 | Poems (1867) |  |
VALENTINES AND SONGS.
151
HOME.
Two birds within one nest;
Two hearts within one breast;
Two spirits in one fair
Firm league of love and prayer,
Together bound for aye, together blest.
Two hearts within one breast;
Two spirits in one fair
Firm league of love and prayer,
Together bound for aye, together blest.
An ear that waits to catch
A hand upon the latch;
A step that hastens its sweet rest to win,
A world of care without,
A world of strife shut out,
A world of love shut in.
A hand upon the latch;
A step that hastens its sweet rest to win,
A world of care without,
A world of strife shut out,
A world of love shut in.
152
THE SUMMER ROSES.
Roses, roses, summer roses,
Shall I pluck you from the thorn?
Shall I leave you there till through you
Autumn breezes rustling, strew you
On the earth forlorn,
Roses, summer roses?
Shall I pluck you from the thorn?
Shall I leave you there till through you
Autumn breezes rustling, strew you
On the earth forlorn,
Roses, summer roses?
Answered then the summer roses,
“He who plucks the rose will find,
As his grasp upon it closes,
That the thorn is left behind:
Through its sharpness still must sweetness
Of the rose be brought to mind,
Roses, summer roses!”
“He who plucks the rose will find,
As his grasp upon it closes,
That the thorn is left behind:
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Of the rose be brought to mind,
Roses, summer roses!”
So I plucked the summer roses,
And the cruel thorn I met;
Soon the sweetness of the roses
Made me all its wound forget;
But the roses, oh, the roses
Bloom and breathe around me yet,
Roses, summer roses!
And the cruel thorn I met;
Soon the sweetness of the roses
Made me all its wound forget;
But the roses, oh, the roses
Bloom and breathe around me yet,
Roses, summer roses!
154
IMITATED FROM THE TROUBADOUR SORDEL.
Her words, methinks, were cold and few;
We parted coldly; yet,
Quick-turning after that adieu,
How kind a glance I met!
A look that was not meant for me,
Yet sweeter for surprise,
As if her soul took leave to be
One moment in her eyes:
Now tell me, tell me, gentle friends,
Oh, which shall I believe,
Her eyes, her eyes that bid me hope,
Her words that bid me grieve?
Her words, methinks, were few and cold:
What matter! Now I trust,
Kind eyes, unto your tale half-told,
Ye speak because ye must!
Too oft will heavy laws constrain
The lips, compelled to bear
A message false; too often fain
To speak but what they dare;
Full oft will words, will smiles betray,
But tears are always true;
Looks ever mean the thing they say:
Kind eyes, I trust to you!
We parted coldly; yet,
Quick-turning after that adieu,
How kind a glance I met!
A look that was not meant for me,
Yet sweeter for surprise,
As if her soul took leave to be
One moment in her eyes:
Now tell me, tell me, gentle friends,
Oh, which shall I believe,
Her eyes, her eyes that bid me hope,
Her words that bid me grieve?
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What matter! Now I trust,
Kind eyes, unto your tale half-told,
Ye speak because ye must!
Too oft will heavy laws constrain
The lips, compelled to bear
A message false; too often fain
To speak but what they dare;
Full oft will words, will smiles betray,
But tears are always true;
Looks ever mean the thing they say:
Kind eyes, I trust to you!
Her looks were kind—oh, gentle eyes,
Love trusts you! Still he sends
By you his questions, his replies,
He knows you for his friends.
Oh, gentle, gentle eyes, by Love
So trusted, and so true
To Love, ye could not if ye would
Deceive, I trust to you!
Love trusts you! Still he sends
By you his questions, his replies,
He knows you for his friends.
Oh, gentle, gentle eyes, by Love
So trusted, and so true
To Love, ye could not if ye would
Deceive, I trust to you!
156
THE SINGER.
How thick the grasses spring
In May! how sweetly ring
The woods with song of many birds! the note
In May! how sweetly ring
The woods with song of many birds! the note
That is of all most sweet,
Most varied, most complete,
Comes from a little bird of slender throat,
Most varied, most complete,
Comes from a little bird of slender throat,
The Nightingale, that sings
Through all the night, and flings
Upon the wood's dark breast her sweet lament.
