3^ cr.^'^.^c < o •^T* .A ^0 THE GARDEN OF LIFE AND OTHER POEMS BY ANNE RICHARDSON TALBOT BOSTON SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 1913 7-: Copyright, 1913 Sherman, French 6^ Company ©CI.A350389 TO THE MEMORY OF MY HUSBAND AND TO MY CHILDREN For permission to reprint some of the poems appearing in the following pages thanks aredueiheIndependent,Good Housekeeping and Christian Register. CONTENTS PAGE The Garden of Life 1 A Broken Promise 3 Homeward 4 Silence 5 My Debt 6 Just Glad 8 To MoNA Lisa 9 A Dream 12 My Own 13 At Parting 16 Ah, God Forbid 17 Ingratitude 19 Youth 20 In Silence 22 Jure Divino 23 Not Gone 25 The Lesson 26 Go Kindly Forth 28 My Muse 29 The Unseen Shore 31 Just One Word More 32 Friends 34 The Passing of the Ship 35 Sleep Well 37 A Prayer 39 A Home Forsaken 40 THE GARDEN OF LIFE Oh, the garden, the old garden I knew when I was young! A garden full of untold tales And of ballads never sung ! Sleeping 'neath hoary apple boughs. Confined by prim box hedges. Its trystings, hid 'mid briar rose, Were meet for lover's pledges. And round my garden like a bow A grassy lane went bending; The sun, on lichened wall between, The purpling grapes was tending, Where peaches fell to hide their cheeks Blushing, 'neath shelt'ring flowers. And honeysuckles twined to form Innumerable bowers. There proudly towered hollyhocks. There crowded larkspurs azure. Lilies, sweet Williams, foxgloves, mixed And mingled at their pleasure. [1] And there a moss-grown sun-dial told Anew the false old story, For under ^'Tempus FugitT read The words *' Memento morir But every blossom, leaf and fruit The truth affirmed, thanks giving. There in that calm and sunlit place They told the joy of living. [2] A BROKEN PROMISE Someone asked to be my friend, And to have a friend in me. I promised — ah, I promised. For I thought the thing could be 1 Then I heard a littk song Softly singing in my soul. Sadly sweet — so sad, though sweet. That I dared not hear the whole ! For it told me I must take My own promise back again — Love! Love! Love! That was my song's refrain ! Afar off SOMEONE heard it — Ah, how wonderful I know ! Came — put his arms about me — Sang with me, soft and low : Love! Love! Love! That was our song's refrain. So each gave back a promise, And promised once again. [3] HOMEWARD However far her eager feet Have wandered since she went, I know In spring they fain would turn to greet Our homely lilac's purple blow. Perhaps along Elysian ways She sees the asphodel unfold, And yet I think in spring she prays To find our dandelion's gold. Although in Heaven the atmosphere She breathes be sweet with perfume rare, I know she longs, as spring draws near. To scent our fruit blooms on the air. Though green the fields of Paradise, Its waters still, its pastures new. She sees 'mid all the glad surprise, Home meadows, cowslips, wet with dew. So when life quickens, and I hear The reveille the bluebirds sing, I feel that somewhere, very near. She waits to know the joy of spring. [4] SILENCE Oh, sweet and sad the days which are no more ; Who knows or sweet or bitter those to come? The future hastens, but with progress dumb. Laughter may ring, and weary tears may pour ; Our hearts may falter, and be glad once more, God made the future silent, that the beat Of her swift-coming, swift-departing feet Should mar no peaceful day with trembling sore. O gracious Power, which shields from needless pain. And from Thy child's own deeds would shelter him, O mighty Strength, thus to keep hope unslain, Thy silence, our unanswered questions, seem Proof of Thy wisdom and Thy love again ! Wondrous Thy gifts, yet Silence best we deem ! [5] MY DEBT I KNOW He is my creditor, And often pause to thank Him for The great, essential things of life With which my every hour is rife. Not with my due His largess ends. For Love my poor desert transcends ; Before its magnitude I feel My own unworthiness, and kneel. And in that hour of chastened mood Urge my great debt of gratitude ; All mine by right ? Ah, no ! By Grace of God 'tis so ! I know He is my creditor. And His great gifts I thank Him for. But the pure blue of sea and sky, The wealth of flowers on which my eye Rests with delight, the perfumed air, The comradeships