All is morning—all is day;
Earth in trembling light lies blest;
Heaven is sunshine—up! away
Up! the primrose lights the lane;
Up! the boughs with gladness ring;
Bent are bright-belled flowers again,
Drooped with bees; oh, soar and sing!
All is morning—all is day;
Earth in trembling light lies blest;
Heaven is sunshine—up! away
Up! the primrose lights the lane;
Up! the boughs with gladness ring;
Bent are bright-belled flowers again,
Drooped with bees; oh, soar and sing!
Ah! at last thou beat'st the sun,
Leaving, low, thy nest of love;
Higher, higher, quivering one,
Shrill'st thou up and up above;
Wheel on wheel, the white day through,
Might I thus with ceaseless wing,
Steep on steep of airy blue
Fling me up and soar and sing!
Leaving, low, thy nest of love;
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Shrill'st thou up and up above;
Wheel on wheel, the white day through,
Might I thus with ceaseless wing,
Steep on steep of airy blue
Fling me up and soar and sing!
Spurner of the Earth's annoy,
Might I thus in Heaven be lost!
Like to thee, in gusty joy,
Oh, might I be tempest-tost!
Oh, that the melodious rain
Of thy rapture, I might fling
Down, till Earth should swoon from pain—
Joy—to hear me soaring sing!
Might I thus in Heaven be lost!
Like to thee, in gusty joy,
Oh, might I be tempest-tost!
Oh, that the melodious rain
Of thy rapture, I might fling
Down, till Earth should swoon from pain—
Joy—to hear me soaring sing!
Yet, high wisdom by thee taught,
Were thy mighty rapture mine,
While the highest heaven I sought,
Nought of Earth would I resign;
Lost in circling light above,
Still my love to Earth should fling
All its raptures—still to love,
Caring but to soar and sing.
Were thy mighty rapture mine,
While the highest heaven I sought,
Nought of Earth would I resign;
Lost in circling light above,
Still my love to Earth should fling
All its raptures—still to love,
Caring but to soar and sing.
IN A SCHOOL-ROOM.
Twenty school-girls—there they sit;
Just a score of real romances,
To be lived, but never writ;
What they'll be—to think of it
Brings into one's head strange fancies.
Just a score of real romances,
To be lived, but never writ;
What they'll be—to think of it
Brings into one's head strange fancies.
Staring, little, blue-eyed Jane,
In whose eyes such baby wonder
And awe of my presence, reign,
Pure, sweet great-eyes, for you, fain,
Time's dark curtain, I'd peep under.
In whose eyes such baby wonder
And awe of my presence, reign,
Pure, sweet great-eyes, for you, fain,
Time's dark curtain, I'd peep under.
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Tender God—did I not know
All thou willest here, a blessing,
For this infant, while below,
Days, how shadeless, fate should show;
But joy, for her, I'd be guessing.
All thou willest here, a blessing,
For this infant, while below,
Days, how shadeless, fate should show;
But joy, for her, I'd be guessing.
Those scarce-five-years'-old eyes, pure
As forget-me-nots born newly,
To them, fancy would assure
All they now show, should endure;
For her, O may hope guess truly!
As forget-me-nots born newly,
To them, fancy would assure
All they now show, should endure;
For her, O may hope guess truly!
Black-eyed Mary, quite fifteen,
Too old to be looking at me
Straight—ah, sweet, your peep I've seen!—
Though, to keep quite cold I mean,
How you warm my old blood—drat me!
Too old to be looking at me
Straight—ah, sweet, your peep I've seen!—
Though, to keep quite cold I mean,
How you warm my old blood—drat me!
I am old,—but, dark eyes, one
With a heart unworn and youthful,
Will, mark me! ere many a sun
Pass, into those eyes call fun,
And love too, if dreams be truthful.
With a heart unworn and youthful,
Will, mark me! ere many a sun
Pass, into those eyes call fun,
And love too, if dreams be truthful.
Love, I dare say, even, sweet,
Ere this, wicked boy, has muttered
Tales to you, in church and street,
And, when home you've gone to meet
Cousins, perhaps, your heart has fluttered.
