PS * ¥# 3,523,1 OTHflBTO Cry SNoW IPNGL&Y Class /**$ < GoppghtN —^!^- COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. SONNETS 0/SPINSTERHOOD SONNETS of SPINSTERHOOD THE SPINSTER'S BOOK fl/DREAMS DELICATE TRACERIES of DIM DESIRES ^SNOWLONGLEY PAUL ELDER & COMPANY PUBLISHERS • SAN FRANCISCO COPYRIGHT, 19IJ BY PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY SAN FRANCISCO SEP 20 1915 ©CI.A410519 These Sonnets need, perhaps, a word of explana- tion. In a recent reading of Elizabeth Barrett Browning* s "Sonnets from the Portuguese," the conviclion was borne in upon me that the sentiment of love is worthy of expression, whether or not it outwardly finds an objecl; ft for the romantic passion" as a dream, an ideal or a memory is a source of in- spiration in every human life. I have endeavored to make the sequence of sonnets show the ideal prog- ress from the personal to the racial, from the love which seeks individual expression to the love for humanity. PROEM Light-pencilled in the spinster's book of dreams Are delicate traceries of dim desires, That still, at times, give forth their fitful gleams, Though grayed to ashes with youth's sinking fires And sometimes, in life's long, slow afternoon, She turns the pages, yellowed with the years, And finds a flower, its petals caught too soon And here impressed, stained with gentle tears, Before the ripe fruit 'neath its heart might bear The changing mystery of th' enfolded seed, She smooths its petals with a tender care, And passes on where errant memories lead. And with the turning page the quiet room Holds the faint perfume of life's springtide bloom. SONNETS 3^PINSTERHQ?D Spirit of Love, to thee alone I give These verses which my fancy has set free, A votive offering on thy shrine to live, Bound in a golden band of poesy; And if the flowers fade, the gold prove dross, Fling them aside-thou hast no need of praise; Nor will another grieve, mine own the loss, Since I walk lonely all my earthly days. But as the vestal maids of old must tend The altar whence domestic joys took flame, So may my incense with thy candles blend, So may I tend thy fires in love's own name, Content if by my service love may shine With brighter glow on other hearths than mine. 30NNETS V II. I may not know thee in life's span, dear love, The gray years come to me, and take their toll Of youth and hope, and hastening onward move, But bring not thee, O comrade of my soul. At times I've fancied that I felt thee near, Or saw thy spirit look from eyes agleam; But now I know, with later vision clear, 'Twas but the youthful stirring of a dream. Yet if our love be mixt, not all of clay, But has the star-dust mingled with the mold, Then shall I find thee on some heavenly day- An it be true, as prophets have foretold- In that far future land beyond the sun, Where you and I and Life and Love are one. SPINSTfcRM) III. If I have missed thee, let me not lose love, That greater than ourselves which makes us one, Toward which the currents of our beings move, As the spring flowers uplift them to the sun. May every stir of life its music breathe Upon the listening harp-strings of my heart, The rustling oak, the violet blue beneath, Labor of men in field or busy mart, Laughter of children, till my heart's own note Lose its faint rhythm in life's fuller tone, And that one string, by primal impulse smote, Vibrate to harmonies beyond its own; Until in universal love comes peace, Wherein my own heart's yearning finds surcease. vSONNLTS y IV. Not every cloistered nun wears gar- ments dark, Nor wreathes her pale brow with a band of white, Full many a tress-crowned forehead bears the mark Of calm renunciation of love's light. No tapers burn, no low chant casts its spell, She does world-service in life's busy mart; And yet I seem to hear the vesper bell Faint echo in the cloisters of her heart. And sometimes, when the day of toil is spent, She seeks her shrine in sacrificial mood, And dedicates afresh, with tired head bent, The votive offering of her womanhood. Perchance *t is duty, mayhap memory, This altar where she vows her chastity. SPIMSTERtra v. 