01ass.3S_EJ4^. 
 Book.ii5i _ 
 
 Copyright!^ . 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
THE 
 POEMS AND SONNETS 
 
 OF 
 
 LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON 
 
Louise Chandler Moultons 
 Writings 
 
 Poems and Sonnets 
 
 Swallow Flights 
 
 In the Garden of Dreams 
 
 At the Wind's Will 
 
 Prose Writings 
 
 Some Women's Hearts 
 
 Random Rambles 
 
 Ourselves and Our Neighbors 
 
 Miss Eyre from Boston and Others 
 
 Lazy Tours in Spain and Elsewhere 
 
 "Bed-Time Stories " Series 
 
 Bed-Time Stories 
 More Bed-Time Stories 
 New Bed-Time Stories 
 Firelight Stories 
 Stories Told at Twilight 
 
 Little, Brown, & Co., Publishers 
 
-#Z£^U^ 
 
THE 
 
 POEMS AND SONNETS 
 
 OF 
 
 LOUISE CHANDLER 
 MOULTON 
 
 AUTHOR OF "BED-TIME STORIES," "OURSELVES 
 AND OUR NEIGHBORS," ETC. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 1909 
 
LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Two Conies Received 
 
 DEC 7 1908 
 
 CUSS CC XXc Mo, 
 
 -Li<+ 3ZQ> 
 
 COPY ,j 6 
 
 
 Copyright, i88g, i8g2, 
 By Roberts Brothers. 
 
 Copyright, i8qq, iqo8, 
 By Little, Brown, and Company. 
 
 ./4/Z rights reserved 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 
 
LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. 
 
 1835-1.908. 
 
 WHEN a soul at once so gentle and so 
 strong as that of Louise Chandler 
 Moulton passes from us, a soul of lofty aspir- 
 ation, complete integrity, perfect kindness, 
 unbounded sympathy, something more is 
 meet than brief notice of the life it has in- 
 formed ; for it has certainly* wrought upon 
 the generations and given them of its abun- 
 dance. While that soul was with us, we 
 stood, perhaps, too near for the perspective 
 which allowed us to recognize its greatness. 
 
 It would be difficult to account for the 
 strain in her blood which gave this poet her 
 genius and made her what she was. She was 
 born in Pomfret, Connecticut, April tenth, 
 1835, °f a race l° n g known in its borders; 
 but with the exception of a great-grandmother 
 who was a rare Greek scholar, of a forbear a 
 soldier of the Revolution, and of Stephen 
 Hopkins, from whom also she was descended, 
 the family had been quiet, unromantic people, 
 who, although laying claim to some noble 
 
vi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ancestry, lived simple lives, with something 
 more than the ordinary financial income, who 
 found their happiness in a strict Calvinistic 
 faith, and went from horizon to horizon of 
 their days and left no peculiarly visible sign. 
 It was obedience to their stern principles 
 that forbade to the child Louise dances and 
 fairy-books and all frivolities, and thus forced 
 her to live in a world of her own fancying, 
 creating her companions when she had no 
 other. But the terrors of the old orthodoxy 
 held the child's imagination, and cast a 
 degree of melancholy over her inner life that 
 seldom disappeared. 
 
 " The weed shrinks back to die 
 On kinder sod. 
 Shall a life which found no sun 
 In death find God?" 
 
 she has written. In the main, however, she 
 was a strong and happy child of great vitality ; 
 she loved running in the face of a boisterous 
 wind, that she might feel her life with joy, 
 even although she wept at the sound of the 
 wind at night. An only child, she was a pre- 
 cious possession to an adoring father and 
 mother, who gave her the best education of 
 the day, and refused her nothing that they 
 
INTRODUCTION. Vli 
 
 thought it right she should have. Their views 
 of the right were those of their day and creed. 
 
 Louise was compact of genius from the 
 beginning, genius that ripened and bore fruit 
 in due time in enchanting lyrics and stately 
 sonnets, and that taught her, without experi- 
 ence, to sound the depths of human hearts, 
 as in a measure she did in her earliest work. 
 She had hardly outgrown the play and com- 
 panions of a little Spanish drama of her own 
 invention when, at fourteen, she sent her first 
 verses to a paper ; she had lived so entirely 
 in her unguessed emotions that she felt a 
 touch of wrong in doing it. At eighteen, 
 however, she had printed her first book, 
 " This, That and the Other," which sold some 
 twenty thousand copies, and which elicited 
 ardent praise from many besides her pub- 
 lishers; praise for its contents, but still more 
 for its writer. 
 
 She was not quite twenty when she married 
 Mr. William Upham Moulton, a Boston pub- 
 lisher, a man of culture and of much personal 
 attraction. Lingering a moment on the 
 church porch in the sunset light, she has been 
 described by one who saw her, as a radiant 
 being, in her bridal veil, blooming, blushing, 
 full of life and joy and love. An exquisite 
 
Vlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 skin, the " rose crushed on ivory," hazel eyes 
 with black lashes and black brows, and a con- 
 fiding, fearless glance, small white teeth, a 
 delightful smile, cheek and chin having the 
 antique line, all united to make a loveliness 
 which no portrait has successfully rendered, 
 and which tender consideration and grace of 
 manner accented to wonderful charm. 
 
 Her house in Boston became early a center 
 of hospitality; and it is now historic, not 
 only through her own life there, but in re- 
 membrance of the illustrious who have 
 crossed its threshold. Here were treasured 
 souvenirs of remarkable interest, unattainable 
 autographs, in books, in pictures, in first 
 drafts, as, for instance, a page of Swinburne's 
 " Atalanta," with countless erasures, letters 
 from Robert Browning, Rossetti, Jean Inge- 
 low, Tennyson, and many another. Here her 
 husband died, and here she dwelt through her 
 widowhood, remaining in seclusion for a few 
 years after her husband's death ; and here she 
 died herself, at the close of a long illness borne 
 with singular force of will and ineffable pa- 
 tience and sweetness, under the care of her 
 devoted daughter and son-in-law and of the 
 faithful maid who had loved and served her 
 for many years. 
 
INTRODUCTION. ix 
 
 Mrs. Moulton crossed the Atlantic first in 
 1876, and, with three exceptions, every sum- 
 mer afterwards till the last two of her life. She 
 was a good sailor; but she always felt the 
 vast mystery and awesomeness of the sea. 
 In London, after that early voyage, she saw 
 the Queen open Parliament for the first time 
 since the Prince Consort's death. In Rome, 
 where she had letters to the Howitts, she 
 abandoned herself to the delights of studios, 
 galleries, gardens, and palaces; and in Venice 
 to all the indescribable spell that haunts the 
 waters there. 
 
 She had but one letter of introduction in 
 England; it was to Lord Houghton (Richard 
 Monckton Milnes), who gave her a breakfast 
 to which many of the leaders of the literary 
 and artistic world were asked, and where, at 
 once, she took hearts captive. Shortly before 
 leaving, a gentleman standing beside her hoped 
 she had enjoyed the occasion; and she an- 
 swered sweetly, but with her usual directness, 
 that she had done so very much, but was disap- 
 pointed at not having met Mr. Browning, 
 whom she had wished to see more than any- 
 one in England. " Browning," he said gayly, 
 " c'est moi ! " Later they became warm per- 
 sonal friends; he consulted her on various 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 important matters; and she always wore a 
 ring given her by Mrs. Bloomfield Moore in 
 remembrance of a day when, at that lady's 
 house, Browning talked to her alone, for 
 many hours, of his life and art. Her personal 
 beauty, her ease and gracious manners, her 
 voice in which, a poet said, " all sweetnesses 
 abide," her magnetic charm, were at once 
 everywhere recognized ; she was invited out 
 constantly, and her rooms were the meeting- 
 place of the liveliest wits, the finest artists 
 and the sweetest singers of England. They 
 called her " the American with the golden 
 voice. " That voice was indeed dulcet, yet of 
 great range and flexibility, always keeping its 
 flute-like intonations. In reading aloud it 
 gave a dramatic quality to the page, and 
 drew from prose or poem the last drop of its 
 honey. It was delightful to hear her repeat, 
 as she did only a few days before her death, 
 
 " Roses that briefly live, 
 
 Joy is your dower ; 
 Blest be the fates that give 
 
 One perfect hour. 
 And, though too soon you 
 
 In your dust glows 
 Something the passer-by 
 
 Knows was a Rose.' , 
 
INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 Velvet-soft in this, her voice had a ringing 
 gayety whose strange undertone was sorrow 
 when reciting " If there were dreams to 
 buy"; and " Bend low, O dusky night" was 
 breathed through deep notes of tragic sweet- 
 ness. 
 
 In 1877 Mrs. Moulton's first volume of 
 verse was published in America, the English 
 edition (1878) bearing the title of " Swallow 
 Flights"; — her choice of titles was always 
 happy. 
 
 " Short swallow-flights of song, that dip 
 Their wings in tears, and skim away," 
 
 Tennyson had sung. She was so modest 
 that the acclaim which answered the publi- 
 cation of the book amazed her. The Athe- 
 naeum dwelt on the imagination and the 
 delicate loveliness and perfection of tech- 
 nique ; The Examiner spoke of the power 
 and originality of the verses, of their inten- 
 sity and music ; The Tatler declared her the 
 one truly natural singer in an age of aesthetic 
 affectation ; and The Academy accorded the 
 verses the palm of felicity, suggestiveness, and 
 an imaginative quality pervaded by the sweet- 
 ness of perfect womanhood. All the English 
 papers were affluent of praise ; her lyric grace 
 
xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 was compared to Herrick's, and her sonnet 
 "One Dread" to the work of Sir Philip 
 Sydney. The student and lover of her best 
 work will confess that much of this was simple 
 justice. The pleasure that such words gave 
 her was increased by the fact that then she 
 knew scarcely one of the critics. Letters came 
 also from Frederick Locker, Austin Dobson, 
 Matthew Arnold, and indeed too many more 
 for mention, while her songs were set to music 
 by Francesco Berger and Lady Charlesmont, 
 as later, and on this side of the water, they 
 were by Arthur Foote and Margaret Lang 
 and Ethelbert Nevin. 
 
 Philip Bourke Marston, in the beginning 
 of an acquaintance which grew into intimate 
 friendship, not only with him, but with his 
 mother and father, and his sister Cecily who 
 died in Mrs. Moulton's arms, wrote "There 
 can be no doubt that your place is in the 
 very foremost rank of poets. The divine 
 simplicity, strength, and subtlety, the intense, 
 fragrant, genuine individuality of your poems 
 will make them imperishable. ,, And he fur- 
 ther said that no poem gave him such an idea 
 of the heartlessness of nature as the " House 
 of Death," — 
 
INTRODUCTION. xiii 
 
 " The birds make insolent music 
 
 Where the sunshine riots outside. 
 And the winds are merry and wanton 
 With the summer's pomp and pride. 
 
 " But into this desolate mansion, 
 
 Where Love has closed the door, 
 
 Nor sunshine nor summer shall enter, 
 
 Since she can come in no more." 
 
 Robert Browning wrote her then, also, saying 
 that he closed the book with flowers before 
 his eyes, music in his ears, and thoughts 
 across his brain. At another time Burne- 
 Jones said of the mighty poem " Laus Vene- 
 ris, " inspired by one .of his paintings, that it 
 was a refreshment and filled him with courage. 
 Of subsequent poems, Thomas Hardy spoke 
 as things filled with the supreme quality, 
 emotion; and William Minto wrote of their 
 spontaneity and epigrammatic concision, and 
 William Sharp in the Athenaeum gave whole 
 pages to the flattering review of her work. 
 Professor Meiklejohn, connected with the 
 University of St. Andrews for twenty-seven 
 years, a rare and discriminating critic, said 
 that she deserved to be classed with the best 
 Elizabethan lyrists, with Crashaw, Campion, 
 and Shakespeare, and that her sonnets should 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 have place with Milton's and Wordsworth's 
 and Rossetti's. Of" A Quest" he said it was 
 difficult to speak in unexaggerated language; 
 and other verses he compared to Goethe's 
 and to Heine's. Moreover, he said that she 
 must look for her brothers in the sixteenth 
 and seventeenth centuries, among the noble 
 and intense lyrists. Her insight, her subtlety, 
 her delicacy, her music, he thought hardly 
 matched and certainly not surpassed by Her- 
 bert or Vaughan. He declared that the son- 
 net " A Summer's Growth " united the passion 
 of the Italian with the imagination of the 
 English; he thought the sonnet " Great 
 Love " worthy of place with Dante's and 
 Petrarch's sonnets ; and he pronounced the 
 sonnet " Were but my spirit loosed upon 
 the air " one of the greatest in the English 
 language. This unconscious subtlety, this 
 evasive delicacy, kindled by the dramatic 
 instinct, are perhaps nowhere more apparent 
 than in the exquisite sonnet " In Time to 
 Come." 
 
 " The time will come full soon ! I shall be gone, 
 And you sit silent in the silent place, 
 With the sad autumn sunlight on your face. 
 Remembering the loves that were your own, 
 Haunted perchance by some familiar tone, 
 
INTRODUCTION. xv 
 
 You will be weary then for the dead days, 
 
 And mindful of their sweet and bitter ways, 
 Though passion into memory shall have grown. 
 Then will I with your other ghosts draw nigh, 
 
 And whisper, as I pass, some former word, — 
 Some old endearment known in days gone by, 
 
 Some tenderness that once your pulses 
 stirred : — 
 Which was it spoke to you, the wind or I? 
 
 I think you, musing, scarcely will have heard." 
 
 In America, also, the tributes to her genius 
 and its expression were enthusiastic from 
 Longfellow, Lowell, Dr. Holmes, Dr. Par- 
 sons, Edmund Stedman, Aldrich, and so 
 many leading critics that space forbids their 
 enumeration. In speaking of her sonnets, 
 Whittier wrote her, " It seems to me that the 
 sonnet was never set to such music, and 
 never weighted with more deep and tender 
 thought." And although some of her greater 
 lyrics will be known and loved as long as the 
 language lives, such as the wonderful Prelude 
 to " Swallow Flights," " Come Back, Dear 
 Days," " We Lay Us Down To Sleep," " Laus 
 Veneris," " The House of Death," " Arcady," 
 " If There Were Dreams To Sell," " To Night," 
 " Shall I Not Know? " yet her sonnets are her 
 masterpieces and contain her noblest thought. 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Their construction and technique are perfect; 
 they sweep forward to break like the crest of 
 a wave on the last line, and they are rich 
 with feeling, music, and beauty. Very little 
 of all the foreign praise was known in 
 America. Its subject received it simply and 
 naturally, and with no more elation than she 
 had exhibited at the praise of those on this 
 side of the water. No one meeting her 
 socially would dream that she had it. In 
 her successes of many kinds she never 
 exhibited vanity or exultation ; she felt her 
 standards higher than anything she reached. 
 A red rose-bush, trained into the shape of a 
 magnificent basket of roses, sent to her, 
 during her illness, by the Boston Authors' 
 Club, seemed to give her more pleasure than 
 any flattering criticism. 
 
 Besides her poems, Mrs. Moulton published 
 various other volumes. " Random Rambles," 
 and 4 ' Lazy Tours in Spain " were eloquent 
 records of the joy she had in the beauty of 
 the Mediterranean countries; while "Bed- 
 time Stories," " Firelight Stories," and " Sto- 
 ries told at Twilight " have held the love of 
 children for thirty years and over. In ad- 
 dition to these, she edited the poems of 
 Philip Bourke Marston, at the wish of his 
 
INTRODUCTION-. xvii 
 
 father, Westland Marston, a noted dramatist of 
 the last generation, and the verses also of Arthur 
 O'Shaughnessy, a brother-in-law of Philip. 
 
 Few, if any, people have had such distin- 
 guished friendships with so many of the 
 prominent in literature and art; — in fact, 
 there is hardly any one of distinction in Eng- 
 land or America with whom she did not have a 
 pleasant acquaintance or some intimacy, and 
 with most of whom her correspondence was 
 more or less frequent. It was a fine dignity 
 which never allowed her to violate the sanctity 
 of the hospitality she received and gave in Eng- 
 land, never writing or gossiping concerning 
 it, although sometimes speaking of it in the 
 reminiscences of purely private conversation. 
 
 Quite aside from the greatness and distinc- 
 tion of her work, was the greatness of her 
 character. She forgave wrong, forgot injury, 
 excused insult. For many years a reviewer 
 for newspapers and periodicals, she never 
 wrote an unkind word ; the sensibilities of 
 others were sacred to her, she could not 
 wound them ; where she could not praise 
 she said nothing. Charity, in its every form, 
 indeed, was one of her chief characteristics, 
 for her heart was as large as her brain ; she 
 condemned no one. It was not only with an 
 
xvin INTRODUCTION. 
 
 always open purse that she afforded help, 
 aiding the young musician to the needed in- 
 strument, the suffering to a physician, the 
 poor out of their mortgages and other dis- 
 tresses ; but she spent hours in going over the 
 young poet's work, giving praise here and 
 corrections there, according to her perfect 
 taste; in suggesting to the insufficiently 
 trained critic the treatment of a subject; in 
 listening to tedious intruders ; and she never 
 closed her doors to the most uninteresting or 
 least desirable. She constantly had letters of 
 thanks for the help certain of her verses had 
 given those in trouble ; they were the ones 
 marked by her genuine emotion ; for her best 
 work was always the work of emotion. Dr. 
 Holmes once wrote of the passionate sincerity 
 of her poems ; and it was impossible for her 
 to work other than as the deeps of the spirit 
 were stirred ; her dramatic quality also gave 
 her the power to enter into the life of others 
 and make their emotions her own. She was 
 a being of absolute uprightness, incapable of 
 untruth, faithful to her ideals, ingenuous, con- 
 fiding, unsuspicious, without guile, caring 
 nothing for place or power, for social rank 
 and position, or for wealth ; of a childlike na- 
 ture throughout life, a triumphant woman, but 
 
INTRODUCTION. xix 
 
 always a child. Youth never deserted her; 
 the earth and its people were always fresh 
 and dear to her; she loved life and the joy of 
 the world. Just a month before her death 
 she wrote: " Thank Heaven, I am still in this 
 world. How I wish I knew what was to come 
 afterwards. But, oh, I dread the unknown ! " 
 It was her childlike, trusting quality that kept 
 her unaware of the immanence of death, and 
 she crossed into that unknown without suffer- 
 ing or recognition of it as she fell asleep. All 
 her days were lived unconsciously on the 
 lines of one of her verses. 
 " Some day or other I shall surely come 
 
 Where true hearts wait for me ; 
 Then let me learn the language of that home 
 
 While here on earth I be, 
 Lest my poor lips for want of words be dumb 
 
 In that High Company/' 
 Few women have been so loved as this one, 
 and with such abundant reason. Few will be 
 so missed, and by so many. As one looked 
 at her where she lay in her lovely dignity at 
 last, buried among flowers, one could only 
 think that wherever her beautiful spirit was, it 
 would make the place Heaven. 
 
 HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 SWALLOW FLIGHTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Swallow-Flights 3 
 
 May-Flowers 5 
 
 My Summer 7 
 
 Morning Glory . . 8 
 
 A Painted Fan 10 
 
 Long is the Way 11 
 
 Automne . 12 
 
 Out in the Snow . 13 
 
 A Weed 15 
 
 A Quest 16 
 
 Some Day or Other . » 18 
 
 Through a Window 19 
 
 Waiting 21 
 
 Wife to Husband . . . , . . 22 
 
 After the Mountains 24 
 
 Alone by the Bay 25 
 
 Midsummer in New England 26 
 
 At Etretat 28 
 
 The House of Death 29 
 
 "She was won in an Idle Day" 31 
 
 A Life's Loss 23 
 
 The Singer 36 
 
 How Long? 38 
 
 The Song of a Summer 39 
 
 If 40 
 
Xxil CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Fiat Justitia 41 
 
 At the Last . . . .' 42 
 
 What she said in her Tomb 43 
 
 A Summer's Ghost 45 
 
 Lover and Friend hast thou put far from me 46 
 
 Beauty for Ashes . 48 
 
 To my Heart 49 
 
 Alien Waters 51 
 
 Looking Back 53 
 
 A Problem .-...' 55 
 
 At a Window 57 
 
 To a Lady in a Picture .......... 58 
 
 My Captive 59 
 
 Roses 61 
 
 Down the River ." 62 
 
 Love's Land 64 
 
 Her Window 65 
 
 A Madrigal 66 
 
 Question 67 
 
 I fain would go 69 
 
 The Spring is Late 71 
 
 Selfish Prayer 72 
 
 Ad Te Domine ,73 
 
 If I could keep her so 74 
 
 Annie's Daughter 76 
 
 Looking into the Well 78 
 
 Like a Child 81 
 
 A Song in the Wood 83 
 
 My Boy 84 
 
 Trothplight 87 
 
 The House in the Meadow 89 
 
 From Dusk to Dawn 93 
 
 There 95 
 
 Somebody's Child 96 
 
 A Woman's Waiting 97 
 
 John A. Andrew 100 
 
CONTENTS xxin 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Country of "If" 101 
 
 For Cupid Dead 102 
 
 We lay us down to sleep 103 
 
 Sonnets : 
 
 The New Day 107 
 
 One Dread 108 
 
 Afar 109 
 
 Last Year no 
 
 First Love 112 
 
 Love's Forgiveness 113 
 
 In Time to come 114 
 
 A Summer's Growth 115 
 
 My Birthday 116 
 
 IN THE GARDEN OF DREAMS. 
 
 Iprics, 
 
 Come back, Dear Days 123 
 
 Love's Resurrection Day 125 
 
 The Strength of the Hills 126 
 
 "If there were Dreams to sell" 128 
 
 In the Ranks 130 
 
 Eros 131 
 
 Laus Veneris . 132 
 
 Parleying 13 \ 
 
 In Bohemia 135 
 
 To Night 136 
 
 When Day was done 137 
 
 Maud's Roses 139 
 
 "Their Candles are all out" 14c 
 
 To Mistress Rose 142 
 
 At Midnight 143 
 
 In a Bower 145 
 
 Roses 146 
 
 The Ghost's Return 147 
 
 As I sail 149 
 
xxiv CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Girl's Funeral in Milan 151 
 
 In a Garden 152 
 
 At End 154 
 
 The Coquette's Defence 155 
 
 Do not grieve 157 
 
 Old Jones is Dead 158 
 
 Grandmamma's Warning 160 
 
 Maid Marion 161 
 
 A Little Comedy 163 
 
 In Autumn 165 
 
 At Five o'Clock 166 
 
 Beside a Bier 167 
 
 Red and White Roses 168 
 
 My Saint 169 
 
 Warning 170 
 
 The Rose she wore in Winter 171 
 
 Shall I not know ? 172 
 
 For a Birthday 174 
 
 A Mood of Love 175 
 
 Nay 176 
 
 The Roses of La Garraye 177 
 
 Now and Then 179 
 
 u The King is Dead, Long live the King!" . 180 
 
 Sonttete in iftanp JHooUfii* 
 
 Helen's Cup . 185 
 
 Silent Sorrow 186 
 
 A Cry , 187 
 
 Love's Empty House 188 
 
 After Death 189 
 
 Voices on the Wind 190 
 
 The Cup of Death 19 1 
 
 To a Modern Poet 19 2 
 
 The Last Good-by 193 
 
 Love is Dead 194 
 
CONTENTS. xxv 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Hie Jacet 195 
 
 Left behind 196 
 
 Future Forgiveness 197 
 
 In Pace 198 
 
 A Woman's Knowledge 199 
 
 In Solitude 200 
 
 Beyond Sight and Sound 201 
 
 To One who has loved often 202 
 
 Before the Shrine 203 
 
 Roses at Sea 204 
 
 A Ghost's Question 205 
 
 Sister Sorrow 206 
 
 He loved 207 
 
 Hereafter 208 
 
 At War 209 
 
 Near, yet far 210 
 
 A Fallen House 211 
 
 My Mourner 212 
 
 At Sea s 213 
 
 Laura Sleeping 214 
 
 To One Most Unhappy 215 
 
 In the Court of the Lions 216 
 
 My Castle 217 
 
 By March Wind led 218 
 
 My Mother's Picture 219 
 
 At a Ruined Abbey 220 
 
 IS)is Second StSEife Speaks* 
 
 I. A Parable 223 
 
 II. Silent 224 
 
 III. A Second Place 225 
 
 IV. Alone in Death 226 
 
 V. Face to Face 227 
 
xxvi CONTENTS. 
 
 ©fce Still |)cun 
 
 PAGE 
 
 In the Pine Woods at Marienbad . . . . . 231 
 
 Help Thou my Unbelief! 232 
 
 Shall I look back? 233 
 
 Straight on to Port 234 
 
 A Prayer in Sorrow 235 
 
 On Homeward Wing 236 
 
 In Mid-ocean 237 
 
 As in Vision 238 
 
 A Prayer for Light 239 
 
 Come unto Me 240 
 
 A Rainy Afternoon 241 
 
 Hark, Ten Thousand Harps and Voices ! . . 242 
 
 Kosemarp* 
 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson 245 
 
 An Open Door 246 
 
 Behind the Mist 247 
 
 Her Ghost 248 
 
 At End of Pain 251 
 
 A Silent Guest 252 
 
 Louisa M. Alcott „ 253 
 
 Co jFretitb Ctuies* 
 
 RONDELS. 
 
 The Spring is here 257 
 
 Easter Sunday 258 
 
 Heart, Sad Heart 259 
 
 Two Red Roses . 260 
 
 The Shadow-dance 261 
 
 In February 262 
 
 The Old Beau 263 
 
 To John Greenleaf Whittier 264 
 
CONTENTS. xxvn 
 
 RONDEAUX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "With those Clear Eyes" 265 
 
 Love's Ghost 266 
 
 how could i tell? 267 
 
 When Love was Young 268 
 
 If Love could last 269 
 
 O Sweetest Maid ! 270 
 
 If you were here 271 
 
 TRIOLETS. 
 
 Such Joy it was 272 
 
 We loved so well 273 
 
 so blithely rose 274 
 
 Thistle-down .275 
 
 Love plumes his Wings 276 
 
 BALLADE. 
 
 In Winter 277 
 
 AT THE WIND'S WILL. 
 Lprics. 
 
 Songs at Sea 285 
 
 On a Rose pressed in a Book 287 
 
 The Sun is Low 288 
 
 The Secret of Arcady 290 
 
 At Night's High Noon 292 
 
 The Voice of Spring 293 
 
 In Extremis 294 
 
 When Love is Young 296 
 
 At the End 297 
 
 To Sleep 299 
 
 When you are Dead. A Lover speaks . . . 300 
 
 The Birds and I 302 
 
 The Birds come back 304 
 
 A Winter's Dawn 305 
 
xxvin CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Lure 307 
 
 Dead Men's Holiday. After Shipka .... 308 
 
 When you were here 310 
 
 Because it is the Spring 31 t 
 
 Her Picture 313 
 
 A Violet speaks 314 
 
 Legend of a Tomb in Florence 316 
 
 The Summer's Queen 318 
 
 Bend low and hark 319 
 
 A Song for Rosalys 321 
 
 The Gentle Ghost of Joy 323 
 
 When I wander away with Death 324 
 
 Has Lavish Summer brought the Rose? . . . 326 
 
 A Lost Eden 327 
 
 The Mood of a Man . ' 329 
 
 June's Daughter 330 
 
 A Summer Wooing 332 
 
 I HAVE CALLED THEE MANY A NlGHT 333 
 
 A Whisper to the Moon 334 
 
 In Venice once 335 
 
 My Queen of May 336 
 
 Where the Night's Pale Roses blow .... 338 
 
 And Yet 339 
 
 I heard a Cry in the Night 340 
 
 The Name on a Door 342 
 
 Vain Waiting 344 
 
 A Wish 345 
 
 The Costliest Gift 346 
 
 to her who knows 347 
 
 In the Offing 348 
 
 With a Book 349 
 
 LOVE'S ROSARY. 
 
 I. Land of my Dreams 355 
 
 II. Though we were Dust 356 
 
 III. The Rose of Dawn 357 
 
CONTENTS. xxix 
 
 PAGE 
 
 IV. Thou reignest still . 358 
 
 V. Time's Prisoner 359 
 
 VI. " Have I not learned to live without 
 
 THEE YET ? " 360 
 
 VII. A Heavenly Birthday 361 
 
 VIII. Lethe 362 
 
 IX. A Silent Voice 363 
 
 X. Were but my Spirit loosed upon the 
 
 Air 364 
 
 OF LIFE AND LOVE. 
 
 At Midsummer 367 
 
 The Life-Mask of Keats 368 
 
 Soul to Body 369 
 
 At Rest 370 
 
 Shall I complain? 371 
 
 Parting 372 
 
 Vain Freedom 373 
 
 The New Year dawns 374 
 
 Aspiration . 375 
 
 Oh, Traveller by Unaccustomed Ways . . 376 
 Great Love 
 
 I. GREAT LOVE IS HUMBLE 2)77 
 
 ii. great love is proud ^ys 
 
 Her Years 379 
 
 Midwinter Flowers. To E. C. S 380 
 
 Her Presence 381 
 
 When we confront the Vastness of the 
 
 Night 382 
 
 On meeting a Sailing Vessel in Mid-Ocean 383 
 
 Midnight at Sea 384 
 
 Inter Manes 385 
 
 Yet, strangely Beautiful your Face I find 386 
 
 A Summer's Dream 387 
 
 My Masters 389 
 
 To Prince Oric (Six Years Old) 390 
 
XXX CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Poet's Second Love . . . 1 391 
 
 Fair Life 393 
 
 A Plea for the Old Year 394 
 
 When I am Dead 395 
 
 One Afternoon. To Louisa, Lady Ashbur- 
 
 ton 396 
 
 IN QUEST OF LIGHT. 
 
 Afar from God 399 
 
 My Father's House 400 
 
 Newly Born 401 
 
 The Song of the Stars 402 
 
 A Question : At Sea 403 
 
 The Land of Gold 404 
 
 A Prayer in the Dark 405 
 
 AT DEATH'S POSTERN. 
 
 Across the Sea 409 
 
 Robert Browning 
 
 i. his star .... 4io 
 
 ii. the poet of human life 411 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes 412 
 
 Summoned by the King 413 
 
 Philip Bourke Marston. Author of " Gar- 
 den Secrets " 4 T 4 
 
 The Closed Gate 4 T 5 
 
 A Dream in the Night. To my Mother . . 416 
 
 Konfcete an& Eontieatt^ 
 
 Vagrant Love 4 T 9 
 
 Though we repent 4 20 
 
 The Spring is here 4 21 
 
 To the Ghost of Mary Queen of Scots . . . 422 
 
 After supping with a Poet. To E. G. ... 423 
 
 Rosamond's Rose 424 
 
 To a Fair Lady ....... 425 
 
CONTENTS. xxxi 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Two Thrushes met. For M. E. S 426 
 
 Love makes the Spring 427 
 
 Life's Day. To One who asks me for a Merry 
 
 Song 428 
 
 ©ttatrains. 
 
 The Lost Room 431 
 
 Autumn Days 432 
 
 A Dead Poet 433 
 
 In a Library 434 
 
 The King Dethroned 435 
 
 Who Knows ? 436 
 
 Day's Mockery 437 
 
 You. 438 
 
 I studied Life 439 
 
 The Prodigal 440 
 
 ©ranaiations. 
 
 Long Weeping 443 
 
 By Moonlight . 444 
 
 Through the Darkness 446 
 
 The Mirror 447 
 
 La Vie 45 1 
 
 ADDITIONAL POEMS. 
 
 To Julia Ward Howe 455 
 
 Why? 45 6 
 
 All in One 457 
 
 If once, just once 45° 
 
 The Bold Ghost 459 
 
 Once More 46i 
 
 One Day 4^2 
 
 "Beyond" 4 6 3 
 
 For Easter Morn 4 6 4 
 
 Life's Seasons 4^5 
 
SWALLOW FLIGHTS. 
 
T^iEAR eyes, that read these lines of mine 
 As you have read my heart, 
 Forgive, since you the one divine, 
 The others' 1 lack of art. 
 
S WALL O W-FL1GHTS. 
 
 T^ORTH fro?7i the wind-swept Country of my Heart \ 
 
 Fly fast, swift wings I 
 For he? ice the summers and their suns depart, — 
 Here no bird sings. 
 
 With spri?ig this country was all verdurous 
 
 When first you came ; 
 Lts leafage of sweet songs solicitous ; 
 
 Its shies aflame 
 
 With dreaming of the summer s warm delights ; 
 
 Streams sought the sea ; 
 White moons made beautiful the waiting nights ; 
 
 Your wings were free. 
 
SWALLOW-FLIGHTS. 
 
 But here you nested through the smiling spring, — 
 
 Through summer, too ; 
 'Tis autumn now, and pleasant thizigs take wing? 
 
 So why not you t 
 
 Fly hence, and carry with you all my dreams, 
 
 My hopes, my fears ; 
 Shall I, while sitting by Lif e' s frozen streams, 
 
 Weep idle tears ? 
 
 Fly hence, swift wings — / have been glad 7vith you 
 
 In Life's glad spring; 
 Heard summer songs, and thought their promise true ; 
 
 But now — take wing. 
 
 You are not doves, that you should bring back leaves 
 
 From whelming seas ; 
 Fly far, swift truants, from my silent eaves, — 
 
 Leave me but peace. 
 
MAY-FLOWERS. 
 
 MAY-FLOWERS. 
 
 TF you catch a breath of sweetness, 
 
 And follow the odorous hint 
 Through woods where the dead leaves rustle 
 And the golden mosses glint, 
 
 Along the spicy sea-coast, 
 
 Over the desolate down, 
 You will find the dainty May-flowers 
 
 When you come to Plymouth town. 
 
 Where the shy Spring tends her darlings, 
 And hides them away from sight, 
 
 Pull off the covering leaf-sprays 
 And gather them, pink and white, 
 
 Tinted by mystical moonlight, 
 
 Freshened by frosty dew, 
 Till the fair, transparent blossoms 
 
 To their pure perfection grew. 
 
 Then carry them home to your lady, 
 For Flower of the Spring is she, — 
 
 Pink and white, and dainty and slight, 
 And lovely as Love can be. 
 
MAY-FLOWERS. 
 
 Shall they die because of her beauty? 
 
 Shall they live because she is sweet? 
 They will know for what they were born, 
 
 But you — must wait at her feet. 
 
MY SUMMER. 
 
 MY SUMMER. 
 
 T^\0 you think the summer will ever come, 
 With white of lily and flush of rose, — 
 With the warm, bright days of joy and June, 
 So long you dream they will never close ? 
 