Ere this, wicked boy, has muttered
Tales to you, in church and street,
And, when home you've gone to meet
Cousins, perhaps, your heart has fluttered.
Love, still since young Adam shook
Eve's first pulses, plaguing dearly
Girls, I'd see, if now I took
One peep into fate's closed book,
Him your friend, the dearest, nearly;
Eve's first pulses, plaguing dearly
Girls, I'd see, if now I took
One peep into fate's closed book,
Him your friend, the dearest, nearly;
Nearly, for sweet, could I make
All your life's years as I'd will them,
Love itself you should forsake,
If need were, for guide to take
Goodness, with God's peace to fill them.
All your life's years as I'd will them,
Love itself you should forsake,
If need were, for guide to take
Goodness, with God's peace to fill them.
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Laura, Florence, Prudence, May,
Kate, the sauciest of any,
Dreaming Alice, gipsy gay
Juliet, for you all I pray
Sighs be few and laughs be many.
Kate, the sauciest of any,
Dreaming Alice, gipsy gay
Juliet, for you all I pray
Sighs be few and laughs be many.
Cloudless child-days—girlhood bright—
Womanhood, pure, glad and tender,
Blest with what makes sorrows light,
Every dearest sound and sight
That fond homes, real heavens, may render.
Womanhood, pure, glad and tender,
Blest with what makes sorrows light,
Every dearest sound and sight
That fond homes, real heavens, may render.
O great God, who will'st what time,
To their life-years shall be bearing,
Let not sin their pure hearts lime
In hell's toils—or guilt or crime
Ever their white souls be snaring.
To their life-years shall be bearing,
Let not sin their pure hearts lime
In hell's toils—or guilt or crime
Ever their white souls be snaring.
Never shame or shadow cross
Your dear thresholds! husbands ever
Still be lovers, whom perforce
Your dear love so holds that, loss
Of their love, you need fear never.
Your dear thresholds! husbands ever
Still be lovers, whom perforce
Your dear love so holds that, loss
Of their love, you need fear never.
Children bless you—babies rare,
Raptures in your bosoms lying,
Boys and girls, a blessed care
For your tending, for whom ne'er
May you have a cause for sighing!
Raptures in your bosoms lying,
Boys and girls, a blessed care
For your tending, for whom ne'er
May you have a cause for sighing!
And your griefs, for life must bring
Its dark hours of pain and sorrow,
May they not too sorely wring
Your dear hearts, that, suffering,
Still, from God, His strength may borrow.
Its dark hours of pain and sorrow,
May they not too sorely wring
Your dear hearts, that, suffering,
Still, from God, His strength may borrow.
May He guide and bless you still!
Tears, even like the dews of Hermon,
Your lives but with richness fill!
Bless me! how, against my will,
I've been thinking quite a sermon!
Tears, even like the dews of Hermon,
Your lives but with richness fill!
Bless me! how, against my will,
I've been thinking quite a sermon!
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AN AUTUMN CONCEIT IN GREENWICH PARK.
Sad wind, why moanThe sere leaf's fall!
Goes it alone,
Or with all nobler things, alas! but shares the fate of all!
Sad sobber through September,
Perchance thou dost remember
The bursting of that rustling leaf in April's tearful time,
With what a gladness first
Its downy cell it burst,
And gazed on all the sweet Spring sees when near its leafy prime;
With what a glad surprise
It oped its infant eyes,
And first, with mingled joy and awe, peered out on all around;
From all that met its sight
Took ever new delight,
Dumb wonder from each common sight—dumb wonder from each sound;
Sad sigher through the sky,
Perchance, too, thou wert nigh,
What time its quiet rest it took amongst the light of June;
Oft saw'st it slumbering, where,
Soft couched on golden air,
Out-tired with play and merriment, it nestled 'mid the noon;
Or when thy gentle song
Was heard the boughs along,
How from its dreaming noontide rest, you saw it quivering break;
Saw to thy singing, how
Upon the brown-barked bough,
With many a mate in glossy green, the dance and song 'twould wake;
Yet thou forgettest not
Perchance, sad wailer, what
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In what a dazzling green
Its veinèd form was seen,
When sparkling through the morning air, bejewelled all with dew;
How in the suns of June,
It glistened through the noon,
While footing it upon the boughs to thy low melody,
While wanderers through the wood,
Checking their footsteps, stood,
And seldom without pleasant note could pass its beauty by.