Through all the night, and flings
Upon the wood's dark breast her sweet lament.
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What! little bird, dost seek
To conquer with thy beak
The lyre's full ringing chords? be well content:
To conquer with thy beak
The lyre's full ringing chords? be well content:
A Minstrel to thy song
Long listened, lingering long;
A Prince a moment paused upon his way:
Long listened, lingering long;
A Prince a moment paused upon his way:
“Sweet, sweet!” they said, and then
Passed onwards, while again
Broke from the topmost bough thy thrilling lay.
Passed onwards, while again
Broke from the topmost bough thy thrilling lay.
What! thinkest thou to chain
The world? thou dost but strain
Thy slender throat, forgetful of its need,
The world? thou dost but strain
Thy slender throat, forgetful of its need,
Thou carest but to sing:
Yet who is found to bring,
To stay thy want, a berry or a seed?
Yet who is found to bring,
To stay thy want, a berry or a seed?
They praise thy song, and yet
They pass thee, and forget;
None feedeth thee save He who gave thy strain.
They pass thee, and forget;
None feedeth thee save He who gave thy strain.
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Oh! why wilt thou prolong
Thy sweet, thy mournful song,
Unwearied, while the world to sleep is fain!
Thy sweet, thy mournful song,
Unwearied, while the world to sleep is fain!
When summer comes, unstirred
Are all the leaves, the bird
Is silent, while her callow young are tended.
Are all the leaves, the bird
Is silent, while her callow young are tended.
When Winter comes, the leaves
Fall off, and no one grieves;
The singer dies, her little song is ended!
Fall off, and no one grieves;
The singer dies, her little song is ended!
November, 1862.
159
FOUR SONGS.
TO L. A. C.
Oh, hast thou won my heart, my love!What gain to thee? what gain?
It plights thee with no golden ring,
It decks thee with no chain;
A simple thing, yet it will bring
To thee, my love, no pain;
To give thee rest, to make thee blest
It hath been ever fain, my love,
It hath been ever fain!
160
What gain to me! what gain!
What brooding calm, what soothing balm,
What sweet release from pain!
Through sudden rest my spirit guessed
What hour to me it came,
And day by day I mark its stay
Through comfort of the same, my love,
Through comfort of the same!
161
TO MARIA IVANOVNA.
If dark be she I love, or fair,
I ask not now; I do not seek
With her the lily to compare,
To find the rose upon her cheek.
Such flowers as these grow everywhere;
With all things soft, and dusk, and rare
I liken her; the woodbine feels
And finds her way with touches light;
She keeps her hold with tendrils slight.
How close, how kind the woodbine steals!
The summer air is warm with bliss
All stolen from the woodbine's kiss.
I ask not now; I do not seek
With her the lily to compare,
To find the rose upon her cheek.
Such flowers as these grow everywhere;
With all things soft, and dusk, and rare
I liken her; the woodbine feels
And finds her way with touches light;
She keeps her hold with tendrils slight.
How close, how kind the woodbine steals!
The summer air is warm with bliss
All stolen from the woodbine's kiss.
Sit thou by me when eve has stilled
And soothed the day's quick pulse to rest;
Let none be near us while we build
Within each other's hearts a nest,
Of joys that fade, of youth that flies,
Of love that stays, of memories
That pass not with the passing day:
Sit thou by me; be sad, be gay,
So sweet thy smiles, so sweet thy sighs,
So soft thy clasp, so kind thine eyes.
Be what thou wilt, 'tis ever best;
Be what thou art, and I am blest!
And soothed the day's quick pulse to rest;
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Within each other's hearts a nest,
Of joys that fade, of youth that flies,
Of love that stays, of memories
That pass not with the passing day:
Sit thou by me; be sad, be gay,
So sweet thy smiles, so sweet thy sighs,
So soft thy clasp, so kind thine eyes.
Be what thou wilt, 'tis ever best;
Be what thou art, and I am blest!
163
IF IT BE PLEASANT TO REMEMBER THEE.