'Twas not for me, the crown of mother- hood, That blessed boon, that sainted aureole, Which every woman, in her heart, deems good, The highest guerdon of the travailingsoul. And in my heart I have cried out,"0, Lord, Why to that burdened flesh another weight Of weak mortality, when my shoulders broad, Unbent, could raise humanity's frail freight?" But now I know it is not all to bear The race, that every mother heart must bend To lift the wounded, raise the weight of care, Till all mankind enlist as childhood's friend. Not mine the banner, Lord, but give me leave To wear Thy mercy-cross upon my sleeve. .SONNETS? VI. They cannot know, these other ones who stand In the fair shelter of a stronger arm, The joy it is to steer with mine own hand My tiny craft through sun or stress of storm, To front the world and hear its chal- lenge ring, To dare still to be human, being maid, My richest offering to this day to bring, And face the mist-veiled morrow unafraid. As chaste Brunhilde, fire-girt, shrank to yield Her warrior glory for love's greater prize. So may I keep my dream, till Love, revealed, Stands in his might before my waking eyes. He must be hero-born who strives to move My pulsing heart-beats to the call of love. SPINSTfcRM) VII. There comes to me at times a discontent, When all that I have counted gold seems dross, Wherein the gain of days in labor spent Is far outweighed by futile sense of loss; And little joys, that filled the crannied space In duty's shelt'ring wall 'gainst grim despair, No longer hold for me th' accustomed place, And faint, far winds of passion echo there. 'Tis then I turn me to the thought of thee, And say, "It is my woman-loneliness, Had I found love, this yearning would not be, Or, being, it would die in thy caress." And yet, if life must pay the price of pain, Greater the travail for love's greater gain. vSONNLTS? w VIII. I wonder if these little loves atone,- These little loves of mutual service born, — For that great rapture that is not mine own, That greatest love of which I live forlorn. For I am rich in love; the beacon bright Of friendship calls to me across the dark, And every passing craft its kindly light Sends to me from afar in glimmering spark. If I but turn me toward the distant shore, My childhood anchorage shines out afar, And high above the cloud-rack evermore Faith can discern the flashing of a star. These lesser lights gleam bright upon my way, But still my heart cries: "This is not the day." IX. Some women walk the way of life, unwed, Nor ever lose the yearning for love's prize; When early charm and time of hope are sped, Still gleams love's sweet expectance in their eyes. And others strive to cozen time's decree, Veiling with artitice the face of truth, And evermore, with outworn gayety, Flaunting the tattered banners of their youth. But some few wear the crown that life bestows,- A laurel leaf for every passing year, Hid in their breasts a pale, remembered rose, And in its heart the dew-drop of a tear. On their calm brows I see this message run, "Lo! I have loved and suffered-it is done." SONNETS? X. Beloved, when we trod love's path that day, Our day of love so soon to fade in night, And plucked the flowers upspringing by the way, And dreamed our dream in innocent delight, We did not know how soon our paths must part- You to the highway where the world goes by, While 1,0 God, my achingwoman's heart! Back that same path we trod so joyously Must drag my lab'ring way without a moan, Creeping, yea crawling when my step grew slow, To that far country that my youth had known, And now my bruised womanhood must know. Yet must thy memory fade as fades the pain, Gladly I'd bear the cross of love again. SPINSTERM) XI. There is one door o* dreams I dare not ope, I sealed it with my tears in years agone, There buried lie a rapture and a hope; I turn me not, for life's command is, "On." I may not have the common right to mourn, Nor say to those who love, "I under- stand," Nor yet to her whose sorrow is new-born, "Come with me, dear, into the lonely land." But sometimes, under shadow of the night, Comes memory with silent sandals shod, And leads me back through ways of dim delight, To tread anew the paths my youth has trod. Spirit of love, how sweet thy self must be, Since such a balm lies in love's memory. tab XII. The life I live is not the life I dreamed In those vague fancies maidens fashion fair, Wherein romance in 'broidered pattern seemed To hide from view the darker web of care. No fairy prince has claimed me for his own, No storied castle is my proud abode, No golden coach my chariot; alone, I trudge my way along time's dusty road; Yet, year by year, I find life grown more sweet; As young hopes fade, youth's yearnings lose their pain, Till, as my round of duties grows complete, I should not know which path were loss or gain. So late I find Love, stripped of all disguise, As Life, my prince o' dreams, unseals my eyes. spinster™ XIII. Dear love, I have no need of thee to-day. The little vagrant breezes from afar Blow round my brow and whisper in their play Of that fair