Thy wings were winnowing there
The pallid autumn air,
What time with darkening days, alas! the Summer's self grew old;
Thou saw'st its green that made
The forest lovely, fade,
Yet deepen into gorgeous hues that shamed the sunshine's gold;
How, even in decay,
Did beauty lingering stay
About the aged form, so well it loved to deck when young!
Thou saw'st it still below
A golden glory throw
The shadowed trunks, the mossy roots, and tangled weeds among.
Perchance, too, day by day.
Thou saw'st it wear away,
Fast shrivelling in the early frosts, and withering to its grave;
Perchance, if thou couldst tell,
Within thy sight it fell,
Whilst thou couldst only moan and sob, all impotent to save.
It may be, now there throng
Thy memory along,
Sad thoughts of all its spring's sweet youth, of all its summer's time;
Well may'st thou for its fall
Now wail, remembering all
The beauty of its first young days, the glory of its prime!
And yet why moan
The sere leaf's fall?
Goes it alone,
Or with all nobler things, alas! but shares the fate of all!
476
TO A CRICKET.
Voice of Summer, keen and shrill,Chirping round my winter fire,
Of thy song I never tire,
Weary others as they will;
For thy song with summer's filled;
Filled with sunshine; filled with June;
Fire-light echo of that, noon
Hears in fields when all is stilled
In the golden light of May;
Bringing scents of new-mown hay,
Bees and birds and flowers away,
Prithee, haunt my fireside still,
Voice of Summer, keen and shrill!
TO THE CHRYSANTHEMUM.
Wan brightener of the fading year,
Chrysanthemum,
Rough teller of the winter near,
Chrysanthemum,
Grey low-hung skies and woodlands sere,
Wet leaf-strewn ways with thee appear,
Yet well I love to see thee here,
Chrysanthemum:
Yes, well I love to see thee here,
Chrysanthemum.
Chrysanthemum,
Rough teller of the winter near,
Chrysanthemum,
Grey low-hung skies and woodlands sere,
Wet leaf-strewn ways with thee appear,
Yet well I love to see thee here,
Chrysanthemum:
Yes, well I love to see thee here,
Chrysanthemum.
Thou comest when the rose is dead,
Chrysanthemum;
When pink and lily both have fled,
Chrysanthemum.
When hollyhocks droop low the head,
And dahlias litter path and bed,
Thou bloomest bright in all their stead,
Chrysanthemum;
And back recall'st their beauty fled,
Chrysanthemum.
Chrysanthemum;
When pink and lily both have fled,
Chrysanthemum.
When hollyhocks droop low the head,
And dahlias litter path and bed,
Thou bloomest bright in all their stead,
Chrysanthemum;
And back recall'st their beauty fled,
Chrysanthemum.
477
O loved not for thy sake alone,
Chrysanthemum;
Not for a beauty all thine own,
Chrysanthemum;
For fair blooms to the spring-time known,
For bright hues to the summer shown,
For memories dear of flowerets flown,
Chrysanthemum,
I love thee, blossomer alone,
Chrysanthemum.
Chrysanthemum;
Not for a beauty all thine own,
Chrysanthemum;
For fair blooms to the spring-time known,
For bright hues to the summer shown,
For memories dear of flowerets flown,
Chrysanthemum,
I love thee, blossomer alone,
Chrysanthemum.
TO FIELD-PATHS.
Paths of the fields,
O pleasant paths that stray
Through the deep wind-trod pastures of the Spring,
Through all the glory and the blossoming
That summer yields,
Companioned of the golden buttercup,
Up heaven's far cloud-flecked sapphire gazing—up,
Piercing to heights that see the skylark sing,
From the world's weariness—from hope's decay,
Lead me, oh, lead me, pleasant paths away,
Paths of the fields!