 Will the birds, atilt on the bending boughs, 
 Sing out their hearts in a mad delight ; 
 
 And the golden butterflies, sun-suffused, 
 Shimmer and shine from morn till night? 
 
 Do you think my summer will ever come, 
 With brow of lily and cheek of rose ? 
 
 Shall I hold her fast, — my Joy, my June, — 
 And dream that my day will never close ? 
 
 Will she mock the birds on the bending boughs 
 (For her voice is music, — my heart's delight), 
 
 Or be content, like the butterflies, 
 
 In the sun of my love from morn till night ? 
 
MORNING GLORY. 
 
 MORNING GLORY. 
 
 Tj^ARTH 'S awake, 'neath the laughing skies, 
 "^ After the dewy and dreamy night, — 
 Riot of roses and babel of birds, 
 
 All the world in a whirl of delight. 
 
 Roses smile in their white content, 
 Roses blush in their crimson bliss, 
 
 As the vagrant breezes wooing them 
 Ruffle their petals with careless kiss. 
 
 Yellow butterflies flutter and float 
 
 Jewelled humming-birds glitter and glow, 
 
 And scorning the ways of such idle things 
 Bees flit busily to and fro. 
 
 The mocking-bird swells his anxious throat, 
 
 Trying to be ten birds in one ; 
 And the swallow twitters, and dives, and darts 
 
 Into the azure to find the sun. 
 
 But robin red-breast builds his house 
 Singing a song of the joy to come, 
 
 And the oriole trims his golden vest, 
 Glad to be back in his last year's home. 
 
MORNING GLORY* 
 
 Lilies that sway on their slender stalks, 
 Morning-glories that nod to the breeze, 
 
 Bloom of blossoms and joy of birds, — 
 What in the world is better than these? 
 
IO A PAINTED FAN. 
 
 A PAINTED FAN. 
 
 T3 OSES and butterflies snared on a fan, 
 All that is left of a summer gone by ; 
 Of swift, bright wings that flashed in the sun, 
 And loveliest blossoms that bloomed to die ! 
 
 By what subtle spell did you lure them here, 
 Fixing a beauty that will not change ; 
 
 Roses whose petals never will fall, 
 
 Bright, swift wings that never will range ? 
 
 Had you owned but the skill to snare as well 
 The swift-winged hours that came and went, 
 
 To prison the words that in music died, 
 And fix with a spell the heart's content, 
 
 Then had you been of magicians the chief; 
 
 And loved and lovers should bless your art, 
 If you could but have painted the soul of the 
 thing, — 
 
 Not the rose alone, but the rose's heart ! 
 
 Flown are those days with their winged delights, 
 As the odor is gone from the summer rose ; 
 
 Yet still, whenever I wave my fan, 
 
 The soft, south wind of memory blows. 
 
LONG IS THE WAY. II 
 
 LONG IS THE WAY. 
 
 T ONG is the way, O Lord ! 
 "^ My steps are weak : 
 I listen for Thy word, — 
 When wilt Thou speak? 
 
 Must I still wander on 
 'Mid noise and strife ; 
 
 Or go as Thou hast gone, 
 From life to Life? 
 
 ^ 
 
AUTOMNE. 
 
 AUTOMNE. 
 
 [For a Picture by Hamon.] 
 
 ^\H, glad and free was Love until the fall ; 
 ^^^ Then came a spirit on the frosty air 
 To chill with icy breath the summer's bloom, 
 And Love lies with the blossoms, blighted there. 
 
 He throve so kindly all the summer-time, — 
 Not warmer was the rose's crimson heart ;. 
 
 Dews fell to bless him, and the soft winds blew, 
 And gentle rains shed tears to ease his smart. 
 
 Through long June days and burning August noons, 
 The flowers and Love stole sweetness from the 
 sun; 
 
 Then summer went, — the days grew brief and cold, 
 The short sweet lives of summer things were done. 
 
 No butterfly flits through November's gloom, 
 No bird-note quivers on its frosty air, — 
 
 Sweet Love had wings, and would have flown away, 
 But Autumn chilled him with the blossoms there. 
 
OUT IN THE SNOW. 
 
 OUT IN THE SNOW. 
 
 r ~pHE snow and the silence came down together, 
 
 Through the night so white and so still ; 
 And young folks, housed from the bitter weather, — 
 Housed from the storm and the chill, — 
 
 Heard in their dreams the sleigh-bells jingle, 
 Coasted the hill-sides under the moon, 
 
 Felt their cheeks with the keen air tingle, 
 Skimmed the ice with their steel-clad shoon. 
 
 They saw the snow when they rose in the morning, 
 Glittering ghost of the vanished night, 
 
 Though the sun shone clear in the winter dawning, 
 And the day with a frosty pomp was bright. 
 
 Out in the clear, cold, winter weather, — 
 
 Out in the winter air like wine, — 
 Kate with her dancing scarlet feather, 
 
 Bess with her peacock plumage fine, 
 
 Joe and Jack with their pealing laughter, 
 Frank and Tom with their gay hallo, 
 
 And half a score of roisterers after, 
 Out in the witching, wonderful snow. 
 
14 OUT IN THE SNOW. 
 
 Shivering graybeards shuffle and stumble, 
 Righting themselves with a frozen frown, 
 
 Grumbling at every snowy tumble ; 
 
 But young folks know why the snow came down. 
 
A WEED, 15 
 
 A WEED. 
 
 T TOW shall a little weed grow, 
 
 That has no sun? 
 Rains fall and north winds blow, — 
 
 What shall be done? 
 
 Out come some little pale leaves 
 At the spring's call, 
 
 But the harsh north winds blow, 
 And sad rains fall. 
 
 Would'st try to keep it warm 
 With fickle breath ? 
 
 He must, who would give life, 
 Be Lord of death. 
 
 Some day you forget the weed, — 
 Man's thoughts are brief, — ■ 
 
 And your coldness steals like frost 
 Through each pale leaf, 
 
 Till the weed shrinks back to die 
 
 On kinder sod : 
 Shall a life which found no sun 
 
 In death find God? 
 
16 A QUEST. 
 
 A QUEST. 
 
 A LL in the summer even, 
 
 When sea and sky were bright, 
 As royally the sunset 
 
 Went forth to meet the night, 
 
 My Love and I were sailing 
 
 Into the shining West, 
 To find some Happy Island, 
 
 Some Paradise of rest. 
 
 We steered where sunset splendor 
 Made golden all the shore ; 
 
 The rocks behind its brightness 
 Were cruel as before. 
 
 Within the caves sang sirens ; 
 
 But there the whirlpools be : 
 Not there the Happy Islands, 
 
 Not there the peaceful sea. 
 
 Toward the deep mid-ocean 
 
 Tides ran and swift winds blew ; 
 
 It must be there those Islands 
 Await the longing view. 
 
A QUEST. 17 
 
 Their shores are soft with verdure, 
 
 Their skies for ever fair, 
 And always is the fragrance 
 
 Of blossoms on the air. 
 
 I set our sail to seek them, 
 
 But she, my Love, drew back : 
 
 " Not yet ; the night is chilly, 
 I fear that unknown track." 
 
 So home we sailed, at twilight, 
 
 To the familiar shore ; 
 Turned from the golden glory, 
 
 To live the old life o'er. 
 
 We '11 make no further ventures, — 
 
 For timid is my Love, — 
 Until fresh sailing orders 
 
 Are sent us from above. 
 
 Then past the deep mid-ocean 
 'Twixt life and Life we '11 steer, 
 
 To land on happier islands 
 
 Than those we dreamed of here. 
 
1 8 SOME DAY OR O THER. 
 
 SOME DAY OR OTHER. 
 
 COME day or other I shall surely come 
 
 Where true hearts wait for me ; 
 Then let me learn the language of that home 
 
 While here on earth I be, 
 Lest my poor lips for want of words be dumb 
 
 In that High Company. 
 
THROUGH A WINDOW. 19 
 
 THROUGH A WINDOW. 
 
 T LIE here at rest in my chamber, 
 And look through the window again, 
 With eyes that are changed since the old time, 
 And the sting of an exquisite pain. 
 
 'T is not much that I see for a picture, 
 
 Through boughs that are green with the spring, 
 
 A barn with its roof gray and mossy, 
 And above it a bird on the wing ; 
 
 Or, lifting my head a thought higher, 
 
 Some hills and a village I know, 
 And over it all the blue heaven, 
 
 With a white cloud floating below. 
 
 Ah ! once the roof was a prison, 
 
 My mind and the sky were free, 
 My thoughts with the birds went flying, 
 
 And my hopes were a heaven to me. 
 
 Now I come from the limitless distance 
 Where I followed my youth's wild will, 
 
 Where they press the wine of delusion 
 That you drink and are thirsty still ; 
 
20 
 
 THROUGH A WINDOW. 
 
 And I know why the bird with the springtime 
 To the gnarled old tree comes back, — 
 
 He has tried the south and the summer, 
 He has felt what the sweet things lack. 
 
WAITING. 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 T 'M waiting for my darling, 
 Here, sitting by the sea, 
 Whom never any ship that sails 
 Brings home again to me. 
 
 " Oh, sailor ! have you seen her? 
 
 You 'd know her by her eyes, — 
 So blue they are, so tender, 
 
 So full of glad surprise." 
 
 " Yes, I have seen your darling : 
 
 A fair wind never fails 
 To waft the good ship unto 
 
 The shore for which she sails. 
 
 " King Death they call the Captain, ■ 
 His crew a spectral band, — 
 
 He steers with pennons flying 
 Toward a far-off land. 
 
 " No other ship goes thither, 
 And back across that main, 
 
 The passengers he carries 
 He never brings again." 
 
22 WIFE TO HUSBAND. 
 
 WIFE TO HUSBAND. 
 
 TF I am dust while thou art quick and glad, 
 
 Bethink thee, sometimes, what good cheer we 
 had, — 
 What happy days beside the shining seas, 
 Or by the twilight fire in careless ease, 
 Reading the rhymes of some old poet lover, 
 Or whispering our own love-story over. 
 
 When thou hast mourned for me a fitting space, 
 
 And set another in my vacant place, 
 
 Charmed with her brightness, trusting in her truth, 
 
 Warmed to new life by her beguiling youth, 
 
 Be happy, dearest one, and surely know 
 
 I would not have thee thy life's joys forego. 
 
 Yet think of me sometimes, where cold and still 
 
 I lie, who once was swift to do thy will, 
 
 Whose lips so often answered to thy kiss, 
 
 Who dying blessed thee for that bygone bliss, — 
 
 I pray thee do not bar my presence, quite, 
 
 From thy new life, so full of new delight. 
 
WIFE TO HUSBAND. 23 
 
 I would not vex thee, waiting by thy side ; 
 
 My shadow should not chill thy fair young bride \ 
 
 Only bethink thee how alone I lie ! — 
 
 To die and be forgotten were to die 
 
 A double death ; and I deserve of thee 
 
 Some grace of memory, fair howe'er she be. 
 
24 AFTER THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 AFTER THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 [To L. C. B.] 
 
 TN my dreams I see the hill-tops 
 
 Where the cloudy pathways led, 
 You and I have trod together 
 In the days that now are dead. 
 
 Still I see their shining splendors 
 Height in height before me rise, 
 
 And the radiance of their glory 
 Streams across my half-shut eyes. 
 
 In my dreams you are beside me, — 
 Still I hear your tender tone, 
 
 And your dear eyes light my darkness 
 Till I am no more alone, 
 
 For with memories I am haunted, 
 And the silence seems to beat 
 
 With the music of your talking . 
 And the coming of your feet. 
 
ALONE BY THE BAY. 
 
 ALONE BY THE BAY. 
 
 T TE is gone. my heart, he is gone • 
 And the sea remains and the sky. 
 And the skiffs flit in and out, 
 
 And the white-winged yachts go by. 
 
 The waves run purple and green, 
 And the sunshine glints and glows, 
 
 And freshly across the Bay 
 
 The breath of the morning blows. 
 
 Ah, it was better last night, 
 
 When the dark shut down on the main, 
 And the phantom fleet lay still, 
 
 And I heard the waves complain ; 
 
 For the sadness that dwells in my heart, 
 And the rune of their endless woe, — 
 
 Their longing and void and despair, — 
 Kept time in their ebb and flow. 
 
26 MIDSUMMER IN NEW ENGLAND. 
 
 MIDSUMMER IN NEW ENGLAND. 
 
 r I ^HE royalty of midsummer is here ! 
 
 With daisy blooms the meadow lands are 
 white ; 
 And over them the birds chant their delight, 
 And the blue, listening heavens bend to hear. 
 
 Within the lily's painted cup the bee 
 
 Swings drowsily, and dreams about the rose 
 He loved in June, and how her leaves repose 
 
 Where none can find them save the winds and he. 
 
 The trees are heavy with their wealth of green ; 
 And under them the waiting maidens walk, 
 And fill the idle hours with girlish talk 
 
 Of such a knight as never girl has seen, — 
 
 How he is noble, good, and princely tall ; 
 
 And one day he will come from his far place, 
 And read the blushes in his true love's face, 
 
 And she will rise and follow at his call. 
 
 And then I see a little painted boat, 
 
 Its white sails set to seek the summer sea, 
 And in that boat two lovers, young and free, 
 
 With favoring winds, 'neath smiling skies afloat ; 
 
MIDSUMMER IN NEW ENGLAND. 27 
 
 And all the proud midsummer's glow is come, 
 And all the joy of flower and bird and bee, 
 And all the deeper joy when he and she, 
 
 Their hearts' midsummer found, with bliss are 
 dumb. 
 
28 AT ETRETAT. 
 
 AT ETRETAT. 
 
 HPHE ocean beats against the stern, dumb shore 
 
 The stormy passion of its mighty heart, — 
 The sky, where no stars shine, is black above, 
 And thou and I sit from the world apart. 
 
 We two, with lives no star of hope makes bright, — 
 Whom bliss forgets, and joy no longer mocks, — 
 
 Hark to the wind's wild cry, the sea's complaint, 
 And break with wind and sea against the rocks. 
 
 Sore-wounded, hurled on the dark shore of Fate, 
 We stretch out helpless hands, and cry in vain, — 
 
 Our joy went forth, white-sailed, at dawn of day \ 
 To-night is pitiless for all our pain. 
 
 We are not glad of any morn to come, 
 
 Since that winged joy we never more shall see, — 
 
 But in the passion of the winds and waves 
 Something there seems akin to thee and me. 
 
 They call ! Shall we not go, out on that tide, 
 To touch, perchance, some shore where tempests 
 cease, 
 
 Where no wind blows, and storm-torn souls forget 
 Their past disasters in that utmost peace? 
 
THE HOUSE OE DEATH 29 
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 
 
 "\JOT a hand has lifted the latchet 
 
 Since she went out of the door, — 
 No footstep shall cross the threshold, 
 Since she can come in no more. 
 
 There is rust upon locks and hinges, 
 And mold and blight on the walls, 
 
 And silence faints in the chambers, 
 And darkness waits in the halls, — 
 
 Waits, as all things have waited, 
 Since she went, that day of spring, 
 
 Borne in her pallid splendor, 
 
 To dwell in the Court of the King : 
 
 With lilies on brow and bosom, 
 
 With robes of silken sheen, 
 And her wonderful frozen beauty 
 . The lilies and silk between. 
 
 Red roses she left behind her, 
 But they died long, long ago, — 
 
 'Twas the odorous ghost of a blossom 
 That seemed through the dusk to glow. 
 
30 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 
 
 The garments she left mock the shadows 
 With hints of womanly grace, 
 
 And her image swims in the mirror 
 That was so used to her face. 
 
 The birds make insolent music 
 Where the sunshine riots outside ; 
 
 And the winds are merry and wanton, 
 With the summer's pomp and pride. 
 
 But into this desolate mansion, 
 Where Love has closed the door, 
 
 Nor sunshine nor summer shall enter, 
 Since she can come in no more. 
 
"SHE WAS WON IN AN IDLE DAY." 31 
 
 "SHE WAS WON IN AN IDLE DAY." 
 
 CHE was won in an idle day, — 
 
 Won when the roses were red in June, 
 And the world was set to a drowsy tune, — 
 Won by a lover who rode away. 
 
 Summer things basked in the summer sun ; 
 Through the roses a vagrant wind 
 Stole, their passionate hearts to find, 
 
 Found them, and kissed them, and then was gone, 
 
 Wooed by the June day's fervid breath, 
 
 Violets opened their violet eyes, 
 
 Gazed too long at the ardent skies, 
 And swooned with the dying day to death. 
 
 Nothing was earnest, and nothing was true, — 
 Winds were wanton, and flowers were frail ; 
 And the idle lover who told his tale, 
 
 Warmed by the June sun through and through, 
 
 Kissed her lips as the wind the rose, — 
 Kissed them for joy in the summer day, — 
 And then was ready to ride away 
 
 When over the night the moon arose. 
 
32 "SHE WAS WON IN AN IDLE DAY." 
 
 The violets died with the day's last breath ; 
 
 The roses slept when the wind was low ; 
 
 What chanced to the butterflies, who can know ? 
 But she — oh, pity her — waits for death ! 
 
A LIFE'S LOSS. 33 
 
 A LIFE'S LOSS. 
 
 T^\0 you remember the summer day 
 
 You found me down by the ruined mill? 
 The skies were blue, and the waters bright, 
 And shadows glanced on the windy hill, 
 And the stream moaned on. 
 
 You sat by my side on the moss-grown log, 
 
 Where one whom I loved last night had stood, - 
 
 I heard his voice, like an undertone, 
 
 While you talked to me in that solitude, 
 And the stream moaned on. 
 
 You did not tell me your heart was mine, — 
 You only said that my face was fair, 
 
 That silks and satins should robe my form, 
 And jewels should flash among my hair, 
 And the stream moaned on. 
 
 You went away with that careless air, 
 
 And smiled as you uttered your light good -by, 
 
 But the wind stole down from the frowning hill, 
 And stood at my side with a gasping sigh, 
 And the stream moaned on. 
 
34 A LIFE'S LOSS. 
 
 You remember the pomp of our bridal morn, — 
 The jewels that mocked the bright sunshine, 
 
 The rustling silks, the ringing mirth, 
 The flush of roses, the flow of wine, — 
 While the crowd looked on. 
 
 I saw a presence they did not see, — 
 
 A guest whom they knew not of was there, 
 
 Heart of my heart, he came to mock 
 My bridal vows with his pale despair, 
 And my soul moaned on. 
 
 You won, that day, what you bargained for, — 
 
 My hair to braid your jewels in, 
 My form to deck with your silken robes, 
 
 My face to show to your haughty kin, 
 But my soul moaned on. 
 
A LIFE'S LOSS. 35 
 
 Talk not of love, — you have come too late ! 
 
 You cannot dispel my heart's eclipse, — 
 Where your image should be the dead is shrined, 
 
 And no voice cries from the death-cold lips, 
 Though my soul moans on. 
 
 Some summer day I shall wander down 
 
 Where the waters flow by the ruined mill, — 
 
 Where the shadows come, and the shadows go, 
 There at the foot of the windy hill, 
 And the stream moans on. 
 
 You will find me there, 'neath the whispering wave, 
 Colder and stiller than ever before, — 
 
 The dreams I dreamed and the hopes I hoped 
 Will be hushed to silence for evermore, 
 Though the stream moan on. 
 
 y^i%fe^ 
 
36 THE SINGER. 
 
 THE SINGER. 
 
 "\ 1 ^ITHIN the crimson gloom 
 Of that dim, shaded room 
 I heard a singer sing. 
 
 She sang of life and death, 
 Of joys that end with breath, 
 
 And joys the end doth bring ; 
 
 Of passion's bitter pain, 
 And memory's tears like rain, 
 
 Which will not cease to flow ; 
 
 Of the deep grave's delights, 
 Where through long days and nights 
 They hear the green things grow, 
 
 Cool-rooted flowers, which come 
 So near to that still home, 
 
 Their ways the dead must know ; 
 
 And shivers in the grass, 
 When winds of summer pass, 
 And whisper, as they go, 
 
THE SINGER. 37 
 
 Of the mad life above, 
 
 Where men like masquers move ; 
 
 Or are they ghosts ? — who knows ? — 
 
 Sad ghosts who cannot die, 
 And watch slow years go by 
 
 Amid those painted shows. 
 
 Who knows? For on her tongue 
 What never may be sung 
 
 Seemed trembling, and we wait 
 
 To catch the strain complete, 
 More full, but not more sweet, 
 Beyond the golden gate. 
 
38 HOW LONG? 
 
 HOW LONG? 
 
 TF on my grave the summer grass were growing, 
 
 Or heedless winter winds across it blowing, 
 Through joyous June or desolate December, 
 How long, Sweetheart, how long would you re- 
 member, 
 
 How long, dear love, how long? 
 
 For brightest eyes would open to the summer, 
 And sweetest smiles would greet the sweet new- 
 comer, 
 And on young lips grow kisses for the taking 
 When all the summer buds to bloom are breaking, — 
 How long, dear love, how long? 
 
 To that dim land where sad-eyed ghosts walk only, 
 Where lips are cold, and waiting hearts are lonely, 
 I would not call you from your youth's warm 
 
 blisses ; 
 Fill up your glass and crown it with new kisses, — 
 How long, dear love, how long? 
 
 Too gay, in June, you might be to regret me, 
 And living lips might woo you to forget me ; 
 But, ah, Sweetheart, I think you would remember 
 When winds were weary in your life's December, — 
 So long, dear love, so long ! 
 
THE SONG OF A SUMMER. 39 
 
 THE SONG OF A SUMMER. 
 
 T PLUCKED an apple from off a tree, 
 Golden and rosy and fair to see, — 
 The sunshine had fed it with warmth and light, 
 The dews had freshened it night by night, 
 And high on the topmost bough it grew, 
 Where the winds of Heaven about it blew ; 
 And while the mornings were soft and young 
 The wild birds circled, and soared, and sung, — 
 There, in the storm and calm and shine, 
 It ripened and brightened, this apple of mine, 
 Till the day I plucked it from off the tree, 
 Golden and rosy and fair to see. 
 
 How could I guess 'neath that daintiest rind 
 That the core of sweetness I hoped to find — 
 The innermost, hidden heart of the bliss, 
 Which dews and winds and the sunshine's kiss 
 Had tended and fostered by day and night — 
 Was black with mildew, and bitter with blight ; 
 Golden and rosy and fair of skin, 
 Nothing but ashes and ruin within? 
 Ah, never again, with toil and pain, 
 Will I strive the topmost bough to gain, — 
 Though its wind-swung apples are fair to see, 
 On a lower branch is the fruit for me. 
 
40 IF. 
 
 IF. 
 
 T "\ 7* HAT had I been, lost Love, if you had loved 
 me? 
 
 A woman, smiling as the smiling May, — 
 As gay of heart as birds that carol gaily 
 
 Their sweet young songs to usher in the day — 
 
 As ardent as the skies that brood and brighten 
 O'er the warm fields in summer's happy prime, — 
 
 As tender as the veiling grace that softens 
 
 The harshest shapes in twilight's tender time. 
 
 Like the soft dusk I would have veiled your harsh- 
 ness 
 
 With tendernesses that were not your due, — 
 Your very faults had blossomed into virtues 
 
 Had you known how to love me and be true. 
 
 It had been well for you, — for me how blessed ! 
 
 But shall we ask the wind to blow for aye 
 From one same quarter, — keep at full for ever 
 
 The white moon smiling in a changeless sky? 
 
 Change is the law of wind and moon and lover, — 
 And yet, I think, lost Love, had you been true, 
 
 Some golden fruits had ripened for your plucking 
 You will not find in gardens that are new. 
 
FIAT JUS TITI A. 41 
 
 FIAT JUSTITIA. 
 
 \7ES, all is ended now, for I have weighed thee, — 
 Weighed the light love that has been held so 
 dear, — 
 
 Weighed word and look and smile, that have be- 
 trayed thee, 
 
 The careless grace that was not worth a tear. 
 
 Holding these scales, I marvel at the anguish 
 
 For thing so slight that long my heart has torn, — 
 For God's great sun the prisoner's eyes might 
 
 languish. 
 Not for a torch by some chance passer borne. 
 
 I do not blame thee for thy heedless playing 
 
 On the strong chords whose answer was so full, — 
 
 Do children care, through daisied meadows straying, 
 What hap befalls the blossoms that they pull? 
 
 Go on, gay trifler ! Take thy childish pleasure : 
 On thee, for thee, may summer always shine : 
 
 Too stern were Justice, should she seek to measure 
 Thy fitful love by the strong pain of mine. 
 
42 AT THE LAST 
 
 AT THE LAST. 
 
 /^OME once, just once, dear Love, when I am 
 ^^ dead, — 
 
 Ah God, I would it were this hour, to-night, — 
 And look your last upon the frozen face 
 
 That was to you a summer's brief delight. 
 
 The silent lips will not entreat you then, 
 
 Nor the eyes vex you with unwelcome tears : 
 
 The low, sad voice will utter no complaint, 
 Nor the heart tremble with its restless fears. 
 
 I shall be still, — you will forgive me then 
 For all that I have been, or failed to be, — 
 
 Say, as you look, " Poor Heart, she loved me well ; 
 Will any other be so true to me ? " 
 
 Then bend and kiss the lips that will not speak, — 
 One little kiss for all the dear, dead days, — 
 
 Say once, " God rest her soul ! " then go in peace, — 
 No haunting ghost shall meet you in your ways. 
 
WHAT SHE SAID IN HER TOMB. 43 
 
 WHAT SHE SAID IN HER TOMB. 
 
 1VJOW, at last, I lie asleep 
 
 Where no morrows break, — 
 Why take heed to tread so soft ? — 
 Fear you lest I wake ? 
 
 Time there was when I was red 
 
 As a rose in June 
 With the kisses of your lips, — 
 
 Ah, they failed me soon. 
 
 Now they would not warm my mouth 
 Though they fell like rain : 
 
 I am marble, dear ; and they 
 Marble cannot stain. 
 
 Ah, if you had loved me moie, 
 
 Been content to wait, 
 Some time you had found the key 
 
 To Love's inmost gate. 
 
 Why, indeed, should any man 
 
 Wait for Autumn days, 
 When the present Summer wooes 
 
 To her rosy ways? 
 
44 
 
 WHAT SHE SAID IN HER TOMB, 
 
 Only, — now I lie here dead ; 
 
 I shall not awake, 
 And you need not tread so soft 
 
 For my deaf ears' sake. 
 
A SUMMER'S GHOST. 45 
 
 ' A SUMMER'S GHOST. 
 
 /^\F that old Summer can you still recall 
 
 ^ _> ^ The pomp wherewith the strong sun rose 
 
 and set : 
 How bright the moon shone on the shining fields, 
 What wild, sweet blossoms with the dew were 
 
 wet ? 
 
 Can you still hear the merry robins sing, 
 
 And see the brave red lilies gleam and glow, 
 
 The waiting wealth of bloom, the reckless bees 
 That woo their wild-flower loves, and sting, 
 and go? 
 
 Can you still hear the waves that round the shore 
 Broke in soft joy, and told delusive tales, — 
 
 " We go, but we return : Love comes and goes ; 
 And eyes that watch see homeward-faring sails." 
 
 " 'T was thus in other seasons ! " Ah, may be ! 
 
 But I forget them, and remember this, — 
 A brief, warm season, and a fond, brief love, 
 
 And cold, white Winter after bloom and bliss. 
 
46 LOVER AND FRIEND. 
 
 LOVER AND FRIEND HAST THOU PUT 
 FAR FROM ME. 
 
 Psalm lxxxviii. 18. 
 
 T HEAR the soft September rain intone, 
 
 And cheerful crickets chirping in the grass — 
 I bow my head, I, who am all alone : 
 
 The light winds see, and shiver as they pass. 
 
 No other thing is so bereft as I, — 
 
 The rain-drops fall, and mingle as they fall, — 
 The chirping cricket knows his neighbor nigh, — 
 
 Leaves sway responsive to the light wind's call. 
 
 But Friend and Lover Thou hast put afar, 
 And left me only Thy great, solemn sky, — 
 
 I try to pierce beyond the farthest star 
 
 To search Thee out, and find Thee ere I die ; 
 
 But dim my vision is, or Thou dost hide 
 
 Thy sacred splendor from my yearning eyes : 
 
 Be pitiful, O God, and open wide 
 
 To me, bereft, Thy heavenly Paradise. 
 
LOVER AND FRIEND. 47 
 
 Give me one glimpse of that sweet, far-off rest, — 
 Then I can bear Earth's solitude again ; 
 
 My soul, returning from that heavenly quest, 
 Shall smile, triumphant, at each transient pain. 
 
 Nor would I vex my heart with grief or strife, 
 Though Friend and Lover Thou hast put afar, 
 
 If I could see, through my worn tent of Life, 
 The steadfast shining of Thy morning star. 
 
BEAUTY FOR ASHES. 
 
 BEAUTY FOR ASHES. 
 
 T3EAUTY for ashes thou hast brought me, dear ! 
 A time there was when all my soul lay waste, 
 As ere the dawn the earth lies dark and drear, 
 Whereto the golden feet of morn make haste. 
 
 Like morn thou earnest, blessings in thy hands, 
 And gracious pity round thine ardent mouth, — 
 
 Like dews of morning upon waiting lands, 
 
 Thy tender tears refreshed my spirit's drouth. 
 
 To-day is calm. Far off the tempest raves 
 
 That long ago swept dead men to the shore, — 
 
 I can forget the madness of the waves, — 
 
 Against my hopes and me they break no more. 
 
 White butterflies flit shining in the sun, — 
 Red roses burst to bloom upon the tree, — 
 
 Birds call to birds till the glad day is done, 
 The day of beauty thou hast brought to me. 
 
 Shall I forget, O gentle heart and true, 
 
 How thy fair dawn has risen on my night, — 
 
 Turned dark to day, all golden through and 
 through, — 
 From soil of grief won bloom of new delight? 
 
TO MY HEART. 49 
 
 TO MY HEART. 
 
 TN thy long, lonely times, poor aching heart ! 
 
 When days are slow, and silent nights are sad, 
 Take cheer, weak heart, remember and be glad, 
 For some one loved thee. 
 
 Some one, indeed, who cared for fading face, 
 For time-touched hair, and weary-falling arm, 
 And in thy very sadness found a charm 
 To make him love thee. 
 
 God knows thy days are desolate, poor heart ! 
 As thou dost sit alone, and dumbly wait 
 For what comes not, or comes, alas ! too late, 
 But some one loved thee. 
 
 Take cheer, poor heart, remembering what he 
 said, 
 And how of thy lost youth he missed no grace, 
 But saw some subtler beauty in thy face, 
 So well he loved thee. 
 
 It may be, on Time's farther shore, the dead 
 Love the sweet shades of those they missed on this, 
 And dream, in heavenly rest, of earth's lost bliss, — 
 So he shall love thee. 
 
50 TO MY HEART. 
 
 Till then take cheer, poor, silent, aching heart ; 
 Content thee with the face he once found fair, 
 Mourn not for fading bloom or time-touched hair, 
 Since he hath loved thee. 
 
ALIEN WATERS. 5 1 
 
 ALIEN WATERS. 
 
 T WANDERED along beside the alien waters, 
 For summer suns were warm, and winds were 
 dead : 
 Fields fair as hope were stretching on before me, 
 Forbidden paths were pleasant to my tread. 
 
 From boughs that hung between me and the heavens 
 I gathered summer fruitage, red and gold : 
 
 For me, the idle singers sang of pleasure : 
 My days went by like stories that are told. 
 
 On my rose-tree grew roses for my plucking, 
 As red as love, or pale as tender pain, — 
 
 I found no thorns to vex me in my garlands : 
 Each day was good, and no rose bloomed in 
 vain. 
 
 Sometimes I danced, as in a dream, to music, 
 And kept quick time with many flying feet, 
 
 And some one praised me in the music's pauses, 
 And very young was life, and love was sweet. 
 
 How could I listen to the low voice calling, 
 
 " Come hither, — leave thy music and thy 
 mirth?" 
 
 How could I stop to hear of far-off Heaven ? 
 I lived, and loved, and was a child of earth, 
 
52 ALIEN WATERS. 
 
 Then came a hand and took away my treasures, 
 Dimmed my fine gold, cut my fair rose-tree 
 down, 
 Changed my dance music into notes of wailing, 
 Quenched the bright day, and turned my green 
 fields brown. 
 
 Till, walking lonely through the empty places 
 Where Love and I no more kept holiday, 
 
 My sad eyes, growing wonted to the darkness, 
 Beheld a new light shining far away : 
 
 And I could bear my hopes should lie around me, 
 Dead like my roses, falPn before their time, — 
 
 For well I knew some tender Spring would raise 
 them 
 To brighter blossoming in Hope's fair clime. 
 
LOOKING BACK. 53 
 
 LOOKING BACK. 
 
 T MAY live long, but some old days 
 
 Of dear, deep joy akin to pain, — 
 Some suns that set on woodland ways 
 
 Will never rise for me again. 
 By shining sea, and glad, green shore 
 
 That frolic waves ran home to kiss, 
 Some words I heard that nevermore 
 
 Will thrill me with their mystic bliss. 
 
 Oh Love, still throbs your living heart, — 
 
 You have not crossed death's sullen tide : 
 A deeper deep holds us apart : 
 
 We were more near if you had died, — 
 If you had died in those old days 
 
 When light was on the shining sea, 
 And all the fragrant woodland ways 
 
 Were paths of hope for you and me. 
 
 Dead leaves are in those woodland ways, — 
 Cold are the lips that used to kiss, — 
 
 'T were idle to recall those days, 
 Or sigh for all that vanished bliss, 
 
54 LOOKING BACK. 
 
 Do you still wear your old-time grace, 
 And charm new loves with ancient wiles? 
 
 Could I but watch your faithless face, 
 I 'd know the meaning of your smiles. 
 
A PROBLEM. 55 
 
 A PROBLEM. 
 
 A /TY darling has a merry eye, 
 
 And voice like silver bells : 
 How shall I win her, prithee, say, — 
 By what magic spells ? 
 
 If I frown, she shakes her head \ 
 
 If I weep, she smiles : 
 Time would fail me to recount 
 
 All her wilful wiles. 
 
 She flouts me so, — she stings me so, — 
 
 Yet will not let me stir, — 
 In vain I try to pass her by, 
 
 My little chestnut bur. 
 
 When I yield to every whim, 
 
 She straight begins to pout. 
 Teach me how to read my love, 
 
 How to find her out ! 
 
 For flowers she gives me thistle-blooms, 
 Her turtle-doves are crows, — 
 
 I am the groaning weather-vane, 
 And she the wind that blows. 
 
56 A PROBLEM. 
 
 My little love ! My teasing love ! 
 
