35 23 
 
 ACHIEVEMENT: POEMS 
 
 BY 
 SAMUEL JAMES LEWIS 
 and HERBERT H. C. EVERETT 
 
ACHIEVEMENT 
 
 A BOOK OF POEMS 
 
 ...BY... 
 
 SAMUEL JAMES LEWIS 
 
 and 
 
 HERBERT H. C. EVERETT. 
 ■ 
 
 Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, 
 And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song. — Keats. 
 
 New York. 
 
 The Titmarsh Club, 
 
 1899. 
 

 38878 
 
 Copyright 1899 
 By S. J. L. and H. H. C. E. 
 
 In the United States and Great Britain. 
 
 tfit' a ^w*' •,. 
 
 .uivtiw. 
 
 «£* 
 
 This Edition is of one hundred copies. 
 
 
H. H. C. E. 
 
 to 
 P. M. M. F. 
 
 S. J. L. 
 
 to 
 J. S. P. 
 
Faith. 
 
 Love, you say that faith is brittle, 
 And that yours is wearing thin ; 
 
 And you think I love too little, 
 That I live a secret sin ? 
 
 O, I love you more than ever, — 
 Still, despite my heart's command, 
 
 You and I, my wife, may sever, — 
 We cannot all understand. 
 
 But remember you once told me 
 That true love is faith, — O love, 
 
 Let your faith return, enfold me 
 For our little one above. 
 
Alone. 
 
 I wait upon thy call, alone, alone, 
 My Sweetheart, now that thou art gone ! 
 Nay, not again your passionate caress 
 May teach me of the light of life 
 For now thy memory is my life. 
 The memory of that kiss, 
 That last sweet touch of thee — 
 It plays about my lips 
 A taste that lingers thro' the gall of now. 
 And O, your voice, that farewell at the gate— 
 We did not know, my Sweet, 'twould be the 
 
 last— 
 With all the garden bowing low to you, 
 The last sweet music that is gone. 
 Now all is discord, all is tears. 
 Do you remember in the garden that good-night ? 
 I turned about, as down the stony road 
 I meditated on my homeward steps 
 Tears swelling thro' my love and joy, 
 For you had told me that our love was one ; 
 I asked my God what I had done thus to be 
 
 given 
 Such innocence to mar as thine, 
 
Mar with my manhood's strength 
 
 A flower so delicate that only love 
 
 Of angels should enfold it. 
 
 God heard me then and pondered on my thought, 
 
 Believed me right, and took thee to himself. — 
 
 But 0, 'tis hard, my God, 'tis hard ! 
 
 Yea, I may now mourn o'er thy mound 
 That lies midst the eternal colony of men, 
 Beneath a stone, and near the stream 
 That ever sings the dirge for all who rest there. 
 And kneeling on the slab 
 I shall be with you and shall plant 
 A red, red rose upon your head, and ev'ry ev'n 
 At dusk shall kiss its petals — they will be your 
 
 lips, 
 Your lips in death — and you shall talk, my Sweet, 
 The soft tones heard to none but me. 
 Then you shall teach me all the ways 
 Of Heaven, so that I may fit myself 
 To join you ; and when God has seen 
 That I am purged of earth, 
 He will release me, free me from the chains, 
 And I shall lie 
 Beside you in the church yard near the stream. 
 
Gone, gone ! 
 Can I believe it ? But I must, I must : 
 God takes the pure and leaves the ill to cleanse — 
 I shall be clean, soon, Sweetheart, soon, 
 Then we may merge our spirits into one, 
 And thou shalt sing the holy song of love 
 Amid the angels, as you did of yore 
 When the bright sunlight romped about your 
 
 head, 
 And honeysuckle loved to bend back from the 
 
 porch 
 Above you, listening, to drop down a kiss, 
 The essence of its sweetness, in a pearl. 
 And you would laugh, O, such a happy laugh 
 When I walked thro' the dusk beneath the trees 
 Up to the gate, and leap into my arms ; 
 And I atremble feared to touch your lips 
 Till you would pout me to it, 
 And then the world would fade, and only thou 
 
 wert there. 
 But thou art gone, my love ! — then pray thy God 
 That I may wait not long ; not long 
 The tides of being in me ebb ; 
 And that soon may I join thee with the dead, 
 Beside thee in the church yard near the stream, 
 And with thy spirit in Heaven, 
 For, Sweet, I am alone, alone. 
 