which make life fair, Rain after drought, sun after rain, — All the familiar round again Of commonplace and everyday? Sometimes perhaps it seems that they Are mine by right ! Yet no ! By Grace of God they're so ! [6] Always He is my creditor, Therefore I needs must thank Him for The humble affluence each day brings Of simple, common, lovely things. In their simplicity disguised. Too common to be recognized As miracles, and mercies rare, And answers to unuttered prayer, Since, were they lacking, no restraint Would serve to silence my complaint. These mine by right ? Ah, no ! By Grace of God they're so! ni JUST GLAD While we treasure ev'ry sorrow, And remember ev'ry pain Past and present, — even borrow Some the future may contain ; While we covet things we're lacking. And forget the things we've had, Little wonder that we've seldom Time enough to be just glad! «J TO MONA LISA Ah, Mona Lisa, who dared to do A deed so brave through desire of you? While you hung supreme in state on the wall Of that salon, sovereign lady of all That concourse of beauties, they felt the smart Each to the depths of her canvas heart, But quite safe, they frowned, while you, who fell prey. Continued to smile in your mad'ning way. That theft gave someone title to be Noted a hero eternally. But I'll wager the doughty fellow shook, Lifting you hastily down from your hook ! If not through fear of discovery, Did he know a moment's timidity, I know he was tempted to wish that day Just once you'd cease smiling that mad'ning way. Sometimes it seems that who made that plan, Ruffian or knight, was no mortal man. Did some phantom lover take heart of grace And spirit you out of that haunted place? If so, as he clasped your matronly charms Triumphantly close in his ghostly arms, Did you with his ghostly feelings play. And smile at his shade in your mad'ning way? [9] Perhaps some latter-day lover still Fancied you smiled for him only, till He lost his wits through keeping them bent On the mighty problem, — what your smile meant While those there are, foolishly critical. Who declare your smile means nothing at all. Did you on this lover of common clay Continue to smile in your mad'ning way? I've heard it whispered affairs of state Explain that curious whim of Fate That leaves vacant your place on salon wall, And piles up your value a column tall. Though totaled by ciphers, since who would dare To trade in your smile? Wherever you are Or are not, there's one thing at least to say, You are safe from greed while you smile that way. Another whisper, — a woman's clew ! Now '^Cherchez la femme'^ appeals anew. Why not some feminine beauty who chose To defeat a rival everyone knows Was never worthy of thinking about? Since she finds you "coarse" and your smile "without Charm," might this feminine rival essay To keep you from smiling that charmless way? [10] Ah, Mona Lisa, one thing is sure, You smile from the space that was yours no more Whether your beauty was subtle or coarse. We confront that space with a sense of loss ; Yet, worshiped in hovel or palace of peer, Or hidden in darksome closet for fear, You smile, Mona Lisa, this very day Just in your old-time and maddening way ! 1"] A DREAM Once upon a time a woman Had a vision very fair, Of proud sons whom she would mother, Of fond daughters, hers to bear. Hers, her children — she, their mother — Came no parting in her dream; Once her children, hers forever. Was to her the eternal scheme. And she bore the sons she dreamed of. Bore the daughters, — all came true, Till their lives from her life severed When the old love met the new. Only one child never left her. Needing her, and nothing more, — Giving, taking, all she dreamed of. This, THE CHILD SHE NEVER BORE. ri2] MY OWN Why tell me they are far, though fair, — Those magic countries I have seen, — That seas lie leagues on leagues between? What matters it, or here or there, Since, with closed eyes, I may be where I fain would be? Or fair or far, My own those magic countries are! What though I seem to linger here? I'm still where wavelets dancing are, Along the shore at Malaga, And oh, the sun of Spain shines clear ! It shows me Guadalquivir, Like sapphire thread in broidery old. Weave its bright way o'er field of gold ! Ah, fair, not far, by azure tide. Where bright-winged boats rock to and fro, Color and light were born I know ! And there, the laws of space defied, I watch the Arabs in their pride Of gorgeous raiment, while once more I greet the curved Moroccan shore. Again I see the Kasbah rear Its tawny mass 'gainst turquoise sky ; I see white pigeons flitting by The mosque towers, hear the call to prayer; [13] Then to another scene I fare; The law of distance overthrown, Or fair or far, I claim my own ! I see the Algerian sunlight fall Where Bougainvillea's rosy flush Spreads, like a woman's maiden blush, O'er sleeping palace, snowy wall; Ah, now I hear the desert call ! And wing through space, since fair, not far, I know my magic countries are! Once more the Aures mountains leap Like ragged flames 'gainst molten skies. Gates of my verdant Paradise. Their fiery barriers may keep The world away, the while I steiep My soul in calm, for here I rest — Here is the Mecca of my quest ! Though to the south Sahara's waves Wind-sculptured stretch implacably To meet the horizon, — like the sea One sepulcher o'er countless graves, 'Neath palms full many a fountain laves The thirsty sands, and verdure bursts. Gashing red earth with dagger thrusts. Rains golden dust about my feet From pendulous mimosa plumes ; Here, where the red hibiscus blooms, I hear the heart of Nature beat, [14] Her breath on lang'rous air Is sweet ; Once more I feel the old-time thrall, — This is my dreamland prodigal! White camels pass with shrouded freights, White peacocks near my bower flock, No power has sea or shore to mock My longing to be at these gates ; For when my soul grows weary, straight I close my eyes, and near or far. My own my magic countries are ! [15] AT PARTING Beloved, if the hour hath come When Time is o'er for thee, Silent I'd speed thy passage home Across the unknown sea. Lest at this hour my love should hold Thy summoned spirit fast, I'd free thee of its clinging fold Until the hour be passed. Though deep within our souls enwove Responsive chords must be, Mute shall they stay, nor mar, dear love, Thy fair nativity. I'll silence all, lest some faint sound Or echo from them fill The heart which, tuned to peace pro- found, Submissive, should grow still. [16] AH, GOD FORBID! How wonderful 'twould be To be away like thee If known Life's rare, sweet secret, every word: The meaning in the lilt of mother-bird ; The meaning of the whisper in the trees ; The meaning of the answer in the breeze ; Of thunder's crash ; and of the ocean's plaint, Meeting with curved shore its sole restraint; And subtler secrets told in finer tones Unheard by us, though singing 'neath the stones Songs of frail lives, innumerable and sweet, Escaping daily our unheeding feet, So safely hid 'mid grass and shelt'ring trees ; How wonderful 'twould be To be away like thee Knowing of these the secret, and of such as these ! Yet terrible 'twould be To be away like thee If it be thine to hear the tortured sigh From grief-wrung hearts well up, and slow slip V The lips, mingling with others on its way Upward toward where thou listenest and they Who with thee wait ! Ah, helpless, to look down On well-beloved compelled to struggle on Unconscious of the comfort that ye know, [17] Predestined each to gain that knowledge so ! Then sobs of mothers ; bent beneath the cross, Of wives, — bereft, — of children, — man's re- morse, — Must all in one o'erwhelming moan combine, And terrible 'twould be To be away like thee! Not this thy lot — not this, nor like to thine ! [18] INGRATITUDE Ah, Goldenrod, sweet friend from whom But yesterday I turned, How human am I that to-day I'd clasp thee, lately spurned! When Summer's robes were fair and green Beneath an azure sky, Thy coming filled my heart with pain, — It told me she must die. Now Summer's robes lie brown and sere, A mantle o'er her grave, O flower, thou'rt like the very soul Of the dead love I crave! [19] YOUTH TO C. A. R. Crowned with eighty years of youth, Wonderful, strong woman-soul, Through the pilgrimage you've made Whence has come that fine control Making you each year, forsooth. Younger, stronger, unafraid? Hopes were shattered past redress, Life for you had tearing claws. Yet you found your way