 Was woman made for man, — 
 A rose that blossomed from his side ? 
 
 Believe it — those who can. 
 
AT A WINDOW. 57 
 
 AT A WINDOW. 
 
 JUST a flower on the window-sill, 
 That a kindly visitor's hand has brought, 
 And the lame boy, sitting there patient and still, 
 
 Tastes the summer with beauty fraught, 
 And greets the June and its roses at will, 
 And gathers a blossom with every thought. 
 
 Just a bird, with its bright, quick eye 
 
 Glancing in at the window there, 
 Dropping a note of song from the sky, 
 
 And off, swift- winged, on the summer air; 
 But a thousand singers with him go by. 
 
 And sing, and the boy is well aware. 
 
 If the summer comes with a single rose, 
 
 And in one bird's note sings the summer choir,, 
 
 And the whole bright world around him glows 
 At the summoning breath of a boy's desire, 
 
 Shall we wait for reasons, and ask, " Who knows? " 
 Of souls aglow with the heavenly fire ? 
 
58 TO A LADY IN A PICTURE. 
 
 TO A LADY IN A PICTURE. 
 
 OITTING in that picture, 
 Smiling night and day, 
 Do you never weary, 
 Long to weep or pray? 
 
 Though your dress is velvet, 
 And your hair is gold, 
 
 I see something in your' eyes 
 That you have not told. 
 
MY CAPTIVE. 59 
 
 MY CAPTIVE. 
 
 T CAUGHT a little bird, and I shut him in a cage, 
 And I said, " Now, my pet, I love thee dearly. 
 Fold thy bright wings, nor let thy fancy range : 
 Thou 'rt mine own, so sing, I pray thee, cheerly." 
 
 But, oh, the little bird, he fluttered still his wings, 
 
 And with bright, wild eyes he never ceased to 
 
 watch me, 
 
 And I only hear,d him say, " 'T is a free heart that 
 
 sings, — 
 
 Open my door, and I '11 sing till you catch me." 
 
 I brought him dainty food, and I soothed him 
 long and well, 
 But the timid little heart ceased not to tremble. 
 I decked his cage with flowers, with leaves I wrought 
 a spell, 
 By such fond device his capture to dissemble. 
 
60 MY CAPTIVE. 
 
 But still he missed above him the far and shining 
 sky, 
 And still he missed about him the free wind's 
 blowing. 
 He beat his little wings, for he had no space to fly, 
 And his bright, wild eyes like twin stars were 
 glowing. 
 
 And I heard his little heart, as it throbbed so loud 
 and fast, 
 And my love and my pity wrought together, 
 Till I opened wide his door, and I said, "Thy 
 thraldom 's past. 
 Fly away, bright wings, and seek the summer 
 weather." 
 
 But now I think he loves me, since I have made 
 him free, — 
 For often, oftentimes, at daybreak or at gloaming, 
 I think I hear a song that seems to be for me, — 
 "Throw wide the door, to keep a heart from 
 roaming." 
 
2?0S£S. 6 1 
 
 ROSES. 
 
 TTAROLD, on a summer day, 
 
 Gave me roses for my hair, — 
 Roses red, and roses white, 
 As if pale with Love's despair. 
 
 White ones for my brow, he said, 
 Red to blush beside my cheek, — 
 
 And a bud to whisper me 
 
 Something that he dared not speak. 
 
 Ah, that summer day is over, 
 
 And its brightness comes not back : 
 
 Harold's roses something held 
 Other roses seemed to lack. 
 
 Blossoms bloom along my path 
 
 Red and white as those were then,- 
 
 But the words that Harold spoke 
 I can never hear again. 
 
62 DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 TO E. M. H. 
 
 T^\OWN the wonderful, magical river 
 
 We drifted that summer night • 
 And we almost heard the shiver 
 
 Of the wind through the trees on our right ; 
 And the moon-rays seemed to quiver 
 
 On your face, like the moonlight white. 
 
 And the tide with a soft resistance 
 Withstood our keel from below ; 
 
 But the yacht with its firm insistence 
 Dropped down to the city below ; 
 
 And we saw in the mystical distance 
 The white skiffs come and go. 
 
 And your eyes in the moonlight tender 
 Had things as tender to say ; 
 
 And your hand, so timid and slender, 
 In mine forgetfully lay ; 
 
 And how my dream shall I render, 
 As we drifted into the bay? 
 
DOWN THE RIVER. 63 
 
 But there were the lights of the city, 
 And in vain was the white moon white ; 
 
 And the town, with its glare, had no pity 
 For the dream of a summer night ; 
 
 So I turn the dream to a ditty 
 To sing to you, Heart's Delight ! 
 
64 LOVE'S LAND, 
 
 LOVE'S LAND. 
 
 TN the South is Love's land, 
 
 Where the roses blow, 
 Where the Summer lingers 
 
 Fearless of the snow. 
 There no Winter chills it, 
 
 So its life is long, — 
 Gentle breezes fan it, 
 
 Age but makes it strong. 
 
 " Nay, fresh roses wither 
 
 Where the sun is hot, — 
 Not in torrid regions 
 
 Blooms Forget-me-not. 
 Love *s a tender blossom 
 
 Which the Winter chills, 
 But the eager Summer 
 
 Kisses it, and kills. " 
 
HER WINDOW. 65 
 
 HER WINDOW. 
 
 /^UT of her window, that morn of grace, 
 ^^ She leaned her radiant, beautiful face, — 
 The sun, ashamed, went into a cloud ; 
 But, glad of the dawning, the birds sang loud. 
 
 A laggard went up the garden walk, 
 And lingered to hear the murmuring talk 
 Of flower and bee and every comer 
 That fluttered along in front of the summer. 
 
 He quaffed the wine of the morning air, 
 And felt with a thrill that the day was fair — 
 Then he raised his eyes to her window's height, 
 " Ah, me," he said, " but the sun is bright ! " 
 
66 A MADRIGAL. 
 
 A MADRIGAL. 
 
 T OVE is a day, Sweetheart, shining and bright : 
 It hath its rose-dawn ere the morning light ; 
 Its glow and glory of the sudden sun ; 
 Its noon-tide heat as the swift hours wear on ; 
 Its fall of dew, and silver-lighted night, — 
 Love is a day. Sweetheart, shining and bright. 
 
 Love is a year, Beloved, bitter and brief: 
 
 It hath its spring of bud, and bloom and leaf; 
 
 Its summer burning from the fervid South 
 
 Till all the fields lie parched and faint with drouth ; 
 
 Its autumn, when the leaves sweep down the gale, 
 
 When skies are grey, and heart and spirit fail ; 
 
 Its winter white with snow, more white with grief, — 
 
 Love is a year, Beloved, bitter and brief. 
 
 Love is a life, Sweetheart, ending in death : 
 Is it worth while to mourn its fleeting breath, 
 Light-footed youth, or sad, fore-casting prime, 
 Joy of young hope, or grief of later time ? 
 What pain or pleasure stays its parting breath ? 
 Love is a life, Sweetheart, ending in death. 
 
QUESTION. 67 
 
 QUESTION. 
 
 T~\EAR and blessed dead ones, can you look and 
 listen 
 To the sighing and the moaning down here 
 below? 
 Does it make a discord in the hymns of Heaven, — 
 The discord that jangles in the life you used to 
 know ? 
 
 When we pray our prayers to the great God above 
 you, 
 Does the echo of our praying ever glance aside 
 your way? 
 Do you know the thing we ask for, and wish that 
 you could give it, 
 You, whose hearts ached with wishing in your 
 own little day? 
 
 Are your ears deaf with praises, you blessed dead 
 of Heaven, 
 And your eyes blind with glory, that you cannot 
 see our pain? 
 If you saw, if you heard, you would weep among 
 the angels, 
 And the praises and the glory would be for you 
 in vain. 
 
68 QUESTION. 
 
 Yet He listens to our praying, the great God of 
 pity, 
 
 As He fills with pain the measure of our Life's 
 little day, — 
 Could He bear to sit and shine there, on His 
 white throne in Heaven, 
 But that He sees the end, while we only see 
 the way? 
 
/ FAIN WOULD GO. 69 
 
 I FAIN WOULD GO. 
 
 A WAY from carking care, 
 From passion and despair, 
 From hopes that but delude, 
 And blasts that are too rude, — 
 From friendships that betray, 
 And joys that pass away, 
 And love that turns to hate 
 In hearts left desolate, 
 I fain would go. 
 
 From weary days and nights, 
 And ghosts of lost delights, — 
 Fair phantoms of dead days, 
 That wander through old ways, ■ 
 From parting's bitter pain, 
 And meeting's transient gain, 
 And death that mocks us so, 
 With glad life's overthrow, — 
 I fain would go, 
 
70 / FAIN WOULD GO, 
 
 To some fair land and far, 
 Where all my lost ones are, 
 Where smiles shall bloom anew, 
 And friendship shall be true, 
 Where falls no weary night, 
 Since God Himself is light, — 
 Across the soundless sea 
 To that far land, and free, 
 I fain would go. 
 
THE SPRING IS LATE. 71 
 
 THE SPRING IS LATE. 
 
 QHE stood alone amidst the April fields, — 
 
 Brown, sodden fields, all desolate and bare, — 
 "The spring is late," she said, — " the faithless 
 spring, 
 That should have come to make the meadows 
 fair. 
 
 " Their sweet South left too soon, among the trees 
 The birds, bewildered, flutter to and fro ; 
 
 For them no green boughs wait, — their memories 
 Of last year's April had deceived them so. 
 
 " From meath a sheltering pine some tender buds 
 Looked out, and saw the hollows filled with snow ; 
 
 On such a frozen world they closed their eyes ; 
 When spring is cold, how can the blossoms blow?" 
 
 She watched the homeless birds, the slow, sad 
 spring, 
 
 The barren fields, and shivering, naked trees : 
 " Thus God has dealt with me, his child," she said, — 
 
 I wait my spring-time, and am cold like these. 
 
 " To them will come the fulness of their time ; 
 
 Their spring, though late, will make the meadows 
 fair ; 
 Shall I, who wait like them, like them be blest? 
 
 I am His own, — doth not my Father care? " 
 
7 2 SELFIS II PR A YER. 
 
 SELFISH PRAYER. 
 
 T T OW we, poor players on Life's little stage, • 
 
 Thrust blindly at each other in our rage, 
 Quarrel and fret, yet rashly dare to pray 
 To God to help us on our selfish way. 
 
 We think to move Him with our prayer and praise, 
 To serve our needs ; as in the old Greek days 
 Their gods came down and mingled in the fight 
 With mightier arms the flying foe to smite. 
 
 The laughter of those gods pealed down to men, 
 For Heaven was but earth's upper story then 
 Where goddesses about an apple strove, 
 And the high gods fell humanly in love. 
 
 We own a God whose presence fills the sky, — 
 Whose sleepless eyes behold the worlds roll by ; 
 Shall not His memory number, one by one, 
 The sons of men, who calls them each His son ? 
 
AD TE DOMINE. 73 
 
 AD TE DOMINE. 
 
 /^\ THOU who sendest dewdrops to the garden, 
 ^^^ Until each fragrant bud receives its own, 
 Canst Thou not look on human hearts and pardon 
 To waiting loneliness its bitter moan ? 
 
 The flowers can drink the dawn, — it hastens to 
 them ; 
 But hearts athirst wait sadly for their hour, 
 For the sweet gift that may, perchance, undo 
 them, — 
 Too fatal sweet a dew for human flower. 
 
74 IF I COULD KEEP HER SO. 
 
 IF I COULD KEEP HER SO. 
 
 JUST a little baby, lying in my arms, — 
 Would that I could keep you, with your baby 
 charms ; 
 Helpless, clinging fingers, downy, golden hair, 
 Where the sunshine lingers, caught from other- 
 where ; 
 Blue eyes asking questions, lips that cannot speak, 
 Roly-poly shoulders, dimple in your cheek ; 
 Dainty little blossom in a world of woe, 
 Thus I fain would keep you, for I love you so. 
 
 Roguish little damsel, scarcely six years old, — 
 Feet that never weary, hair of deeper gold ; 
 Restless, busy fingers all the time at play, 
 Tongue that never ceases talking all the day ; 
 Blue eyes learning wonders of the world about, 
 Here you come to tell them, — what an eager 
 
 shout ! — 
 Winsome little damsel, all the neighbors know ; 
 Thus I long to keep you, for I love you so. 
 
 Sober little schoolgirl, with your strap of books, 
 And such grave importance in your puzzled looks ; 
 Solving weary problems, poring over sums, 
 Yet with tooth for sponge-cake and for sugar-plums ; 
 
IF I COULD KEEP HER SO. 75 
 
 Reading books of romance in your bed at night, 
 Waking up to study with the morning light ; 
 Anxious as to ribbons, deft to tie a bow, 
 Full of contradictions, — I would keep you so. 
 
 Sweet and thoughtful maiden, sitting by my side, 
 All the world's before you, and the world is wide ; 
 Hearts are there for winning, hearts are there to 
 
 break, 
 Has your own, shy maiden, just begun to wake ? 
 Is that rose of dawning glowing on your cheek 
 Telling us in blushes what you will not speak ? 
 Shy and tender maiden, I would fain forego 
 All the golden future, just to keep you so. 
 
 Ah ! the listening angels saw that she was fair, 
 Ripe for rare unfolding in the upper air ; 
 Now the rose of dawning turns to lily white, 
 And the close-shut eyelids veil the eyes from sight; 
 All the past I summon as I kiss her brow, — 
 Babe, and child, and maiden, all are with me now. 
 Though my heart is breaking, yet God's love 1 
 
 know, — 
 Safe among the angels, I would keep her so. 
 
76 ANNIE'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ANNIE'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 HPHE lingering charm of a dream that has fled, 
 
 The rose's breath when the rose is dead, 
 The echo that lives when the tune is done, 
 The sunset glories that follow the sun, 
 Every thing tender and every thing fair 
 That was, and is not, and yet is there, — 
 I think of them all when I look in these eyes, 
 And see the old smile to the young lips rise. 
 
 I remember the lilacs, all purple and white, 
 
 And the turf at the feet of my heart's delight, 
 
 Sprinkled with daisies and violets sweet — 
 
 Daintiest floor for the daintiest feet — 
 
 And the face that was fond, and foolish, and fair. 
 
 And the golden grace of the floating hair, 
 
 And the lips where the glad smiles came and went. 
 
 And the lashes that shaded the eyes' content. 
 
 I remember the pledge of the red young lips 
 And the shy, soft touch of the finger-tips, 
 And the kisses I stole, and the words we spoke, 
 And the ring I gave, and the coin we broke, 
 
ANNIE'S DAUGHTER. 77 
 
 And the love that never should change or fail 
 Though the earth stood still or the stars turned pale ; 
 And again I stand, when I see these eyes, 
 A glad young Fool, in my Paradise. 
 
 For the earth and the stars remained as of old, 
 But the love that had been so warm grew cold. 
 Was it She ? Was it I ? — I don't remember : 
 Then it was June, — it is now December. 
 But again I dream the old dream over, 
 My Annie is young, and I am her lover 
 When I look in this Annie's gentle eyes 
 And see the old smile to the young lips rise. 
 
78 LOOKING INTO THE WELL. 
 
 LOOKING INTO THE WELL. 
 
 T TP in the maples the robins sung, 
 ^ The winds blew over the locusts high, 
 And along the path by their boughs o'erhung 
 
 We wandered gaily, Lulu and I, — 
 Wandered along in pleasant talk, 
 
 Pausing our nursery tales to tell, 
 Till we came to the end of the shaded walk 
 
 And sat, at last, by the moss-grown well. 
 She was a child, and so was I : 
 
 It mattered not that we told our love, — 
 Whispered it there, with no one nigh 
 
 Save birds that sang in the trees above. 
 I looked down into her shy blue eyes, 
 
 She at my face in the shaded well : 
 I saw the glow to her fair cheek rise, 
 
 Like pink in the heart of an ocean shell. 
 
 Again in the trees the robins sung; 
 
 The gold had deepened upon her hair : 
 The locusts over the pathway hung 
 
 To look at her face so still and fair. 
 I said no word : I sat by her side 
 
 Contented to hold her hand in mine 
 Dreaming of love and a fair young bride, — 
 
 Visions that truth would have made divine. 
 
LOOKING INTO THE WELL. 79 
 
 The robin's song took a clearer tone, 
 The sky was a tenderer, deeper blue : 
 
 Her face in the limpid waters shone, — ■ 
 I thought her eyes were holy and true. 
 
 I walked alone to the shaded well 
 
 When locusts bloomed in the next year's June, 
 The shadows along my pathway fell, 
 
 The wild birds sang a sorrowful tune. 
 She had given her shining hair's young gold, 
 
 Her holy brow and her eyes of blue, 
 The form I had scarcely dared to fold, 
 
 To a wealthy suitor who came to woo : 
 Had sold, for jewels and land and name, 
 
 Youth and beauty and love and grace, — 
 Alone I cursed the sin and shame, 
 
 And started to see my own dark face 
 Mirrored there in the well below, 
 
 With its haggard cheek and its lines of care, 
 Where I once had seen a girlish brow 
 
 And shy blue eyes and golden hair. 
 
 Years have passed since that summer day 
 Went over the hills with its silent tread 1 
 
 I walk alone where its glory lay, — 
 I am lonely, and Lulu is dead. 
 
So LOOKING INTO THE WELL. 
 
 Dust is thick on her shining hair, 
 
 A shroud is folded across her breast, 
 The winds blow over the locusts where 
 
 She lies at last, alone and at rest. 
 Youth and beauty, and love and grace, 
 
 Wealth and station, joy and pain, — 
 If she dream at all in that lonely place, 
 
 She will know, at length, that her life was vain. 
 
 I do not think of her hearts disgrace, 
 
 Looking into the waters there ; 
 For I seem to see once more a face 
 
 With shy blue eyes and golden hair. 
 Out among men she walks by my side — 
 
 For me she lives whom the world calls dead, — 
 I talk at night to my shadow bride, 
 
 And pillow in dreams her golden head. 
 They broke her heart, — so the gossips tell, — 
 
 Who sold her hand for wealth and a name ; 
 But I see her face in the cool, deep well, 
 
 And its innocent beauty is still the same. 
 
LIKE A CHILD. 81 
 
 LIKE A CHILD. 
 
 T)LAYING there in the sun, chasing the butter- 
 ■*■ flies, 
 
 Caxhing his golden toy, holding it fast till it dies, 
 Singing to match the birds, calling the robins at will, 
 Glancing here and there, never a moment still, — 
 Like a child. 
 
 Going to school at last, learning to read and write, 
 Puzzled over his slate, busy from morn till night, 
 Striving to win a prize, careless when it is won, 
 Finding his joy in the strife, not in the thing that 's 
 done. 
 
 Busy in eager trade, buying, and selling again, 
 Chasing a golden prize, glad of a transient gain, 
 Always beginning anew, never the long task done, 
 Just as it used to be with the butterfly in the sun. 
 
 Seeking a woman's heart, winning it for his own, 
 Then, too busy for love, letting it turn to stone : 
 Sure of his plighted troth, what more had a wife 
 
 to ask? 
 Is he not doing for her each day his daily task? 
 
 A child, to pine and complain, — a child, to grow 
 
 so pale, — 
 For want of some foolish words shall the faith of a 
 
 woman fail? 
 
82 LIKE A CHILD. 
 
 Words ! he said them once, — what need of any 
 
 thing more? 
 Does one who has entered a room go back and 
 
 wait at the door? 
 
 Baby Mary and Kate never can climb his knee : 
 Motherly arms are open, — but " Father 's busy, 
 
 you see." 
 Too busy to stop to hear a babble of broken talk, 
 To mend the jumping-jack or make the new doll 
 
 walk. 
 
 So busy that when Death comes he pleads for a 
 
 little delay, 
 If not to finish his work, at least a word to say, — 
 A word to wife and child, a sentence to tell the 
 
 truth, 
 That he loves them now, at the last, with the 
 
 passionate heart of youth. 
 
 The kisses of Death are cold, and they turn his 
 
 lips to stone : 
 Out of the warm, bright world the man goes all 
 
 alone. 
 Do angels wait for him there, over the soundless 
 
 sea? 
 He goes, as he came, all helpless, to a new world's 
 
 mystery — 
 
 Like a child. 
 
A SOA r G IN THE WOOD. 83 
 
 A SONG IN THE WOOD. 
 
 T FOUND a shy little violet root 
 
 Half hid in the woods, on a day of spring, 
 And a bird flew over, and looked at it, too, 
 And for joy, as he looked, he began to sing. 
 
 The sky was the tenderest blue above, — 
 And the flower like a bit of the sky below ; 
 
 And between them the wonderful winds of God 
 On heavenly errands went to and fro. 
 
 Away from the summer, and out of the South 
 The bird has followed a whisper true, 
 
 As out from the brown and desolate sod 
 
 Stepped the shy little blossom, with eyes of blue. 
 
 And he sang to her, in the young spring day, 
 
 Of all the joy in the world astir; 
 And her beauty and fragrance answered him, 
 
 While the spring and he bent over her. 
 
 ^qo~ 
 
84 MY BOY. 
 
 MY BOY. 
 
 T HAD a little bird once, 
 But he has flown away. 
 I had a little boy once, 
 But ah, he did not stay. 
 
 What do they up in Heaven, 
 That Bird and Boy should fly, 
 
 And leave my home so empty 
 To seek the far-off sky ? 
 
 What do they up in Heaven ? — 
 Perchance the angels sing, 
 
 And, when they heard that music, 
 My Bird and Boy took wing. 
 
 The heavenly flowers bloom always, 
 The skies are always bright, 
 
 And all the little children 
 
 Play there from morn till night. 
 
 But do they never weary, 
 
 And long to go to rest, 
 Like little human children, 
 
 Upon a mother's breast ? 
 
MY BOY. 85 
 
 My home and arms are empty, 
 
 My longing heart is sore, 
 Since they who sought the summer 
 
 Come back to me no more. 
 
 How softly falls the twilight, — 
 The sunset fires are out : 
 
 A wind that comes from Heaven 
 Blows slowly round about. 
 
 I close my eyes and listen, 
 
 And presently I hear 
 A small voice through the darkness 
 
 Sigh, " Mother — I am near. 
 
 c t Come, take me in, dear mother, 
 
 And rock me as of old : 
 I used to be so happy 
 
 Within your tender hold ! 
 
 " There sorrow cannot find me, 
 And pain shall pass me by, — 
 
 When you enfold who love me, 
 What danger can come nigh? 
 
 " So safe I was in Heaven, 
 
 So bright the shining days ! 
 But, from afar, your weeping 
 
 Disturbed the hymns of praise, 
 
86 MY BOY. 
 
 " Till the dear Lord and gentle 
 Sent me to soothe your pain, 
 
 And, if you fain would keep me, 
 He bids me to remain." 
 
 I kissed his tender eyelids, 
 
 I laid him on my heart; 
 And yet, when came the dawning, 
 
 I prayed him to depart. 
 
 I feared the unknown future, 
 I feared the paths untried, — 
 
 How dared I keep my darling 
 When Heaven was opened wide? 
 
 But, ah, my heart is lonely 
 
 Since Boy and Bird have fled, — 
 
 I hear the silence only, 
 
 And wish that I were dead. 
 
TRO THPLIGHT. 8 7 
 
 TROTHPLIGHT. 
 
 [For the Golden Wedding of a Husband thirty-seven 
 years blind^\ 
 
 T BROUGHT her home, my bonny bride, 
 
 Just fifty years ago ; 
 Her eyes were bright, 
 Her step was light, 
 
 Her voice was sweet and low. 
 
 In April was our wedding-day, — 
 
 The maiden month, you know, 
 
 Of tears and smiles, 
 
 And wilful wiles, 
 
 And flowers that spring from snow. 
 
 My love cast down her dear, dark eyes 
 As if in fain would hide 
 
 From my fond sight 
 
 Her own delight, 
 
 Half shy yet happy bride. 
 
 But blushes told the tale, instead, 
 
 As plain as words could speak 
 
 In dainty red 
 
 That overspread 
 
 My darling's dainty cheek. 
 
8 TROTHPLIGHT. 
 
 For twice six years and more I watched 
 Her fairer grow each day, — 
 
 My babes were blest 
 
 Upon her breast, 
 
 And she was pure as they. 
 
 And then an angel touched my eyes, 
 
 And turned my day to night, 
 
 That fading charms 
 
 Or time's alarms 
 
 Might never vex my sight. 
 
 Thus sitting in the dark I see 
 
 My darling as of yore, — 
 
 With blushing face 
 
 And winsome grace, 
 
 Unchanged, for evermore. 
 
 Full fifty years of young and fair ! 
 
 To her I pledge my vow 
 Whose spring-time grace 
 And April face 
 
 Have lasted until now. 
 
THE HOUSE IN THE MEADOW. 89 
 
 THE HOUSE IN THE MEADOW. 
 
 TT stands in a sunny meadow, 
 
 The house so mossy and brown, 
 With its cumbrous old stone chimneys, 
 And the gray roof sloping down. 
 
 The trees fold their green arms round it, 
 
 The trees a century old ; 
 And the winds go chaunting through them, 
 
 And the sunbeams sift their gold. 
 
 The cowslips spring in the meadows, 
 
 The roses bloom on the hill, 
 And beside the brook in the pasture 
 
 The herds are feeding at will. 
 
 Within, in the wide old kitchen, 
 
 The old folk sit in the sun 
 That creeps through the sheltering woodbine 
 
 Till the day is almost done. 
 
 Their children grew up and left them, — 
 
 They sit in the sun alone, 
 And the old wife's ears are failing 
 
 As she harks to the well-known tone 
 
90 THE HOUSE IN THE MEADOW. 
 
 That won her heart in her girlhood, 
 That has soothed her in many a care, 
 
 And praises her now for the brightness 
 Her old face used to wear. 
 
 She thinks again of her bridal, 
 
 How, dressed in her robe of white, 
 
 She stood by her gay young lover 
 In the morning's rosy light : — 
 
 Oh, the morning is rosy as ever, 
 
 But the rose from her cheek has fled ; 
 
 And the sunshine still is golden, 
 But it shines on a silvered head. 
 
 And the girlhood dreams, once vanished, 
 Come back in her winter time 
 
 Till her feeble pulses tremble 
 
 With the thrill of spring-time's prime. 
 
 And, looking forth from the window, 
 She thinks how the trees have grown 
 
 Since, clad in her bridal whiteness, 
 She crossed the old door-stone. 
 
 Though dimmed her eyes' bright azure, 
 And dimmed her hair's young gold, 
 
 The love in her girlhood plighted 
 Has never grown dim nor cold. 
 
THE HOUSE IN THE MEADOW. 91 
 
 They sat in peace in the sunshine 
 Till the day was almost done, 
 
 And then, at its close, an angel 
 Stole over the threshold stone. 
 
 He folded their hands together, 
 
 He touched their eyelids with balm, 
 
 And their last breath floated outward 
 Like the close of a solemn psalm. 
 
 Like a bridal pair they traversed 
 The unseen, mystical road 
 
 That leads to the Beautiful City 
 Whose Builder and Maker is God. 
 
 Perchance in that miracle country 
 They will give her lost youth back, 
 
 And the flowers of the vanished spring-time 
 Will bloom in the spirit's track. 
 
 One draught from the living waters 
 Shall call back his manhood's prime ; 
 
 And eternal years shall measure 
 The love that outlasted time. 
 
92 THE 'HOUSE IN THE MEADOW. 
 
 But the shapes that they left behind them, 
 The wrinkles and silver hair , — 
 
 Made holy to us by the kisses 
 The angel had printed there, — 
 
 We will hide away 'neath the willows 
 When the day is low in the west, 
 
 Where the sunbeams cannot find them 
 Nor the winds disturb their rest ; 
 
 And we '11 suffer no tell-tale tombstone, 
 With its age and date, to rise 
 
 O'er the two who are old no longer 
 In the Father's house in the skies. 
 
FROM DUSK TO DAWN. 93 
 
 FROM DUSK TO DAWN. 
 
 TT was just at the close of a summer day, 
 
 When the fair, young moon in the east was up, 
 And falling, as falls the peace of God, 
 
 The dew dropped balm in the wild-flower's 
 cup. 
 
 And soft south winds touched the weary brow 
 Of a woman who leaned on a cottage gate 
 
 And lingered to catch the low, sweet call 
 Of a late bird singing home to his mate. 
 
 From within she heard the household talk, 
 As if each to other were true and dear, 
 
 And after her, down the lonesome street, 
 Followed the sound of mirthful cheer. 
 
 They were blest, she knew, in their homely 
 peace, — 
 
 A sad smile trembled about her mouth, — 
 " I am glad," she said, " that for some poor souls 
 
 There be full wells, though the rest have drouth." 
 
 She saw the children about the doors, 
 With fond young lips for mothers to kiss, 
 
 And from every home, as she passed along, 
 She caught some cadence of household bliss. 
 
94 FROM DUSK TO DAWN. 
 
 Till she came, at last, to her own low roof, 
 Where she and a ghost dwelt face to face, 
 
 The ghost of her days of joy and youth, 
 The only guest in that lonesome place. 
 
 They talked together of all the past, — 
 
 She and the ghost, in the white moonlight, — 
 
 Till the pale guest's face like an angePs grew, 
 An old-time glory had made it bright. 
 
 When the dawn arose, they both were gone, — 
 On the bed a shape like the woman's lay, — 
 
 But she, with the ghost of the gay, glad past, 
 To some land of shadows had wandered away : 
 
 A land where she found the lost again, — 
 
 Where youth was waiting, and love was sweet, 
 
 And all the joys she had buried once 
 Sprang up like blossoms about her feet. 
 
THERE. 95 
 
 THERE. 
 
 \\0 any hearts ache there, beyond the peaceful 
 river? 
 
 Do fond souls wait, with longing in their eyes, 
 For those who come not, will not come, forever, — 
 
 For some wild hope whose dawn will never rise? 
 
 Do any love there still, beyond the silent river, 
 The ones they loved in vain this side its flow ? 
 
 Does the old pain make their heart-strings ache 
 and quiver ? — 
 I shall go home, some day, go home and know. 
 
 The hill-tops are bright there, beyond the shining 
 river, 
 And the long glad day, it never turns to night, — 
 They must be blest, indeed, to bear the light for 
 ever, 
 Grief longs for darkness to hide its tears from 
 sight. 
 
 Are tears turned to smiling, beyond the blessed 
 river, 
 And mortal pain and passion drowned in its 
 flow? — 
 Then all we who sit on its hither bank and shiver, 
 Let us rejoice, — we shall go home and know. 
 
96 SOMEBODY'S CHILD. 
 
 SOMEBODY'S CHILD. 
 
 JUST a picture of Somebody's child, — 
 Sweet face set in its golden hair, 
 Violet eyes, and cheeks of rose, 
 
 Rounded chin, with a dimple there, 
 
 Tender eyes where the shadows sleep, 
 Lit from within by a secret ray, — 
 
 Tender eyes that will shine like stars 
 
 When love and womanhood come this way : 
 
 Scarlet lips with a story to tell, ■ — 
 Blessed be he who shall find it out, 
 
 Who shall learn the eyes' deep secret well, 
 And read the heart with never a doubt. 
 
 Then you will tremble, scarlet lips, 
 
 Then you will crimson, loveliest cheeks : 
 
 Eyes will brighten and blushes will burn 
 When the one true lover bends and speaks. 
 
 But she 's only a child now, as you see, 
 Only a child in her careless grace : 
 
 When Love and Womanhood come this way 
 Will any thing sadden the flower-like face ? 
 
A WOMAN'S WAITING. 97 
 
 A WOMAN'S WAITING. 
 
 TNDER the apple-tree blossoms, in May, 
 
 ^ Robert and I watched the sun go down : 
 
 Behind us the road stretched back to the East, 
 
 On through the meadows to Danbury town. 
 
 Silent we sat, for our hearts were full, 
 Silently watched the reddening sky, 
 
 And saw the clouds across the west 
 
 Like the phantoms of ships sail silently. 
 
 Robert had come with a story to tell, 
 I knew it before he had said a word, — 
 
 It looked from his eyes, and it shadowed his face, — 
 He was going to march with the Twenty-third. 
 
 We had been neighbors from childhood up, 
 Gone to school by the self-same way, 
 
 Climbed the same steep woodland paths, 
 Knelt in the same old church to pray. 
 
 We had wandered together, boy and girl, 
 
 Where wild flowers grew and wild grapes hung, 
 
 Tasted the sweetness of summer days 
 
 When hearts were true and life was young. 
 
gS A WOMAN'S WAITING. 
 
 But never a love word had crossed his lips, 
 
 Never a hint of pledge or vow, 
 Until, as the sun went down that night, 
 
 His tremulous kisses touched my brow : — 
 
 " Jenny," he said, " I 've a work to do 
 
 For God and my country and the right, — 
 
 True hearts, strong arms, are needed now, — 
 I must not linger when others fight. 
 
 " Will you give me a pledge to cheer me on, — 
 A hope to look forward to, by and by? 
 
 Will you wait for me, Jenny, till I come back? " 
 " I will wait," I answered, " until I die." 
 
 The May moon rose as we walked that night 
 Back through the meadows to Danbury town, 
 
 And one star rose and shone by her side, — 
 Calmly and sweetly they both looked down. 
 
 The scent of blossoms was in the air, 
 
 The sky was blue and the eve was bright, 
 
 And Robert said, as he walked by my side, 
 " Old Danbury town is fair to-night. 
 
 " I shall think of it, Jenny, when far away, 
 Placid and still 'neath the moon as now, — 
 
 I shall see it, Darling, in many a dream, 
 
 And you with the moonlight on your brow." 
 
A WOMAN'S WAITING. 99 
 
 No matter what else were his parting words, — 
 They are mine to treasure until I die, 
 
 With the clinging kisses and lingering looks, 
 The tender pain of that fond good-bye. 
 
 I did not weep, — I tried to be brave : 
 
 I watched him until he was out of sight, — 
 
 Then suddenly all the world grew dark, 
 And I was blind in the bright May night. 
 
 Blind and helpless I slid to the ground 
 And lay with the night-dews on my hair, 
 
 Till the moon was down and the dawn was up, 
 And the fresh May morn rose clear and fair. 
 
 He was taken and I was left, — 
 
 Left to wait and to watch and pray, — 
 
 Till there came a message over the wires 
 Chilling the air of the August day : — 
 
 Killed in a skirmish eight or ten, — 
 
 Wounded and helpless as many more, — 
 
 All of them our Connecticut men, — 
 From the little town of Danbury, Four, 
 
 But I only saw a single name, — 
 
 Of one who was all the world to me : 
 
 I promised to wait for him till I died, — 
 O God, O Heaven, how long will it be ? 
 
