 | Mrs. Helen Jackson ("H.H.") |  |
THE LAST POEMS OF HELEN JACKSON (H. H.).
ACQUAINTED WITH GRIEF.
DOST know Grief well? Hast known her long?So long, that not with gift or smile,
Or gliding footstep in the throng,
She can deceive thee by her guile?
So long, that with unflinching eyes
Thou smilest to thyself apart,
To watch each flimsy, fresh disguise
She plans to stab anew thy heart?
Thou smilest to thyself apart,
To watch each flimsy, fresh disguise
She plans to stab anew thy heart?
So long, thou barrest up no door
To stay the coming of her feet?
So long, thou answerest no more,
Lest in her ear thy cry be sweet?
To stay the coming of her feet?
So long, thou answerest no more,
Lest in her ear thy cry be sweet?
Dost know the voice in which she says,
"No more henceforth our paths divide;
In loneliest nights, in crowded days,
I am forever by thy side"?
"No more henceforth our paths divide;
In loneliest nights, in crowded days,
I am forever by thy side"?
Then dost thou know, perchance, the spell
The gods laid on her at her birth, —
The viewless gods who mingle well
Strange love and hate of us on earth.
The gods laid on her at her birth, —
The viewless gods who mingle well
Strange love and hate of us on earth.
Weapon and time, the hour, the place,
All these are hers to take, to choose,
To give us neither rest nor grace,
Not one heart-throb to miss or lose.
All these are hers to take, to choose,
To give us neither rest nor grace,
Not one heart-throb to miss or lose.
All these are hers; yet stands she, slave,
Helpless before our one behest:
The gods, that we be shamed not, gave,
And locked the secret in our breast.
Helpless before our one behest:
The gods, that we be shamed not, gave,
And locked the secret in our breast.
She to the gazing world must bear
Our crowns of triumph, if we bid;
Loyal and mute, our colors wear,
Sign of her own forever hid.
Our crowns of triumph, if we bid;
Loyal and mute, our colors wear,
Sign of her own forever hid.
Smile to our smile, song to our song,
With songs and smiles our roses fling,
Till men turn round in every throng,
To note such joyous pleasuring,
With songs and smiles our roses fling,
Till men turn round in every throng,
To note such joyous pleasuring,
And ask, next morn, with eyes that lend
A fervor to the words they say,
"What is her name, that radiant friend
Who walked beside you yesterday?"
A fervor to the words they say,
"What is her name, that radiant friend
Who walked beside you yesterday?"
July 1st.
FEALTY.
THE thing I count and hold as fealty,The only fealty to give or take,
Doth never reckoning keep, and coldly make
Bond to itself with this or that to be
Content as wage; the wage unpaid, to free
Its hand from service, and its love forsake,
Its faith cast off, as one from dreams might wake
At morn, and smiling watch the vision flee.
Such fealty is treason in disguise.
Who trusts it, his death-warrant sealed doth bear.
Love looks at it with angry, wondering eyes;
Love knows the face true fealty doth wear,
The pulse that beats unchanged by alien air,
Or hurts, or crimes, until the loved one dies.
VISION.
BY subtile secrets of discovered law
Men well have measured the horizon's round,
Kept record of the speed of light and sound,
Have close defined by reasoning without flaw
The utmost human vision ever saw
Unaided, and have arrant sought and found
Devices countless to extend its bound.
Bootless their secrets all! My eyes but stray
To eastward, and majestic, bright, arise
Peaks of a range which three days distant lies!
And of the faces, too, that light my day
Most clear, one is a continent away,
The other shines above the farthest skies!
THE POET'S FORGE.
HE lies on his back, the idling smith,A lazy, dreaming fellow is he;
The sky is blue, or the sky is gray,
He lies on his back the livelong day;
Not a tool in sight; say what they may,
A curious sort of a smith is he.
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The powers of the air are in league with him;
The country around believes it well;
The wondering folk draw spying near;
Never sight nor sound do they see or hear;
No wonder they feel a little fear;
When is it his work is done so well?
The country around believes it well;
The wondering folk draw spying near;
Never sight nor sound do they see or hear;
No wonder they feel a little fear;
When is it his work is done so well?
Never sight nor sound to see or hear;
The powers of the air are in league with him;
High over his head his metals swing,
Fine gold and silver to shame the king;
We might distinguish their glittering,
If once we could get in league with him.
The powers of the air are in league with him;
High over his head his metals swing,
Fine gold and silver to shame the king;
We might distinguish their glittering,
If once we could get in league with him.
High over his head his metals swing;
He hammers them idly year by year,
Hammers and chuckles a low refrain:
"A bench and book are a ball and chain,
The adze is better tool than the plane;
What's the odds between now and next year!"
He hammers them idly year by year,
Hammers and chuckles a low refrain:
"A bench and book are a ball and chain,
The adze is better tool than the plane;
What's the odds between now and next year!"
Hammers and chuckles his low refrain,
A lazy, dreaming fellow is he:
When sudden, some day, his bells peal out,
And men, at the sound, for gladness shout;
He laughs and asks what it's all about;
Oh, a curious sort of smith is he!