If it be pleasant to remember thee,
What is it, then, what is it to forget thee?
But for a space, one moment's space to be
As though I ne'er had loved, or known, or met thee?
My soaring soul on some high quest to send,
On some stern task to bind my strength's endeavour,
Then, like the bird, with rapid wing descend
Upon the nest that is my own for ever.
What is it, then, what is it to forget thee?
But for a space, one moment's space to be
As though I ne'er had loved, or known, or met thee?
My soaring soul on some high quest to send,
On some stern task to bind my strength's endeavour,
Then, like the bird, with rapid wing descend
Upon the nest that is my own for ever.
By some sweet song, by some dear dream to be
Upon my lonely way entranced, o'ertaken;
Awhile, awhile to cease to think of thee,
Then in the sweetness of thy soul to waken!
Sweet dream, with day pass not away,
As once in hours when all my joys were fleeter;
Dear haunting lay, I bid thee stay,
And in my heart for evermore grow sweeter.
Upon my lonely way entranced, o'ertaken;
Awhile, awhile to cease to think of thee,
Then in the sweetness of thy soul to waken!
164
As once in hours when all my joys were fleeter;
Dear haunting lay, I bid thee stay,
And in my heart for evermore grow sweeter.
If still to bear thee in my mind be sweet,
What is it then, what is it then to lose thee?
In play with life to let the moments cheat
My steadfast heart that flies again to choose thee?
Afar, I see thee lift thy soul in prayer,
I see thee in thy quiet ways abiding;
Oh, sweet to me hath grown the common air,
To me, for whom the Rose of life is hiding!
What is it then, what is it then to lose thee?
In play with life to let the moments cheat
My steadfast heart that flies again to choose thee?
Afar, I see thee lift thy soul in prayer,
I see thee in thy quiet ways abiding;
Oh, sweet to me hath grown the common air,
To me, for whom the Rose of life is hiding!
165
I SPAN BESIDE OUR CABIN DOOR.
I span beside our cabin door,
I watched him slowly cross the moor,
I smiled as I will smile no more,
Eskadil, mavourneen slawn!
I watched him slowly cross the moor,
I smiled as I will smile no more,
Eskadil, mavourneen slawn!
How many an evening as I sat,
With father he would come to chat,
He came for this, he came for that,
Eskadil, mavourneen slawn!
With father he would come to chat,
He came for this, he came for that,
Eskadil, mavourneen slawn!
I watched him o'er the moor so wide,
He took the path that turned aside
I went within the house and cried,
Eskadil, mavourneen slawn!
He took the path that turned aside
I went within the house and cried,
Eskadil, mavourneen slawn!
166
I saw him pass our cabin door;
The world is wide, he came no more;
I wept as I will weep no more,
Eskadil, mavourneen slawn!
The world is wide, he came no more;
I wept as I will weep no more,
Eskadil, mavourneen slawn!
I drew my wheel beside the fire,
I span as if I span for hire,
My father talked, and did not tire,
Eskadil, mavourneen slawn!
I span as if I span for hire,
My father talked, and did not tire,
Eskadil, mavourneen slawn!
My heart is weary and my head,
And all is done, and all is said,
And yet it is not time for bed,
Eskadil, mavourneen slawn!
And all is done, and all is said,
And yet it is not time for bed,
Eskadil, mavourneen slawn!
167
A SONG.
[Kiss me before I sleep]
Kiss me before I sleep,
Oh gentle child, oh loving child! that so
My spirit, ere it sinks within the wide
Dim world of shrouded dreams, unsatisfied,
And seeking ever, unto Thine may grow,
Nor stir, nor move, nor wander to and fro;
Kiss me before I sleep!
Oh gentle child, oh loving child! that so
My spirit, ere it sinks within the wide
Dim world of shrouded dreams, unsatisfied,
And seeking ever, unto Thine may grow,
Nor stir, nor move, nor wander to and fro;
Kiss me before I sleep!
Kiss me before I wake,
Oh loving child, oh child beloved, that so
The sweetness of thy soul, thy smile, thine eyes,
May meet my spirit on its way to take
The chill from off this life of ours, and make
A world more kind and warm wherein to rise;
Kiss me before I wake!