 1863. 
 
IOO JOHN A. ANDREW. 
 
 JOHN A. ANDREW. 
 
 f~\ LARGE of heart, and grand, and calm, 
 ^-^^ Who held the helm of state so long, 
 Our plaining mingles with our praise, 
 Our sorrow sanctifies our song. 
 
 Clear eyes, kind lips so silent now, 
 Ears deaf to all our worldly din, 
 
 Great soul which has not left its peer, 
 We would the grave-sod had shut in 
 
 Some lesser man, and we, to-day, 
 Had thy strong will to urge us on, 
 
 Thy brain to plan, thy hand to help, 
 
 Thy cheerful voice to say "well done ! " 
 
 But whatsoe'er we do of good, 
 
 In doing it we honor thee ; 
 We follow where our leader led, — 
 
 Can he look down from Heaven and see? 
 
THE COUNTRY OF "IF." IOI 
 
 THE COUNTRY OF "IF." 
 
 HPHERE is not much, indeed, that I can say 
 
 Since "If" was the sole country of our 
 dreams, 
 And at its gate one stood to bar the way 
 
 To that glad land, those silver-shining streams. 
 
 I know, dear Heart, how fair that country is, — 
 Its rivers flow through meadows green and still, 
 
 Its skies bend lovingly o'er lovers' bliss, 
 
 No cold winds blow there, and no winters chill. 
 
 There would we fain have wandered, thou and I, — 
 But the strong Angel met us at its gate : 
 
 He heeded not Love's prayer, or Passion's cry, — 
 " Oh, fools and mad," he said, " you come too 
 late." 
 
102 FOR CUPID DEAD. 
 
 FOR CUPID DEAD. 
 
 T \ 7"HEN Love is dead, what more but funeral 
 rites, — 
 
 To lay his sweet corse lovingly to rest, 
 To cover him with rose and eglantine, 
 
 And all fair posies that he loved the best ? 
 
 What more, but kisses for his close-shut eyes, 
 His cold, still lips that never more will speak, — 
 
 His hair, too bright for dust of death to dim, 
 The flush scarce faded from his frozen cheek? 
 
 What more, but tears that will not warm his brow, 
 iUthough they burn the eyes from whence they 
 start ? 
 No bitter weeping or more bitter words 
 
 Can rouse to one more throb that pulseless 
 heart. 
 
 So dead he is, who once was so alive ! 
 
 In summer, when the ardent days were long, 
 He was as warm as June, as gay and glad 
 
 As any bird that swelled its throat with song. 
 
 So dead ! yet all things were his ministers, — 
 All birds and blossoms, and the joyous June : 
 
 Would they had died, and kept sweet Love alive ! 
 Since he is gone, the world is out of tune. 
 
WE LAY US DOWN- TO SLEEP, 103 
 
 WE LAY US DOWN TO SLEEP. 
 
 T "X TE lay us down to sleep, 
 
 And leave to God the rest, 
 Whether to wake and weep 
 Or wake no more be best. 
 
 Why vex our souls with care ? 
 
 The grave is cool and low, — 
 Have we found life so fair 
 
 That we should dread to go? 
 
 We 've kissed Love's sweet, red lips, 
 And left them sweet and red : 
 
 The rose the wild bee sips 
 Blooms on when he is dead. 
 
 Some faithful friends we 've found, 
 But they who love us best, 
 
 When we are under ground, 
 Will laugh on with the rest. 
 
 No task have we begun 
 But other hands can take : 
 
 No work beneath the sun 
 For which we need to wake. 
 
T04 WE LAY US DOWN TO SLEEP. 
 
 Then hold us fast, sweet Death, 
 
 If so it seemeth best 
 To Him who gave us breath 
 
 That we should go to rest. 
 
 We lay us down to sleep, 
 Our weary eyes we close : 
 
 Whether to wake and weep 
 Or wake no more, He knows. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 t 
 
THE NEW DAY. 
 
 \1[ 7*HEN the great sun sets the glad East aflame, 
 The lingering stars are swiftly put to flight ; 
 For Day, triumphant, overthrows the night, 
 
 And mocks the lights that twinkled till he came. 
 
 The waning moon retires in sudden shame ; 
 And all the air, from roseate height to height, 
 Quivers with wings of birds, that take the light 
 
 To jubilant music of one tender name. 
 
 So Thou hast risen, — Thou who art my day; 
 
 And every lesser light has ceased to shine. 
 
 Pale stars, confronted by this dawn of thine, 
 Like night and gloom and grief have passed away ; 
 
 And yet my bliss I fear to call it mine, 
 Lest fresh foes lurk with unforeseen dismay. 
 
lo8 ONE DREAD. 
 
 ONE DREAD. 
 
 T\JO depth, dear Love, for thee is too profound ; 
 There is no farthest height thou mayst not 
 dare, 
 
 Nor shall thy wings fail in the upper air : 
 In funeral robe and wreath my past lies bound ; 
 No old-time voice assails me with its sound 
 
 When thine I hear ; no former joy seems fair ; 
 
 And now one only thing could bring despair, 
 One grief like compassing seas my life surround, 
 One only terror in my way be met, 
 
 One great eclipse change my glad day to night, 
 
 One phantom only turn from red to white 
 The lips whereon thy lips have once been set : 
 
 Thou knowest well, dear Love, what that must 
 be, — 
 
 The dread of some dark day unshared by thee. 
 
AFAR. 109 
 
 AFAR. 
 
 A \ 7HERE Thou art not no day holds light for 
 me, ' 
 The brightest noontide turns to midnight deep ; 
 There no bird sings, but awesome shadows 
 creep, — 
 Persistent ghosts that hold my memory, 
 And walk where Joy and Hope once walked with 
 thee, 
 And in thy place their lonesome vigil keep, — 
 Sad shades that haunt the inmost ways of sleep, 
 No kindly morning ever bids them flee. 
 
 Those tireless footsteps, will they never cease? 
 Like crownless queens they tread their ancient 
 
 ways, — 
 Pale phantoms of old dreams and vanished 
 days, — 
 And mock my poor endeavors after peace. 
 Too long this Arctic night, too keen its cold ; 
 Come back, strong sun, and warm me as of old ! 
 
HO LAST YEAR. 
 
 LAST YEAR. 
 
 I. 
 
 "\70TJ thought, O Love, you loved me then, 
 know ; 
 For that I bless you, now when Love is cold, 
 Remembering how warm the tale you told, 
 
 While winds of autumn fitfully did blow, 
 
 And, by the sea's perpetual ebb and flow, 
 We wandered on together to behold 
 Noon's radiant splendor, or the sunset's gold, 
 
 Or beauty of still nights where moons hung low. 
 
 Your voice grew tender when you called my name ; 
 I heard that voice to-day, — was it the same? — 
 
 The old-time music trembles in it yet. 
 Your touch thrilled through me like a sudden flame 
 And then Love's sweet and subtle madness came, 
 
 And glad lips clung that now to kiss forget. 
 
 II. 
 
 You surely must remember, though to-day 
 There is no spell to charm you in the past. 
 So dear the dream was that it could not last : 
 
 Too soon our pleasant skies were changed to gray ; 
 
LAST YEAR. Ill 
 
 The sun turned from our barren land away, 
 And all the leaves swept by us on the blast, 
 And all our hopes to that wild wind were cast — 
 
 For dead Love's soul there is no place to pray. 
 
 But still the old time lingers in our thought ; 
 
 In our regretful dreams the old suns rise, 
 And from their shining, memory hath caught 
 
 Some lingering glory of that glad surprise 
 When Love rose on us like the sun, and brought 
 
 Our hearts their morning under last year's skies, 
 
112 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 nPIME was you heard the music of a sigh, 
 
 And Love awoke ; and with it Song was born, — 
 
 Song glad as young birds carol in the morn, 
 And tender as the blue and brooding sky, 
 When all the earth feels Spring's warm witchery, 
 
 And with fresh flowers her bosom doth adorn ; 
 
 And lovers love, and cannot love forlorn, 
 Since Love is of the gods, and may not die. 
 
 In after years may come some wildering light, — 
 Some sweet delusion, followed for a space, — 
 
 Such fitful fire-flies flash athwart the night, 
 But fade before the shining of that face 
 
 Which shines upon you still in Death's despite, 
 Whose steadfast beauty lights till death your days. 
 
LOVE'S FORGIVENESS. 113 
 
 LOVE'S FORGIVENESS. 
 
 T DO forgive you for the pain I bear, 
 
 Though bitter pain is mingled with my bliss ; 
 
 For still I think, while thrilling to your kiss, 
 " He found that other woman much more fair." 
 I read your words, and see, immortal there, 
 
 Another love — how warm it was to this ! 
 
 And know that from my face you still must miss 
 The beauty that another used to wear. 
 
 Yet I forgive you, Dear, and bow my head 
 To Destiny, my master and your own, — 
 
 He sets the way wherein my feet must tread ; 
 And if he give me nothing quite mine own, — 
 
 I know some day my heart, so sore bested, 
 Will rest most quietly, and turn to stone. 
 
114 itt TIME TO COME. 
 
 IN TIME TO COME. 
 
 9 1 ^HE time will come full soon ! I shall be gone, 
 And you sit silent in the silent place, 
 With the sad autumn sunlight on your face. 
 
 Remembering the loves that were your own, 
 
 Haunted perchance by some familiar tone, 
 You will be weary then for the dead days, 
 And mindful of their sweet and bitter ways, 
 
 Though passion into memory shall have grown. 
 
 Then will I with your other ghosts draw nigh, 
 And whisper, as I pass, some former word, — 
 
 Some old endearment known in days gone by, 
 Some tenderness that once your pulses stirred : — 
 
 Which was it spoke to you, the wind or I? 
 I think you, musing, scarcely will have heard. 
 
A SUMMER'S GROWTH. 115 
 
 A SUMMER'S GROWTH. 
 
 T^AIR was the flower which proffers now its fruit; 
 The bud began to swell 'neath Spring's soft 
 dew, 
 And tenderly the winds of summer blew 
 To foster it ; and great strong suns were mute, 
 As through its veins warm life began to shoot, 
 And it put on each day some beauty new. 
 And all the fairer, as I think, it grew, 
 Because the streams were tears about its root. 
 
 But now our fruit hangs well within our reach, 
 And this indeed is time for gathering. 
 
 It hath the bloom of summer-tinted peach, 
 Each charm it hath that any man could sing ; 
 
 Yet we, who taste it, whisper each to each, 
 " Not sweet, but very bitter, is this thing ! " 
 
 *?z2&S§* 
 
1 1 6 MY BIR THDA Y. 
 
 MY BIRTHDAY. 
 
 ^HIDE not because I doubt who would believe ! 
 Has not my life been like that April day 
 Whose dawn awoke us with such proud display 
 Of mocking glory, kindled to deceive, 
 While in the distance low winds seemed to 
 
 grieve, — 
 Winds sad with prophecy, — then skies grew gray, 
 
 And all the morning splendor passed away, 
 And dark with rain came on the gusty eve ? 
 
 That was my birthday, symbol of my birth, — 
 Capricious April's heir, the sport of Fate, 
 
 Doomed to be better friends with Grief than Mirth, 
 To know no love that did not come too late, — 
 
 My only hope, sore spent with life's long pain, 
 
 In some glad morning to be born again. 
 
 4 
 
IN THE GARDEN OF DREAMS. 
 
 Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite 
 Beyond it, blooms the garden that I love. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
IN THE GARDEN OF DREAMS. 
 
 From a brier-grown garden that nobody knows, 
 Save one lone bird with a vagrant tune, 
 
 The drea7ner gathers a last sad rose, — 
 The ghost of a season that once was June. 
 
 Pale are the blossoms that cluster here, 
 
 And lonesome the song of the 7nateless bird; 
 
 Yet linger and listen, O sweet and dear, — 
 You shall catch of my soul the secret word. 
 
Eo fyz JHnnotg 
 
 OF 
 
 PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON 
 
 AND 
 
 CICELEY NARNEY MARSTON. 
 
 / hang this ivy at your postern door. 
 
 Francis Quarles 
 
tytitfr 
 
 *T is my delight alone in summer shade 
 To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
COME BACK, DEAR DAYS. 
 
 r^ OME back, dear days, from out the past ! 
 ^^ ... I see your gentle ghosts arise ; 
 
 You look at me with mournful eyes, 
 And then the night grows vague and vast : 
 
 You have gone back to Paradise. 
 
 Why did you fleet away, dear days ? 
 
 You were so welcome when you came ! 
 
 The morning skies were all aflame ; 
 The birds sang matins in your praise ; 
 
 All else of life you put to shame. 
 
 Did I not honor you aright, — 
 I, who but lived to see you shine, 
 Who felt your very pain divine, 
 
 Thanked God and warmed me in your light, 
 Or quaffed your tears as they were wine? 
 
I2 4 LYRICS. 
 
 What wooed you to those stranger skies, — 
 What love more fond, what dream more fair, 
 What music whispered in the air? 
 
 What soft delight of smiles and sighs 
 Enchanted you from otherwhere ? 
 
 You left no pledges when you went : 
 
 The years since then are bleak and cold ; 
 No bursting buds the Junes unfold. 
 
 While you were here my all I spent ; 
 Now I am poor and sad and old. 
 
 iCk 
 
LOVE'S RESURRECTION DAY. 
 
 LOVE'S RESURRECTION DAY. 
 
 T3 OUND among the quiet graves, 
 -^^ When the sun was low, 
 Love went grieving, — Love who saves : 
 Did the sleepers know? 
 
 At his touch the flowers awoke, 
 
 At his tender call 
 Birds into sweet singing broke, 
 
 And it did befall 
 
 From the blooming, bursting sod 
 All Love's dead arose, 
 
 And went flying up to God 
 
 By a way Love knows. 
 
126 LYRICS, 
 
 THE STRENGTH OF THE HILLS. 
 
 FOR L. I. G. 
 
 \ /TY thoughts go home to that old brown house 
 A With its low roof sloping down to the east, 
 And its garden fragrant with roses and thyme 
 That blossom no longer except in rhyme, 
 Where the honey-bees used to feast. 
 
 Afar in the west the great hills rose, 
 
 Silent and steadfast and gloomy and gray : 
 I thought they were giants, and doomed to keep 
 Their watch while the world should wake or sleep, 
 Till the trumpet should sound on the judgment 
 day. 
 
 I used to wonder of what they dreamed 
 
 As they brooded there in their silent might, 
 
 While March winds smote them, or June rains fell, 
 
 Or snows of winter their ghostly spell 
 
 Wrought in the long and lonesome night. 
 
 They remembered a younger world than ours, 
 
 Before the trees on their top were born, 
 When the old brown house was itself a tree, 
 And waste were the fields where now you see 
 The winds astir in the tasselled corn. 
 
THE STRENGTH OF THE HILLS. 127 
 
 And I was as young as the hills were old, 
 
 And the world was warm with the breath of spring, 
 And the roses red and the lilies white 
 Budded and bloomed for my heart's delight, 
 And the birds in my heart began to sing. 
 
 But calm in the distance the great hills rose, 
 
 Deaf unto rapture and dumb unto pain, 
 Since they knew that Joy is the mother of Grief, 
 And remembered a butterfly's life is brief, 
 And the sun sets only to rise again. 
 
 They will brood and dream and be silent as now, 
 
 When the youngest children alive to-day 
 Have grown to be women and men, — grown old, 
 And gone from the world like a tale that is told, 
 And even whose echo forgets to stay. 
 
128 LYRICS. 
 
 "IF THERE WERE DREAMS TO SELL." 
 
 If there were dreams to sell, 
 What would you buy ? 
 
 Beddoes. 
 
 T F there were dreams to sell, 
 •*" Do I not know full well 
 
 What I would buy? 
 Hope's dear delusive spell 
 Its happy tale to tell, 
 
 Joy's fleeting sigh. 
 
 I would be young again : 
 Youth's madding bliss and bane 
 
 I would recapture ; 
 Though it were keen with pain, 
 All else seems void and vain 
 
 To that fine rapture. 
 
 I would be glad once more, 
 Slip through an open door 
 
 Into Life's glory ; 
 Keep what I spent of yore, 
 Find what I lost before, 
 
 Hear an old story. 
 
"WERE DREAMS TO SELL." I2 9 
 
 As it one day befell, 
 Breaking Death's frozen spell, 
 
 Love should draw nigh : 
 If there were dreams to sell, 
 Do I not know too well 
 
 What I would buy? 
 
13° LYRICS, 
 
 IN THE RANKS. 
 
 T T IS death-blow struck him there in the ranks, — 
 *- ■*• There in the ranks, with his face to the foe : 
 Did his dying lips utter curses or thanks ? 
 No one will know. 
 
 Still he marched on, he with the rest, — 
 
 Still he marched on, with his face to the foe, 
 To the day's bitter business sternly addressed : 
 
 Dead — did they know? 
 
 When the day was over, the fierce fight done, 
 
 His cheeks were red with the sunset's glow ; 
 And they crowned him there with their laurels won : 
 Dead — did he know? 
 
 Laurels or roses, all one to him now : 
 
 What to a dead man is glory or glow ? 
 Rose wreaths for love, or a crown on his brow : 
 Dead — does he know ? 
 
 And yet you will see him march on with the rest, — 
 
 No man of them all makes a goodlier show, — 
 In the thick of the tumult jostled and pressed : 
 
 Dead — would you know ? 
 
EROS. 13 1 
 
 EROS. 
 
 T^ILL the swift days full, my dear, 
 
 ■*■ Since life is fleet ; 
 
 Love, and hold Love fast, my dear, 
 
 He is so sweet — 
 Sweetest, dearest, fleetest comer, 
 Fledgling of the sudden summer. 
 
 Love, but not too well, my dear ! 
 
 When skies are gray, 
 And the autumn winds are here, 
 
 Love will away — 
 Fleetest, vaguest, farthest rover 
 When the summer's warmth is over. 
 
1 3 2 ZYJt/CS. 
 
 LAUS VENERIS: 
 
 A PICTURE BY BURNE JONES. 
 
 T)ALLID with too much longing, 
 ■*■ White with passion and prayer, 
 Goddess of love and beauty, 
 She sits in the picture there, — 
 
 Sits with her dark eyes seeking 
 Something more subtle still 
 
 Than the old delights of loving 
 Her measureless days to fill. 
 
 She has loved and been loved so often 
 In her long, immortal years, 
 
 That she tires of the worn-out rapture, 
 Sickens of hopes and fears. 
 
 No joys or sorrows move her, 
 Done with her ancient pride ; 
 
 For her head she found too heavy 
 The crown she has cast aside. 
 
LA US VENERIS. *33 
 
 Clothed in her scarlet splendor, 
 
 Bright with her glory of hair, 
 Sad that she is not mortal, — 
 
 Eternally sad and fair, 
 
 Longing for joys she knows not, 
 
 Athirst with a vain desire, 
 There she sits in the picture, 
 
 Daughter of foam and fire. 
 
*34 LYRICS. 
 
 PARLEYING. 
 
 T HOLD a shadow's cold, soft hand, 
 ■** I look in eyes you cannot see, 
 And words you cannot understand 
 Come back, as from a distant land, — 
 The far-off land of Memory. 
 
 Forgive me that I sit apart 
 
 And hold the shadow's hand in mine, 
 The past broods darkly in my heart, 
 And bitter are the tears that start ; 
 
 I would not mix them with the wine. 
 
 The hour will pass : the shade will go 
 To his dark home, and swift forget, 
 
 At rest the daisied turf below, 
 
 The sun-warmed hours we used to know, 
 And the old paths wherein we met. 
 
 I am alive ! Why should the dead 
 
 With cold hand hold the quick in thrall? 
 To his far place the shade has sped, 
 Now Life with Life may gayly wed ! 
 ♦ . . My heart misgives me, after all. 
 
IN BOHEMIA 135 
 
 IN BOHEMIA. 
 
 T CAME between the glad green hills, 
 A Whereon the summer sunshine lay, 
 
 And all the world was young that day, 
 As when the Spring's soft laughter thrills 
 
 The pulses of the waking May — 
 You were alive — yet scarce I knew 
 The world was glad because of you. 
 
 I came between the sad green hills, 
 Whereon the summer twilight lay, 
 And all the world was old that day, 
 
 And hoary age forgets the thrills 
 That woke the pulses of the May — 
 
 And you were dead — too well I knew 
 
 The world was sad because of you. 
 
13 6 LYRICS. 
 
 TO NIGHT. 
 
 TDEND low, O dusky Night, 
 
 ■^ And give my spirit rest ; 
 Hold me to your deep breast, 
 
 And put old cares to flight ; 
 
 Give back the lost delight 
 That once my soul possessed, 
 When Love was loveliest, — 
 
 Bend low, O dusky Night ! 
 
 Enfold me in your arms, — 
 The sole embrace I crave 
 Until the embracing grave 
 
 Shield me from life's alarms. 
 
 I dare your subtlest charms ; 
 Your deepest spell I brave, — 
 O, strong to slay or save, 
 
 Enfold me in your arms ! 
 
WHEN DAY WAS DONE. 137 
 
 WHEN DAY WAS DONE. 
 
 FOR L. W. 
 
 HTHE clouds that watched in the west have fled ; 
 -■- The sun has set and the moon is high ; 
 And nothing is left of the day that is dead 
 Save a fair white ghost in the eastern sky. 
 
 While the day was dying we knelt and yearned, 
 And hoped and prayed till its last breath died ; 
 
 But since to a radiant ghost it has turned, 
 Shall we rest with that white grace satisfied ? 
 
 The fair ghost smiles with a pale, cold smile, 
 As mocking as life and as hopeless as death — 
 
 Shall passionless beauty like this beguile ? 
 Who loves a ghost without feeling or breath ? 
 
 I remember a maiden as fair to see, 
 
 Who once was alive, with a heart like June ; 
 
 She died, but her spirit wanders free, 
 
 And charms men's souls to the old mad tune. 
 
 Warm she was, in her life's glad day, — 
 Warm and fair, and faithful and sweet ; 
 
 A man might have thrown a kingdom away 
 To kneel and love at her girlish feet. 
 
I3 8 LYRICS. 
 
 But the night came down, and her day was done ) 
 Hoping and dreaming were over for aye ; 
 
 And then her career as a ghost was begun — 
 Cold she shone, like the moon on high. 
 
 For maiden or moon shall a live man yearn ? 
 
 Shall a breathing man love a ghost without 
 breath ? 
 Shine, moon, and chill us, you cannot burn ; 
 
 Go home, Girl-Ghost, to your kingdom of death. 
 
MAUD'S ROSES. l 39 
 
 MAUD'S ROSES. 
 
 A LONE all day in my cabin, 
 ^*- With never a mortal to see, 
 I look at Maud's delicate roses, 
 And the roses look at me. 
 
 Like her they are fair and stately ; 
 
 Like her they are proud and sweet ; 
 And their hue seems made of her blushes, 
 
 Where the roses and lilies meet. 
 
 And what is their subtle fragrance 
 But the love that she bade them tell, 
 
 Or the breath she breathed through their petals 
 W T hen she lingered to say farewell ? 
 
 Ah ! roses that stayed when she vanished, 
 Ah ! roses that smile, though she went, 
 
 How you mock at the sadness of parting, 
 With your passionless, perfect content ! 
 
MO LYRICS. 
 
 « THEIR CANDLES ARE ALL OUT." 
 
 FOR L. C. B. 
 
 T X 7 HAT hap dismays the dead ? Their couch is 
 * * low ; 
 
 And over it the summer grasses creep, 
 Or winter snows enshroud it, white and deep, 
 Or long-prevailing winds of autumn blow. 
 
 They hear no rumor of our joy or woe : 
 The ways we tread are perilous, and steep ; 
 They climb no longer, free at last to sleep, 
 
 Our weariful, vexed life no more to know. 
 
 Do they forget their loves of long ago, 
 
 And the glad hopes that made their glad hearts 
 
 leap? 
 Or the spent joys for which they used to weep, 
 
 When Love and Sorrow buffeted them so ? 
 
 On us, by winds of Fate swept to and fro, 
 
 Do they have pity, whom no rude winds sweep ? 
 How can I tell? Their mystery they keep, 
 
 Beneath the blossoms as beneath the snow. 
 
" THEIR CANDLES ARE ALL OUT y 
 
 I 4 I 
 
 And yet, I think, from that deep rest below, 
 They would be glad to rise and love and weep ; 
 Once more the thankless harvest field to reap 
 
 Of human joy and pain, — life's whole to know. 
 
H 2 LYRICS. 
 
 TO MISTRESS ROSE. 
 
 A ROSE by any other name ? 
 ^•^ Nay, that could hardly be. 
 No other name, my Flower of June, 
 Could be the name for thee. 
 
 Dear darling of the summer-time 
 
 And love-child of the sun, 
 Whether by thy sweet breath beguiled 
 
 Or by thy thorns undone, 
 
 I know thee for the Queen of Flowers, 
 And toast thee by thy name, — 
 
 " Here 's to the sweet young loveliness 
 That sets our hearts aflame ! " 
 
A T MIDNIGHT. 1 4 3 
 
 AT MIDNIGHT. 
 
 npHE room is cold and dark to-night : 
 
 The fire is low, — 
 Why come you, you who love the light, 
 
 To mock me so? 
 
 I pray you leave me now alone ; 
 
 You worked your will, 
 And turned my heart to frozen stone, — 
 
 Why haunt me still ? 
 
 I got me to this empty place ; 
 
 I shut the door, — 
 Yet through the dark I see your face 
 
 Just as of yore. 
 
 The old smile curves your lips to-night ; 
 
 Your deep eyes glow 
 With that old gleam that made them bright 
 
 So long ago. 
 
 I listen : do I hear your tone 
 
 The silence thrill? 
 Why come you ? I would be alone ; 
 
 Why vex me still ? 
 
*44 LYRICS 
 
 What ! Would you that we re-embrace, 
 
 We two once more? 
 Are these your tears that wet my face 
 
 Just as before ? 
 
 You left to seek some new delight, 
 
 Yet your tears flow ; 
 What sorrow brings you back to-night ? 
 
 Shall I not know ? 
 
 I will not let you grieve alone, — 
 
 The night is chill, — 
 Though love is dead and hope has flown, 
 
 Pity lives still. 
 
 How silent is the empty space ! 
 
 Dreamed I once more ? 
 Henceforth against your haunting face 
 
 I bar the door. 
 
IN A BOWER. 145 
 
 IN A BOWER. 
 
 A MAIDEN sits in her bower and sings, 
 
 **■ | And your heart keeps time to the tune : 
 In the garden walks the red rose springs, — 
 The month is June. 
 
 The month is June, and full are the days, — 
 
 Fair days, of the summer fed ; 
 And softly the singer sings her lays : 
 Her lips are red. 
 
 A face she has that is pale as Sleep, 
 And hair like the midnight skies 
 When the wings of tempest across them sweep, 
 And strange dark eyes. 
 
 ' The song she sings is a siren's song. 
 A tempting, dangerous rune. — 
 If you hark at all you will hear too long 
 That fatal tune. 
 
I4 6 LYRICS. 
 
 ROSES. 
 
 T} OSES that briefly live, 
 Joy is your dower ; 
 Blest be the Fates that give 
 
 One perfect hour. 
 And, though too soon you die, 
 
 In your dust glows 
 Something the passer-by 
 
 Knows was a Rose. 
 
THE GHOSTS RETURN. 14 7 
 
 THE GHOST'S RETURN. 
 
 "HACK through the rain and mist 
 "■^ Of my far way, 
 I have come, whom you kissed 
 That other day. 
 
 See, love, I wait outside 
 
 While the rains fall : 
 Through the night, void and wide, 
 
 Hark to my call. 
 
 Do you falter, you who loved 
 
 So long and well, 
 Now I my love have proved, 
 
 Breaking Death's spell ? 
 
 Leaving those pale delights 
 
 Dead folk that thrill, 
 Through their dim days and nights, 
 
 Wait I your will. 
 
 Dear love, unbar the door, 
 
 Life is so sweet ! 
 Warmed on your heart once more, 
 
 My heart shall beat. 
 
M& LYRICS. 
 
 Snatcn me from very Death : 
 Heaven will forgive. 
 
 Breathe in my lips your breath : 
 Then I shall live. 
 
 Nay, but you shrink with fear, 
 No welcome speak, — 
 
 Now shall the grave be dear, 
 Love is so weak. 
 
AS I SAIL. 149 
 
 AS I SAIL. 
 
 T^AR on the gray sea glooms and glowers, 
 A Far off the salt winds vaguely stray, 
 And through the long monotonous hours 
 My thoughts go wandering on their way ; 
 
 Go back to find that earlier time 
 When, lingering by a bluer sea, 
 
 A poet wooed me with his rhyme, 
 
 And all the world was changed for me. 
 
 The winds to music strange were set, 
 The sunsets glowed with sudden flame, 
 
 And all the shining sands were wet 
 
 With waves that whispered as they came, 
 
 And told a tender low-breathed tale 
 Of love that always should be young ; 
 
 Dear love that should not change or fail, — 
 Such love as love-lorn bards have sung. 
 
 Pale roses bloomed by that far sea, 
 And shivered at the sea-wind's breath ; 
 
 A bird flew low, and sang to me — 
 (i The end of love and life is death." 
 
15° LYRICS. 
 
 I left the pale rose where it grew ; 
 
 I would not heed the warning bird ; 
 Of all the world I, only, knew 
 
 How sweet the music I had heard, — - 
 
 How dear the love, how true the truth 
 My poet uttered in his rhyme ; 
 
 And how it gave me back my youth 
 In that deep-hearted summer-time. 
 
 Then winter came ; the pale rose died, 
 And to the south the wise bird flew ; 
 
 And I — ah me, the world is wide, 
 And poets love while love is new. 
 
A GIRL'S FUNERAL IN MILAN 151 
 
 A GIRL'S FUNERAL IN MILAN. 
 
 HP HERE in the strange old gilded hearse 
 A With a mound of paper-flowers on her breast, 
 Her life being over, for better or worse, 
 They bore her on to her final rest. 
 
 And the women followed her, tw r o by two, 
 And talked of how young she was to die ; 
 
 And the cold drops drenched them through and 
 through, 
 As under the pitiless, frowning sky 
 
 On they marched in the drizzling rain 
 
 To the little old church in the Milan square, 
 
 Where the choir-boys chanted with shrill refrain, 
 And the toothless Padre muttered his prayer ; 
 
 Then straight to the waiting grave they went ; 
 
 And the rain rained on, and the wind was still ; 
 Since, all her treasure of life being spent, 
 
 It was time Death had of the girl his will. 
 
 And they left her there with the rain and the wind, 
 Glad, I think, to have come to the end ; 
 
 For the grave folds close, and the sod is kind, 
 And thus do the friendless find a friend. 
 
152 LYRICS. 
 
 IN A GARDEN. 
 
 T)ALE in the pallid moonlight, 
 *- White as the rose on her breast, 
 She stood in the fair Rose-garden 
 With her shy young love confessed. 
 
 The roses climbed to kiss her, 
 The violets, purple and sweet, 
 
 Breathed their despair in the fragrance 
 That bathed her beautiful feet. 
 
 She stood there, stately and slender, 
 Gold hair on her shoulders shed, 
 
 Clothed all in white, like the visions 
 When the living behold the dead. 
 
 There, with her lover beside her, 
 With life and with love she thrilled — 
 
 What mattered the world's wide sorrow 
 To her with her joy fulfilled? 
 
 Next year ? in the fair Rose-garden, 
 He waited, alone and dumb, 
 
 If perchance from the silent country 
 The soul of the dead would come, 
 
IN A GARDEN. 153 
 
 To comfort the living and loving 
 
 With the ghost of a lost delight, 
 And thrill into quivering welcome 
 
 The desolate, brooding night : 
 
 Till softly a wind from the distance 
 
 Began to blow and blow ; 
 The moon bent nearer and nearer, 
 
 And, solemn and sweet and slow, 
 
 Came a wonderful rapture of music 
 That turned to her voice, at last : 
 
 Then a cold, soft touch on his forehead, 
 Like the breath of the wind that passed, — 
 
 Like the breath of the wind she touched him ; 
 
 Thin was her voice and cold ; 
 And something that seemed like a shadow 
 
 Slipped through his feverish hold : 
 
 But the voice had said, " I love you, 
 With my first love and my last " — 
 
 Then again that wonderful music, 
 
 And he knew that her soul had passed. 
 
154 
 
 L YRICS. 
 
 AT END. 
 
 A T end of Love, at end of Life, 
 **' At end of Hope, at end of Strife, 
 At end of all we cling to so — 
 The sun is setting — must we go ? 
 
 At dawn of Love, at dawn of Life, 
 At dawn of Peace that follows Strife, 
 At dawn of all we long for so — 
 The sun is rising — let us go ! 
 
THE COQUETTE'S DEFENCE. 155 
 
 THE COQUETTE'S DEFENCE. 
 
 T3 ED, red roses glowing in the garden, 
 *^^ Rare, white lilies swaying on your stalks, 
 Did you hear me pray my sweet love for pardon, 
 Straying with him through your garden walks ? 
 
 Ah, you glow and smile when the sun shines upon 
 you — 
 You thrill with delight at the tears of the dew, 
 And the wind that caresses you boasts that he won 
 you — 
 Do you think, fair flowers, to them all to be true? 
 
 Sun, dew, and wind, ah, they all are your lovers — 
 Sun, dew, and wind, and you love them back 
 again — 
 
 And you flirt with the idle, white moth that hovers 
 Above your sweet beauty, and laugh at his pain. 
 
 Must I, then, be deaf to the wooers that love me, 
 And because I can hear should my sweet Love 
 complain ? 
 
 Does he not, in forgiving me, stand high above me, 
 And punish my fault with his gentle disdain ? 
 
156 LYRICS. 
 
 You trifle, fair flowers, with the many, but one lord 
 Wooes you, and wins you, and conquers the 
 throng : 
 Dews and winds cool you, for warmth you turn sun- 
 ward, — 
 You know and I know to whom we belong. 
 
DO NOT GRIEVE. 157 
 
 DO NOT GRIEVE. 
 
 T WOULD not have you mourn too much, 
 A When I am lying low, — 
 Your grief would grieve me even then, 
 Should your tears flow. 
 
 But only plant above my grave 
 
 One little sprig of rue ; 
 Then find yourself a fairer love, 
 
 But not more true. 
 
 The summer winds will come and go 
 
 Above me as I lie ; 
 And if I think at all, my dear, 
 
 As they pass by, 
 
 I shall remember the old love, 
 
 With all its bliss and bane, — 
 Though Life nor Death can bring me back 
 
 The old, sweet pain. 
 
