 | Poems |  |
463
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?
464
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.
465
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!
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