O pleasant paths that stray
Through the deep wind-trod pastures of the Spring,
Through all the glory and the blossoming
That summer yields,
Companioned of the golden buttercup,
Up heaven's far cloud-flecked sapphire gazing—up,
Piercing to heights that see the skylark sing,
From the world's weariness—from hope's decay,
Lead me, oh, lead me, pleasant paths away,
Paths of the fields!
Who knows not hours,
Hours when life longs to cease
Its endless questioning of the mystery
Of sorrow! when the eternal ill we see
All hope o'erpowers!
Oh, in such hours of darkness and of fear,
In joy and quietude, oh, be ye near,
Near in deep tranquilness and gladness be;
Through nature's placid calm—through sweet release
From doubt—from tears, oh, lead me, paths of peace,
Paths of the fields!
Hours when life longs to cease
Its endless questioning of the mystery
Of sorrow! when the eternal ill we see
All hope o'erpowers!
Oh, in such hours of darkness and of fear,
In joy and quietude, oh, be ye near,
Near in deep tranquilness and gladness be;
Through nature's placid calm—through sweet release
From doubt—from tears, oh, lead me, paths of peace,
Paths of the fields!
478
ELLA'S ROSES.
Venus, unto thee, the rose,Summer's darling, told her woes,
Told how she, the queen of flowers,
Loved of all the lingering hours,
Glory of the radiant day,
Only came, to pass away,
Beauty of celestial birth,
Fading with the things of earth,
Meanest things of mortal breath,
Poorest things, but worthy death;
Then, foam-brow'd, thy laughing look,
For a moment, joy forsook,
For a moment, till thy thought
Gave the boon thy favourite sought,
All thy darling dared to seek,
Changeless life in Ella's cheek.
SHE'S DEAD.
The sycamore shall hear its bees again—
The willow droop its green adown the sun;
But thou, O heart, shalt yearn for Spring in vain—
Thy Mays are done!
The willow droop its green adown the sun;
But thou, O heart, shalt yearn for Spring in vain—
Thy Mays are done!
Even from the graveyard elms, the rook shall caw
Of love; of love, the dove shall make its moan;
New Springs shall see the bliss my glad Springs saw—
I, grief alone.
Of love; of love, the dove shall make its moan;
New Springs shall see the bliss my glad Springs saw—
I, grief alone.
O heart! to whose sweet pulses danced the year,
The dirge above thy gladness hath been sung;
The faded hours, upon thy youth's sad bier,
Have grave-flowers flung!
The dirge above thy gladness hath been sung;
The faded hours, upon thy youth's sad bier,
Have grave-flowers flung!
She died—and with her died, O life, for thee,
The flush of love, and all hope's cloudless dreams!
Sunless—of mirth, henceforth, thou, heart, must see
But moonlight gleams.
The flush of love, and all hope's cloudless dreams!
Sunless—of mirth, henceforth, thou, heart, must see
But moonlight gleams.
479
O shrouded sweetness! Lo! those lips are white;
The roses of the year no more are red!
What is the silver lily to our sight?
Thou—thou art fled!
The roses of the year no more are red!
What is the silver lily to our sight?
Thou—thou art fled!
O life! O sadness! thou the deepening gloom
Of dying Autumn for thy skies would'st crave—
Would'st see all beauty, withering to the tomb,
Fade o'er her grave!
Of dying Autumn for thy skies would'st crave—
Would'st see all beauty, withering to the tomb,
Fade o'er her grave!
FAREWELL!
Parted, parted, ever parted,—
Said and said the words have been,
Yet I hear them, broken-hearted,
As in wonder what they mean;
To no sense my soul has started
Of the all within them seen.
Said and said the words have been,
Yet I hear them, broken-hearted,
As in wonder what they mean;
To no sense my soul has started
Of the all within them seen.
Parted, parted,—throbbing through me
With a strange, dull, dreamy pain,
As of no real import to me,
Pulse your accents through my brain—
Sound your low, rich, full tones through me,
Never heard in love again.
With a strange, dull, dreamy pain,
As of no real import to me,
Pulse your accents through my brain—
Sound your low, rich, full tones through me,
Never heard in love again.