IS 8 LYRICS. 
 
 OLD JONES IS DEAD. 
 
 T SAT in my window, high overhead, 
 
 -*• And heard them say, below in the street, 
 
 " I suppose you know that old Jones is dead?" 
 
 Then the speakers passed, and I heard their feet 
 Heedlessly walking their oriward way, — 
 " Dead ! " what more could there be to say ? 
 
 But I sat and pondered what it might mean 
 Thus to be dead while the world went by : 
 
 Did Jones see farther than we have seen ? 
 
 Was he one with the stars in the watching sky ? 
 
 Or down there under the growing grass 
 
 Did he hear the feet of the daylight pass ? 
 
 Were daytime and night-time as one to him now, 
 And grieving and hoping a tale that is told? 
 
 A kiss on his lips, or a hand on his brow, 
 
 Could he feel them under the church-yard mould, 
 
 As he surely had felt them his whole life long, 
 
 Though they passed with his youth-time, hot and 
 strong ? 
 
OLD JONES IS DEAD. 159 
 
 They called him " Old Jones " when at last he died ; 
 
 " Old Jones " he had been for many a year ; 
 Yet his faithful memory Time defied, 
 
 And dwelt in the days so distant and dear, 
 When first he had found that love was sweet 
 And recked not the speed of its hurrying feet. 
 
 Does he brood, in the long night under the sod, 
 On the joys and sorrows he used to know ; 
 
 Or far in some wonderful world of God, 
 
 Where the shining seraphs stand, row on row, 
 
 Does he wake like a child at the daylight's gleam, 
 
 And know that the past was a night's short dream? 
 
 Is he dead, and a clod there, down below ; 
 
 Or dead and wiser than any alive ; 
 Which? Ah, who of us all may know, 
 
 Or who can say how the dead folk thrive ? — ■ 
 But the summer morning is cool and sweet, 
 And I hear the live folk laugh in the street. 
 
160 LYRICS. 
 
 GRANDMAMMA'S WARNING. 
 
 : T OVE is a fire/' she said. " Love is a fire, 
 ■^ Beware the madness of that wild desire ! 
 I know, for I was young, and now am old " . . . . 
 " Oh, did you learn by what your elders told?" 
 
MAID MARION. 161 
 
 MAID MARION. 
 
 T ITTLE Maid Marion, Rose in June, 
 
 -L/ What breath of prophecy comes and goes, 
 
 And stirs your heart like a vagrant tune 
 
 Till the deepening bloom on your soft cheek glows, 
 
 And your blue eyes shine like the morning sky 
 
 Just alight with the morning star — 
 Hopeful and happy and sweet and shy, 
 
 While day and its glare are yet afar? 
 
 Have you heard a name that we do not hear 
 
 And set it to music all your own ? 
 Has there come to you in a vision, Dear, 
 
 A face that only your eyes have known ? 
 
 Or is it still but a wandering voice 
 
 That whispers you something vague and sweet, 
 Of days of wooing and days of choice, 
 
 And hearts that meet as the waters meet? 
 
 Days that will come to you, Rose in June — 
 Days that will test you and try you and show 
 
 The sacredest meaning, the secretest tune, 
 Of all that your maidenly heart can know. 
 
162 
 
 LYRICS. 
 
 They will leave you not as they find you, Dear — 
 The morning star gives place to the sun ; 
 
 But your blue eyes meet me, faithful and clear, 
 I can trust your soul, when the dream is done. 
 
A LITTLE COMEDY. 163 
 
 A LITTLE COMEDY. 
 
 T S the world the same, do you think, my dear, 
 
 As when we walked by the sea together, 
 And the white caps danced and the cliffs rose sheer, 
 And we were glad in the autumn weather? 
 
 You played at loving that day, my dear, — 
 How well you told me your tender story, — 
 
 And I made answer, with smile and tear, 
 
 While the sky was flushed with the sunset's glory. 
 
 Now I shut my eyes, and I see, my dear, 
 That far-off path by the surging ocean, — 
 
 I shut my eyes, and I seem to hear 
 
 Your voice surmounting the tide's commotion. 
 
 It was but a comedy slight, my dear, — 
 Why should its memory come to vex me? 
 
 Can it be I am longing that you should appear 
 And play it again ? My thoughts perplex me. 
 
 T is the sea and the shore that I miss, my dear, — 
 The sea and the shore, and the sunset's glory : 
 
 Or would these be nothing without you near, 
 To murmur again that fond, old story ? 
 
1 64 LYRICS. 
 
 I know you now but too well, my dear, — 
 
 With your heart as light as a wind-blown feather, 
 
 Yet somehow the world seems cold and drear 
 Without your acting, this autumn weather. 
 
IN AUTUMN, 165 
 
 IN AUTUMN. 
 
 T X 7ITH the leaves around her dying, 
 * * And the wind around her sighing, 
 And her listless hands together, 
 She sits in the autumn weather. 
 
 The sad little streams are grieving, 
 The poor little birds are leaving, 
 And the flowers and she together 
 Fade in the autumn weather. 
 
t66 LYRICS. 
 
 AT FIVE O'CLOCK. 
 
 TO K. F. POURING TEA. 
 
 T^ AIR Lady Rose, round whom black-coated bees 
 "■" Make murmurous humming all the afternoon, — 
 Thou dost belong to the soft, summer ease 
 Of purple islands, where the southern seas 
 
 Break on the shore with soft beguiling rune. 
 
 Lands fair as the far-famed Hesperides 
 
 Should be thy home, O Lady of the June ! 
 And thou shouldst pour, instead of cups like these, 
 Some magic draught, which to the subtle lees 
 
 Thy slaves should quaff, and praise thee all in 
 tune 
 
 To playing of such melodies as please 
 
 Fair ladies' ears, and win for Love love's boon : 
 And sweet, beneath the gently- drooping trees, 
 Should be the tender whisper of the breeze, 
 
 And time should pause for thee at golden noon. 
 
BESIDE A BIER. 167 
 
 BESIDE A BIER. 
 
 T HAD never kissed her her whole life long, — 
 
 Now I stand by her bier does she feel 
 How, with love that the waiting years made strong, 
 I set on her lips my seal ? 
 
 Will "she wear my kiss in the grave's long night, 
 
 And wake sometimes with a thrill 
 From dreams of the old life's missed delight, 
 
 To feel that the grave is chill ? 
 
 " It was warm," will she say, " in that world above ; 
 
 It was warm, but I did not know 
 How he loved me there, with his whole life's love — 
 
 It is cold, down here below." 
 
1 68 LYRICS. 
 
 RED AND WHITE ROSES. 
 
 T3 OSES the lover gives to his love ; 
 A ^ Roses we lay on the breast of death 
 That nevermore fondest whisper can move, — 
 Which is the sweeter, answer and prove, 
 Passionate love, or sleep without breath ? 
 
 For love you burn with a crimson fire, 
 
 For death you are pale as the winter's snow : 
 Warm for the one, with the heart's desire, 
 Cold for the other, since hopes expire,. — ■ 
 
 Which is the sweeter ? When shall we know ? 
 
MY SAINT. 169 
 
 MY SAINT. 
 
 f~\ H long the weary vigils since you left me, — 
 ^-^ In your far home, I wonder, can you know 
 To what dread uttermost your loss bereft me, 
 Or half it meant to me that you should go ? 
 
 This world is full, indeed, of fair hopes perished, 
 And loves more fleet than this poor fleeting breath ; 
 
 But that deep heart in which my heart was cherished 
 Must surely have survived what we call Death. 
 
 They cannot cease — our own true dead — to love us, 
 And you will hear this far-off cry of mine, 
 
 Though you keep holiday so high above us, 
 Where all the happy spirits sing and shine. 
 
 Steal back to me to-night, from your far dwelling, 
 Beyond the pilgrim moon, beyond the sun : 
 
 They will not miss your single voice for swelling 
 Their rapture- chorus — you are only one. 
 
 Ravish my soul, as with divine embraces ; 
 
 Teach me, if Life is false, that Death is true ; 
 With pledge of new delights in heavenly places 
 
 Entice my spirit, — take me hence with you ! 
 
170 
 
 LYRICS, 
 
 WARNING. 
 
 T^LY away, O white-winged moth ! 
 ■*• Wherefore burn your tender wings: 
 Fatal is the flame you love 
 To such gauzy things. 
 
 That too ardent crimson ray 
 
 Only steel may safely prove : 
 Use your wings to fly away — 
 
 You 're too slight for love. 
 
THE ROSE SHE WORE IN WINTER. 17 1 
 
 THE ROSE SHE WORE IN WINTER. 
 
 TO R. H. 
 
 r\ ROSE, so subtly sweet ! 
 
 ^-^ What dost thou in the snow — ■ 
 
 The time of frost and sleet, 
 
 When roses should not blow — 
 
 Playing at summer so ? 
 
 When we that beauty meet, 
 Which nightingales in June 
 
 For love and bliss entreat, 
 With what cold, wintry rune 
 Shall we thy praise entune ? 
 
 My Rose, so subtly sweet, 
 Thy rose-red lips I kiss ; 
 
 I kneel at thy dear feet, 
 
 Dear Rose, and do not miss 
 The summer's by-gone bliss. 
 
172 LYRICS. 
 
 SHALL I NOT KNOW? 
 
 ^ \ 7 HEN over me the heedless wild things grow, 
 V * Will any mourn for me a little space, 
 Or grieve that in that grave so cool and low 
 I find my resting-place ? 
 
 The strong world will go on though I am still, 
 The morning sun mock darkness with his pride, 
 
 The sunset splendors clothe the western hill, 
 As though I had not died. 
 
 The spring flowers will awake in field and hedge, 
 And summer roses answer to the sun ; 
 
 The lone, last bird wail in the icy sedge 
 For winter's reign begun ; 
 
 And loves, like summer blossoms, burst to bloom 
 And sweeten with their fragrance all the air, 
 
 And hates grow strong, like weeds about a tomb, 
 While I am silent there. 
 
 No fleeting joys shall mock me where I lie ; 
 
 No hate so keen that it can pierce that rest : 
 I shall not hear Life's footsteps passing by, 
 
 Or know that Death is best. 
 
SHALL I NOT KNOW? I 73 
 
 Yet, shouldst thou come, when all the stars are bright 
 And all the sky by their cold light possest, 
 
 And hark to hear, through voices of the night, 
 Her voice who loved thee best, 
 
 Perchance, though I were frozen in the grave, 
 My heart might quicken when it heard thy call, 
 
 And even then strong Love be strong to save — 
 Love who is lord of all : 
 
 Or if, sealed fast by Death, even to that cry 
 
 My ears were deaf and my closed lips were dumb, 
 
 My soul, heedless of others passing by, 
 Might know that Thou hadst come. 
 
 For me the busy world will not stand still, 
 Nor in one heart the summer cease to glow ; 
 
 And Love and Life on earth shall have their will : 
 But, come ! shall I not know? 
 
*74 LYRICS. 
 
 FOR A BIRTHDAY. 
 
 M. B. A. 
 
 / ~PHRICE happy day, that saw our Fair Maid's eyes 
 
 First open to the sunshine ! Art thou come 
 To see if yet the light of Paradise 
 
 Has faded from them, in her earthly home? 
 
 Nay, there it shines ! As innocent and true 
 As that first day, she dwells among us yet ; 
 
 Look in those eyes of Heaven's serenest blue, 
 And see the Heaven she never can forget. 
 
A MOOD OF LOVE, *75 
 
 A MOOD OF LOVE. 
 
 T^vO I love thee? Who can tell? 
 "^ Time was when I loved thee well ; 
 Is this love that now I bear, 
 Or does Use Love's semblance wear? 
 
 Should I grieve if thou wert gone ? 
 Should I miss thee, left alone ? 
 Would the summer be less sweet 
 If our lips should never meet? 
 
 If some other fairer Fair 
 Fettered thee with silken snare, 
 Should I sorrow to behold 
 Thee her captive — mine of old ? 
 
 Ah, it may be, should we part, 
 I should learn how dear thou art, — 
 When the gods withdraw we know 
 How divine the feet that go. 
 
176 LYRICS. 
 
 NAY. 
 
 TO A. W. K. 
 
 O HALL we grow old together ? 
 ^ Nay ! though 't is wintry weather 
 
 The earth awaits the spring, 
 When suns shall warm the heather, 
 When birds will moult and feather, 
 
 And happy things take wing : 
 And thou and I together, 
 Defying wintry weather, 
 
 We, too, will wait our spring. 
 
THE ROSES OF LA GARRAYE. I 77 
 
 THE ROSES OF LA GARRAYE. 
 
 A MONG the ruins of La Garraye 
 **** Grow wonderful roses, as pale as death, — 
 
 Roses that never a fervid breath 
 Of the Breton summer glad and gay 
 Can warm with a single crimson ray. 
 
 Mid ruins and roses two lovers sighed, 
 And talked of the old time far away 
 When the roses were red at La Garraye, 
 When the gay young lord and his fair young bride 
 Rode forth on their swift steeds, side by side, 
 
 And met the sudden and terrible blight — 
 Like the lightning flash from a summer cloud 
 Followed by thunder long and loud — 
 That turned, in an instant, their noon to night, 
 And slew, not Love, but Love's delight. 
 
 And they pitied those lovers of long ago — 
 These modern lovers that told the tale — 
 And honored the love that could not fail : 
 And she said, — " My dear, do you love me so? " 
 And he, — " Do you love me, and do not know ? " 
 
*-7& LYRICS. 
 
 Then he gathered those blossoms of ruin and blight, 
 And — "I give you the roses of Love/' said he : 
 " No, you give me the roses of Death," said she, 
 " The roses that spring from sorrow and night, 
 For love and for living too coldly white." 
 
 She shuddered a little, yet pinned them fast — 
 The pallid roses of Fate were they, 
 And died at the close of a brief bright day, 
 
 Like a brief bright love that came and passed, 
 
 Leaving only its ghost at last. 
 
NOW AND THEN. *79 
 
 NOW AND THEN. 
 
 A ND had you loved me then, my dear, 
 ^*" And had you loved me there, 
 When still the sun was in the east 
 
 And hope was in the air, — 
 When all the birds sang to the dawn 
 
 And I but sang to you, — 
 Oh, had you loved me then, my dear, 
 
 And had you then been true ! 
 
 But ah ! the day wore on, my dear, 
 
 And when the noon grew hot 
 The drowsy birds forgot to sing, 
 
 And you and I forgot 
 To talk of love, or live for faith, 
 
 Or build ourselves a nest ; 
 And now our hearts are shelterless, 
 
 Our sun is in the west. 
 
180 LYRICS. 
 
 "THE KING IS DEAD, LONG LIVE 
 THE KING." 
 
 T^vO you see how the Old Year hides his eyes, 
 ^"^ Hides his eyes as he steals away? 
 Yet they shone like stars with a glad surprise 
 
 Only a twelvemonth ago to-day. 
 He had come to be king o'er the world of men ; 
 
 Gifts he had brought in his lavish hand, 
 And we, his subjects, trusted him then, 
 
 And shouted and laughed at the king's command. 
 
 The bells they rang, and the people cheered, 
 
 And the preachers praised him and welcomed 
 him in — 
 Never a king more royal appeared, 
 
 Or ever was hailed with a lordlier din. 
 Then, sooth, he began his gifts to bestow, 
 
 As a monarch might on a waiting band 
 Of his courtiers, smiling and bowing below, 
 
 Waiting his pleasure and kissing his hand. 
 
 He was a giver impartial as Fate, — ■ 
 
 Donor to one and donor to all, — 
 And the crowds that gathered his pleasure to wait 
 
 Caught each of them something his hand let fall : 
 
THE DEAD AND THE LIVING KING. 181 
 
 To these it was Love, that is strong as life ; 
 
 To those it was Death, more tender than love ; 
 To some it was victory after strife, 
 
 To others defeat and the sorrow thereof. 
 
 Till at last his courtiers grew ill content, 
 
 And each man sighed for his neighbor's dole, 
 And the Year was old, and his strength was spent — 
 
 Toll the bell for his parting soul ! 
 Toll, but be glad, for the old should die, 
 
 And love and life belong to the new — 
 Why over the Old Year should we sigh ? 
 
 He was but a niggard to me — to you. 
 
 But this glad New Year, with smiles in his eyes, 
 
 This new young king, who is good to see, 
 He will make us happy and wealthy and wise, 
 
 And for him we will clamor joyously — 
 Shout till our throats with shouting are hoarse, 
 
 Ring the bells and kindle the fires, 
 For he will bring to us joy, perforce — 
 
 Give to our hearts our hearts' desires. 
 
 Surely he cannot be stern or sad, — 
 
 He, with the light in his shining eyes, — 
 We, his subjects, shall all be glad, 
 
 Dowered at last with some sweet surprise : 
 What the hard Old Year to our prayers denied 
 
 We shall win from the New Year, glad and gay, 
 And live, with his bounty satisfied, — 
 
 Welcome him in ! It is New Year's Day. 
 
£ottnet£ in ft^anp &£oo&£. 
 
 Scorn not the Sonnet. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 It is the violoncello, or else man's heart's complaint. 
 Walt Whitman. 
 
HELEN'S CUP. 
 
 r^ IVE me the potent draught that Helen poured 
 
 ^^ To lull Telemachus ! Make me forget 
 All present peril, all old sins, and let 
 
 Me dream, in peace. Long threat'ning, Fate's 
 sharp sword 
 
 Before my eyes has hung — about me roared 
 The battle's clamor. Sore I am beset — 
 New fears and ancient pains together met 
 
 Assail me, who for peace have long implored : 
 
 Give me at last to drink, and let them flee, 
 The baffled ghosts that watch me sullenly, 
 
 To those waste fields that waiting shadows keep ; 
 
 And down some waveless tide, in quiet deep 
 As set of day upon a quiet sea. 
 
 Oh, let me drift and dream, and fall on sleep ! 
 
1 86 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 SILENT SORROW. 
 
 T F she unclosed her lips and made her moan 
 ■*" She would not be so weary with her woe — 
 
 A burden shared is lightened : even so 
 The weight is heavier that we bear alone, 
 And anguish, pent within, turns hearts to stone. 
 The fellowship of sorrow to forego — 
 To suffer and be silent — is to know 
 The blackest blossom from the black root grown. 
 
 And yet great joys and greatest woes are dumb : 
 Small is the sum that reckoning can compute — ' 
 The shallows babble, but the depths are mute — 
 The great mid-sea our measure may not plumb : 
 King Love, King Pain, King Death, in silence come ; 
 And, meeting them, we silently salute. 
 
A CRY. 187 
 
 A CRY. 
 
 f~\ WANDERER in unknown lands, what cheer ? 
 ^-^ How dost thou fare on thy mysterious way ? 
 
 What strange light breaks upon thy distant day, 
 Yet leaves me lonely in the darkness here ? 
 Oh, bide no longer in that far-off sphere : 
 
 Though all Heaven's cohorts should thy footsteps 
 stay, 
 
 Break through their splendid, militant array, 
 And answer to my call, O dead and dear ! 
 
 I shall not fear thee, howsoe'er thou come ; 
 Thy coldness will not chill, though Death is cold ; 
 
 A touch, and I shall know thee, — or a breath ; 
 Speak the old, well-known language, or be dumb ; 
 Only come back ! Be near me as of old ; 
 
 So thou and I shall triumph over Death ! 
 
SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 LOVE'S EMPTY HOUSE. 
 
 r\ THOU long-silent, solitary house, 
 ^-^ Where Love once came and went with joyous 
 cries, 
 Or lingered long, sighing as Summer sighs 
 When Autumn's breath begins her fear to rouse 
 With fierce caress that shall make bare her boughs, 
 Her tender boughs, and all her beauty's prize 
 Deliver, faded, to the winds that rise 
 And rend her crown from her dishonored brows ! — 
 
 O solitary house ! thine open door 
 
 Again shall welcome sweet Love's winged tread ; 
 His eyes shall light thee, as they lit of yore 
 
 In days when Love and Joy were newly wed ; 
 
 He shall return with myrtle round his head, 
 And fill thy halls with music as before. 
 
AFTER DEATH, 1S9 
 
 AFTER DEATH. 
 
 And very sweet it is 
 To know he still is warm, though I am cold, 
 
 Christina -Rossetti. 
 
 T WOULD not have thee warm when I am cold ; 
 
 A But both together — 'neath some sylvan mound. 
 Amid the pleasant secrets under ground. 
 
 Where green things nourish in the embracing mould, 
 
 And jealous seeds the souls of blossoms hold — 
 In some sweet fellowship of silence bound, 
 Deeper than life, more exquisite than sound, 
 
 Rest tranquilly while Love's new tales are told. 
 
 We will not grudge the waking world its bliss, 
 Its joy of speech, its gladness of surprise, 
 
 When lovers clasp each others hands and kiss 
 And earth puts on new glory to their eyes : 
 We, lying there with Death's deep knowledge wise, 
 
 Shall know that we have found Life's best in this. 
 
I 9° SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 VOICES ON THE WIND. 
 
 TI^AR out at sea I hear the wind complain, — 
 
 A With the old plaint that vexed my childish 
 ear, 
 And seemed the cry of spirits drawing near 
 
 To sob their incommunicable pain. 
 
 Whence did they come, and whither go again ? 
 My very heart stood still with sudden fear 
 When the forlorn approach I used to hear 
 
 Of all the shuddering, melancholy train. 
 
 And lo, in this night's vigil far at sea, 
 
 The same long cry ! — Are they unpardoned yet ? 
 Does the old pain still goad them till they 
 come, 
 Unsheltered souls, to sob once more to me 
 Of some dead wrong they never can forget 
 Till there is no more sea, and winds are dumb ? 
 
THE CUP OF DEATH. 19 x 
 
 THE CUP OF DEATH. 
 
 FOR A PICTURE BY ELIHU VEDDER. 
 
 O HE bends her beauteous head to taste thy draught, 
 ^ thou stern Angel of the Darker Cup ! 
 
 With thee to-night in the dim shades to sup, 
 Where all they be who from that cup have quaffed. 
 She had been clad with loveliness, and laughed 
 
 At Life's strong enemies who lie in wait ; 
 
 Had kept with golden youth her queenly state, 
 All unafraid of Sorrow's threat'ning shaft. 
 
 Then human Grief found out her human heart, 
 And she was fain to go where pain is dumb ; 
 So Thou wert welcome, Angel dread to see, 
 And she fares onward with thee, willingly, 
 To dwell where no man loves, no lovers part, — 
 Thus Grief that is, makes welcome Death to come. 
 
I9 2 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS, 
 
 TO A MODERN POET. 
 
 WITH A COPY OF " SHAKSPEARE's SONNETS." 
 
 ^PAKE thou these words thine elder brother writ, — 
 
 A Thou, to whom Song is as thy native speech ! 
 
 Across the swift-flown centuries thou canst reach 
 
 To him, thy kinsman, reverent hands and sit — 
 
 While shadows of the Past about ye flit — 
 
 With him, " in sessions of sweet, silent thought," 
 And share with him those halcyon days that brought 
 
 Music's sweet charm, and sparkle keen of wit. 
 
 So shalt thou learn the secret of his song, — 
 
 Those minor chords ; since Life is as the leaf, 
 
 And gladdest love and brightest day are brief; 
 
 Those clear, bold notes that told his soul was strong, 
 
 Brave to endure, and swift to smite the wrong, 
 
 Until Death healed thine elder brother's grief. 
 
THE LAST GOOD-BY. 193 
 
 THE LAST GOOD-BY. 
 
 T T OW shall we know it is the last good-by? 
 
 A A The skies will not be darkened in that hour, 
 No sudden blight will fall on leaf or flower, 
 
 No single bird »will hush its careless cry, 
 
 And you will hold my hands, and smile or sigh 
 Just as before. Perchance the sudden tears 
 In your dear eyes will answer to my fears ; 
 
 But there will come no voice of prophecy, — 
 
 No voice to whisper, " Now, and not again, 
 
 Space for last words, last kisses, and last prayer 
 
 For all the wild, unmitigated pain 
 
 Of those who, parting, clasp hands with despair,' 
 
 " Who knows? " we say, but doubt and fear remain. 
 Would any choose to part thus unaware ? 
 
x 94 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 LOVE IS DEAD. 
 
 T HEARD one cry out strongly, " Love is dead ! " 
 ■*■ And then we went and looked upon his face, 
 
 Turned into marble by Death's final grace : 
 His silent lips, that once so vainly pled, 
 Smile now, as men smile being newly wed ; 
 
 Since some strange joy Life's sorrows did efface 
 When Death's arms clasped him in supreme 
 embrace, 
 All his long pain of living comforted,, 
 
 And you would wake him ? Dare you him recall 
 From Death's enamouring to Life's stern pain ; 
 
 Make him again the old griefs hopeless thrall ; 
 Bind him once more with the old clanking chain. 
 And goad him on his weary way again ? — 
 
 Nay ! let him rest with Death, the lord of all. 
 
HIC JACET. 195 
 
 HIC JACET. 
 
 QO Love is dead that has been quick so long ! 
 
 ^ Close, then, his eyes, and bear him to his rest, 
 With eglantine and myrtle on his breast, 
 
 And leave him there, their pleasant scents among ; 
 
 And chant a sweet and melancholy song 
 
 i\bout the charms whereof he was possessed, 
 And how of all things he was loveliest, 
 
 And to compare with aught were him to wrong. 
 
 Leave him beneath the still and solemn stars, 
 That gather and look down from their far place 
 With their long calm our brief woes to deride, 
 Until the Sun the Morning's gate unbars 
 
 And mocks, in turn, our sorrows with his face ; — 
 And yet, had Love been Love, he had not died. 
 
196 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 LEFT BEHIND. 
 
 T 7[ JILT thou forget me in that other sphere, — 
 * * Thou who hast shared my life so long in this, — 
 
 And straight grown dizzy with that greater bliss, 
 Fronting heaven's splendor strong and full and clear, 
 No longer hold the old embraces dear 
 
 When some sweet seraph crowns thee with her kiss ? 
 
 Nay, surely from that rapture thou wouldst miss 
 Some slight, small thing that thou hast cared for here. 
 
 I do not dream that from those ultimate heights 
 Thou wilt come back to seek me where I bide ; 
 
 But if I follow, patient of thy slights, 
 
 And if I stand there, waiting by thy side, 
 
 Surely thy heart with some old thrill will stir, 
 
 And turn thy face toward me, even from her. 
 
FUTURE FORGIVENESS. 197 
 
 FUTURE FORGIVENESS. 
 
 TJ OW long wilt thou be silent, lying there ? 
 A A I grieved thee once, and now my heart makes 
 moan, 
 Cries, and thou wilt not answer, turned to stone, 
 And pitiless as stone to my despair : 
 My tears fall on thee, and thou dost not care : 
 Oh ! art thou cruel now who wast so kind ; 
 Or only to my sorrow deaf and blind — 
 Gone on beyond the hearing of my prayer? 
 
 Shall it not be that in thy brighter life 
 
 I find thee, move thee to some pitying thrill, 
 And win thee by my pleading to forgive ? 
 Thou couldst forget past folly and past strife, 
 Seeing, in that new sphere, I love thee still ; 
 And thou — didst thou not love thou wouldst 
 not live. 
 
I9 8 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 IN PACE. 
 
 \\ 7HEN I am dead, with mockery of praise 
 * * Thou shalt not vex the stillness of my sleep : 
 Leave me to long tranquillity and deep, 
 
 Who, through such weary nights and lonesome days, 
 
 Such hopeless stretch of uncompanioned ways, 
 Have come at length my quiet rest to keep 
 Where nettles thrive, and careless brambles creep, 
 
 And things that love the dark their dull brood raise. 
 
 After my restless years I would have rest, — 
 Long rest after so many restless years, — 
 Unmocked by hope, set free from haunting fears ; 
 Since some old pain might waken at thy tread, 
 Do thou for once in this my heart's behest, 
 
 Come thou not nigh when I am lying dead. 
 
A WOMAN'S KNOWLEDGE. 199 
 
 A WOMAN'S KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 A ROSE to smell a moment, then to leave, 
 
 i -*- Chance strain of song you smile at as you pass, 
 Bubble that breaks before you lip the glass, 
 
 Chain frail as the frail thread that spiders weave ; 
 
 Oh, do not think that I myself deceive ! 
 Thus, and not otherwise, to you am I, — 
 A moment's pleasure as you pass me by, 
 
 Powerless, at best, to make you joy or grieve. 
 
 And you, to me, my sun-god and my sun, 
 
 Who warmed my heart to life with careless ray ! 
 Forever will that burning memory stay 
 And warm me in the grave when life is done : — 
 What farther grace has any woman won ? 
 
 Since your chance gift you cannot take away. 
 
2 00 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 IN SOLITUDE. 
 
 T T AVE pity thou, who all my heart hast known ! 
 
 A A Come back from thy far place and heal my 
 pain ! 
 My long, unshared, uncheered days wax and wane ; 
 
 The strong suns mock me, I am so alone ; 
 
 The hurrying winds sweep by, nor heed my moan ; 
 The climbing stars of night, a shining train, 
 With curious eyes behold me wait in vain, — 
 
 And Nature's very self doth me disown. 
 
 I did not know how blest I was, God wot, 
 
 When thy dear voice made music for my ears, 
 Fostered my starveling joys and shamed my fears : 
 
 Now thou art dumb ; and I, by thee forgot, 
 
 Live through the empty, pitiless months and years 
 
 And think how I was glad, yet knew it not. 
 
BEYOND SIGHT AND SOUND. 201 
 
 BEYOND SIGHT AND SOUND. 
 
 T^ULL soon I shall be gone, where dead men go, — 
 Gone on, beyond your ken, far out of sight — 
 
 To that dim, phantom world that no stars light ; 
 Where souls like pallid flames flit to and fro, 
 Where Love is not, nor memory of Woe, 
 
 And no voice pleads through that eternal night ; 
 
 Dumb are those souls, and dead is their delight, 
 They need no courage, since no fear they know. 
 
 If a sad ghost should seem to bar your way, 
 Think not from that vague world that I return ; 
 
 'T will be but moonlight silvering some spray. 
 I shall not hear you, howso'er you yearn ; 
 
 Yet if your cry could follow my far track, 
 
 I think from bane or bliss I should come back. 
 
202 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 TO ONE WHO HAS LOVED OFTEN. 
 
 T3ALIMPSEST heart, on which so many names 
 Love's hand has writ ! Blind Love, could he 
 not know 
 Which the true script of Fate, and thus forego 
 To lend his torch to kindle transient flames? 
 New risen joy each new day's sun proclaims ; 
 Each dawning sets the amorous east aglow; 
 Each day is bright until its sun is low ; 
 As of fair days, so is it of fair dames. 
 
 Why should we chide the glad who find life sweet ? 
 Their careless hearts are like a favored year, 
 All blessed summer ; or a garden ground 
 To which no frosts come, where no tempests beat, 
 But roses bloom forever, red and dear, 
 
 And blithe birds fill it always with sweet sound. 
 
BEFORE THE SHRINE. 2 03 
 
 BEFORE THE SHRINE. 
 
 T BUILT a shrine, and set rav idol there, 
 
 A And morn and noon and night my Knees I bent, 
 And cried aloud until my strength was spent, 
 
 Beseeching his cold pity with my prayer. 
 
 Sometimes at dawning, when the day was fah\ 
 A ray of light to his stern visage sent 
 The semblance of a smile. Did he relent, 
 
 This strong god, Love, whose high-priest is Despair ? 
 
 High noon came on, and in its full, clear light 
 I saw his lips,, as ruthless as of old ; 
 
 And his eyes mocked me like relentless fate, 
 Till I was fain to hide me from his sight ; 
 
 Then one swept off from him his mantle's fold, 
 And lo, my idol was not Love, but Hate. 
 
2 04 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 ROSES AT SEA. 
 
 T OVE-CHILDREN of the summer and the sun 
 •*~* Alien to this salt air and stretch of sea, 
 
 And beautiful in your bright witchery 
 As the first rose, whose wooing was begun 
 By the first nightingale, when day was done 
 And over Eden's walks the wind blew free, 
 And the winged wooers sang in ecstasy 
 Of love and love and love — till love was won. 
 
 To-day you bless me with your beauty's spell, 
 
 Roses from some dream-garden left behind, 
 
 With breath half tenderness and half farewell. 
 
 And gracious hopes with your sweet grace en- 
 twined : 
 Will hopes, like buds, turn blossoms? Who shall 
 tell? 
 Your fragrant soul escapes — can Memory bind ? 
 
A GHOST'S QUESTION. 205 
 
 A GHOST'S QUESTION. 
 
 T li 7 HEN with your fair, new Love you laughing go 
 * * Through the loud streets we two have known 
 
 so well, 
 Will not old memories your feet compel 
 
 To wait, sometimes, for one whose step is slow, 
 
 Whose presence only you may feel or know, — 
 The shadow of a shadow, you dispel 
 With wave of hand, as the old tale you tell 
 
 To new ears listening as I used, you know? 
 
 Or when you press her hand against your breast, 
 Will you for one swift instant think it mine, 
 
 And thrill to the dead joy you once possessed 
 And quaffed and savored, as men quaff their wine — 
 
 Then turn and meet her smile, jest back her jest, 
 And swear afresh she doth all charms combine ? 
 
206 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 SISTER SORROW. 
 
 FOUND her walking hi a lonely place, 
 **• Where shadows lingered and the day was low ; 
 
 She trod a devious path with footsteps slow, 
 And by the waning light I scanned her face, 
 And in its loveliness beheld the trace 
 
 Old tears had left, and woes of long ago ; 
 Then knew she I was kin to her, and so 
 Stretched forth her chill, soft hand with- welcoming 
 grace. 
 
 Now I walk with her through her realm of shade — 
 I hear gay music sound, and laughter ring, 
 And voices call me that I knew of old, 
 But of their mocking mirth I am afraid, — 
 
 Led through the dusk by her to whom I cling, 
 May I not reach some blessedness untold ? 
 
HE LOVED. 207 
 
 HE LOVED. 
 
 " IT E loved me once ! " What words are these — 
 -^ "He loved! 1 ' 
 
 Past tense, past love, past joy, past hope, past 
 dream, — 
 
 All things that were and are not, — how they seem 
 To crowd around and mock the love disproved, 
 The former bliss, by ages long removed \ 
 
 The light, far off as farthest star's pale beam 
 
 That sheds through trackless space its fitful gleam 
 Which once, our sun, we welcomed and approved. 
 
 How dear that was which lies here stark and dead 
 While we sit watching in God's awful sight, 
 
 He knows ; but hath no dew of healing shed, 
 Nor any grace doth proffer us, — by night 
 
 And change and death who 'are discomfited, — 
 No single hope to turn our dark to light. 
 