A lazy, dreaming fellow is he:
When sudden, some day, his bells peal out,
And men, at the sound, for gladness shout;
He laughs and asks what it's all about;
Oh, a curious sort of smith is he!
July 12th.
VANITY OF VANITIES.
BEE to the blossom, moth to the flame;Each to his passion; what's in a name!
Red clover's sweetest, well the bee knows;
No bee can suck it; lonely it blows.
No bee can suck it; lonely it blows.
Deep lies its honey, out of reach, deep;
What use in honey hidden to keep?
What use in honey hidden to keep?
Robbed in the autumn, starving for bread;
Who stops to pity a honey-bee dead?
Who stops to pity a honey-bee dead?
Star-flames are brightest, blazing the skies;
Only a hand's breadth the moth-wing flies.
Only a hand's breadth the moth-wing flies.
Fooled with a candle, scorched with a breath;
Poor little miller, a tawdry death!
Poor little miller, a tawdry death!
Life is a honey, life is a flame;
Each to his passion; what's in a name?
Each to his passion; what's in a name?
Swinging and circling, face to the sun,
Brief little planet, how it doth run!
Brief little planet, how it doth run!
Bee-time and moth-time, add the amount;
White heat and honey, who keeps the count?
White heat and honey, who keeps the count?
Gone some fine evening, a spark out-tost!
The world no darker for one star lost!
The world no darker for one star lost!
Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame;
Each to his passion; what's in a name?
Each to his passion; what's in a name?
HABEAS CORPUS.
MY body, eh? Friend Death, how now?Why all this tedious pomp of writ?
Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow
For half a century, bit by bit.
In faith thou knowest more to-day
Than I do where it can be found!
This shriveled lump of suffering clay,
To which I now am chained and bound,
Than I do where it can be found!
This shriveled lump of suffering clay,
To which I now am chained and bound,
Has not of kith or kin a trace
To the good body once I bore;
Look at this shrunken, ghastly face:
Didst ever see that face before?
To the good body once I bore;
Look at this shrunken, ghastly face:
Didst ever see that face before?
Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art;
Thy only fault thy lagging gait,
Mistaken pity in thy heart
For timorous ones that bid thee wait.
Thy only fault thy lagging gait,
Mistaken pity in thy heart
For timorous ones that bid thee wait.
Do quickly all thou hast to do,
Nor I nor mine will hindrance make;
I shall be free when thou art through;
I grudge thee nought that thou must take!
Nor I nor mine will hindrance make;
I shall be free when thou art through;
I grudge thee nought that thou must take!
Stay! I have lied; I grudge thee one,
Yes, two I grudge thee at this last, —
Two members which have faithful done
My will and bidding in the past.
Yes, two I grudge thee at this last, —
Two members which have faithful done
My will and bidding in the past.
I grudge thee this right hand of mine,
I grudge thee this quick-beating heart;
They never gave me coward sign,
Nor played me once a traitor's part.
I grudge thee this quick-beating heart;
They never gave me coward sign,
Nor played me once a traitor's part.
I see now why in olden days
Men in barbaric love or hate
Nailed enemies' hands at wild crossways,
Shrined leaders' hearts in costly state:
Men in barbaric love or hate
Nailed enemies' hands at wild crossways,
Shrined leaders' hearts in costly state:
The symbol, sign, and instrument
Of each soul's purpose, passion, strife,
Of fires in which are poured and spent
Their all of love, their all of life.
Of each soul's purpose, passion, strife,
Of fires in which are poured and spent
Their all of love, their all of life.
O feeble, mighty human hand!
O fragile, dauntless human heart!
The universe holds nothing planned
With such sublime, transcendent art!
O fragile, dauntless human heart!
The universe holds nothing planned
With such sublime, transcendent art!
Yes, Death, I own I grudge thee mine
Poor little hand, so feeble now;
Its wrinkled palm, its altered line,
Its veins so pallid and so slow —
Poor little hand, so feeble now;
Its wrinkled palm, its altered line,
Its veins so pallid and so slow —
. . . (Unfinished here.)
Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art;
I shall be free when thou art through.
Take all there is — take hand and heart;
There must be somewhere work to do.
I shall be free when thou art through.
Take all there is — take hand and heart;
There must be somewhere work to do.
August 7th.
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A LAST PRAYER.
FATHER, I scarcely dare to pray,So clear I see, now it is done,
That I have wasted half my day,
And left my work but just begun;
So clear I see that things I thought
Were right or harmless were a sin;
So clear I see that I have sought,
Unconscious, selfish aims to win;
Were right or harmless were a sin;
So clear I see that I have sought,
Unconscious, selfish aims to win;
So clear I see that I have hurt
The souls I might have helped to save,
That I have slothful been, inert,
Deaf to the calls thy leaders gave.
The souls I might have helped to save,
That I have slothful been, inert,
Deaf to the calls thy leaders gave.
In outskirts of thy kingdoms vast,
Father, the humblest spot give me;
Set me the lowliest task thou hast,
Let me repentant work for thee!
Father, the humblest spot give me;
Set me the lowliest task thou hast,
Let me repentant work for thee!
August 8th.
| Mrs. Helen Jackson ("H.H.") | |