Autumn's Flight 
 
 Keener odours linger now 
 Upon the laden apple-bough 
 Than when in summer's sunny prime 
 The pink and white of flower- time 
 Arrayed the tree in fragile glory : 
 Ended is the summer-story. 
 For with fulfillment of the year 
 Departing Autumn seems to hear 
 Thro' the darkening forest old, 
 In the night- wind blowing cold, 
 Sighing in the tree-tops sear, 
 Moaning o'er the meadows drear, 
 Sounds, her hour of parting knelling, 
 Dimly mutt'ring, ever swelling ; 
 Sounds that herald Winter's coming : 
 Reed-birds in the marshes drumming, 
 Twitt'ring swallows southward flying, 
 Brooks in murmurs dying. 
 
 Faded now are summer flowers, 
 Swifter move the ripening hours, 
 
And new harmonies arise 
 
 In the woodland fanes ; 
 Broad-arch'd with sunset-radiant skies, 
 
 Cleansed by summer rains ; 
 And reaping-hook and sickle swing, 
 Blithe maidens songs of harvest sing, 
 And their sweet joyous melodies 
 (Such songs as youthful laughter fills) 
 Clear-borne upon the hearty breeze 
 Deep among the darkening hills 
 Die away in failing echoes ; 
 One parting glance she backward throws, 
 A moment hovers on her wings : 
 Then, as the wakening wind down-flings 
 Dead leaf and wither'd rose, 
 Rich Autumn whispers her farewell ; 
 And like the tones of some sweet bell 
 Faint-flung from hoary mountain-side 
 
 O'er a peaceful river, 
 As echoes into silence glide, 
 
 Dies away forever. 
 
The Vision, 
 
 The snow was falling thick and deep, 
 The wide street pillowed in white sleep, 
 When thro' the silent night there came 
 A hurrying form that stopped my breathing 
 still ; 
 So like it was to thine, thy name 
 Slid forth against my will. 
 
 Away fled thought of injury, 
 My eager face leaned forth to thee 
 With breathless trembling, and my heart 
 Rushed to the lips and eyes with blinding tears; 
 A word, a look-and far apart 
 We were, despair knelled in my ears. 
 
It was not thou ; and since come fast 
 And crowding, memories of the past : 
 Aloft with thee I seem to float, 
 Thy hand in mine, thy breast stirred with my 
 
 The choking tears come in my throat, 
 A crimson mist before my eyes. 
 
 And in my dreams I rise, start up, 
 Stretch forth my hands to drain the cup 
 Thy hands hold out, and wake to cry 
 Upon thy name, and hunger for the peace 
 Of silence for my agony 
 And pray for swift release. 
 
 Ah ! when shall after weary days, 
 And drudging thro' long bitter ways, 
 Thine eyes again shine full in mine, 
 Thine arms again lock round me shy yet free ? 
 When taste again thy lips new wine, 
 When com'st thou back to me ? 
 
Christmas Day* 
 
 Tis not the day, but 'tis the custom of it, 
 Because it swings around each year 
 
 A pendulum of joy, that we must love it 
 And touch it on in its career. 
 
 And this grand, ancient clock of Christmas 
 tide 
 
 Was wound by faith of long ago, 
 That yet will wind while hearts in joy abide, 
 
 In what faith teaches them to know. 
 
 Hark to the strokes that come in cheery 
 chime 
 
 Bringing the heart an old refrain, 
 Still gifting faith with an old, humble rhyme 
 
 That echoes yet again, again ! 
 
Illusion. 
 
 Her voice was used to sing to me, 
 Like low-heard laughter ring to me, 
 As tho' from far-off hill-tops sang 
 Sweet flights of chimes with anthems clear, 
 
 And thro' long sloping woodlands rang, 
 Before the notes came to my ear. 
 