How you lured me on in dreaming
You were evermore my own,
Is, O fair dissembling seeming!
Well to both our memories known,
Will, with tears through far years streaming,
Haunt one thought, though one alone.
You were evermore my own,
Is, O fair dissembling seeming!
Well to both our memories known,
Will, with tears through far years streaming,
Haunt one thought, though one alone.
Still my heart you saw was trembling
With the wealth of love it bore;
Judged by mine, mine all resembling,
Yours I thought no masquing wore;
Was like mine, O all dissembling!
Truth through all its inmost core.
With the wealth of love it bore;
Judged by mine, mine all resembling,
Yours I thought no masquing wore;
Was like mine, O all dissembling!
Truth through all its inmost core.
480
Blindly—blindly—all believing,
With an utter faith in you,
Childlike, did I woo deceiving,
Childlike, deem you must be true;
Could I dream your web was weaving
Round a heart no guile that knew!
With an utter faith in you,
Childlike, did I woo deceiving,
Childlike, deem you must be true;
Could I dream your web was weaving
Round a heart no guile that knew!
Must I calmly, coldly, meet you?
Must no old familiar word,
Rushing through my lips to greet you,
Ever—evermore be heard!
As a very stranger treat you,
Who no pulse of mine has stirred!
Must no old familiar word,
Rushing through my lips to greet you,
Ever—evermore be heard!
As a very stranger treat you,
Who no pulse of mine has stirred!
Ah, that years, alas! could sever
Hearts, in seeming, once so true,
So that time could change us ever,
Was a thing I little knew!
Surely, dreamed I, change could never
Thrust itself 'twixt me and you.
Hearts, in seeming, once so true,
So that time could change us ever,
Was a thing I little knew!
Surely, dreamed I, change could never
Thrust itself 'twixt me and you.
Would that I could then have known you
As I truly know you now,
Ere my sightless trust, to own you,
Falseness as you are, knew how,
Ere the coming days had shown you,
Thing of change, as you are now!
As I truly know you now,
Ere my sightless trust, to own you,
Falseness as you are, knew how,
Ere the coming days had shown you,
Thing of change, as you are now!
Vain, I know, is all complaining;
Words, I know, are useless all,
Though in blood my heart were raining
All the tears that from me fall,
For the love there's no regaining,
For the peace without recall.
Words, I know, are useless all,
Though in blood my heart were raining
All the tears that from me fall,
For the love there's no regaining,
For the peace without recall.
Pride was mine—all pride has left me;
Lingering love for you, forsworn,
Of the power to hate has reft me,
Reft me of the power to scorn;
Would that love but pride had left me!
Then with scorn, your scorn I'd borne.
Lingering love for you, forsworn,
Of the power to hate has reft me,
Reft me of the power to scorn;
Would that love but pride had left me!
Then with scorn, your scorn I'd borne.
481
Heavily the gloom of sorrow
On my thoughts its sadness lays,
Still new hope I yet may borrow,
Bounding life for coming days,
Lightening me with every morrow,
Of the grief that on me weighs.
On my thoughts its sadness lays,
Still new hope I yet may borrow,
Bounding life for coming days,
Lightening me with every morrow,
Of the grief that on me weighs.
Yet from doting has it turned me,
This vain bitter dream that's o'er,
This false, fickle heart that's spurned me,
Spurned a heart such love that bore;
Wisdom I at least have earned me,
And I trust no woman more.
This vain bitter dream that's o'er,
This false, fickle heart that's spurned me,
Spurned a heart such love that bore;
Wisdom I at least have earned me,
And I trust no woman more.
THOUGHTS AND FANCIES.
Tell me, whirling autumn leaf,
Lend'st thou not new tears to grief?
Thoughtful sermons may not sorrow,
From thy fall, for mortals borrow,
Homilies that tell how near
Life and death are dwelling here?
“Mortal, from our fall shall spring
Newer, fairer blossoming.”
Lend'st thou not new tears to grief?
Thoughtful sermons may not sorrow,
From thy fall, for mortals borrow,
Homilies that tell how near
Life and death are dwelling here?