2o8 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 HEREAFTER. 
 
 T N after years a twilight ghost shall fill 
 *■ With shadowy presence all thy waiting room : 
 From lips of air thou canst not kiss the bloom ; 
 Yet at old kisses will thy pulses thrill, 
 And the old longing, that thou could st not kill, 
 Feeling her presence in the gathering gloom, 
 Will mock thee with the hopelessness of doom, 
 While she stands there and smiles, serene and still. 
 
 Thou canst not vex her, then, with passion's pain : 
 Call, and the silence will thy call repeat ; 
 But she will smile there, with cold lips and sweet, 
 Forgetful of old tortures, and the chain 
 That once she wore, the tears she wept in vain 
 At passing from her threshold of thy feet. 
 
AT WAR. 209 
 
 AT WAR. 
 
 '"THROUGH the large, stormy splendors of the 
 1 night, 
 
 When clouds made war, and spears of moonlight 
 strove 
 
 To penetrate their serried ranks and prove 
 That braver than the darkness was the light, 
 Yet failed before the storm-clouds' gathered might, 
 
 I heard a voice cry, " Strong indeed is Love, 
 
 But stronger Fate and Death, who hold above 
 Their pitiless, high court, in Love's despite." 
 
 Storm-cloud met storm-cloud, reeled, and shook, and 
 fled,— 
 The old earth trembled at their mighty rage, — 
 Till, suddenly, a lark sang clear o'erhead, 
 
 As if to share his joy he did engage 
 All earth and heaven ; and Night's wild war was 
 
 done, 
 And Love and Morning triumphed with the sun. 
 
2 to SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 NEAR, YET FAR. 
 
 QO near ! and yet, I think, as far apart 
 ^ As heaven from hell, high noon from darkest 
 night, 
 Or buried face, from longing lover's sight : 
 I dream of you, and then from dreams I start 
 To hear the beating of my own sad heart, 
 
 That snatched from dreams impossible delight, 
 But quickly wakes again, in wretched plight, 
 To meet the day's keen pain and ceaseless smart. 
 
 How shall I comfort, then, my lonesome years — 
 Since dreams are dim, and sleeping time is brief — ? 
 
 For very full I am of restless fears, 
 Blown to and fro, as is a vagrant leaf; 
 
 And well I know how idle are the tears 
 
 That burn my aching eyes, yet mock my grief. 
 
A FALLEN HOUSE. 211 
 
 A FALLEN HOUSE. 
 
 T^HE end has come, which never seems the end ; 
 A And thou and I, who loved so long and well, 
 Find at the last our Fate implacable, — 
 Stern Fate, who wills not that our lives shall blend, 
 And overthrows fair things we did intend. 
 
 The house in which long time we thought to 
 
 dwell, 
 Was built upon a ruin — so it fell. 
 Great was the fall, which no man could defend. 
 
 Behold it lies there overthrown, that house ! 
 In its fair halls no comer shall carouse ; 
 
 Its broad rooms with strange silences are filled ; 
 No fire upon its crumbling hearth shall glow — 
 Seeing its desolation, men shall know 
 
 On ruin of what was they may not build. 
 
212 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 MY MOURNER. 
 
 T LIE here very still ; and he draws nigh 
 To stand beside me, and to look his last 
 On her who far beyond his ken has passed, 
 
 Yet rests here, ' neath his touch, so tranquilly ; 
 
 From the shut lips there comes no least, low sigh ; 
 No eyelash quivers, and white Death holds fast, 
 In long embrace by longing dreams forecast, 
 
 The life that had known Life's satiety. 
 
 I laughed and loved and wept, and now I sleep ; 
 
 And that were best of all, if no dreams come 
 To mar this quietude of slumber, deep 
 
 And still as some deep night when winds are 
 dumb ; 
 But he, my mourner, wherefore should he keep 
 
 Intrusive vigil round my silent home ? 
 
AT SEA. 213 
 
 AT SEA. 
 
 /^\UTSIDE the mad sea ravens for its prey, 
 ^-^ Shut from it by a floating plank I lie ; 
 
 Through this round window search the faithless 
 sky, 
 The hungry waves that fain would rend and slay, 
 The live-long, blank, interminable way, 
 
 Blind with the sun and hoarse with the wind's cry 
 
 Of wild, unconquerable mutiny, 
 Until night comes more terrible than day. 
 
 No more at rest am I than wind and wave ; 
 
 My soul cries with them in their wild despair, 
 I, who am Destiny's impatient slave, 
 
 Who find no help in hope, nor ease in prayer, 
 And only dream of rest, on some dim shore , 
 Where sea and storm and life shall be no more. 
 
214 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 LAURA SLEEPING. 
 
 f^ OME hither and behold this lady's face, 
 
 ^ Who lies asleep, as if strong Death had kissed 
 
 Upon her eyes the kiss none can resist, 
 And held her fast in his prolonged embrace ! 
 See the still lips, which grant no answering grace 
 
 To Love's fond prayers, and the sweet, carven 
 smile, 
 
 Sign of some dream-born joy which did beguile 
 The dreaming soul from its fair resting-place ! 
 
 So will she look when Death indeed has sway 
 O'er her dear loveliness, and holds her fast 
 
 In that last sleep which knows nor night, nor day, 
 Which hopes no future, contemplates no past ; 
 
 So will she look ; but now, behold ! she wakes — 
 
 Thus, from the Night, Dawn's sunlit beauty breaks. 
 
TO ONE MOST UNHAPPY, 215 
 
 TO ONE MOST UNHAPPY. 
 
 T F I should see thee, Most Unhappy, dead, 
 "*■ How should I dare to utter moan for thee ? 
 
 Does any grieve for prisoner set free ? 
 Or shall our tears upon his brow be shed 
 Who after long starvation full is fed ? 
 
 Nay, rather, clamor, bells, exultantly ; 
 
 Like wedding chimes ring out your harmony ; 
 Since saddest Life to gladdest Death is wed. 
 
 Thou, whose whole life was sorrow ! In thy grave 
 Shall not strange joy possess thee, and deep rest ; 
 Such rest as no man knoweth, having breath ? 
 Wilt thou not hear from far the old blasts rave 
 That long pursued thee with relentless quest, 
 And know them mocked, at last, by thee and 
 Death? 
 
216 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 IN THE COURT OF THE LIONS: 
 
 BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 HPHESE lions were sculptured centuries ago 
 -*■ In that fair court a Sultan made for her 
 Who was his heart's delight. Her worshipper 
 
 Was he whom all men worshipped ; proving so 
 
 His love and homage that the ages know 
 How fair she was, and how at softest stir 
 Of her soft robes — as these proud courts aver — 
 
 His kingly heart with kingly love did glow ; 
 
 Till he bade crafty workmen come and make 
 A palace, lovely for her lovely sake, 
 
 Thick-set with gems, with many a sculptured space 
 Wrought cunningly out of the creamy stone 
 
 To frame the dusky beauty of her face, — 
 Still on those courts the white moon shines, but they 
 are gone ! 
 
 Alhambra, Spain, 1883. 
 
MY CASTLE. 217 
 
 MY CASTLE. 
 
 A SPANISH Castle long ago I built, 
 ^■** Where Love and I might keep our holiday ; 
 
 In its fair court the fountain's sparkling play 
 Plashed light and music, and the happy lilt 
 Of singing birds with yellow sunshine gilt 
 
 Called — mate to mate — in amorous roundelay ; 
 
 And there, I thought, sweet Love might live alway. 
 And my libation to the gods I spilt. 
 
 Fair 'gainst the western sky my Castle rose ; 
 Men envied me who saw its turrets shine 
 Agleam with sunset lights of burning gold ; 
 And Love was lord, and well to rule Love knows, 
 And I was his, and he was all divine — 
 But I forgot that Love, himself, grows old. 
 
218 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 BY MARCH WIND LED. 
 
 T^HE wild, beleaguering March wind storms my 
 A door, 
 And in his wake surges an army vast, — 
 Old Hopes, old Dreams, old Love, too dear to last, 
 
 And all that made life glad in days of yore, 
 
 Turned now to ghosts, and from their alien shore 
 Come back for this one night to bring my Past, 
 And vex me with its spell about me cast, 
 
 Though It and I be parted evermore. 
 
 Beleaguering host ! I bid ye now avaunt ! 
 
 I will not listen, though ye call for aye. 
 
 As pitiless as blasts from this March sky 
 I found ye once. What right have ye to haunt 
 
 This night that should be peaceful ? I defy 
 Your evil power — my soul ye shall not daunt. 
 
MY MO THER 'S PIC TURK. 2 1 9 
 
 MY MOTHER'S PICTURE. 
 
 T_J OW shall I here her placid picture paint 
 -^ ■*- With touch that shall be delicate, yet sure ? 
 
 Soft hair above a brow so high and pure 
 Years have not soiled it with an earthly taint, 
 Needing no aureole to prove her saint ; 
 
 Firm mind that no temptation could allure ; 
 
 Soul strong to do, heart stronger to endure ; 
 And calm, sweet lips, that utter no complaint. 
 
 So have I seen her, in my darkest days 
 
 And when her own most sacred ties were riven, 
 
 Walk tranquilly in self-denying ways, 
 
 Asking for strength, and sure it would be given ; 
 
 Filling her life with lowly prayer, high praise, — 
 So shall I see her, if we meet in heaven. 
 
2 20 SONNETS IN MANY MOODS. 
 
 AT A RUINED ABBEY. 
 
 HTHE gray day's ending followed die gray day,— 
 All gray together, ruin and air and sky, — 
 And a lone wind of memory whispered by, 
 And told dark secrets on its wandering way ; 
 Through the blank windows' space, like ghosts astray, 
 Sad crowds of black-winged jackdaws came and 
 
 went — 
 Were they dead monks on some strange penance 
 sent, 
 Who used within these walls to preach and pray? 
 
 Do they return, from the far, starry sphere, 
 To their old haunt within these ruins old, 
 To celebrate, perchance, some mystic rite, 
 Some yearning soul's outcry of pain to hear ; 
 And, when the awful story has been told, 
 Will priest and sinner vanish on the night? 
 
$i$ Second Ulilt ^>peaft& 
 
 If two lives join there is oft a scar, 
 
 They are one and one with a shadowy third. 
 
 Browning. 
 
I. 
 
 A PARABLE. 
 
 LONGED for rest, and some one spoke me fair, 
 A And proffered goodly rooms wherein to dwell, 
 
 Hung round with tapestries, and garnished well, 
 That I might take mine ease and pleasure there ; 
 And there I sought a refuge from despair, 
 
 A joy that should my life's long gloom dispel ; 
 
 But ominously through those halls there fell 
 Strange sounds, as of old music in the air. 
 
 As day went down, the music grew apace, 
 And in the moonlight saw I, white and cold, 
 
 A presence radiant in the radiant space, 
 
 With smiling lips that never had grown old ; 
 And then I knew the secret none had told, 
 
 And shivered there, an alien in that place. 
 
224 HIS SECOND WIFE SPEAKS. 
 
 II. 
 
 SILENT. 
 
 T WILL not speak. For ever from old days 
 -*■ Another voice assails him ; shall mine come 
 
 To break that perfect music ? Make me dumb, 
 God, who art merciful ! and of thy grace 
 Keep my lips silent. I have heard him praise 
 Her speech, as sweet as late bird singing home, 
 And soft as on far shore breaks the pale foam, 
 Tender as twilight's peace on woodland ways. 
 
 I serve his pleasure, wait with ears attent ; 
 
 Indeed, it well befits me to be meek : 
 His joy is passed, his fortune has been spent, 
 
 And I — he found me when he turned to seek, 
 In place of bliss, some pale and dull content — 
 
 I will be faithful, but I will not speak. 
 
A SECOND PLACE. 225 
 
 III. 
 
 A SECOND PLACE. 
 
 T WOULD, indeed, that Heaven had made me 
 
 A meek, 
 
 Content to hold and fill a second place. 
 Take lesser love as undeserved grace, 
 
 And bow my thankful head when one should speak 
 
 Me gently, touch with careless hand my cheek, 
 Or bend sometimes and kiss my unpraised face, 
 Since she, forsooth, is in her far-off place 
 
 For whom his highest homage seemed too weak. 
 
 But I was made with passionate, strong soul, 
 And what I would, I would have wholly mine ; 
 
 And if I bow my head to Love's control, 
 And to his keeping all myself consign, 
 
 It must be Love that answers to my need, 
 
 That loves me wholly, and is Love indeed. 
 
226 HIS SECOND WIFE SPEAKS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ALONE IN DEATH. 
 
 A LONE in Death I think my heart will be ; 
 ■*■* I have no dead to wait me in that land, 
 
 And if with thee I entered, hand in hand, 
 When her voice called wouldst thou not turn from 
 
 me, 
 And leave me lonely by that jasper sea — 
 Lonely, forever, on that silent strand, 
 When with entreaty stronger than command 
 Her languorous, low tones invited thee ? 
 
 And she would find my kisses on thy mouth, 
 And yet forgive thee with a royal grace, 
 
 Because, when she had gone, too long the drouth, 
 The uncheered waiting her divine embrace — 
 
 And I, O God ! should long to die again, 
 
 Yet face my immortality of pain. 
 
FACE TO FACE. 227 
 
 V. 
 
 FACE TO FACE. 
 
 npHOU gazest in mine eyes and thine are wet ; 
 
 Thy hand seeks mine, and clings, and holds 
 me fast ; 
 " The present," dost thou say, " and not the past 
 Means light and joy and hope. I am beset 
 With idle fears. Thy heart in my heart met 
 Its all of love and faith — the spell I cast 
 Will bind thee, while the soul in thee shall last, 
 And the next life shall pay this life's dear debt." 
 
 Thine eyes seem true ! Thy words ! Ah she can 
 hear ! 
 From her high place I think she sees thee now ; 
 Draw back thine hand, if but one shade of fear 
 
 Of her reproach assail thee. J will bow 
 To Fate's decree — from blame thou shalt be clear — 
 Thou wilt not ? . . . We will face her, — I and 
 thou! 
 
eije ^>tm four. 
 
 The holy time is quiet as a nun, 
 Breathless with adoration. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
IN THE PINE WOODS AT MARIENBAD. 
 
 DEDICATED TO LOUISA, LADY ASHBURTON. 
 
 T T ERE come we, to this temple strange and vast ; 
 Here is the shadowy stillness meet for prayer, 
 And here such fragrance breathes upon the air 
 
 That it must be Heaven's own high-priests have passed 
 
 And to the winds a heavenly incense cast ; 
 Far up against the blue we see them there, 
 Glad messengers, that on God's errands fare — 
 
 Oh may we join their shining ranks at last ! 
 
 This is the noblest Church was ever reared ! 
 Shall we not enter here to praise and pray, 
 To kneel within its mighty nave and cry 
 To Him, our God, beloved of us and feared, 
 Whose light must guide us on our devious way, 
 Whose help must reach us, or we helpless die ? 
 
 At Marienbad, September, 1887. 
 
232 THE STILL HOUR. 
 
 HELP THOU MINE UNBELIEF! 
 
 ~D ECAUSE I seek thee not, oh seek Thou me ! 
 
 ^^ Because my lips are dumb, oh hear the cry 
 I do not utter as Thou passest by, 
 
 And from my life-long bondage set me free ! 
 
 Because content I perish, far from Thee, 
 
 Oh seize me, snatch me from my fate, and try 
 My soul in Thy consuming fire ! Draw nigh 
 
 And let me, blinded, Thy salvation see. 
 
 If I were pouring at Thy feet my tears, 
 If I were clamoring to see Thy face, 
 
 I should not need Thee, Lord, as now I need, 
 Whose dumb, dead soul knows neither hopes nor 
 fears, 
 N or dreads the outer darkness of this place — 
 Because I seek not, pray not, give Thou heed ! 
 
SHALL I LOOK BACK? 2y. 
 
 SHALL I LOOK BACK? 
 
 T^ROM some dim height of being, undescried, 
 Shall I look back and trace the weary way 
 By which my feet are journeying to-day, — 
 The toilsome path that climbs the mountain-side 
 Or leads into the valley, sun-denied, 
 
 Where, through the darkness, hapless wanderers 
 
 stray, 
 Unblessed, uncheered, ungladdened by a ray 
 Of certitude their errant steps to guide ? 
 
 Shall I look back, and see the great things small ; 
 The toilsome path, God's training for my feet, 
 The pains that never had been worth my tears ? 
 Will some great light of rapture, bathing all, 
 
 Make by-gone woe seem joy ; past bitter, sweet? 
 Shall I look back and wonder at my fears ? 
 
2 34 THE STILL HOUR, 
 
 STRAIGHT ON TO PORT. 
 
 OTRAIGHT through the sea-foam and the awful 
 ^ sea, 
 
 And winds that battle round us day and night, 
 
 Till the pale moon hides her white face in fright, 
 The ship that bears my longing heart and me 
 Fares toward that port where waiting loved ones be, 
 
 And on the hearth of home the fire is bright ; 
 
 There wistful eyes shall be made glad with sight, 
 And perils past forgotten joyfully. 
 
 So, through long nights, and brief, sad winter days, 
 Or summer's short-lived triumphs, or young springs, 
 
 Or autumn's wind-blown, melancholy ways, 
 My soul bears onward to her haven far, 
 Beyond the utmost sea's dim harbor-bar, 
 
 There to forget what storms have bruised her wings. 
 
 At Sea, 1884. 
 
A PRAYER IN SORROW. 235 
 
 A PRAYER IN SORROW. 
 
 TV J Y heart is at Thy feet, — my helpless heart ! 
 ^ I pray Thee bend and listen to my prayer ; 
 
 Bend low, and comfort my most deep despair, 
 Since my sole help, sole comforter Thou art. 
 It is thy will that Joy and I should part ; 
 
 Thy will be done — but have me in Thy care ; 
 
 Unhelped by Thee the load I cannot bear — 
 My heart is at Thy feet, my helpless heart. 
 
 How can I go alone through life to death, 
 Confront each empty day and lonely night, 
 
 Each doubt and fear my soul that challengeth, 
 Except Thy strong arm put my foes to flight ? 
 
 I cry to Thee, who gave my spirit breath — 
 
 Save me — O strong to save, as strong to smite ! 
 
236 THE STILL HOUR. 
 
 ON HOMEWARD WING. 
 
 T^ROM the soft south the constant bird comes back, 
 ■*■ Faith-led, to find the welcome of the spring 
 
 In the old boughs whereto she used to cling 
 Before she sought the unknown southward track : 
 Above the Winter and the storm-cloud's wrack 
 She hears the prophecy of days that bring 
 The Summer's pride, and plumes her homeward 
 wing 
 To seek again the joys that exiles lack. 
 
 Shall I of little faith, less brave than she, 
 Set forth unwillingly my goal to find, 
 Go home from exile with reluctant mind, 
 
 Distrust the steadfast stars I cannot see, 
 
 And doubt the heavens because my eyes are blind ? 
 
 Nay ! Give me faith, like wings to soar to Thee ! 
 
IN MID-OCEAN, 237 
 
 IN MID-OCEAN. 
 
 A CROSS this sea I sail, and do not know 
 
 ^*- What hap awaits me on its farther side, — 
 In these long days what dear hope may have died ; 
 
 What sweet, accustomed joy I must forego ; 
 
 What new acquaintance make with unguessed woe 
 (I, who with sorrow have been long allied,) 
 Or what blest gleam of joy yet undescried 
 
 Its tender light upon my way will throw. 
 
 Thus over Death's unsounded sea we sail, 
 Toward a far, unmapped, unpictured shore, 
 
 Unwitting what awaits us, bliss or bale, 
 Like the vast multitude that went before, 
 
 Scourged on by the inexorable gale 
 The everlasting mystery to explore. 
 
 At Sea, 1888. 
 
238 THE STILL HOUR. 
 
 AS IN VISION. 
 
 OMETIMES in heaven-sent dreams I do behold 
 ^ A city with its turrets high in air, 
 
 Its gates that gleam with jewels strange and rare, 
 And streets that glow with burning of red gold ; 
 And happy souls, through blessedness grown bold, 
 Thrill with their praises all the radiant air, 
 And God himself is light, and shineth there 
 On glories tongue of man hath never told. 
 
 And in my dreams I thither march, nor stay 
 To heed earth's voices, howso'er they call, 
 
 Or proffers of the joys of this brief day, 
 On which so soon the sunset shadows fall ; 
 
 1 see the gleaming gates, and toward them press — 
 What though my path lead through the wilderness ? 
 
A PRAYER FOR LIGHT, 239 
 
 A PRAYER FOR LIGHT. 
 
 T KNEEL before Thee, Lord, oh hear my cry ; 
 From its sore burden set my spirit free, 
 And give my longing wings to soar toward Thee 
 Through the pure ether of the upper sky, 
 And find Thee, find Thee, though Thou art so high ! 
 Give me to eat from that most sacred tree 
 Whose leaves of healing wave eternally — 
 Fed full of life by Thee, I shall not die, 
 
 Or, dying, die but to be newly born 
 
 In that glad day whereof Thou art the light, — 
 The light whose glories do eclipse the morn, 
 
 And blind the sun, and put to death the night — 
 O Life, O Light, O God, let me be Thine ; 
 Sun of all worlds, upon my darkness shine ! 
 
240 THE STILL HOUR. 
 
 COME UNTO ME. 
 
 T HEAR the low voice call that bids me come, — 
 
 *■* Me, even me, with all my grief oppressed, 
 With sins that burden my unquiet breast, 
 
 And in my heart the longing that is dumb, 
 
 Yet beats forever, like a muffled drum, 
 For all delights whereof I, dispossessed, 
 Pine and repine, and find nor peace nor rest 
 
 This side the haven where He bids me come. 
 
 He bids me come, and lay my sorrows down, 
 
 And have my sins washed white by His dear grace ; 
 
 He smiles — what matter, then, though all men frown ? 
 Naught can assail me, held in His embrace ; 
 
 And if His welcome home the end may crown, 
 Shall I not hasten to that heavenly place ? 
 
A RAINY AFTERNOON, 241 
 
 A RAINY AFTERNOON: 
 
 AT RAGATZ. 
 
 TA ARK are the clouds that hide from longing eyes 
 
 ^-^ The hills that glowed this morning with de- 
 light, 
 When the sun kindled height on shining height, 
 
 Pouring his splendor through the eastern skies. 
 
 From this dense gloom no Mounts of Vision rise, — 
 The day forgets the magic of the morn, — 
 Triumphant Darkness clothes itself with scorn, 
 
 And all Hope's auguries Despair defies. 
 
 Yet once again the sun shall gild the day, 
 And once again the sun -kissed hills be glad, 
 
 And the vexed Earth go on its ancient way 
 With all the old exultant joy it had ; 
 
 And thou, faint heart, shall Darkness thee affright 
 
 While He still reigns who said, " Let there be light " ? 
 
 Ragatz, September, 1883. 
 
242 THE STILL HOUR. 
 
 HARK, TEN THOUSAND HARPS AND 
 VOICES ! 
 
 (^)H, strong and sweet these tones that seek the 
 ^ sky! 
 
 Oh, sweet and strong the praises that T hear ! 
 
 When all hearts thrill, as one, with love and fear, 
 And all these voices, as with one voice, cry ; 
 And Fear says, " Tremble, for God's throne is high ; " 
 
 And Love says, "Trust, because His heart is near, 
 
 And all ye children to His heart are dear, 
 And God is love, and shall in love reply." 
 
 And then the music soars, as if on wings, 
 And echoes fond the ecstasy prolong, 
 Till waiting choirs of angels catch the song, 
 And they in heaven and we on earth unite 
 To sing His praise, and glorify His might, 
 Till unto God who hears His whole world sings. 
 
asogemat?. 
 
 There 's rosemary, — that 's for remembrance. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 Into the night go one and all. 
 
 William Ernest Henley. 
 
RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 T T IS soul was one with Nature everywhere ; 
 
 ■^ -*- Her seer and prophet and interpreter, 
 He waited in her courts for love of her, 
 
 And told the secrets that he gathered there, — 
 
 What flight the wild birds dared ; why flowers were 
 fair; 
 The sense of that divine, tumultuous stir 
 When Spring awakes, and all sweet things confer, 
 
 And youth and hope and joy are in the air. 
 
 Do the winds miss him, and the fields he knew, 
 And the far stars that watched him night by night, 
 
 Looking from out their steadfast dome of blue 
 To lead him onward with their tranquil light ; 
 
 Or do they know what gates he wandered through, 
 What heavenly glories opened on his sight? 
 
246 ROSEMARY. 
 
 AN OPEN DOOR. 
 
 City, of thiite a single ; simple door, 
 By some new Power reduplicate must be 
 Even yet my life-porch in eternity. 
 
 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 
 
 TTHAT longed-for door stood open, and he passed 
 A On through the star-sown fields of light, and 
 stayed 
 Before its threshold, glad and unafraid, 
 Since all that Life or Death could do at last 
 Was over, and the hour so long forecast 
 
 Had brought his footsteps thither. Undismayed 
 He entered. Were his lips on her lips laid? 
 God knows. They met, and their new day was vast : 
 
 Night shall not darken it, nor parting blight : 
 " Whatever is to know," they know it now : 
 He comes to her with laurel on his brow, 
 Hero and conqueror from his life's fierce fight, 
 And Longing is extinguished in Delight, — 
 "I still am I," his eyes say, "Thou art thou ! " 
 
BEHIND THE MIST. 247 
 
 BEHIND THE MIST: 
 
 IN THE ROOM WITH GEORGE FULLER'S PICTURES. 
 
 T T E sent them forth, these softly gleaming shapes, 
 ■*• ■*■ And said, " Go, ye, and tread enchanted 
 ground ; 
 With veiling mists your paths I will surround, 
 And shield you from the careless crowd that gapes 
 On what all men can see. Your charm escapes 
 Such gaze ; by faithful lovers to be found 
 Behind this tender veil that wraps you round, 
 And all your soft beguiling gently drapes." 
 
 And these fair people, whom his hand had made, 
 And touched with sudden beauty, strange and 
 sweet 
 As the young Morn by the first Sun-ray kissed, 
 Live here, immortally and unafraid, 
 
 While he — who can pursue his journeying feet ? 
 He has gone on, and up, behind the Mist. 
 
248 ROSEMARY. 
 
 HER GHOST. 
 
 IN MEMORY OF CICELEY NARNEY MARSTON. 
 
 T ] ER gentle ghost is with me everywhere ! 
 
 'Twas here she came, one summer day, to 
 die; 
 Whispered my name, and then, all silently, 
 Laid her loved head upon the pillow there 
 And spoke no more. That summer day was fair 
 And very glad with joyous minstrelsy 
 Of choiring birds, and heedless gayety 
 Of small, bright things who of the sun were 'ware : 
 
 But, in the midmost glow of life, on Death 
 
 She sudden chanced : he closed her dear, dark 
 eyes; 
 
 The air grew heavy with her parting breath, 
 And Nature seemed to shiver in surprise ; 
 
 And then the things that morning had begun 
 
 Fared on — she too, like them, had sought the sun. 
 
HER GHOST. 249 
 
 II. 
 
 TVT OW with the summer she has come again : 
 
 ^ ^ Outside the birds sing as they sang that day, 
 
 And summer things upon the air are gay ; 
 But she sits speechless, and her eyes are fain 
 To hide from me their mystery of pain. . . . 
 
 From heaven to earth, oh, dim and far the way ! 
 
 Why hast thou come ? Be merciful and say — 
 Of what strange wrong do thy veiled looks complain ? 
 
 Hast thou brought back sad secrets from the skies ; 
 
 Or is it that the old days haunt thee still? 
 Is that immortal sorrow in thine eyes 
 
 Token of longings Heaven could not fulfil ? 
 Dear ghost, I pray thee answer, and forego 
 The stern resolve of thy unspoken woe. 
 
250 ROSEMARY. 
 
 III. 
 
 / T A HOU wilt not speak ! Day after silent day 
 A Thou sittest with me in this lonesome place : 
 The morning sunlight falls upon thy face ; 
 
 Night comes, and thou and Night together stay, — 
 
 No sunshine warms thee, and no storms dismay. 
 I stretch my empty arms for thine embrace 
 Thou glidest from them with elusive grace : 
 
 Thine unresponsive lips will never say 
 
 The thing 1 long to hear ; yet do I think, 
 From me to thee, the living to the dead, 
 
 Waiting together on the hither brink 
 
 Of Death's great middle sea, some influence shed 
 
 Must make thee know how now I hold thee dear, 
 
 Who loved thee not enough that other year. 
 
AT END OF PAIN, 251 
 
 AT END OF PAIN. 
 
 TO PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON. 
 
 HpHY darkened life is over. Thou hast found 
 A That sweet, deep rest, which, through such 
 lonesome days, 
 And nights when sleep forsook thee, thou didst 
 praise 
 With envious longing. In Death's silence drowned, 
 No clamoring bells with their intrusive sound, 
 No noise of traffic in the city's maze, 
 Or hurrying footsteps through its stony ways, 
 Will vex the slumber in which thou art bound. 
 
 Tired head, tired heart, tired spirit, all at rest ; 
 Since for the weary rest is Death's first boon, — 
 Rest ; and then, after rest, the waking joy ; 
 The sudden rapture, by new life possessed ; 
 
 The swift, sure glory of the Heaven's high noon ; 
 The long-lost mother's welcome to her boy ! 
 
252 ROSEMARY. 
 
 A SILENT GUEST. 
 
 TO H. E. C. 
 
 T \ 7E sit and chat in the familiar place, — 
 * * We two, where in those other years were 
 
 three, — 
 Till, suddenly, you turn your eyes from me, 
 And in the empty air I see a face, 
 Serenely smiling with the old-time grace, 
 And we are three again. All silently 
 The third guest entered ; and as silent we, 
 Held mute by very awe for some brief space. 
 
 And then we question — Has he come to stay? 
 Was heaven lonely to the child of earth ? 
 Was there no nectar in immortal bliss 
 For lips that thirsted for a mortal kiss ? 
 Has the new lesson taught the old love's worth? 
 The still ghost hears, and smiles, and — goes his way, 
 
LOUISA M. ALCOTT, 253 
 
 LOUISA M. ALCOTT. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 A S the wind at play with a spark 
 -*■•* Of fire that glows through the night 
 As the speed of the soaring lark 
 
 That wings to the sky his flight ; 
 So swiftly thy soul has sped 
 
 On its upward, wonderful way, 
 Like the lark, when the dawn is red, 
 
 In search of the shining day. 
 
 Thou art not with the frozen dead 
 
 Whom earth in the earth we lay, 
 While the bearers softly tread, 
 
 And the mourners kneel and pray ; 
 From thy semblance, dumb and stark, 
 
 The soul has taken its flight — 
 Out of the finite dark, 
 
 Into the Infinite Light. 
 
fimxtt) Cutteg. 
 
 Friend, let us pa) T the wonted fee. 
 
 Andrew Lang. 
 
 Then let me live one long romance 
 
 And learn to trifle well, 
 And write my motto " Vive la France ! " 
 
 And " Vive la bagatelle ! " 
 
 William Mackworth Praed. 
 
THE SPRING IS HERE. 
 
 T MISS you, sweet ! The spring is here ; 
 "■■ The young grass trembles on the leas ; 
 The violet's breath enchants the breeze ; 
 And the blue sky bends low and near. 
 
 Home-coming birds, with carol clear, 
 
 Make their new nests in budding trees — 
 
 I miss you, sweet, now spring is here, 
 And young grass trembles on the leas. 
 
 You were my Spring, and spring is dear ; 
 
 Without you can the May-time please ? 
 
 Let lavish June withhold her fees, 
 And winter reign throughout the year — 
 I miss you, sweet, though spring is here. 
 
258 FRENCH TUNES. 
 
 EASTER SUNDAY. 
 
 /^VN Easter morn she kneels and prays, 
 ^^ A gentle saint in baby blue — 
 Forgive her that her hat is new, 
 And all those dear, coquettish ways. 
 
 Her loyal soul pure tribute pays 
 
 To that high throne where prayers are due, 
 At Easter, when she kneels and prays, 
 
 A gentle saint in baby blue. 
 
 So innocent her girlish days 
 
 She scarcely knows what sins to rue, 
 What pard'ning grace from Heaven to sue, 
 As, glad with morning's gladdest rays, 
 A gentle saint, she kneels and prays. 
 
HEART, SAD HEART. 259 
 
 HEART, SAD HEART. 
 
 T T EART, sad heart, for what are you pleading ? 
 ■*■ The sun has set, and the night is cold ; 
 
 To go on hoping were over bold ; 
 Dead is the fire for want of feeding. 
 
 Tears are keeping your eyes from reading 
 
 The old, old story, so often told — 
 Heart, sad heart, for what are you pleading? 
 
 The sun has set, and the night is cold. 
 
 The wind and the rain in the dark are breeding 
 Storms to sweep over valley and wold ; 
 Love, the outcast, with longing bold, 
 
 Clamors and prays to a power unheeding. 
 
 Heart, sad heart, for what are you pleading? 
 
260 FRENCH TUNES. 
 
 TWO RED ROSES. 
 
 TO M. R. L. 
 
 T WISH they could live forever, — 
 •^ These roses my darling brought ! 
 
 Their breath from her lips they caught, 
 And still with her touch they quiver. 
 
 As bright as their bright sweet giver, 
 
 With a charm like her own charm fraught, 
 
 I wish they could live forever, — 
 These roses my darling brought ! 
 
 But loving from loved must sever, 
 And hoping must come to nought — 
 I know what the years have taught ; 
 
 Yet I wish they could live forever, — 
 These roses my darling brought. 
 
THE SHADOW DANCE. 26 1 
 
 THE SHADOW DANCE. 
 
 CHE sees her image in the glass, — 
 ^ How fair a thing to gaze upon ! 
 She lingers while the moments run, 
 With happy thoughts that come and pass, 
 
 Like winds across the meadow grass 
 When the young June is just begun : 
 
 She sees her image in the glass, — 
 How fair a thing to gaze upon ! 
 
 What wealth of gold the skies amass ! 
 
 How glad are all things 'neath the sun ! 
 
 How true the love her love has won ! 
 She recks not that this hour will pass ; 
 She sees her image in the glass. 
 
262 FRENCH TUNES. 
 
 IN FEBRUARY. 
 
 And the second month of the year 
 
 Puts heart in the earth again. 
 
 P. B. Marston. 
 
 A LREADY the feet of the Winter fly, 
 ^^ And the pulse of the Earth begins to leap, 
 
 Waking up from her frozen sleep, 
 And knowing the beautiful Spring is nigh. 
 
 Good Saint Valentine wanders by, 
 
 Pausing his festival gay to keep ; 
 Already the feet of the Winter fly, 
 
 Ana the pulse of the Earth begins to leap. 
 