Oh loving child, oh child beloved, that so
The sweetness of thy soul, thy smile, thine eyes,
May meet my spirit on its way to take
The chill from off this life of ours, and make
A world more kind and warm wherein to rise;
Kiss me before I wake!
168
AMID CHANGE, UNCHANGING.
The Poet singeth like the bird that sitteth by the rose,
While dews are chill, and on the hill the first faint sunbeam glows;
While through the buds' thick-folded green the first red rose-streak shows,
Sing, Poet, sing of Hope and Spring,
Still sing beside thy rose!
While dews are chill, and on the hill the first faint sunbeam glows;
While through the buds' thick-folded green the first red rose-streak shows,
Sing, Poet, sing of Hope and Spring,
Still sing beside thy rose!
The Poet singeth like the bird that sitteth by the rose,
While on the golden summer noon her golden heart o'erflows;
And now she waxeth red, now pale, yet ever is the rose,
Sing, Poet, sooth of love and youth,
Still sing beside thy rose!
While on the golden summer noon her golden heart o'erflows;
And now she waxeth red, now pale, yet ever is the rose,
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Still sing beside thy rose!
The Poet singeth like the bird that sitteth by the rose,
When from the drooping stalk her brief sweet glory earthward goes,
And the red is kindling on the leaf that fadeth from the rose,
Sing, Poet, sing, remembering,
Still sing beside thy rose!
When from the drooping stalk her brief sweet glory earthward goes,
And the red is kindling on the leaf that fadeth from the rose,
Sing, Poet, sing, remembering,
Still sing beside thy rose!
170
ONE FLOWER.
“Farewell, my flowers,” I said,The sweet Rose as I passed
Blushed to its core, its last
Warm tear the Lily shed,
The Violet hid its head
Among its leaves, and sighed.
“Oh thou, my flower, my pride,
Sweet Summer's sweetest bride,
The rest are fair, but dear
Art thou, hast thou no tear,
What givest thou?” “The whole,”
The glowing Pink replied,
“Blush, tear, and smile, and sigh I gave
In giving thee my soul.”
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Hath breathed in thee her sigh,
Hath wooed thee from the South,
With kisses of her mouth;
Hath wooed thee from the West,
Hath blest thee with the best
Warm blessings of the sun;
And yet a heavy dower
Is thine, my joy, my flower,
Thy soul hath burst its sheath,
Oh, is it love or death,
Sweet flower, that thou hast won?
Oh, is it love or death
That breathes from this thy breath,
That kindles in thine eye?”
Then won I for reply,
“I have made sweet mine hour;
As dies the flower, I die,
I lived as lives the flower.”
172
A SCHERZO.
With the wasp at the innermost heart of a peach,On a sunny wall out of tip-toe reach,
With the trout in the darkest summer pool,
With the fern-seed clinging behind its cool
Smooth frond, in the chink of an aged tree,
In the woodbine's horn with the drunken bee,
With the mouse in its nest in a furrow old,
With the chrysalis wrapt in its gauzy fold;
With things that are hidden, and safe, and bold,
With things that are timid, and shy, and free,
Wishing to be;
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With the corn as it sprouts in the kindly clod,
Far down where the secret of beauty shows
In the bulb of the tulip, before it blows;
With things that are rooted, and firm, and deep,
Quiet to lie, and dreamless to sleep;
With things that are chainless, and tameless, and proud,
With the fire in the jagged thunder-cloud,
With the wind in its sleep, with the wind in its waking,
With the drops that go to the rainbow's making,
Wishing to be with the light leaves shaking,
Or stones on some desolate highway breaking;
Far up on the hills, where no foot surprises
The dew as it falls, or the dust as it rises;
To be couched with the beast in its torrid lair,
Or drifting on ice with the polar bear,
With the weaver at work at his quiet loom;
Anywhere, anywhere, out of this room!
174
RAPTURE.