“Mortal, from our fall shall spring
Newer, fairer blossoming.”
What is glory! what is fame!
Though it ring through coming years!
Heed not if the future hears
Far-off races hymn thy name;
Act the right, unheeding whether
Coming tongues thy deeds shall tell;
Act the right, though men together
Bid thy name and curses dwell,
And the future know thee not;
Trust thou that when thou rt forgot,
Though thy name be hid in night,
Still thy deeds shall live in light;
Live, or known, or not, the same;
What is glory! what is fame!
Though it ring through coming years!
Heed not if the future hears
Far-off races hymn thy name;
Act the right, unheeding whether
Coming tongues thy deeds shall tell;
Act the right, though men together
Bid thy name and curses dwell,
And the future know thee not;
Trust thou that when thou rt forgot,
Though thy name be hid in night,
Still thy deeds shall live in light;
Live, or known, or not, the same;
What is glory! what is fame!
482
Prithee, what is life to thee,
Man of marts alone and trade?
Dost thou think that thou wert made
Only such a drudge to be?
Dost thou think the might of thought,
High imagination's fire,
Feeling's powers were meant for nought
But to win thy worthless hire?
Trust me, thee, the truly wise,
Whom thou scornest, may despise;
May, unsighing, live without
All the winnings of thy drudging;
Sparing not a wish to grudging
All thou wastest life about;
Poor, thy very scorn may be,
And yet well look down on thee.
Man of marts alone and trade?
Dost thou think that thou wert made
Only such a drudge to be?
Dost thou think the might of thought,
High imagination's fire,
Feeling's powers were meant for nought
But to win thy worthless hire?
Trust me, thee, the truly wise,
Whom thou scornest, may despise;
May, unsighing, live without
All the winnings of thy drudging;
Sparing not a wish to grudging
All thou wastest life about;
Poor, thy very scorn may be,
And yet well look down on thee.
Hate brings hate as love brings love.
Ponder, mortals, ponder this,
Nor, through passion, blindly miss
Happiness, all else above;
Hard it is the best to greet
With love, meeting no returning;
But with kindly love to meet
Hate that all affection's spurning,
Is all hard things else above.
Hate brings hate as love brings love.
Ponder, mortals, ponder this,
Nor, through passion, blindly miss
Happiness, all else above;
Hard it is the best to greet
With love, meeting no returning;
But with kindly love to meet
Hate that all affection's spurning,
Is all hard things else above.
Hate brings hate as love brings love.
Soul, what would'st thou? toilless leisure?
Ease untroubled? endless pleasure?
Wouldst thou not, I prithee, then
Throne thee in the praise of men?
Nay, to what still dost thou, higher,
Mounting soul of mine, aspire?
Thine what wouldst thou rather call?
Power, through work, to better all.
Ease untroubled? endless pleasure?
Wouldst thou not, I prithee, then
Throne thee in the praise of men?
Nay, to what still dost thou, higher,
Mounting soul of mine, aspire?
Thine what wouldst thou rather call?
Power, through work, to better all.
Prithee, what's thy boast of birth?
Pride of folly; wisdom's mirth;
That from which the wise may borrow
Smiles in care and jests in sorrow;
For our mocking is it meant,
Boaster, this thy long descent?
I and all from Adam came;
Prithee, didst thou not the same?
Pride of folly; wisdom's mirth;
That from which the wise may borrow
Smiles in care and jests in sorrow;
483
Boaster, this thy long descent?
I and all from Adam came;
Prithee, didst thou not the same?
LINES WRITTEN IN MISS MITFORD'S GARDEN.
O glories of the emerald spring,
Be here your first unfolding!
Your sweetest sights, O, hither bring,
Ye months, for her beholding!
Round—hither, round her dwelling throng,
Her honoured steps attending;
So shall ye bloom in tale and song,
In beauty never-ending.
Be here your first unfolding!
Your sweetest sights, O, hither bring,
Ye months, for her beholding!
Round—hither, round her dwelling throng,
Her honoured steps attending;
So shall ye bloom in tale and song,
In beauty never-ending.
O, songs of the rejoicing year,
Bring hither all your gladness!