 But now her voice for ages long 
 Is hushed to me, and still' d her song ; 
 The thin-worn memory of it even 
 Is slipping from me, so that I 
 
 As tho' a cry were still'd in heaven, 
 Hear but lost echoes of a sigh. 
 
 Yet whiles, at blessed times, methinks 
 
 Good spirits hear me, and there sinks 
 
 Upon me peace, so that I wait, 
 
 Listening with attention strained, 
 
 A beggar kneeling at the gate 
 Of Hope, that sees my wish attained. 
 
For as I listen thus, the air 
 Grows fresher, and the earth more fair ; 
 The sighing swells, and down the wind 
 From far unearthly bournes where she 
 
 Pines out her eyes (I wept mine blind) , 
 Come words of comfort down to me. 
 
 And thro' the valley floats her voice 
 To bid her lover's heart rejoice ; 
 Freshly bubbling laughter wells 
 Like hidden water, and her art 
 
 Pours ghostly music thro' the dells 
 And fills with singing my poor heart. 
 
 11 
 
Life. 
 
 I come from the dark and struggling lie 
 
 In the cool of a Spring-like age, 
 In the lap of the soft caressing eye 
 
 Of a mother's heritage. 
 
 I out-grow the garment of Spring-time fast, 
 
 And dash on a panting race, 
 But Summer-heat covers me over at last, 
 
 And I cannot keep the pace. 
 
 My life grows ripe on the Autumn wing, 
 
 For I tuned my heart to Joy's ; 
 The harvested leaves become buds of the Spring, 
 
 But the ghost of the Winter annoys. 
 
 I sit by the grate of a Winter fire, 
 And soothe my soul with the flame ; 
 
 I see in the glow my funeral pyre — 
 For soon I shall go whence I came. 
 
 12 
 
Evening* 
 
 Rose-red flushes up the western sky 
 
 And lightly the first chill of night 
 Strides o'er the meadow, and the earth-sounds 
 die 
 Slowly away, and grows the white-faced 
 moon 
 Half-hesitant, yet deepening with light 
 That will be silver soon. 
 
 The stars flock fast from corners of the hills 
 
 Arrayed in vapour-stuffs, and gems 
 Of star-dust faint and pale, and slowly fills 
 A silent host the cope majestical ; 
 
 Crowning their brows are shining diadems, 
 And bright to lead them all 
 
 Hesperus, Prince, comes forth: now shadows 
 close 
 Gradually about ; the dark 
 Will soon be on ; oh, that the night repose, 
 The utter, very night of silence deep, 
 
 Would fold me close about, as in an ark 
 Of rest, that I might sleep. 
 
 13 
 
That I might sleep forever, and the tears 
 
 That spring for bitter want and wrong 
 Be dried, and ever-new returning years 
 Should with their varied harmonies give me 
 peace ; 
 Sweet is the slumber, sweet and sound and 
 long 
 That sets the soul release. 
 
 The skies their evening labour have achieved, 
 
 The star-batallions of the night 
 Have filled their ranks, as when there once con- 
 ceived 
 In Bethlehem a woman, and abroad 
 
 Annunciation flamed with song, and sight 
 Of angels sent of God. 
 
 And He, that to the wounded gives surcease, 
 
 This hour on land and water broods, 
 And all earth's things await the word of peace, 
 For over seas and forests, in dead reeds, 
 Pipe but the Master's tunes, move but His 
 moods ; 
 He hears me and He heeds. 
 
 14 
 
Hope. 
 
 She was one of the flowers of love, 
 
 Delicate, lily fair ; 
 Soft as the breast of a dove 
 
 And golden, her hair. 
 
 But drooping and dropping and past, 
 With the leaving of Summer's rose, 
 
 Her life fell away and at last 
 Was laid to repose. 
 
 When the flowers once more came by, 
 Remembrance sweetened my pain, 
 
 And I saw in their coming that I 
 Would see her again. 
 
 15 
 
Sonnet — Welcome. 
 