Light at the full of the harvest moon,Heart of the rose in the heart of June,
Song of the bird when its song takes wing,
Breath of the blossomed furze in spring,
Kiss of the angel that comes when dreams
Are more sweet than all sweetness that is or seems,
Fire in the cloud of the opal burning,
Fall of a footstep at eve returning,
Clasp of a hand that thrills to the soul,
Bliss of a spirit that wins its goal!
175
A SONG.
[A little cloud that hung, my love]
A little cloud that hung, my love,So low 'twixt earth and sky,
Too sad it seemed for earth, from Heaven
Afar, yet ever nigh;
And oft it longed on Earth's warm breast
To fall in kindly rain,
And oft, on morn or evening's crest
To leave a crimson stain;
Yet fell not, rose not, till a bright,
Keen arrow pierced it through,
All fleecy thin, all milky white,
All golden clear it grew;
What could it do but fade, my love,
And melt into the blue?
176
Beside the water's edge,
And shook a music unforbid
From out the withered sedge,
And whistled o'er the dreary moor,
And round the barren hill,
And sighed at many a fastened door
And darkened window-sill,
And through the forest whirled and swept,
When leaves fall wearily,
And o'er the lake's cold bosom crept,
And moaned beside the sea,
Until between the sea and sky
It found a quiet cave,
All lined with mosses soft and dry,
Afar it heard the sea-bird's cry,
Afar the restless wave;
What could it do but die, my love?
What could it do but die?
177
THE BRIDGE.
NOON.
We lingered on the rustic bridge,
We saw the pebbles in the stream
Below us, clear in amber light
Of noonday, flash and gleam;
Afar, the yellow flag-flowers caught
A glory from the flitting beam,
And all was still and fair, methought,
And golden as a dream.
We saw the pebbles in the stream
Below us, clear in amber light
Of noonday, flash and gleam;
Afar, the yellow flag-flowers caught
A glory from the flitting beam,
And all was still and fair, methought,
And golden as a dream.
Oh, might this hour not pass away!
Oh, were it given to us, not lent!
And might we, framed within it, stay,
A breathing picture of content!
And hear the babbling waters run,
And hear the distant stock-dove coo,
And dream that in the world were none
But only I and you!
Oh, were it given to us, not lent!
178
A breathing picture of content!
And hear the babbling waters run,
And hear the distant stock-dove coo,
And dream that in the world were none
But only I and you!
179
A PICTURE.
It was in autumn that I met
Her whom I love; the sunflowers bold
Stood up like guards around her set,
And all the air with mignonette
Was warm within the garden old;
Beside her feet the marigold
Glowed star-like, and the sweet-pea sent
A sigh to follow as she went
Slowly adown the terrace;—there
I saw thee, oh my love! and thou wert fair.
Her whom I love; the sunflowers bold
Stood up like guards around her set,
And all the air with mignonette
Was warm within the garden old;
Beside her feet the marigold
Glowed star-like, and the sweet-pea sent
A sigh to follow as she went
Slowly adown the terrace;—there
I saw thee, oh my love! and thou wert fair.
She stood in the full noonday, unafraid,
As one beloved of sunlight; for awhile
She leant upon the timeworn balustrade;
The white clematis wooed her, and the clove
Hung all its burning heart upon her smile;
And on her cheek and in her eyes was love;
And on her lips that, like an opening rose,
Seemed parting some sweet secret to disclose,
The soul of all the summer lingered;—there
I saw thee, oh my love! and thou wert fair.
As one beloved of sunlight; for awhile
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The white clematis wooed her, and the clove
Hung all its burning heart upon her smile;
And on her cheek and in her eyes was love;
And on her lips that, like an opening rose,
Seemed parting some sweet secret to disclose,
The soul of all the summer lingered;—there
I saw thee, oh my love! and thou wert fair.
181
THE SONG OF THE TROUBADOUR
PIERRE RAYMOND DE TOULOUSE.
“Vergiers, ni flor, ni pratz,
No m'an fait cantador,
Mas per vos cui ador
Domna, m'sui alegratz.”
No m'an fait cantador,
Mas per vos cui ador
Domna, m'sui alegratz.”