Well may ye make her mirth more gay;
Well may ye soothe her sadness;
For when your pleasant joy no more
Shall set the copses ringing,
Sweet voices, still in tale and song,
Shall ye be ever singing.
Bring hither all your gladness!
Well may ye make her mirth more gay;
Well may ye soothe her sadness;
For when your pleasant joy no more
Shall set the copses ringing,
Sweet voices, still in tale and song,
Shall ye be ever singing.
THE LIME BEFORE MY WINDOW.
Pleasant is its sight to me;
Pleasant will it ever be;
Often shall I long to see
That lime before my window.
Pleasant will it ever be;
Often shall I long to see
That lime before my window.
Green it rustles in my thought;
Ah, what memories has it brought!
Pictures fair that rose unsought!
That lime before my window.
Ah, what memories has it brought!
Pictures fair that rose unsought!
That lime before my window.
484
Waking in the morns of spring,
First does memory love to bring
Leaves that rustle, birds that sing,
That lime before my window.
First does memory love to bring
Leaves that rustle, birds that sing,
That lime before my window.
As I pass adown the stair,
Greeting me with welcome rare,
Stands its greenness, radiant there,
That lime before my window.
Greeting me with welcome rare,
Stands its greenness, radiant there,
That lime before my window.
And when slumbrous noons are come,
Only summer sound not dumb,
Well I love thy murmuring hum,
Thou lime before my window.
Only summer sound not dumb,
Well I love thy murmuring hum,
Thou lime before my window.
Freshly steals the elm to sight;
Bright the chestnut opes to light;
Thine is greenness yet more bright,
Thou lime before my window.
Bright the chestnut opes to light;
Thine is greenness yet more bright,
Thou lime before my window.
Flame the woodlands, dim and cold;
Glorious are they, nor behold
Glory brighter than thy gold,
Thou lime before my window.
Glorious are they, nor behold
Glory brighter than thy gold,
Thou lime before my window.
Keen with frosts are earth and air;
Leafless art thou standing there;
And art thou to me less fair,
Thou lime before my window?
Leafless art thou standing there;
And art thou to me less fair,
Thou lime before my window?
No, unto an inner eye,
All thy beauty that could die,
All thy glory still is nigh,
Thou lime before my window.
All thy beauty that could die,
All thy glory still is nigh,
Thou lime before my window.
Hue, and leaf, decay, consume,
Yet, triumphant o'er thy doom,
Sunlit there, I see thee bloom,
Thou lime before my window.
Yet, triumphant o'er thy doom,
Sunlit there, I see thee bloom,
Thou lime before my window.
485
In a moment, even now,
Verdurous Springs thy branches bow;
Autumns burn on every bough,
Thou lime before my window.
Verdurous Springs thy branches bow;
Autumns burn on every bough,
Thou lime before my window.
Ah, might every year of mine
Some sweet store of beauty shrine
In the thoughts of men, like thine,
Thou lime before my window!
Some sweet store of beauty shrine
In the thoughts of men, like thine,
Thou lime before my window!
A MAY-DAY SONG.
Come out, come out from cities;
For once your drudging stay;
With work 'twere thousand pities
To wrong this honoured day;
Your fathers met the May
With laughter, dance and tabor;
Come, be as wise as they;
Come, steal to-day from labour.
For once your drudging stay;
With work 'twere thousand pities
To wrong this honoured day;
Your fathers met the May
With laughter, dance and tabor;
Come, be as wise as they;
Come, steal to-day from labour.
Is this the proof we're wiser
Than all who've gone before,
That Nature, less we prize her
Than those who lived of yore?
Their May-day sacrifice
Shall we not hold a duty,
And pay with hearts and eyes
Due honour to her beauty?
Than all who've gone before,
That Nature, less we prize her
Than those who lived of yore?
Their May-day sacrifice
Shall we not hold a duty,
And pay with hearts and eyes
Due honour to her beauty?
Talk not of want of leisure;
Believe me, life was made
For laughter, mirth and pleasure,
Far more than toil and trade;
And little short I hold
That social state from madness,
For daily bread where's sold
Man's natural right to gladness.