 To life she wakes ; and a smile and a sigh — 
 Language the scoffer holds so cheap — 
 Thrill her with melody dear and deep. 
 
 Spring, with its mating time is nigh ; 
 
 Already the feet of the Winter fly, 
 
 And the pulse of the Earth begins to leap. 
 
THE OLD BEAU. 263 
 
 THE OLD BEAU. 
 
 T T E was a gay deceiver when 
 
 •*■ A The century was young, they say, 
 
 And triumphed over other men, 
 
 And wooed the girls, and had his way. 
 
 No maiden ever said him nay ; 
 
 No rival ever crossed him then ; 
 
 And painters vied to paint him when 
 The century was young, they say. 
 
 Now the new dogs must have their day ; 
 And the old beau has found that when 
 
 He pleads things go another way, 
 And lonely 'mong the younger men, 
 He hears their heartless laughter when 
 
 He boasts about that other day. 
 
264 FRENCH TUNES. 
 
 TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, 
 
 ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 T)OET and friend, beloved of us so long, 
 
 ■*■ What shall we wish thee on thy natal day ? 
 
 What rhymes and roses strew along thy way, — ■ 
 Thine, unto whom all suffrages belong? 
 
 Through the dark night we caught thy thrilling song, 
 Singer and prophet of the higher way : 
 
 Poet and friend beloved of us so long, 
 
 What shall we wish thee on thy natal day ? 
 
 Through all thy life the foe of every wrong, 
 Strong of heart to labor, high of soul to pray, 
 Guide to recall when errant footsteps stray ; 
 
 What blessed memories round thy dear name throng ! 
 
 Poet and friend, beloved of us so long, 
 
 God bless and keep thee on thy natal day ! 
 
WITH THOSE CLEAR EYES." 265 
 
 "WITH THOSE CLEAR EYES." 
 
 TO A. C. W. 
 
 T OOK at me, love, with those clear eyes 
 • L ' In which I see the thoughts arise, 
 
 As, gazing in a limpid well, 
 
 Unto Narcissus it befell 
 To see himself with glad surprise. 
 
 Blue with the blue of summer skies, — 
 Dear skies, behind which heaven lies, — 
 With one swift gaze my gloom dispel. 
 Look at me, love ! 
 
 See all my heart ! Its weakest cries, 
 Its lonely prayers, its longing sighs, 
 
 A language are which you can spell ; 
 
 You do not need what words can tell 
 On printed page to make you wise. 
 Look at me, love ! 
 
266 FRENCH TUNES. 
 
 LOVE'S GHOST. 
 
 T S Love at end ? How did he go ? 
 
 A His coming was full sweet, I know ; 
 But when he went he slipped away 
 And never paused to say good-day — 
 
 How could the traitor leave me so ? 
 
 There 's something in the summer, though, 
 That brings the old time back, and lo ! 
 This phantom that would bar my way 
 Is dead Love's ghost. 
 
 His footfall is as soft as snow, 
 
 And in his path the lilies blow ; 
 He quenches the just-kindled ray 
 With which I fain would light my way, 
 
 And bids me newer joys forego, 
 
 This tyrant ghost. 
 
BOW COULD I TELL? 267 
 
 HOW COULD I TELL? 
 
 T T OW could I tell skies would be gray 
 
 ■^ -*- When you, dear heart, had gone away? 
 
 How could I know the summer sun 
 
 Was glad of you to look upon, 
 And it was you who warmed the day ? 
 
 What part you had to make the May, 
 And how the very June was gay 
 
 With something from your presence won, 
 How could I tell ? 
 
 When you were here, a fervid ray 
 
 Of sudden summer lit my way ; 
 
 Now you with love and life are done, 
 The very light seems me to shun, 
 
 And through the dark I darkly stray — 
 How could I tell ? 
 
268 FRENCH TUNES. 
 
 WHEN LOVE WAS YOUNG. 
 
 T \ 7HEN Love was young, in days of yore, 
 * * On bended knee full oft I swore 
 To him alone I 'd homage pay ; 
 I 'd love forever and a day, 
 And love with every day the more. 
 
 I sang his praises o'er and o'er ; 
 I conned no missal but his lore — 
 Oh, but the world and I were gay 
 When Love was young ! 
 
 His blazonry the morning bore, 
 And all the larks that sing and soar 
 
 Praised him upon their skyward way. 
 
 . . . Ah, happy choir of yesterday, 
 When Love was young ! 
 
IF LOVE COULD LAST. 269 
 
 IF LOVE COULD LAST. 
 
 T F Love could last, I 'd spend my all 
 A And think the price were yet too small 
 To buy his light upon my way, 
 His sun to turn my night to day, 
 His cheer whatever might befall. 
 
 Were I his slave, or he my thrall, 
 No terrors should my heart appall ; 
 I 'd fear no wreckage or dismay 
 If Love could last. 
 
 Heaven's lilies grow up white and tall, 
 But warm within earth's garden wall 
 With roses red the soft winds play — 
 Ah, might I gather them to-day ! 
 My hands should never let them fall, 
 If Love could last. 
 
270 FRENCH TUNES. 
 
 O SWEETEST MAID! 
 
 TO M. R. L. 
 
 r\ SWEETEST maid, in other days 
 ^-^ The troubadours had sung your praise, 
 And knights had died and joyed to die 
 To win a smile as you passed by, 
 While lord and lackey stood at gaze. 
 
 What wonder that the task dismays 
 To wreathe your brow with modern bays, 
 Or rhyming tricks for you to try, 
 O sweetest maid ! 
 
 For you should be those loftier lays 
 Of which from far the echo strays, 
 In matchless, murmurous melody 
 That dies in Love's divinest sigh — 
 Still Love's strong will my rhyme obeys, 
 O sweetest maid ! 
 
IF YOU WERE HERE. 271 
 
 IF YOU WERE HERE. 
 
 TO F. M. S. 
 
 T F you were here, or I were there, 
 A Then would I find the season fair. 
 
 How blissfully the day would rise ! 
 
 How blue would be the summer skies ! 
 And all the world a smile would wear. 
 
 What pleasant things we two would share ! 
 By what green paths we two would fare ! 
 How sweet would be each day's surprise 
 If you were here ! 
 
 But now my joy is otherwhere ; 
 
 Each day 's a burden that I bear ; 
 And Pleasure mocks at me and flies, 
 And Pain stands by my side and sighs ; 
 
 And yet I know skies would be fair 
 If you were here. 
 
272 FRENCH TUNES. 
 
 SUCH JOY IT WAS. 
 
 O UCH joy it was with Love to walk ! 
 ^ The month it was the month of May 
 When we with Love began to talk. 
 Such joy it was with Love to walk 
 We did not see Fate's shadow stalk 
 
 Beside us, where flowers hid the way, 
 Such joy it was with Love to walk — 
 
 The month it was the month of May. 
 
WE LOVED SO WELL. 273 
 
 WE LOVED SO WELL. 
 
 T \ 7E loved so well in that old time ; 
 
 * * But we and Love grew old together : 
 Old age forgets youth's golden prime. 
 We loved so well in that old time ; 
 But youth and truth it is that rhyme, 
 
 And winter follows summer weather. 
 We loved so well in that old time ; 
 
 But we and Love grew old together. 
 
274 FRENCH TUNES. 
 
 SO BLITHELY ROSE. 
 
 00 blithely rose the happy day 
 v -^ When you and I began to kiss, 
 The birds believed December May, 
 So blithely rose the happy day, 
 And blossoms bloomed along our way, 
 
 Though it was time for snow, I wis, - 
 So blithely rose the happy day 
 
 When you and I began to kiss. 
 
THISTLE-DO WN. 275 
 
 THISTLE-DOWN. 
 
 HTHISTLE-DOWN is a woman's love, — 
 A Thistle-down with the wind at play. 
 Let him who wills this truth to prove, 
 " Thistle-down is a woman's love," 
 Seek her innermost heart to move. 
 
 Though the wind should blow her vows his way, 
 Thistle-down is a woman's love, — 
 
 Thistle-down with the wind at play. 
 
276 FRENCH TUNES. 
 
 LOVE PLUMES HIS WINGS. 
 
 T OVE plumes his wings to fly away, 
 -L/ And laughs to scorn our idle pain 
 Ah, vain it is to laugh and pray ! 
 Love plumes his wings to fly away : 
 What prayer of ours his flight can stay 
 
 When, mocking us with high disdain, 
 Love plumes his wings to fly away, 
 
 And laughs to scorn our idle pain ? 
 
IN WINTER. 277 
 
 IN WINTER. 
 
 /^\H, to go back to the days of June, 
 ^-^ Just to be young and alive again, 
 Hearken again to the mad sweet tune 
 
 Birds were singing with might and main ! 
 South they flew at the summer's wane, 
 
 Leaving their nests for storms to harry, 
 Since time was coming for wind and rain 
 
 Under the wintry skies to marry. 
 
 Wearily wander by dale and dune 
 
 Footsteps fettered with clanking chain : 
 Free they were in the days of June ; 
 
 Free they never can be again. 
 Fetters of age and fetters of pain, 
 
 Joys that fly, and sorrows that tarry ; 
 Youth is over, and hope were vain 
 
 Under the wintry skies to marry. 
 
 Now we chant but a desolate rune, — 
 " Oh, to be young and alive again ! " 
 
 But never December turns to June, 
 And length of living is length of pain. 
 
278 FRENCH ; TUNES. 
 
 Winds in the nestless trees complain ; 
 
 Snows of winter about us tarry ; 
 And never the birds come back again 
 
 Under the wintry skies to marry. 
 
 ENVOI. 
 
 Youths and maidens, blithesome and vain, 
 Time makes thrusts that you cannot parry ; 
 
 Mate in season, for who is fain 
 Under the wintry skies to marry ? 
 
AT THE WIND'S WILL. 
 
 I had walked on at the wind's will, — 
 I sat now, for the wind was still. 
 
 D. G. Rossetti. 
 
AT THE WIND'S WILL. 
 
 ^O far, so far have I come, 
 **-* Blown by the Wind of Fate : 
 Whither f The Voice is dumb. — 
 The Silence dis?nays me, I wait. 
 
 The Sunshine mocks me at 7nom, 
 The Stars deride me at night; 
 
 Shall strength in my soul be born 
 To triumph over their slight ? 
 
 Shall I live when their fires are out? 
 
 Shall I reach where they cannot go ? 
 Ah, Fate, resolve me the doubt, — 
 
 Blow on, strong Wind 7 / will know. 
 
TO HOPE. 
 
 Undying Hope, Memory's immortal heir, 
 
 To thee I consecrate this sheaf of song, — 
 
 In darkest gloom of thee I am aware ; 
 
 Thy magic is to make the weak soul strong. 
 
JLrrtcg, 
 
 In the world of dreams I have chosen my part 
 To sleep for a season, and hear no word 
 
 Of true love's truth, or of light love's art, 
 Only the song of a secret bird. 
 
 A. C. Swinburne. 
 
 Shall I not tell my dream in a song ? 
 
 Philip Bourke Marston, 
 
AT THE WIND'S WILL 
 
 SONGS AT SEA. 
 
 T HAVE been lonely the whole day long ; 
 
 Come and find me to-night with a song ; 
 Sing to me now, when the wind is low, 
 And my heart shall answer as on we go \ 
 Listen and answer, and none shall know. 
 
 Over the brooding, wonderful sea 
 The song that is sung alone for me 
 Floats, and none other its strain can hear, 
 Or catch the music, subtle and dear, 
 Of the delicate singing that seeks my ear. 
 
 The West is red with the sunset's glow; 
 In the East the moon is hanging low ; 
 And fast and far the light winds flee, 
 As I sail, with your songs for company, 
 'Twixt the silent sky and the silent sea. 
 
 Do these birds of song need a sheltering nest? 
 See ! I will hide them warm in my breast ; 
 There shall they fold their venturous wing, 
 And all the night through nestle and sing 
 Songs of love and of sorrowing. 
 
286 SONGS AT SEA. 
 
 Then, when the morning is young and gay, 
 
 Up from their shelter and far away ! 
 
 And, like carrier doves, they shall bear as they flee 
 
 The echoes of all they have sung to me 
 
 Alone with the night and the wind and the sea ; — 
 
 The echoes of passion's divine despair, 
 The bliss and the bane of a lover's prayer, 
 All the delicate singing that none might hear ; 
 And the answer my heart shall send, my dear, 
 On the breath of the morning fine and clear. 
 
ON A ROSE PRESSED IN A BOOK. 287 
 
 ON A ROSE PRESSED IN A BOOK. 
 
 I" WIN the summer back again 
 At touch of this dead rose. — 
 
 lavish joy ! O tender pain ! 
 The very June wind blows, 
 
 And thrills me with the old refrain 
 Whose music my heart knows : 
 
 1 win the summer back again 
 At touch of this dead rose. 
 
 Ah, lost is all the summer's gain, 
 And lost my heart's repose ; 
 And was it tears or was it rain 
 That wept the season's close? 
 The winter suns they coldly wane ; 
 White fall the winter snows : 
 But Love and Summer come again 
 At touch of this dead rose. 
 
THE SUN IS LOW. 
 
 THE SUN IS LOW. 
 
 T SIT and wait for you, Dear, my Dear, 
 
 Now the sun is low ; 
 From the far-off town the path runs clear, 
 
 And the way you know — 
 The old, old way that brought you here, 
 
 In the Long-Ago. 
 
 The white moon climbs, and looks at me - 
 
 Her smile is cold ; 
 Something she sees that I do not see — 
 
 The moon is old. 
 
 I catch a sigh from the winds that flee 
 
 Across the wold — 
 What is the secret they hide from me ? — 
 
 They have not told. 
 
 To Lethe-country your steps were set — 
 
 Did you taste that spring 
 That makes the heart of a man forget 
 
 The dearest thing? 
 
THE SUN IS LOW. 
 
 289 
 
 Nay ! I sit and wait for you, Dear, my Dear, 
 
 For the sun is low — 
 From your far-off place the path runs clear, 
 
 And you still must know 
 The old, old way that brought you here 
 
 In the Long-Ago. 
 
290 THE SECRET OF ARCADY. 
 
 THE SECRET OF ARCADY. 
 
 T HIED me off to Arcady — 
 
 The month it was the month of May, 
 And all along the pleasant way 
 The morning birds were mad with glee, 
 And all the flowers sprang up to see, 
 
 As I went on to Arcady. 
 
 But slow I fared to Arcady — 
 The way was long, the winding way — 
 Sometimes I watched the children play, 
 And then I laid me down to see 
 The great white clouds sail over me — 
 
 I thought they sailed to Arcady. 
 
 Then by me sped to Arcady 
 Two lovers, each on palfrey gray, 
 And blithe with love, and blithe with May, 
 And they were rich, and held in fee 
 The whole round world : and Youth is he 
 
 Who knows the path to Arcady. 
 
 I followed on to Arcady— - 
 But I was all alone that day, 
 And shadows stole along the way, 
 
THE SECRET OF ARCADY. 291 
 
 And somehow I had lost the key 
 
 That makes an errant mortal free 
 
 Of the dear fields of Arcady. 
 
 But still I fared toward Arcady, 
 Until I slept at set of day, 
 And in my dreams I found the way ; 
 And all the Fates were kind to me ; 
 So that I woke beneath a tree 
 
 In the dear land of Arcady. 
 
 What did I find in Arcady ? — 
 Ah, that I never must betray : 
 I learned the secrets of the May ; 
 And why the winds are fresh and free, 
 And all the birds are mad with glee 
 
 That soar and sing in Arcady. 
 
 I dwell no more in Arcady : — 
 But when the sky is blue with May, 
 And flowers spring up along the way, 
 And birds are blithe, and winds are free, 
 I know what message is for me, — 
 
 For I have been in Arcady. 
 
292 AT NIGHT'S HIGH NOON. 
 
 AT NIGHT'S HIGH NOON. 
 
 T T NDER the heavy sod she lies — 
 
 I saw them close her beautiful eyes — 
 She lies so still, and she lies so deep, 
 That all of them think she is fast asleep. 
 
 I, only, know at the night's high noon 
 
 She comes from the grave they made too soon ; 
 
 I see the light of her cold, bright eyes, 
 
 As I see the stars in the wintry skies. 
 
 The scornful gleam of an old surprise 
 Is still alive in those wonderful eyes — 
 And the mocking lips are ripe and red, 
 Smiling, still, at the words I said. 
 
 She mocks me now, as she mocked me then : — 
 ' Dead is dead/ say the world of men — 
 But I know when the stars of midnight rise 
 She shines on me with her cold, bright eyes. 
 
THE VOICE OF SPRING. 293 
 
 THE VOICE OF SPRING. 
 
 T T was the Voice of Spring — 
 
 That faint, far cry — 
 And birds began to sing, 
 And winds blew by. 
 
 And up the blossoms got — 
 They knew the call : — 
 
 The blue Forget-me-not, 
 The Lily, tall, 
 
 And Mayflowers, pink and white 
 
 As any lass, 
 Sprang up, for heart's delight, 
 
 Among the grass. 
 
 The happy world is fain 
 
 To hail the feet 
 Of Spring, who comes again, 
 
 Spring that is sweet. 
 
 Let us, dear Heart, rejoice — 
 
 You, Love, and I ; 
 We, too, have heard the Voice, 
 
 Our Spring is nigh. 
 
294 
 
 IN EXTREMIS. 
 
 IN EXTREMIS. 
 
 T T OW can I go into the dark, 
 
 Away from your clasping hand, 
 Set sail on a shadowy bark 
 
 For the .shore of an unknown land? 
 
 Your eyes look love into mine ; 
 
 Your lips are warm on my mouth ; 
 I drink your breath like a wine 
 
 Aglow with the sun of the South. 
 
 You have made this world so dear ! 
 
 How can I go forth alone 
 In the bark that phantoms steer 
 
 To a port afar and unknown? 
 
 The desperate mob of the dead, 
 Will they hustle me to and fro, 
 
 Or leave me alone to tread 
 The path of my infinite woe ? 
 
 Shall I cry, in terror and pain, 
 For a death that I cannot die, 
 
 And pray with a longing vain 
 To the gods that mock my cry ? 
 
IN EXTREMIS. 
 
 2 95 
 
 Oh, hold me closer, my dear ! 
 
 Strong is your clasp, — ay, strong, ■ 
 But stronger the touch that I fear, 
 
 And the darkness to come is long. 
 
296 WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG. 
 
 WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG. 
 
 T N Summer, when the days are long, 
 The roses and the lilies talk — 
 Beneath the trees young lovers walk, 
 
 And glad birds coo their wooing song. 
 
 In Autumn, when the days are brief, 
 Roses and lilies turn to dust — 
 Lovers grow old, as all men must, 
 
 And birds shun trees that have no leaf. 
 
 Then, youth, be glad, in love's brief day ! 
 Pluck life's best blossom while you can ■ 
 Time has his will of every man — 
 
 From leafless hearts love turns away. 
 
AT THE END. 297 
 
 AT THE END. 
 
 r I "IME was when Love's dear ways I used to 
 know — 
 
 That time 's at end, and Love has passed me by : 
 Be merciful, dear God, and let me die — 
 How can I lift my head from this last blow? 
 
 I cannot bear this life whence Faith has fled — 
 This jostling world in which I walk alone — 
 Where through long, lonesome nights old mem- 
 ories moan, 
 
 With human voices, that the dead is dead. 
 
 I cannot bear to meet the day's cold eyes — 
 The lonesome nights are bitter with my tears — 
 Shuddering I face the empty hideous years, 
 
 Sure that no trumpet 's call will bid my dead arise. 
 
 Since Love 's at end, be merciful, oh God ! . . . . 
 I ask no new-born hope, but only this, — 
 That I may die as died that vanished bliss, 
 
 And hide my fruitless pain 'neath some green sod. 
 
298 AT THE END. 
 
 Yet there — if the strong soul in me live on — 
 How deep soe'er the grave, what hope of rest? 
 Still shall I be discrowned and dispossest, 
 
 And find new tortures with new life begun. 
 
 The Heavens are deaf! No answer comes to 
 prayer — 
 I face the cold scorn of the risen day — 
 Since Love that was my life has turned away, 
 
 And left me for companion my Despair. 
 
TO SLEEP. 299 
 
 TO SLEEP. 
 
 /^OME Sleep, and kiss mine eyelids down: 
 
 Let me forget 
 Hope 's treachery, and Fortune 's frown, 
 And Life 's vain fret. 
 
 And would you hold me fast, dear Sleep, 
 
 I need not wake, 
 Since they wake not who used to weep 
 
 For my poor sake. 
 
300 WHEN YOU ARE DEAD. 
 
 WHEN YOU ARE DEAD. 
 
 A LOVER SPEAKS. 
 
 TI fHEN you are dead, my dainty dear, 
 
 And buried 'neath the grass, 
 Will something of you linger near, 
 And know me if I pass? 
 
 Last night you wore a wild, sweet rose, 
 To match your sweet, wild grace — 
 
 The only flower on earth that grows 
 I liken to your face. 
 
 I would that I that rose had been, 
 
 To bloom upon your breast ! 
 One golden hour I should have seen — 
 
 What matter for the rest ? 
 
 To-day you will not grant my prayer, 
 
 Or listen while I plead — 
 But when you dwell alone, down there, 
 
 It may be you will heed ; 
 
 And then your silent heart will stir 
 With some divine, sweet thrill, 
 
 To know that I, your worshipper, 
 Through death am faithful still ; 
 
WHEN YOU ARE DEAD. 301 
 
 And something of you, lingering near, 
 
 May bless me if I pass — 
 When you are dead, my dainty dear, 
 
 And buried 'neath the grass. 
 
302 THE BIRDS AND /. 
 
 THE BIRDS AND I. 
 
 A THOUSAND voices whisper it is spring ; 
 
 Shy flowers start up to greet me on the way, 
 And homing birds preen their swift wings and sing 
 The praises of the friendly, lengthening day. 
 
 The buds whose breath the glad wind hither bears, 
 Whose tender secret the young May shall find, 
 
 Seem all for me — for me the softer airs, 
 
 The gentle warmth, wherewith the day is kind. 
 
 Let me rejoice, now skies are blue and bright, 
 And the round world pays tribute to the spring ; 
 
 The birds and I will carol our delight, 
 
 And every breeze Love's messages shall bring. 
 
 What matter though sometimes the cup of tears 
 We drink, instead of the rich wine of mirth ? 
 
 There are as many springs as there are years ; 
 And, glad or sad, we love this dear old Earth. 
 
THE BIRDS AND I. 
 
 303 
 
 Shall we come back, like birds, from some far 
 sphere — 
 
 We and the Spring together — and be glad 
 With the old joy to hail the sweet young year, 
 
 And to remember what good days we had ? 
 
304 THE BIRDS COME BACK. 
 
 THE BIRDS COME BACK. 
 
 T^HE birds come back to their last year's nest, 
 
 And the wild-rose nods in the lane \ 
 And gold in the east, and red in the west, 
 The sun bestirs him again. 
 
 The thief-bee rifles the hawthorn flower; 
 
 And the breezes softly sigh 
 For the columbine in my lady's bower, 
 
 And then at her feet they die. 
 
 And all the pomp of the June is here — 
 
 The mirth and passion and song ; 
 And young is the summer, and life is dear, 
 
 And the day is never too long. 
 
 Ah ! birds come back to their last year's nest, 
 And the wild-rose laughs in the lane ; 
 
 But I turn to the east and I turn to the west — 
 " She never will come again." 
 
A WINTER'S DA WN. 305 
 
 A WINTER'S DAWN. 
 
 A FTER the long and dreary night 
 
 I wake to the blessed morning light, 
 And the white surprise of the snow. 
 Dreams have mocked me the dark hours through ; 
 And something cried on the winds that blew 
 Across the country that dreamers know. 
 
 Back from the memory-haunted ways 
 We trod together in by-gone days, 
 
 Came a voice — was it yours, my dear? — 
 Oh, was it yours? Did I hear you plead, 
 As I heard you once, when I would not heed — 
 
 In that far-off land — in that by-gone year ? 
 
 Wild is my heart, with its hopeless pain — 
 Oh, for one hour of the past again ! — 
 
 One brief, bright hour — one least little touch ! 
 Do you forgive me the words I said, 
 As you look back from the realm of the dead ? — 
 
 Much is forgiven, when one loves much. 
 
 Grief makes wise ; for I knew not then, 
 While you were alive in the world of men, 
 
 How the heart of my heart would starve and 
 die, 
 
306 A WINTER'S DAWN. 
 
 When you should be gone, beyond my reach, 
 Where the death-tide breaks on a ghostly beach, 
 And spirits bereft on the night wind cry. 
 
 Spent and done is the lonesome night, 
 
 And the sun of the morning is strong and bright — 
 
 The sun is bright and the sky is clear — 
 Yet better the dark, and the winds that blow 
 Across the country that dreamers know, 
 
 And the voice that calls from a by-gone year. 
 
THE LURE. 307 
 
 THE LURE. 
 
 A "X THENCE did the music come, my Dear, 
 
 That wooed you into the waiting Night, 
 The song you heard that I could not hear, 
 
 The song you followed, my Heart's Delight? 
 
 The moon was full, and the sky was clear — 
 How did you hide from my longing sight? 
 
 Into the Dark we vainly peer, 
 
 But I looked as vainly into the Light. 
 
 Does an echo come to my listening ear 
 
 Of music dropped from some far-off height? . . , 
 
 Nay, I do but dream, for I did not hear 
 
 The song that lured you into the Night. 
 
308 DEAD MEN'S HOLIDAY. 
 
 DEAD MEN'S HOLIDAY. 
 
 AFTER SHIPKA. 
 
 Every one kept holiday — except the dead. 
 
 Verestschagin. 
 
 A "\ 7HO dares to say the dead men were not glad, 
 When all the banners flaunted triumph 
 there 
 And soldiers tossed their caps into the air, 
 And cheered, and cheered as they with joy were 
 mad? 
 
 Proudly the General galloped down the line, 
 And shouted thanks and praise to all his men, 
 And the free echoes tossed it back again, 
 
 And the keen air stung all their lips like wine. 
 
 And there, in front, the dead lay silently — 
 
 They who had given their lives the fight to 
 
 win — 
 Were their ears deaf, think you, to all the din, 
 
 And their eyes blinded that they could not see ? 
 
 I tell you, no ! They heard, and hearing knew 
 How brief a thing this triumph of a day, 
 From which men journey on, the same old way, 
 
 The same old snares and pitfalls struggle through. 
 
DEAD MEN'S HOLIDAY. 
 
 309 
 
 Theirs the true triumph, for their fight was done ; 
 
 And with low laughter called they, each to 
 each — 
 
 " We are at rest, where foemen cannot reach, 
 And better this than fighting in the sun." 
 
3IO WHEN YOU WERE HERE. 
 
 WHEN YOU WERE HERE. 
 
 A \ THEN you, my love, were here 
 My voice was full and loud - 
 I sang to catch your ear : 
 
 Now you are in your shroud 
 I cannot sing for fear. 
 
 That vague world is so near — 
 Beyond its veil of cloud — 
 
 Where you abide, my dear, 
 If I should sing too loud 
 
 Who knows but you would hear? 
 
 And then your heart would break 
 With pity, for my sake. 
 
BECAUSE IT IS THE SPRING. 31 1 
 
 BECAUSE IT IS THE SPRING. 
 
 I will be glad because it is the spring. 
 
 Amy Levy. 
 
 O HALL I be glad because the year is young? 
 
 The shy, swift-coming green is on the trees ; 
 The jonquil's passion to the wind is flung ; 
 
 I catch the Mayflower's breath upon the breeze. 
 
 The birds, aware that mating-time has come, 
 
 Swell their plumed, tuneful throats with love and 
 glee; 
 
 The streams, beneath the winter's thraldom dumb, 
 Set free at last, run singing to the sea. 
 
 Shall I be glad because the year is young? 
 
 Nay ; you yourself were young that other year : 
 Though sad and low the tender songs you sung, 
 
 My fond heart heard them, and stood still to 
 hear. 
 
 Can T forget the day you said good-by, 
 
 And robbed the world and me for alien spheres? 
 
 Do I not know, when wild winds sob and die, 
 Your voice is on them, sadder than my tears ? 
 
312 BECAUSE IT IS THE SPRING. 
 
 You come to tell me heaven itself is cold, — 
 The world was warm from which you fled 
 away, — 
 And moon and stars and sun are very old — 
 And you? — oh, you were young in last year's 
 May: 
 
 Now you, who were the very heart of spring, 
 Are old, and share the secrets of the skies ; 
 
 But I lack something that no year will bring, 
 Since May no longer greets me with your eyes. 
 
HER PICTURE. 313 
 
 V 
 
 HER PICTURE. 
 
 T^AIR face the Greeks had worshipped, have you 
 come 
 
 With me to make your home ? 
 You look at me with those deep, haunting eyes, 
 
 And all my life replies. 
 
 The silence thrills with vague, bewitching tone ; 
 
 I am no more alone : 
 I who have sat upon the shore of Time, 
 
 Coaxing my lute to rhyme, 
 
 Feel in my heart, at impulse of your will, 
 
 Youth's eager music thrill ; 
 And since the years have left me not so old, 
 
 Now their long tale is told, 
 
 But I can love the lovely, and be glad, 
 
 I hide the cypress wreath I had 
 For garland, and adorn me with the rose 
 
 That in your garden glows. 
 
314 A VIOLET SPEAKS. 
 
 A VIOLET SPEAKS. 
 
 r\ PASSER-BY, draw near ! 
 
 Upon a grave I grow ; 
 
 That she who died was dear 
 
 They planted me to show. 
 
 Pluck me as you go by — 
 
 I am her messenger ; 
 With her sweet breath I sigh ; 
 
 In me her pulses stir. 
 
 Through these my quivering leaves 
 She fain would speak to you — 
 
 She whom the grave bereaves 
 Of the dear life she knew. 
 
 " How glad I was up there ! " 
 She whispers underground. 
 
 " Have they who found me fair 
 Some other fair one found? 
 
 " Has he who loved me best 
 Learned Love's deep lore again, 
 
 Since I was laid to rest 
 
 Far from the world of men ? 
 
A VIOLET SPEAKS. 315 
 
 " Nay ! Surely he will come 
 
 To dwell here at the last ; 
 In Death's strange silent home 
 
 My hand shall hold him fast. 
 
 " Yet would that he might know 
 
 How hard it is to bide 
 In darkness here below 
 
 And miss him from my side ! 
 
 " Fain would I send my soul 
 
 To lie upon his breast, 
 And breathe to him Love's whole 
 
 That life left unconfest." 
 
 Ah, pluck me, passer-by ! 
 
 For I would bear her breath — 
 Undying Love's own sigh — 
 
 To him who flees from Death. 
 
3i6 LEGEND OF A TOMB IN FLORENCE. 
 
 LEGEND OF A TOMB IN FLORENCE. 
 
 TJ ERE he is, in marble, waiting by a tomb — 
 Strong- winged for flying, yet, the legends 
 say, 
 Waiting till a maiden buried here below 
 
 Shall break forth and join him once again, some 
 day. 
 
 Long ago she lived here, in this Town of Flowers — 
 She herself a blossom brighter than the rest — 
 
 Myrtles blue as Heaven, lilies saintly white, 
 
 Ne'er a one was worthy to bloom upon her 
 breast. 
 
 Here he saw and loved her — he, the gallant 
 Knight, 
 
 Loved this gracious Lady, fairer than the May ; 
 Loved her, and won her, Flower of all Delight — 
 
 Then Death, the Robber, stole his love away. 
 
 By her grave he waited, years on weary years, 
 Sure that Love would sometime triumph over 
 Fate, 
 Till at length, o'er-tired, he too must go to sleep ; 
 Then he bade them carve him, still by her to 
 wait — 
 
LEGEND OF A TOMB IN FLORENCE. 317 
 
 But with wings for flying, so that when she came 
 From her narrow chamber he could bear her 
 high, 
 
 Over seas and mountains, past the bars of Earth, 
 To a spacious dwelling somewhere in the sky. 
 
 Still the summons comes not — long their silent 
 dream — 
 
 But the watching seraphs pity them, I know, 
 And the tomb will open, and the dead will rise, 
 
 And the Knight and Lady Heavenward will go, 
 
31 8 THE SUMMER'S QUEEN. 
 
 THE SUMMER'S QUEEN. 
 
 if CHANT the praises of the regal June, 
 
 Fair Queen of all the Twelve months' circling 
 sphere, 
 Hands full of roses, and sweet lips in tune 
 To all the mirth and music of the year. 
 
 How gay and glad you are, fair Lady mine ! 
 
 How proud of conquered world and lavish sun, 
 And air that sparkles like celestial wine, 
 
 And laughing streams that frolic as they run ! 
 
 You sow the fields with lilies — wake the choir 
 Of summer birds to chorus of delight ; 
 
 Yours is the year's deep rapture — yours the fire 
 That burns the West, and ushers in the night — 
 
 The short, sweet night — that almost can deceive, 
 So bright its moon, the birds to sing again, 
 
 And fit their morning carols to the eve, 
 
 And wake the midnight with the noontide strain. 
 
 O June, fair Queen of sunshine and of flowers, 
 The affluent year will hold you not again — 
 
 Once, only once, can Youth and Love be ours, 
 And after them the autumn and the rain. 
 
BEND LOW AND HARK. 3 X 9 
 
 BEND LOW AND HARK. 
 
 T) END low and hark with me, my Dear, 
 
 How the winds sigh ! 
 A voice is on them that I fear, 
 It brings the by-gone days so near, 
 
 Like a soul's cry. 
 
 Those whom we bury out of sight — 
 
 How still they lie ! 
 Beyond the reaches of the Light, 
 Outside the realm of Day and Night — 
 
 Do they not die ? 
 
 Shall we unbar the long-shut door — 
 
 You, Dear, or I ? — 
 Could Love be what Love was before 
 If we should call them back once more, 
 
 And they reply? 
 
 Would they Life's largess claim again ? 
 
 . . . They draw too nigh. 
 Oh, winds, be still ! You shall not pain 
 My heart with that long-hushed refrain 
 As you sweep by. 
 
320 BEND LOW AND HARK. 
 
 The Dead have had their shining day - 
 
 Why should they try 
 To listen to the words we say — 
 To breathe their blight upon our May 
 . . . Yet the winds sigh. 
 
A SONG FOR ROSALYS. 321 
 
 A SONG FOR ROSALYS. 
 
 "O OSES lean from their slender stalks — - 
 
 Oh, but the summer is just begun ! 
 Through her garden Rosalys walks, 
 And the world is warm with the sun. 
 