to peace If you could not hide the flaws. Peace it is, — not supineness. Nor does joy in living cease. Never have you lagged behind Your companions in the throng, Never passed them on the road. Standing by to make more strong Those grown faint, their wounds to bind,- You have borne a double load. Fragile body, flagging strength, Never curbed your eagerness. You submission never lent To their plea of meagerness ; Undismayed you rose at length, Toward your Mecca straightway went. [20] Years have left your spirit free, Grief has ne'er set Joy aside. Never have you harbored Fear, Sorrows cherished sacredly, Yet could Hope with you abide. And the lamp of Faith burn clear. Ah, with you have dwelt the Three, Wonderful, strong woman-soul ! Through the pilgrimage you've made. These have lent you fine control — Faith, and Hope, and Charity Keep you young and unafraid! [21] IN SILENCE When comes the hush succeeding clam'rous day, Assuage thy care with silence, and be still ; Too weak are words to answer to the will — Strive not with speech ; in shelt'ring silence pray. Stronger than words the longing of the heart; Speech pleads with man, of words God hath no need. For He who gives each falling sparrow heed Hath greater knowledge than thy lips impart. [22] JURE DIVINO To-morrow night there may not be A place on all God's earth for me To longer fill, But, if I've had my little day. Gladly the tangled threads I'll lay Down at His will. Whither I haste I may not know ; He guides my falt'ring footsteps so I need no sense But gratitude ; though faint and dim My sight, the way is clear to Him Who leads me hence. Perhaps in realms of conscious good. Or still in life not understood, My soul shall wake. No wise law will be set aside That good or ill with me abide For mine own sake. Yet all His universe is Love, And all His mighty laws are wove With tender care. And, knowing this, I cannot fear Lest, through their might, no Love appear Which I may share. [23] Content to serve His purpose well, Though neither man nor nature tell Or where or how, Through darkness or effulgent light, I bow to His all-seeing sight In worship, low. Part of His wondrous unity. An atom of His majesty, I still shall be ; And in His universe I know His wisdom endlessly will show A place for me. [24] NOT GONE Not gone ! Her place is not vacant ! Since that first long, weary day When, seeking, I failed to find her, She is never far away. I find her sometimes in her chamber, At rest in her favorite chair. She smiles at me from her mirror, I hear her foot on the stair. Yet I see her best in her garden. The flush of dawn on her hair. Her face bent low o'er her flowers As she breathes the perfume there. I see her gather the lilies. And bind them in stately sheaves, And I see the gleam of her roses Half hid 'neath their dewy leaves. Dew on the hem of her garment. And dew on the grass at her feet, I see her again in her garden. And the day is young and sweet ! [25] THE LESSON It was a very little house, But all about were smaller yet, Which made it feel a mighty pile And all its friendliness forget. The little house stood very low ; Its neighbors all were lower still, Which made it seem so very high It dreamed it stood upon a hill. And when it sought to overtop The other houses, they refused To see the pert, aspiring thing ! The little house felt much abused! It closed its windows, barred its doors. Then turned away its face and cried: "Henceforth I look for comradeship To the great house the other side !" But when it came to try that view Behold a rugged mountain rose Upon whose cloudy crest there stood A castle 'mid perennial snows ! Ah, then the little house felt sad And small and humble! Then it knew It wanted no exalted lot. But old, old friends though humble too. [26] "I am a little house," it said, "A foolish house, though wiser grown! I know one must not live above One's neighbors, lest one live alone I" J2T I GO KINDLY FORTH Go kindly forth, Old Year, We are not done with thee ; Full many a gift of thine Shall keep thy memory ! Go kindly forth. Old Year. Thou canst not come again, Yet must thou leave with us Thy joy — thy pain! Go kindly forth, Old Year ! Though one may bide thee stay, Another fain would speed Thee swiftly