Believe me, life was made
For laughter, mirth and pleasure,
Far more than toil and trade;
And little short I hold
That social state from madness,
For daily bread where's sold
Man's natural right to gladness.
486
Then out from lane and alley,
From court and busy street,
Through glade and grassy valley,
With songs the May to meet;
For, jests and laughter, care
From all things could but borrow;
The earth, the very air
Are death to thoughts of sorrow.
From court and busy street,
Through glade and grassy valley,
With songs the May to meet;
For, jests and laughter, care
From all things could but borrow;
The earth, the very air
Are death to thoughts of sorrow.
Come, hear the silver prattle
Of brooks that babbling run
Through pastures green, where cattle
Lie happy in the sun;
Where violets' hidden eyes
Are watching May's sweet coming,
And gnats and burnished flies
Its welcome loud are humming.
Of brooks that babbling run
Through pastures green, where cattle
Lie happy in the sun;
Where violets' hidden eyes
Are watching May's sweet coming,
And gnats and burnished flies
Its welcome loud are humming.
In song the spring comes welling
To-day from out the grass;
And not a hedge but's telling
Earth's gladness as you pass;
Far up the bright blue sky
The quivering lark is singing;
The thrush in copses nigh
Shouts out the joy it's bringing.
To-day from out the grass;
And not a hedge but's telling
Earth's gladness as you pass;
Far up the bright blue sky
The quivering lark is singing;
The thrush in copses nigh
Shouts out the joy it's bringing.
Then leave your weary moiling,
Your desks and shops to-day;
'Tis sin to waste in toiling
This jubilee of May.
Come, stretch you where the light
Through golden limes is streaming,
And spend, O rare delight!
An hour in summer dreaming.
Your desks and shops to-day;
'Tis sin to waste in toiling
This jubilee of May.
Come, stretch you where the light
Through golden limes is streaming,
And spend, O rare delight!
An hour in summer dreaming.
487
A LEAF FROM MY SKETCH-BOOK.
'Tis a pleasant spot of greenness,
Worth a poet's best of praises;
Well the sunlight loves to linger
In that grassy haunt of daisies.
Worth a poet's best of praises;
Well the sunlight loves to linger
In that grassy haunt of daisies.
Well I mind its trembling poplars,
Well, the white road that, anigh it,
Winding upward from the landscape,
Led my wandering footsteps by it.
Well, the white road that, anigh it,
Winding upward from the landscape,
Led my wandering footsteps by it.
In the grey and stony city,
Oft before me fancy raises,
Soft in golden mists of morning,
Yet again that home of daisies.
Oft before me fancy raises,
Soft in golden mists of morning,
Yet again that home of daisies.
Up, its cottage smoke goes curling,
'Gainst the green still elms around it,
Where, across its white-thorn hedges,
Once again my eye has found it.
'Gainst the green still elms around it,
Where, across its white-thorn hedges,
Once again my eye has found it.
Up the wood that leafs the hill-side,
Yet again my fancy gazes,
Wanders over all the far view
Stretched beneath that haunt of daisies.
Yet again my fancy gazes,
Wanders over all the far view
Stretched beneath that haunt of daisies.
Over pasture, field, and river,
City towers and village spires,
Travels on my eye, delighted,
With a joy that never tires.
City towers and village spires,
Travels on my eye, delighted,
With a joy that never tires.
But with pleasure, all surpassing,
Smile and jest and kindly phrases,
Do I pass, as on that morning,
By that grassy haunt of daisies.
Smile and jest and kindly phrases,
Do I pass, as on that morning,
By that grassy haunt of daisies.
488
Leaning o'er the stile, I see her
As she met my passing greeting,
Fresh and flush'd as the hedge-roses
Round the green spot of our meeting.
As she met my passing greeting,
Fresh and flush'd as the hedge-roses
Round the green spot of our meeting.
With a laugh we met and parted;
Ah! those few sweet country phrases,
Oh! how often do I hear them,
Lingering past that haunt of daisies!
Ah! those few sweet country phrases,
Oh! how often do I hear them,
Lingering past that haunt of daisies!
| Poems | |