 I bid thee welcome, welcome to my arms ; 
 
 My heart leans toward thee, tender one of 
 light, 
 Yet would I doubly welcome all thy charms 
 
 Could I but name thee what I haply might, 
 But that the lurking dangers of this life 
 
 Bid me refrain. I love and wait ; in bliss 
 Of tender paining hope my world-borne strife 
 
 Is half-way healed by this embracing kiss ; 
 But not in full till I may sip thy lips 
 
 In unrestraining joy, and in thine ear 
 Whisper, my Love, to thee of the eclipse 
 
 Of the frail world's gaudy and bright career, 
 As I read in those steady eyes of thine 
 That some day I may call thee wife and mine. 
 
 16 
 
Sonnet — To P. 
 
 Hast thou, my Love, the aching in thy breast 
 I have in mine ? It is a yearning pain 
 Of passion when my heart to thine is lain— 
 
 An ache which thy soft surgery can arrest 
 
 When I may taste thy ripened sweets, caressed 
 With love-light, when we are no longer twain, 
 And love speaks silently that love shall reign 
 
 The ruler of the kingdom of the blest. 
 
 0, Love, I feel that lingering throb to bring 
 Thee toward me closer; thou art pressed to me 
 By that close folding love to which time 
 bears 
 No dread of tears or ache ; my heart will cling 
 Thro' woe and joy in love I hold to thee— 
 A love which falters not nor which time 
 wears. 
 
 17 
 
Sonnet — The Language of Her Eyes* 
 
 Her heart is coloured with her love's desire, 
 
 Till rosy radiance rises to her lips 
 And fills her with an all-consuming fire 
 
 That burns upon her cheek and sweetly slips 
 Into her words — words flushing from her heart 
 
 Like flowers from Nature's fulsome summer 
 sent 
 In floods of radiance ; words that are but part 
 
 Of that soft tongue of love's abandonment. 
 
 And yet she speaks not with her tongue; her 
 voice 
 Is in her eyes, and all their eloquence 
 Of mute tones stirs her cheek to glow, rejoice, 
 
 Her lids to fall in maiden innocence : 
 The tongue may warp the truth, but from the 
 
 eye 
 The heart's own throbbing bursts, and may not 
 lie. 
 
 18 
 
Sonnet — Danae. 
 
 My Love, the fairest of the fold of few, 
 
 Gives up her beauty of both heart and cheek 
 To love's abandon, and yet ever new 
 
 Are all the treasures that our love may seek ; 
 The precious treasury of her rarest gift 
 
 Is open ever to our love's each need, 
 And still by some unfathomable thrift 
 
 Is filled again to overflowing meed : 
 For loving is an act of sacred cause 
 
 That may not be a niggard of its hoard, 
 'Tis governed by ungovernable laws 
 
 That are the measure that it can afford : 
 Use makes not love grow weak, but passing time 
 Steadies the fitful furnace of love's prime. 
 
 19 
 
Passing. 
 
 The eyes of our Mother close slowly, 
 But glaze and are dead at last, 
 
 And the part that was earth lies lowly, 
 And a part to God hath passed. 
 
 But because we were made other blood, 
 And born into life thro' her pains, 
 
 Of the best of her, most that is good 
 On earth with her children remains. 
 
 And the light that we do inherit 
 In trust for the unborn ones, 
 
 Is a spark struck off from her spirit 
 To kindle the lamps of our sons. 
 
 20 
 
Requiem, 
 
 O'er them the stars their vigils keep 
 And on their grave, where laurel wreathes, 
 
 Soft shadows fall, and o'er their sleep 
 Eternal music breathes. 
 
 A silver bark in heavenly seas 
 The moon in evening glory rides ; 
 
 While deep amid the forest trees 
 A guardian spirit hides ; 
 
 And echo moans from distant leas, 
 And o'er their mould, forever blest, 
 
 Autumnal winds sigh harmonies 
 In hymnal for their rest. 
 
 21 
 
Forgotten. 
 
 Forgot me, my Love, for another ? — 
 Well, I only am overcast, 
 
 I know what the heart cannot smother, 
 The sting on the pride may last, 
 But loving in me is now past. 
 