on thy way. Go kindly forth. Old Year, And leave us to our prayers That all our gifts from thee Bloom unawares. [28] MY MUSE I've a Muse who's really clever, May she stay my Muse forever ! Flattery may be her weakness, Certainly it is not meekness ! Sit me down to write a letter. She declares an essay's better ; If the essay will not work, She the onus helps me shirk By insisting peosy Is the proper work for me. Flattered, coaxed, I say, "I Icnew it !" But it still remains to do it ! Ah, my Muse is truly clever. May she stay my Muse forever ! When she sees my genius languish. Vanished she, despite my anguish; Though I vainly seek to find her. Saying, "When I do, I'll bind her !" Angry that she flew aw^ay When I had the least to say, I exclaim, "No Muse for me. Of such rank inconstancy ! Now I've reason good to doubt her;" So decide to do without her. Though she claims she's Inspiration, I decide they're no relation, And I summon Industry — [29] Patient soul — to work with me. Critic and creator never Can unite — the two I sever. Too irate myself to flatter, I attack my subject matter; Something's to be said — I'll say it- Fickle Muse shall not delay it ! And before I've quite begun it I discover that I've done it ! When — most marvelous of all ! — Comes my Muse without recall ! t 80 THE UNSEEN SHORE Hither we come, unknowing and unknown, Out of a world of vast, unmeasured space Into this other, here to seek a place. Aspire, fulfill, or faint, and then — pass on ! Whence came we hither? Whither do we go? Shall we toss, helmless, on a shoreless sea, Or shall we sail by some divine decree On a predestined course? We may not know; Yet men have sailed the self-same course e'er now. And all the ports they sailed from lie behind, And all are outward bound — we never find Or speak a bark with backward turning prow — • How can we doubt another lies before? Beyond the horizon line safe harbors are. And In the sky the helmsman sees his star. And guides his bark straight to the unseen shore. [31] JUST ONE WORD MORE Just one word more! Since naught of praise before This solemn pause was heard, Just one more word! Wliy were his comrades mute If now to his repute So much remains to say? Why now such haste to pay? If mede of praise was due Him during life, 'tis true The same is due him dead; Yet can it now be paid? Why silence such a space. Then summoned every grace, His virtues magnified. His faults with them allied. Remembered word and deed? Poor ghosts, too late they plead ! Just one word more, Since naught was heard before ! Death does not make man whole, 'Tis Life sustains the soul ; So better did we pay Our debts along Life's way. If only for the dead. Better were praise unsaid. [32] Mere justice during Life, During its heat and strife, Might fuller payment be Than Death's late eulogy. [33] FRIENDS I KNEW, as I walked with my lifelong friends And comrades along the way, That an hour comes when comradeship ends Until night brings another day. I thought I could wait in the falling night, Since it preludes rising sun, Yet I faced despair with the failing light, And cried, "Must I wait alone?" Then the sun's last ray with finger of gold Sought my book-shelves, and my despair Fled forever, for faithful friends and old Were still waiting with me there ! [34] THE PASSING OF THE SHIP There flows a river swift and strong On ebb of tide to the sea, And by its bank is poised a ship Awaiting her turn to flee. Tall and straight are her slender spars, White and pure are her wings. The river loves and woos her well, Yet sad is the song it sings 1 "Give me thy beauty, O fair white ship ! Trust thy pure new soul to me ! Rest content on my faithful heart! Dream not of the cruel sea !" Ftirled and still are the white ship's sails, ^ Wide wings that have never spread. They quiver ! She moves ! Her spirit yearns ! The ocean she fain would wed! Swift she glides to the flowing stream; It bears her upon its breast By sad green shores and warning rocks To the lover she loves best. Never again will that white ship greet River or beckoning shore; They long and listen, watch and wait, But she will return no more. 1 Though it is seldom done, a ship is sometimes launched fully rigged, and with sails as in this