land where love and summer are. So to my heart come echoes, faintly sweet, Of all the loves that other lives express, And in their gladness grows my joy complete, Till I have found in these my happiness. I love with every lover, breathe the prayer Of every mother by her cradled child; The maid's vague dreams, youth's ardent pulse I share, And the sweet trust of childhood undefiled. So does the current of my fancies move, Till, lo! my loneliness is lapped in love. 30NNETS? XIV. When that my day lies heavy, being spent In tasks wherein I failed, or seemed to fail, And all the high hopes of the morn's intent Make my small deeds appear of slight avail, My tired heart turns to love, and dreams the dream That there is found surcease of earthly woe, Till reason, spent with strife, is fain to deem The heart speaks fair, and lets her say it so. All other hopes of youth, like vapors, fade Before the burning glare of noon-day heat, This fair mirage I follow still, afraid To come too near it lest I lose its sweet My one illusion still has power to bless,- That love fulfilled is perfect happiness. SPINSTfcRM) xv. I dreamed last night I stood with God on high, And saw the centuries glide, like falling rain, Into the still pool of eternity, Whose calm deeps scarcely rippled with their gain; And everywhere, in flower and bud and tree, In savage beast or stirring of the clod, In the on-marching of humanity, I seemed to see life reaching up to God; And little joys that I had counted great, And loss of love with all its wealth of gain, Seemed less than that my soul drag not its weight, Nor stay the age-long welding of life's chain. O, God, when self would seek its own delight, Renew to me Thy vision of the night. sonmvsy XVI. I sought for Happiness upon a height Of rapture in some dream-enchanted isle; Her rainbow wings just glanced upon my sight, I knew that she was leaving me the while. I dwelt apart; I builded me a shrine To meditate upon her presence bright; But though I long invoked her peace divine, No voice save mine rang out upon the night. With heavy heart I sought the haunts of men, In toil for human needs my days are spent, And when I thought of happiness again, She stood beside me, crowned with calm content. How true to-day those words of ancient writ: He only finds his life who loses it. SPINSTERHOPD XVII. I have attained unto the shore of peace; The eddies of unrest below me lie, And for the blessed calm of pain's surcease, I give the wave's wild crest of ecstacy. If love's sweet airs blow not about my heart, Serenely sheltered in its sunny cove, I shall not know the raving storm-wind's part, Nor all the fiercer bufFetings of love. And here the tides of life will ebb and flow, And I may sit and watch them, unafraid, By the faint glimmer of youth's afterglow, Tasting the placid pleasures of a maid. Yet still, at times, the breaker's pulse, like fate, Sounds faint foreboding-it is not too late. vSONNETS? XVIII. Forgive this lyric love, O Greater Soul, These broken words in bands of verses strung; Had life, perchance, giv'n me the common dole, The heart had found itself another tongue. Had little children played about my knee, And bound my soul in chains of service strong, Or had I heard thy love-tone's melody, There would have been no grief to give in song. But, while one woman-heart must ache alone, One serve, unsought, selt's need or common good, I pray the God of love my minor tone May voice the yearnings of this sister- hood. For them I bind this rosemary and rue, Content if low one whisper, "It is true/' SPINSTERH°PD XIX. Spirit of Love, if I have silent grown, And call thy name less often than of yore, Think not my heart has ceased to seek its own, Nor can unsay thy sweet remembered lore. That glad expectance which with youth should die To rise immortal in love's verity, Still stirs at times, though youth has passed me by, And seeks fulfillment in reality. Scorn not, O love, this offering at thy shrine, Thy worshipper dwells in life's twilight gray, And yet the radiance of thy light divine Keeps in her heart the brightness still of day. Thank God I have not lost the human touch; They only live who love or suffer much. HERE ENDS THE SONNETS OF SPINSTERHOOD. DELI- CATE TRACERIES OF DIM DESIRES WRITTEN BY SNOW LONGLEY, WITH DECORATIONS BY AUDLEY B. WELLS. DONE INTO A BOOK BY PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY AT THEIR TOMOYE PRESS IN SAN FRANCISCO UNDER THE GUIDANCE OF H. A. FUNKE, IN THE MONTH OF AUGUST, NINETEEN HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN HBRARY OF CONGRESS iniiifSMi. 015 873 602 Q