 I lived in a country of dreams, Love, 
 'Twas a kingdom well fitted to own, 
 
 But I've gone to a place that seems, love, 
 With no queen upon its throne, 
 A phantom of all I have known. 
 
 Forgot me, my Love ?— Well, no matter, 
 For the secret shall rest with me ; 
 
 'Tis I, only I, who now shatter 
 The image I made of thee— 
 And your martyrdom sets you free. 
 
 22 
 
Forget me, my Love, for I left you, 
 And let pass why I went, forget ; 
 
 For your own sake think I bereft you, 
 And then with your eyelids wet 
 Erase the moment we met. 
 
 Forget me in what is your new love, 
 
 Aye,bind him with bonds that were mine, 
 
 And may he be always your true love, 
 A heart filled up with the wine 
 Of a love new pressed from the vine. 
 
 23 
 
The Night-Watch. 
 
 The moon shines down on her sleep, 
 And with broken silver paves 
 A path in the lapping waves ; 
 
 And the ocean-sprites sing deep 
 
 And sweet in their distant caves. 
 
 Lightly my loved one stirs, 
 
 And about the wind-sprites veer, 
 To chase away the fear, 
 
 And strew her couch with myrrhs, 
 Rare odours and balsams clear. 
 
 And the far-away low-hung star 
 Set in the sky's rent veil, 
 Shimmers in splendour pale, 
 
 To beacon us home from afar 
 
 And guide our wandering sail. 
 
 24 
 
The Poppy. 
 
 Ah ! new, still ever new, still ever fair 
 The face of beauty smiled upon the Earth 
 In Summer's majesty, and soil o'er flowed 
 In full maturity. 'Twas then I saw 
 The languorous poppies nodding, deeply pinned 
 In the soft golden hair of Earth, which, combed 
 By the incessant winds, was looped in braids 
 And lustrous woofs of red. Their brilliant hue 
 Reflected on the light of day the darts 
 Of heart-impassioned beauty. Flushing deep — 
 Dressed in the warmth of love— allurements 
 
 shone 
 In each fold of their mantles ; ev'n the seed 
 That sleeping lay upon their bosoms breathed 
 Forth languorous love, not spirit love, 
 But in a deep desire that was unspoken 
 Yet carried in a mist of unheard throats. 
 And with the Earth who raised her summer face 
 And drew to her soft-heaving bosom veiled 
 With curls, the brightness of the Sun, they spoke 
 In pleading eloquence: "0, Mother Earth, 
 I know thy power, I feel it in my veins ! 
 
 25 
 
Have mercy, thou who step'st so noiselessly 
 Into the chariot day, and mercury-winged 
 Thro' sunlight flashest, soon to reach the House 
 Of Night where slumber patiently awaits 
 To charm thee Letheward, and to wrap thee 
 About with sable dusk clasped at the throat 
 By the pale moon, and dripping with the stars; 
 Have mercy ; take me not to Night except 
 Love dwelleth there! Have mercy!" But the 
 
 Earth 
 Heard not ; and as each evening fell she loosed 
 The golden bands which sheaved her hair and 
 
 went 
 Her way unto her quiet rest, and slept. 
 And thro' the deep folds of the dusk bright eyes 
 Fired by desire, streamed wide, unseen. Red eyes 
 They were with weeping, flashing fitful rays 
 That waned away into a steady glow. 
 And then the dark Earth seemed a handed cup 
 Of gloomy opiate whose starry crest 
 Winked luringly to drain, which stealthily 
 The Sun drank off with dawn-grey painful lips 
 Leaving the day. 
 
 And still again, and yet 
 Once more the dark loomed o'er the poppies' 
 
 hopes; 
 The half-faced moon sat stately in the dark 
 
 26 
 
Above the ashes of the day ; and heat 
 Slow-creeping lanquished all their limbs 
 And stole in pain upon their hearts that mourned 
 To one unseen complainingly : "O, hark! 
 Deeply let me take in thy passionate gusts, 
 And live the dreaming life of parted lips 
 And hasty breath, O, symbol of my heart 
 Whose orient bloom, yea, truly conquers me. 
 I love the night but there love comes not; more, 
 I love the day, but still I am alone ; 
 None but my kind live with me ; I am starved 
 Of love mid beauty ; bring my love to me, 
 Or give thy breast of luscious sleep that I 
 May breathe no more." Then silence fell on all; 
 Each eye drooped languorously and closed in 
 
 death, 
 And deepened darker hued ; the silent Earth 
 Wept, drawing to a deep repose, but one 
 Unseen went strangely by — Great Love his name. 
 