I know the woods in spring, I know
The voices of the breeze and brook;
I know the little flowers that look
With starry eyes upturned, and grow
Through all the rapture that the bird
Flings down, with quiet hearts unstirred;
The joy above, the calm below,
The thrill that passes, and the slow,
Sweet stealing silence, these I know.
The voices of the breeze and brook;
I know the little flowers that look
With starry eyes upturned, and grow
Through all the rapture that the bird
Flings down, with quiet hearts unstirred;
The joy above, the calm below,
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Sweet stealing silence, these I know.
Yet more than these I know; the light
Upon the passing moment thrown,
That weights its bliss, yet wings its flight;
The look that makes two hearts alone,
Two spirits to each other known,
And all the world's wide clamour thrown
Afar, afar! Yes! all that dies
And lives 'twixt loving lips and eyes
Is known to me! and would ye deem
I caught this music from the stream?
Upon the passing moment thrown,
That weights its bliss, yet wings its flight;
The look that makes two hearts alone,
Two spirits to each other known,
And all the world's wide clamour thrown
Afar, afar! Yes! all that dies
And lives 'twixt loving lips and eyes
Is known to me! and would ye deem
I caught this music from the stream?
Ye say my song is sweet; I know
My song is sweet! Ye call me proud,
A careless-hearted singer, slow
To gather praises from the crowd.
Yet praise me if ye will! in cold
Set phrase, with others standing by.
With gracious smile and voice unmoved,
One told me once that she approved
The strain I sang; my looks were shy,
But from that hour my song grew bold;
I saw her blush, I heard her sigh;
Enough, enough, if so approved!
My song is sweet! Ye call me proud,
A careless-hearted singer, slow
To gather praises from the crowd.
Yet praise me if ye will! in cold
Set phrase, with others standing by.
With gracious smile and voice unmoved,
One told me once that she approved
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But from that hour my song grew bold;
I saw her blush, I heard her sigh;
Enough, enough, if so approved!
Oh! softly as she spoke that word,
What songs it woke within my breast!
As when a warm wind from the west
Shakes all the summer thicket stirred
With breezy rapture and unrest:
Of all that gives delight I sing,
Of all that lightly comes and goes
In bud and bloom and withering
Of last year's flowers, of last year's snows;
Of many a pleasant tale outworn
I sing! of forest alleys green,
And lovers underneath the thorn
That met; of many a maid forlorn,
And robber fierce, and wandering queen;
Of knights upon a glorious quest,
And lovely ladies, long ago
Of each bold heart beloved the best,
And near the hearts that loved them, low
Long laid and lapped in quiet rest;
I sing of banner and of crest,
Of lifted lance, of ringing shield;
I sing the tourney's mimic field,
In crowded lists the shock, the stir,
I sing of her, I sing of her!
What songs it woke within my breast!
As when a warm wind from the west
Shakes all the summer thicket stirred
With breezy rapture and unrest:
Of all that gives delight I sing,
Of all that lightly comes and goes
In bud and bloom and withering
Of last year's flowers, of last year's snows;
Of many a pleasant tale outworn
I sing! of forest alleys green,
And lovers underneath the thorn
That met; of many a maid forlorn,
And robber fierce, and wandering queen;
Of knights upon a glorious quest,
And lovely ladies, long ago
Of each bold heart beloved the best,
And near the hearts that loved them, low
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I sing of banner and of crest,
Of lifted lance, of ringing shield;
I sing the tourney's mimic field,
In crowded lists the shock, the stir,
I sing of her, I sing of her!
And if she loves me for my songs,
Or if she loves my songs for me,
I ask not! idle question wrongs
Love's soul, from such vain surmise free.
If first the Bulbul sings, who knows,
Or first unfolds the crimson rose?
The sweet bird sings, the sweet flower blows.
She loves, she loves my songs and me!
Or if she loves my songs for me,
I ask not! idle question wrongs
Love's soul, from such vain surmise free.
If first the Bulbul sings, who knows,
Or first unfolds the crimson rose?
The sweet bird sings, the sweet flower blows.
She loves, she loves my songs and me!
| Poems (1867) | |