instance. [35] Spread at last are her spotless wings To winds that sad and slow Waft her away ; they know full well The lover she does not know ! The untried wooer holds her fast ; She yields to that fierce embrace. Will he hold her ever, or cast her away With scars on her proud, pale face? Into the shades of coming night The pure white ship disappears ; The river turns, and its ripples fall On the shore like long held tears ! [36] SLEEP WELL The trees lift up their gaunt, gray arms in grief Until they almost touch the lowering sky. The rain falls bitterly like long held tears ; The wind goes sighing, sighing by; There is a sound of wailing on the air : Yet she hears not who lies so quiet there, For she sleeps well. Just now I called her gently by her name — There was no answer, and I called again, — And still no answer, save the wailing in the air And the sad falling of the winter rain. So still she sleeps, I cannot hear her breath ! So still, so still — it seems almost like death She sleeps so well ! Just now I took her quiet hand in mine — It lay there like a snowflake, white and cold ; I pressed a tender kiss upon her lips. But they replied not as they did of old. She cannot know that cold kiss chilled me through, Her lips would sure be warmer if she knew: Ah, she sleeps well! [37] O love, lift up the curtains from thine eyes ! Love, let thy lips warmth from my kisses take ! Oh, break the terror of that stern repose ! Thy silence brings strange fears ! Awake ! Awake ! — There is no answer, and the shadows o'er her face Make all the movement in this lonely place Where she sleeps well! She will not wake ! Then sigh, winds, soft and low, And lull me to a sleep where I may see Her in her living presence as I used. Where this dread silence never more shall be ! Ah, dreams are sweet, for she lives but in dreams ! Give me that peace which her deep sleeping seems ; Let both sleep well ! [38] A PRAYER Why should I ask of Thee That which seems best to me, Ahnighty One? To alter Thy last word Who saw that all was good When it was done, — That were to limit Thee In Thy divinity, Making my selfish plea An empty one. Then let me make that plea ''What seemeth best to Thee, Almighty One !" I pray my heart's desire Be humbly lifted higher To meet Thine own, For when in harmony My wish with Thine shall be, Needless an uttered plea — All Good is won ! [39] A HOME FORSAKEN A HOUSE by the roadside, gray and still, A window open, the doors ajar; But only the far-ofF echoes fill Rooms where no answering voices are. The lilac raises her lovely face, Lays it gently against the pane ; Seeks she to find in that lonely place Those who never come back again? Closer she leans, as the seasons go. To walls that have sheltered her well. Seeking to screen them, that none may know The tale of desertion they tell. Deep 'neath the almond and tiger blooms. Sunken, forgetting its old-time place. The doorstone lies ; and the lilac plumes Rend ever lower to hide its face. From the ruined eaves, vines clinging yet Droop sadly over the open door. Reaching for hands they cannot forget To divide their tendrils once more. Down by the gate the cinnamon rose Lingering, strays through the uncut grass, Patiently seeking a face she knows. Listening, longing, for steps to pass. [40] She has blushed and faded many a day, With the damask rose by her side, For lilies, roses, and lilacs stay Where only their like may abide. Poplar trees guarding the fallen gate. Growing ever more gaunt and gray. Shudder and tremble and watch and wait, For a step to return that way. But never again will that still home keep In its heart either joy or pain. Its own may wake, or its own may sleep, It will never fold them again. Ah, cinnamon rose, and damask sweet, Lily, lilac, and clinging vine. Fashion a fragrant winding-sheet For this sorrowful friend of thine ! Spread gently over the hushed old place Where youth and beauty have bloomed. 'Tis fitting that hid in thy soft embrace The forsaken should lie entombed. [41] r H17 89 ' JUL 10 1913 ^ O,. * o « o \.^^ r-^^. • ; '^o^ =5 °^ - vv .♦^ .'.SM^t \../ MMo ^.A^ /Jfev \„.<^ v^^.»»::nL'<. "^c^x -^""^^ * Ao^ ^"^ .*J^r c»V>i&->.,. yV^r.V .'°*..:*:>. J .-l^^ . V'^'%^'' V^^"^\/''' "V^^'V^^^ "^"^ v**Tr, ;*