 27 
 
The Song in the Garden. 
 
 She is hid in the night and the roses, 
 
 Deep in the darkness sweet ; 
 And the light, quick tones of her song 
 
 Joyously, heedlessly fleet 
 To the vault bright-studded with stars, 
 
 While the earth grows still at her feet. 
 
 And sadly she croons of a love 
 
 Inwoven, as all are, with pain ; 
 
 And the heart of the thicket mourns 
 Till her voice sings joy again ; 
 
 Lilting and turning in heavenly bournes 
 Then falling in pearly rain. 
 
 Then bubbling and gurgling like laughter, 
 The notes come in crystalline trills ; 
 
 Commingling and breaking and soaring high 
 Till the heart of the listener thrills ; 
 
 And the pent breath escapes in a choking sigh 
 And the eve with mistiness fills. 
 
 28 
 
A Capture. 
 
 Listen now, the music soars 
 
 Many voiced, sweet and wild ; 
 Thro' the church's depths it pours, 
 
 Hymn and choral, anthems mild, 
 And from the murmur springing free 
 A sudden tremor silvery 
 
 Darts, a shower of throbbing sounds 
 To the arches, waking echoes, 
 
 From pier to vaulted dome rebounds, 
 And into quiet goes. 
 
 So when we catch a noble thought 
 
 And sing it to our inner mind, 
 The words with precious meaning fraught 
 
 Beat thro' Sense's portals blind ; 
 And in Emotion's brimming cells 
 The bounding, circling music dwells ; 
 
 Rushing thro' the cloisters all 
 Till the straying thought has gone 
 
 Into our soul beyond recall 
 And has become our own. 
 
 29 
 
Achievement. 
 
 The stroller in the thick-set wood 
 
 A trill of low bird-music hears 
 
 Gush out and die upon the breeze, 
 
 And breathlessly about him peers 
 
 To spy the songster in the trees, 
 
 And waits the small throat's fuller flood : 
 
 Then feels a throb as suddenly 
 The long cascades of rolling notes 
 From out the leaf-recesses pour, 
 And whence the searching music floats 
 Before away the wild calls soar 
 For one glad moment he can see. 
 
 So must he wait, that in the dark 
 
 Of men's and women's souls would seek, 
 
 And fearless go without a guide 
 
 Or charm to make the stillness speak ; 
 
 No light for him till o'er the wide 
 
 Expanse of dusk he see the spark. 
 
 30 
 
A long breath drawn upon the sight, 
 A setting of the teeth anew, 
 And on that star that rides the sky- 
 As tho' from heaven itself it drew, 
 Must he gaze steadfastly and high 
 And pace the watchings of the night. 
 
 And after lapse of many hours 
 And fighting off of heavy sleep, 
 The star shall burst into full fire 
 And for an instant so shall keep — 
 Enough that brief flash to inspire 
 The poet to divinest powers, 
 
 And key his being to the song 
 And ripe the fruitage of his blood, 
 And in short time to coin his thought 
 To virgin gold, so that the flood 
 Of men that pass, the song he wrought 
 Shall hear with joy and listen long. 
 
 31 
 
And so, as creep a violin's 
 Strong human tones to greedy ears, 
 From out a quiet curtained room 
 To stir and soothe tumultuous tears 
 And hold out comfort for the doom 
 Of death, that final victory wins, 
 
 The words he forged with sighs and pains, 
 With strong admixture of his blood, 
 Shall for sweet hope and noble thought 
 Gush ever in a steady flood, 
 With pregnant seed and harvest fraught 
 As pour Spring's vivifying rains. 
 
 32 
 
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