 Roses and maiden and year 
 
 All blooming together ; 
 Heigho, it is good to be here, 
 
 In the summer weather ! 
 
 Love thrives well when the days are long, 
 
 And hearts, like the summer, are young and gay. 
 
 Words turn to music, and hope grows strong; 
 But the best is what we can never say. 
 
 Oh, once, just once, to be glad once more, 
 To listen to words that we heard of old, 
 
 To steal again through Youth's open door, 
 And thrill to the story that then was told ! 
 
 But never twice is a woman young, 
 
 And never twice to the year comes June, 
 
 And Age is the echo of songs once sung, 
 With never again the time or the tune. 
 
322 
 
 A SONG FOR ROSAL VS. 
 
 Roses and maiden and year 
 All blooming together ; 
 
 Heigho, it is t good to be here, 
 In the summer weather J 
 
THE GENTLE GHOST OF JOY. 3 2 3 
 
 THE GENTLE GHOST OF JOY. 
 
 A LITTLE while ago you knew not I was I — 
 A little while ago I knew not you were you — 
 Now the swift hours have run by, 
 And all the world is new. 
 
 I hear the young birds sing 
 
 In the rosy light of morn ; 
 Like them I could take wing, 
 And sing as newly born. 
 
 A little while from now I shall be far away — 
 
 A little while from now your face I shall not see— 
 But within my heart a ray 
 To light the dark will be. 
 
 Do you not know that pain 
 So sad, so sweet, so coy, 
 That comes, and comes again, 
 The gentle ghost of Joy? 
 
 Ah, that shall dwell with me, 
 When your face I do not see ! 
 
324 WHEN I WANDER AWAY WITH DEA TH 
 
 WHEN I WANDER AWAY WITH DEATH. 
 
 HP HIS Life is a fleeting breath, 
 
 And whither and how shall I go, 
 When I wander away with Death 
 By a path that I do not know? 
 
 Shall I find the throne of the Moon, 
 
 And kneel with her lovers there 
 To pray for a cold, sweet boon 
 
 From her beauty cold and fair? 
 
 Or shall I make haste to the Sun, 
 
 And warm at his passionate fire 
 My heart by sorrow undone, 
 
 And sick with a vain desire ? 
 
 Shall I steal into Twilight- Land, 
 
 When the Sun and the Moon are low, 
 
 And hark to the furtive band 
 
 Of the winds that whispering go — 
 
 Telling and telling again, 
 
 And crooning with scornful mirth, 
 
 The secrets of women and men 
 They overheard on the earth? 
 
WHEN J WANDER AWAY WITH £>EATH.3 2 5 
 
 Will the dead birds sing once more, 
 And the nightingale's note be sad 
 
 With the passion and longing of yore, 
 And the thrushes with joy go mad? 
 
 Nay, what though they carol again, 
 
 And the flowers spring to life at my feet, 
 
 Can they heal the sting of my pain, 
 Or quicken a dead heart's beat? 
 
 What care I for Moon or for stars, 
 
 Or the Sun on his royal way ? 
 Only somewhere, beyond Earth's bars, 
 
 Let me find Love's long-lost day. 
 
326 HAS LAVISH SUMMER, ETC. 
 
 HAS LAVISH SUMMER BROUGHT THE 
 ROSE? 
 
 T T AS lavish summer brought the rose ? 
 
 Why did my heart not know, 
 When every gossip wind that blows 
 Made haste to tell me so ; 
 
 And all the birds went mad with glee, 
 And sang from morn till night ; 
 
 And then the stars came out to see 
 What made the world so bright ? 
 
 But I missed something from the time, 
 
 And so I did not guess 
 The meaning of the summer's rhyme, 
 
 Or the warm wind's caress. 
 
 Can gladness be where she is not? 
 
 Can roses bud and blow? 
 Does all the world but me forget 
 
 What now we must forego? 
 
 I care not for the day's kind grace, — 
 
 The magic of the night, — 
 Since with them comes no more the face 
 
 That was my heart's delight. 
 
A LOST EDEN. 327 
 
 A LOST EDEN. 
 
 A H, it was a lonely place, 
 
 Where I walked to-day — 
 That old Garden of Delights, 
 Where we used to stray. 
 
 She is far, whose hand I held 
 
 In that bygone time — 
 Where the summer roses laughed 
 
 Clings the winter's rime. 
 
 Helen, stately, Helen fair, 
 Where are you to-night 7 
 
 Do you gather brighter blooms. 
 Tranced in new delight ? 
 
 I remember how you stood — 
 You who wrought my woe — 
 
 Wiling me with strange, sweet smile, 
 When the sun was low ; 
 
 And I lingered by your side 
 
 Till the stars arose 
 And looked down with curious eyes 
 
 On that Garden Close. 
 
328 
 
 A LOST EDEN. 
 
 Now you wander, who knows where, 
 
 Helen, fair and glad, 
 Deaf to whispers from the past — 
 
 Why should I be sad ? 
 
THE MOOD OF A MAN. 329 
 
 THE MOOD OF A MAN. 
 
 HPHROUGH the silence come to mock me 
 
 Ancient questions and replies ; 
 A remembered glory blinds me, 
 From the shining of her eyes. 
 
 Though this Southern sun is glowing, 
 
 And this alien sky is fair, 
 Still between me and the sunshine 
 
 Waves the pale gold of her hair. 
 
 In these unfamiliar places 
 
 Her familiar face I see, — 
 Scornful in its mocking beauty, 
 
 Always pitiless for me. 
 
 But her scorn no longer moves me — 
 Reft of hope is free from fear — 
 
 So her very coldness warms me, 
 Her remoteness brings me near. 
 
33° JUNE'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 JUNE'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 TT^AIR Lady June, proud Queen of all the year, 
 With blossom-sceptre in thy royal hand — 
 Vaunt not thyself : though long thy days and dear. 
 Thy days and thee Time's sway cannot with- 
 stand. 
 
 Thy splendid sun may kindle the proud morn ; 
 
 And the high noon may glow with love of thee : 
 Sunset shall laugh thy longest day to scorn, 
 
 And mocking stars its overthrow shall see. 
 
 Roses shall wither, though their lavish praise 
 The nightingales have chanted all night long : 
 
 Their fragrant ghosts shall throng the silent ways 
 Those swift-winged laureates once thrilled with 
 song. 
 
 And thou, fair Maid, bright daughter of the June, 
 Dost thou not know thy youth, like hers, is 
 brief? — 
 
 For thee the glad day, and the bird's glad tune ; 
 And then the waning year, the wind-blown leaf. 
 
JUNE'S DAUGHTER. 331 
 
 The rising stars shall mock thy setting sun, 
 And watch with curious eyes thy fallen state : 
 
 Glad month ! glad maid ! — for both the swift 
 sands run — 
 And not for month or maid shall Autumn wait. 
 
332 A SUMMER WOOING. 
 
 A SUMMER WOOING. 
 
 r I "HE wind went wooing the rose, 
 
 For the rose was fair. 
 How the rough wind won her, who knows? 
 
 But he left her there. 
 Far away from her grave he blows : 
 
 Does the free wind care ? 
 
/ HA VE CALLED THEE MANY A NIGHT. 333 
 
 I HAVE CALLED THEE MANY A NIGHT. 
 
 T HAVE called thee many a night, 
 
 While the rest were sleeping ; 
 Thou wert deaf to all I said, 
 Heedless of my weeping. 
 
 Wilt thou never hear again, 
 
 Howsoe'er I pray thee? 
 Then must I go forth to seek, 
 
 On thy way waylay thee. 
 
 Shall I find, beyond the sun, 
 
 Some Celestial Garden? 
 Shall I kneel there at thy feet, 
 
 Clamor for thy pardon ? 
 
 Nay ; how can I wait so long ? 
 
 Wilt thou not draw near me ? 
 Winged winds are steeds of thine — 
 
 Let them hither bear thee. 
 
 Long my ear waits for thy words. 
 
 How can I forego thee ? 
 Ah ! for one brief hour come back, 
 
 Let me see and know thee. 
 
334 A WHISPER TO THE MOON. 
 
 A WHISPER TO THE MOON. 
 
 13 END low, O Moon, for I fain would tell 
 
 My secret to thee, who can keep it well, 
 And not to the stars that laugh from the sky, 
 And mock at my pain as they pass me by. 
 
 Bend low, pale Moon ! Her face is like thine- 
 Like thine from afar I can see it shine, 
 Now hid in a cloud, in a halo now — 
 She is thy kindred ; and fickle art thou. 
 
IN VENICE ONCE, 335 
 
 IN VENICE ONCE. 
 
 TN Venice once they lived and loved — 
 
 Fair women with their red-gold hair - 
 Their twinkling feet to music moved, 
 In Venice where they lived and loved, 
 And all Philosophy disproved, 
 
 While hope was young and life was fair, 
 In Venice where they lived and loved. 
 
33 6 MY QUEEN OF MAY. 
 
 MY QUEEN OF MAY. 
 
 T^HE laughing garlanded May- time is here; 
 The glad laburnum whispers at the gate : 
 " She comes ! She comes ! I hear her step draw 
 near, 
 My Queen of Beauty, Arbitress of Fate ! " 
 
 The lilacs look at her — " She is more fair 
 
 Than the white moon, more proud than the strong 
 sun ; 
 
 Let him who seeks her royal grace beware, 
 To be unworthy were to be undone. " 
 
 One wild sweet rose, that dreams the May is June, 
 Blooms for her ; and for her a mateless bird 
 
 Thrills the soft dusk with his entrancing tune, 
 Content if by her only he is heard. 
 
 A curious star climbs the far heaven to see 
 What She it is for whom the waiting night, 
 
 To music set, trembles in melody ; 
 
 Then, by her beauty dazzled, flees from sight. 
 
MY QUEEN OF MAY. 337 
 
 And I — what am I that my voice should reach 
 The gracious ear to which it would aspire? 
 
 She will not heed my faltering poor speech ; 
 I have no spell to win what all desire. 
 
 Yet will I serve my stately Queen of May ; 
 
 Yet will I hope, till Hope itself be spent. 
 Better to strive, though steep and long the way, 
 
 Than on some weaker heart to sink content. 
 
33 8 WHERE THE NIGHT'S PALE, ETC. 
 
 WHERE THE NIGHT'S PALE ROSES 
 BLOW. 
 
 A H, the place is wild and sweet 
 ■* Where my darling went : — 
 If I chase her flying feet 
 
 When the day is spent, 
 Shall I find her, as I go 
 Where the Night's pale roses blow? 
 
AND YET. 339 
 
 AND YET. 
 
 ET me forget ! Why should I seek to hold 
 Thine image in the mirror of my mind ? 
 For him who can no way to please thee find 
 To house such tenant were indeed too bold — 
 Let me forget ! 
 
 Do I not know the magic of that smile ; 
 
 The way that wayward color comes and goes, 
 Fair Lady of the Lily and the Rose, 
 
 What time the souls of men thou would'st beguile : 
 Do I not know? 
 
 Thou shalt not reign, proud Queen, in this poor 
 heart ; 
 No rash oath of allegiance will I swear — 
 Though thou art beautiful beyond compare, 
 Thine art is nature, and thy nature art — 
 Thou shalt not reign ! 
 
 And yet, and yet — how can I close my door? 
 It may be thou art weary and acold : — 
 Come in ! Come in ! To welcome thee is bold ; 
 
 But work thy will — I am thy slave once more — 
 And yet ! And yet ! 
 
34° / HEARD A CRY IN THE NIGHT. 
 
 I HEARD A CRY IN THE NIGHT. 
 
 T HEARD a cry in the night, 
 
 And swift I stole from my bed, 
 To find her, my heart's delight, 
 Once more in the lonesome night, 
 As before they called her dead. 
 
 I pulled the curtains away, 
 I bent my lips to her cheek : 
 
 She had fled from the glare of day, 
 
 Afar on her lonesome way ; 
 
 Night came, and I heard her speak. 
 
 Again I harked to the call 
 
 Of the one little voice so dear ; 
 No matter what might befall, 
 I had found her, my darling, my all, 
 And I held her warm and near. 
 
 I laid me down by her side : 
 
 I cooed like a mother dove. 
 Ah, was it her lips that replied, 
 Or only the wind that sighed, 
 And not my dainty, my love ? 
 
I HEARD A CRY IN THE NIGHT. 34 1 
 
 For cruel the morning came, 
 
 And mocking the blue sky smiled, 
 
 And the sun arose like a flame, 
 
 And vainly I called her name, 
 And I wept in vain for my child. 
 
34 2 THE NAME ON A DOOR, 
 
 THE NAME ON A DOOR. 
 
 T T is only the name on a door — 
 
 Why should there be tears in my eyes? 
 But I never shall knock there more ; 
 And sorrow is not overwise. 
 
 I used to go up the stair 
 
 When the day was wearing late, 
 
 And come on her unaware 
 
 As she sat and dreamed by the grate. 
 
 And then, like a sudden flame, 
 
 My welcome flashed from her eyes, 
 
 And her lips grew warm with my name, 
 And we saw Love's star arise. 
 
 Sometimes I but held her hand, 
 
 And never a word said we — 
 We could always understand 
 
 With never a word, you see. 
 
 Sometimes she chattered like mad, 
 And laughed — I can hear her now. 
 
 Shall I ever again be glad? 
 I think I 've forgotten how. 
 
THE NAME ON A DOOR. 343 
 
 It is only the name on a door, 
 
 Where I used to come and go ; 
 But never to knock there more — 
 
 Why, the world seems dead, you know ! 
 
344 VAIN WAITING. 
 
 VAIN WAITING. 
 
 HPHE western sky has begun to darken, 
 
 The sun has set, and the wind is low ; 
 And waiting alone I sit and hearken 
 As I used to hearken, ages ago, 
 
 For a voice that now the winds know only — 
 The winds, and the stars, and the vacant night ■ 
 
 A presence that vanished and left me lonely, 
 Reft of all that was heart's delight. 
 
 I wait and listen — no step draws nigh me ; 
 
 Full your world is — empty is mine ; 
 Only the mocking wind sweeps by me, 
 
 And flings me never a word or a sign. 
 
A WISH. 345 
 
 A WISH. 
 
 T WISH thee length of days 
 *■ Filled full of all that's best- 
 Long years to earn thy bays, 
 Then twilight time for rest. 
 
 I wish thee love and joy — 
 Love that is strong and sweet - 
 
 Gladness without alloy; 
 A heart with thine to beat. 
 
 And then, when Earth has given 
 Her best and most to thee, 
 
 At last I wish thee Heaven — 
 Then come again to me ! 
 
34^ THE COSTLIEST GIFT 
 
 THE COSTLIEST GIFT. 
 
 T GIVE you a day of my life — 
 
 Treasure no gold could buy — 
 For peasant and peer are at one 
 
 When the time comes to die ; 
 And all that the monarch has, 
 
 His koh-i-noor or his crown, 
 He would give for one more day 
 
 Ere he lay his dear life down. 
 
 They are winged, like the viewless wind — 
 
 These days that come and go — 
 And we count them, and think of the end, 
 
 But the end we cannot know : 
 The whole world darkens with pain 
 
 When a sunset fades in the west — 
 ... I give you a day of my life, 
 
 My uttermost gift and my best. 
 
TO HER WHO KNOWS. 347 
 
 TO HER WHO KNOWS. 
 
 T) ECAUSE your eyes are blue, your lips are red, 
 
 And the soft hair is golden on your head, 
 And your sweet smiling can make glad the day, 
 And on your cheeks pink roses have their way, 
 Should I adore you? 
 
 Since other maids have shining golden hair, 
 And other cheeks the June's pink roses wear, 
 And other eyes can set the day alight, 
 And other lips can smile with youth's delight, 
 Why bow before you ? 
 
 But if the eyes are blue for me alone, 
 And if for only me the rose has blown, 
 And but for me the lips their sweet smile wear, 
 Then shall you mesh me in your golden hair — 
 I will adore you. 
 
 And as my saint, my soul's one shining star, 
 That lights my darkness from its throne afar, 
 As lights the summer moon the waiting sea, 
 With all I am, and all I strive to be, 
 I '11 bow before you. 
 
34^ IN THE OFFING. 
 
 IN THE OFFING. 
 
 A GHOSTLY ship sails on a ghostly sea, 
 And bears afar an anxious company, 
 Whose dreams, whose hopes, whose constant long- 
 ings yearn 
 For some fair port from which no ships return — ■ 
 Some quiet haven, undisturbed by strife 
 Of vexing surges from our storm-vext life — 
 Wind-driven surges from our wind-swept life. 
 
 My longing heart sails with them as they go, 
 Anxious as they, and heavy with their woe ; 
 Where is the peaceful shore we long to find — 
 The waves are stormy, and the path is blind — 
 The distant sky shuts in the distant sea — 
 What star of promise holds the dark for me ? 
 What star of promise holds the dark for thee ? 
 
WITH A BOOK. 349 
 
 WITH A BOOK. 
 
 \70U fain would know the story of my life? 
 
 Nay, then you shall divine it from my song — 
 The weariness of ever-baffled strife; 
 
 The Joy that fled, the Grief that lingers long ; 
 
 The barren shore, laved by the bitter tide ; 
 
 The vanity of all beneath the sun ; 
 The longing, that Fate's mockery denied ; 
 
 The triumph unachieved ; the goal unwon ; 
 
 The fleeting moments, vague and sweet and dear 
 As violets upon a grave that grow : — 
 
 Is not the whole vain story written here? 
 
 Then turn these leaves, and you my soul shall 
 know. 
 
^>otmet& 
 
 A Sonnet is a moment's monument — 
 Memorial from the Soul's Eternity 
 To one dead, deathless hour. 
 
 D. G. Rossetti. 
 
HobeV fto^arp. 
 
 To unpathed waters, undreamed shores. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
LOVE'S ROSARY. 355 
 
 I. 
 
 LAND OF MY DREAMS. 
 
 f~\ SPACIOUS, splendid Land that no man knows, 
 ^^^ Whose mystery as the tideless sea is deep, 
 
 Whose beauty haunts me in the courts of sleep ! 
 What whispering wind from thy hid garden blows, 
 Sweet with the breath of Love's celestial rose? 
 
 What field hast thou that mortal may not reap ? 
 
 What soft enchantment do those meadows keep 
 Through which Life's bright, unfathomed river 
 flows? 
 
 I can resist thy charm when noon is high ; 
 
 Mine ears are deafened while earth's clamors 
 rave ; 
 But now the sun has set, the winds are low, 
 And Night with her proud company draws nigh, 
 Thy spell prevails, thy mystic joys I crave — 
 Land of my Dreams, I will arise and go. 
 
35 6 LOVE'S ROSARY, 
 
 II. 
 
 THOUGH WE WERE DUST. 
 
 T N the vast realms of unconjectured space, 
 Where devious paths eternally outspread, 
 Where farthest stars their mighty marches tread, 
 
 And unknown suns through unknown systems pace, 
 
 What power can give our longing hearts the grace 
 To follow feet that long ago have fled, 
 Among the thronging populace of the dead 
 
 To find the welcome of the one dear face? 
 
 Nay ! Let the souls throng round us ! I am I, 
 And you are you ! We should not vainly seek : 
 Would you not hear, though faint and far my 
 call? 
 Nay, were we dust, and had no lips to speak, 
 Our very atoms on the winds blown by 
 
 Would meet, and cling, whatever might befall. 
 
LOVE'S ROSARY. 357 
 
 III. 
 
 THE ROSE OF DAWN. 
 
 TJ OW mockingly the morning dawns for me, 
 
 Since thou art gone where no pursuing 
 speech, 
 No prayer, no farthest-sounding cry can reach ! 
 I call, and wait the answer to my plea — 
 But only hear the stern, dividing sea, 
 That pauses not, however I beseech, 
 Breaking, and breaking, on the distant beach 
 Of that far land whereto thy soul did flee. 
 
 Do happy suns shine on thee where thou art? 
 And kind stars cheer with friendly ray thy night ? 
 And strange birds wake with music strange thy 
 morn ? 
 This beggared world, where thou no more hast 
 part, 
 Misapprehends the morning's young delight, 
 And the old grief makes the new day forlorn. 
 
35 8 LOVE'S ROSARY. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THOU REIGNEST STILL. 
 
 HPHOU liv'st and reignest in my memory, 
 
 Discrowned of earth, but crowned still in the 
 soul 
 Subject to thee from pole to utmost pole : — 
 This is the kingdom thou hast still in fee, 
 Though Silence and the Night have hidden thee — 
 King, crowned in joy, and crowned again in dole, 
 Sovereign and master of my being's whole, 
 My heart, and life, and all there is of me. 
 
 It is thy breath I breathe upon the air; 
 
 Thou shinest on me with the stars of night ; 
 Thou risest for me with the morning sun ; 
 I enter Dreamland's Court and find thee there, 
 And finding quiver with the old delight, 
 
 When life and love and hope had just begun. 
 
LOVE'S ROSARY. 359 
 
 V. 
 
 TIME'S PRISONER. 
 
 THIME was, beloved, when from this far-off place 
 My words could reach thee, and thine own 
 reply — 
 Now thou art gone, and my heart's longing cry 
 Pursues thee, as some runner runs his race — 
 Cleaves like a bird the emptiness of space, 
 And falls back, baffled, from the pitiless sky. 
 Ah, why with thee, so dear, did I not die ? 
 Why should I live benighted of thy face ? 
 
 Thou wilt have sped so far before I come — 
 How shall I ever win to where thou art ? 
 
 Or, if I find thee, shall I not be dumb — 
 
 With voiceless longing break my silent heart? 
 
 Nay ! Surely thou wilt read mine eyes, and know 
 
 That for thy sake all heaven I would forego. 
 
360 LOVE'S ROSARY. 
 
 VL 
 
 " HAVE I NOT LEARNED TO LIVE WITH- 
 OUT THEE YET?" 
 
 TT AVE I not learned to live without thee yet ? — 
 Years joined to scornful years have mocked 
 my pain ; 
 Light-footed joys have proffered transient gain, 
 And smiled on me, and wooed me to forget ; 
 And lesser loves my pathway have beset 
 
 With cheap enticements. Since my heart was 
 
 fain, 
 Sometimes I listened, but their boast was vain, — 
 They had no coin to pay the old time's debt. 
 
 And thou? Thou art at rest, and far away 
 From all the vain delusions of the hour ; 
 Like some forsaken child, I weep by night, 
 While thou rejoicest in thy perfect day : 
 
 Thine is the triumph, thine the immortal 
 power, — 
 Art thou too glad to mourn for earths delight ? 
 
LOVE'S ROSARY, 3 61 
 
 VII. 
 A HEAVENLY BIRTHDAY. 
 
 TAOST thou take note and say, in thy far place, 
 " This birthday is the first since that dark 
 hour 
 When on ray breast was laid Love's funeral 
 flower?" 
 Thou hast won all, in the immortal race — 
 Conquerer of life and death and time and space — 
 And I, a lagging, beaten runner, cower, 
 While round me mocking memories jeer and 
 lower, 
 And from thy far world comes no helpful grace. 
 
 Thou dost not whisper that those heights are cold 
 Where I walk not beside thee, and the night 
 
 Of death is long. Nay, I am over-bold ! 
 
 Thou sittest comforted and healed with light, 
 
 And young and glad ; and I who wait am old ; 
 Yet shall I find thee, even in Death's despite. 
 
3 62 LOVE'S ROSARY. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 LETHE. 
 
 What shall assuage the unforgotten pain, 
 And teach the unforgetful to forget ? 
 
 D. G. Rossetti. 
 
 T TIRE of phantoms that my heart distrain, 
 That claim their own, and will not let me 
 rest, 
 That mock me with old laughter, long-hushed 
 jest, 
 And of the love I promised once are fain. 
 Shall I not seek some opiate for pain, 
 
 And drug the ceaseless ache within my breast — 
 Bid Memory " Hence ! " as an unwelcome 
 guest, 
 And smite the joyous chords of Life again? 
 
 Nay ! Then must I forbid the dead to speak, 
 And do the holy past unholy wrong — 
 
 Disown its claim — refuse to pay its debt — 
 All Heaven would look with scorn on one so weak ! 
 I choose, instead, to suffer and be strong — 
 Give me no Lethe ! I will not forget. 
 
LOVE'S ROSARY. 3 6 3 
 
 IX. 
 
 A SILENT VOICE. 
 
 r I "HEY bid me welcome in the proud New Year, 
 
 Crowned with delight, his Minister the Sun — 
 
 Monarch, whose sumptuous reign has just begun : 
 
 Nay, I am deaf — their shouts I do not hear — 
 
 I miss a voice that long ago was dear ; 
 
 A tender voice, whose lightest call had won 
 My ear, my heart, my life, till life were done : — ■ 
 
 That voice is silent — theirs I will not hear. 
 
 A little bird that finds the winter cold 
 
 Comes out, and looks at me, and sings of him 
 Who made the vanished summers warm ; and, 
 bold 
 With sorrow, calls the New Year's splendor 
 dim. 
 Nay, bird, he is gone far who used to sing ; 
 And days, and months, and years no message 
 bring. 
 
364 LOVE'S ROSARY, 
 
 WERE BUT MY SPIRIT LOOSED UPON 
 THE AIR. 
 
 \\T ERE but my spirit loosed upon the air — - 
 
 By some High Power who could Life's 
 chains unbind, 
 Set free to seek what most it longs to find — 
 To no proud Court of Kings would I repair : 
 I would but climb, once more, a narrow stair, 
 When day was wearing late, and dusk was kind ; 
 And one should greet me to my failings blind, 
 Content so I but shared his twilight there. 
 
 Nay ! well I know he waits not as of old — 
 I could not find him in the old-time place — 
 
 I must pursue him, made by sorrow bold, 
 
 Through worlds unknown, in strange celestial 
 race, 
 
 Whose mystic round no traveller has told, 
 From star to star, until I see his face. 
 
m %ik an& Hotoc. 
 
 The Accumulated Past. 
 
 D. G. Rossetti, 
 
A T MIDS UMMER. 3 6 7 
 
 AT MIDSUMMER. 
 
 T^HE spacious Noon enfolds me with its peace — 
 The affluent Midsummer wraps me round — 
 So still the earth and air, that scarce a sound 
 Affronts the silence, and the swift caprice 
 Of one stray bird's lone call does but increase 
 The sense of some compelling hush profound, 
 Some spell by which the whole vast world is 
 bound, 
 Till star-crowned Night smile downward its release. 
 
 I sit and dream — midway of the long day — 
 Midway of the glad year — midway of life — 
 My whole world seems, indeed, to hold its 
 breath : — 
 For me the sun stands still upon his way — 
 
 The winds for one glad hour remit their strife — 
 Then Day, and Year, and Life whirl on toward 
 Death. 
 
368 THE LIFE-MASK OF KEATS, 
 
 THE LIFE-MASK OF KEATS. 1 
 
 TDOET to poet gave this mask, of him 
 
 Who sang the song of Rapture and Despair ; 
 Who to the Nightingale was kin ; aware 
 Of all the Night's enamouring — the dim 
 Strange ecstasy of light at the moon's rim ; 
 The unheard melodies that subtly snare 
 The listening soul — Pan's wayward pipes that 
 dare 
 To conjure shapes now beautiful, now grim. 
 
 He who this life-mask prized so tenderly 
 
 Might not behold the semblance that it wore, 
 The charm ineffable — now sweet, now sad : 
 But well he knew what loveliness must be 
 Upon the face of Keats for evermore, 
 
 And with his spirit's gaze saw and was glad. 
 
 1 Given to the blind poet, Philip Bourke Marston, by Richard 
 Watson Gilder. 
 
SOUL TO BODY. 3 6 9 
 
 SOUL TO BODY. 
 
 f^\H, long-time Friend, 'tis many a year since we 
 
 ^^^ Took hands together, and came through the 
 morn, 
 When thou and day and I were newly born — 
 
 And fair the future looked, and glad and free — ■ 
 
 A year as long as whole Eternity — 
 
 And full of roses with no stinging thorn, 
 And full of joys that could not be outworn ; 
 
 And time was measureless for thee and me. 
 
 Long have we fared together, thou and I : 
 
 Thou hast grown dearer, as old friends must 
 grow : 
 
 Small wonder if I dread to say good-by 
 When our long pact is over, and I go 
 
 To enter strange, new worlds beyond the sky, 
 Called by that Power to whom no man saith No. 
 
370 AT REST. 
 
 AT REST. 
 
 O HALL I lie down to sleep, and see no more 
 ^ The splendid pageantry of earth and sky — 
 
 The proud procession of the stars sweep by j 
 The white moon sway the sea, and woo the shore ; 
 The morning lark to the far Heaven soar ; 
 
 The nightingale with the soft dusk draw nigh ; 
 
 The summer roses bud, and bloom, and die — 
 Will Life and Life's delight for me be o'er? 
 
 Nay ! I shall be, in my low silent home, 
 Of all Earth's gracious ministries aware — 
 Glad with the gladness of the risen day, 
 Or gently sad with sadness of the gloam, 
 
 Yet done with striving, and foreclosed of care — 
 At rest — at rest ! What better thing to say ? 
 
SHALL I COMPLAIN? 37* 
 
 SHALL I COMPLAIN? 
 
 O HALL I complain because the feast is o'er, 
 ^ And all the banquet lights have ceased to 
 shine ? 
 
 For joy that was, and is no longer mine ; 
 For love that came and went, and comes no more ; 
 For hopes and dreams that left my open door ; 
 
 Shall I, who hold the past in fee, repine? . , . 
 
 Nay ! there are those who never quaffed life's 
 wine — 
 That were the unblest fate one might deplore. 
 
 To sit alone and dream, at set of sun, 
 
 When all the world is vague with coming night — 
 To hear old voices whisper, sweet and low, 
 And see dear faces steal back, one by one, 
 x\nd thrill anew to each long-past delight — 
 Shall I complain, who still this bliss may 
 know ? 
 
37 2 PARTING. 
 
 PARTING. 
 
 "T^IS you, not I, have chosen. Love, go free! 
 No cry of mine shall hold you on your way. 
 I wept above the dead Past yesterday : — 
 
 Let it lie now where all fair dead things be, 
 
 Beneath the waves of Time's all- whelming sea. 
 Forget it or remember — come what may — 
 The time is past when one could bid it stay : 
 
 What boots it any more to you or me ? 
 
 It was my life — what matter ? — I am dead, 
 And if I seem to move, or speak, or smile, 
 
 If some strange round of being still I tread 
 And am not buried, for a little while, 
 
 Yet, look you, Love, I am not what I seem : 
 
 I died when died my faith in that dear dream. 
 
 ■«* 
 
VAIN FREEDOM. 373 
 
 VAIN FREEDOM. 
 
 COIam free whom Love held thrall so long ! 
 Now will I flaunt my colors on the air, 
 And with triumphal music scale heaven's stair, 
 
 Till all those shining choirs shall hush their song, 
 
 And hark in silent wonder to the strong, 
 Compelling harmonies that boldly dare 
 To soar so high, and make the blest aware 
 
 That, free like them, I stand their ranks among. 
 
 Nay ! but my triumph mocks me, — chills the 
 day : 
 Bound would I be, and suffer, and be sad, 
 Rather than free, and with no heart to ache. 
 Strong God of Love, still hold me in thy sway ! 
 Give back my human pain ; let me go mad 
 With the old dreams, old tortures, for Love's 
 sake. 
 
374 THE NEW YEAR DAWNS. 
 
 THE NEW YEAR DAWNS. 
 
 T^HE New Year dawns — the sun shines strong 
 and clear; 
 
 And all the world rejoices and is gay ; 
 
 The city-loving birds from spray to spray 
 Flit busily and twitter in my ear 
 Their little frozen note of wintry cheer : 
 
 From ruddy children with the snow at play 
 
 Ring peals of laughter gladder than in May, 
 While friend greets friend, with " Happy be thy 
 Year ! " 
 
 So would I joy, if Thou wert by my side — 
 
 So would I laugh, if Thou couldst laugh with 
 me — 
 
 But, left alone, in Darkness I abide, 
 
 Mocked by a Day that shines no more on thee : 
 
 From this too merry world my heart I hide — 
 My New Year dawns not till thy face I see. 
 
ASPIRATION. 375 
 
 ASPIRATION. 
 
 T) REAR, ties that bind me to this world of sense, 
 Break, now, and loose me on the upper 
 air : — 
 Those skies are blue ; and that far dome is fair 
 With prophecy of some divine, intense, 
 Undreamed-of rapture. Ah, from thence 
 I catch a music that my soul would snare 
 With its strange sweetness ; and I seem aware 
 Of Life that waits to crown this life's suspense. 
 
 I see — I hear — yet to this world I cling — 
 This fatal world of passion and unrest — 
 
 Where loss and pain jeer at each human bliss, 
 As autumn mocks the fleetness of the spring, 
 And each morn sees its sunset in the west — 
 Break, ties that bind me to a world like this ! 
 
376 OH, TRAVELLER. 
 
 OH, TRAVELLER BY UNACCUSTOMED 
 WAYS. 
 
 /^VH, traveller by unaccustomed ways — 
 ^-^ Searcher among new worlds for pleasures 
 new — 
 Art thou content because the skies are blue^ 
 And blithe birds thrill the air with roundelays, 
 And the fair fields with sunshine are ablaze? 
 
 Dost thou not find thy heart's-ease twined with 
 
 rue, 
 And long for some dear bloom on earth that 
 grew — 
 Some wild, sweet fragrance of remembered days? 
 
 I send my message to thee by the stars — 
 Since other messenger I may not find 
 
 Till I go forth beyond these prisoning bars, 
 Leaving this memory-haunted world behind, 
 
 To seek thee, claim thee, wheresoe'er thou be, 
 
 Since Heaven itself were empty, lacking thee. 
 
GREAT LOVE. 377 
 
 GREAT LOVE. 
 I. 
 
 GREAT LOVE IS HUMBLE. 
 
 T T UMBLE is Love, for he is Honor's child : 
 
 He knows the worth of her he does adore, 
 And that high reckoning humbles him the more : 
 
 By her dear sweetness from his pain beguiled, 
 
 He would be proud because her look is mild ; 
 But all the while he scans the oft-told score, 
 And his imperfectness must still deplore, 
 
 Abashed no less because on him she smiled. 
 
 To be allowed to love is Love's dear prize : 
 To lay his homage at Her royal feet — 
 
 To enter thus the true heart's paradise, 
 The name of names forever to repeat, 
 
 And read his sentence in her answering eyes — 
 Love should be humble — his reward is meet. 
 
37 8 GREAT LOVE, 
 
 II. 
 GREAT LOVE IS PROUD. 
 
 For very humbleness Great Love is proud : 
 
 The round world were a tribute thrice too small 
 To render to the rightful queen of all — 
 
 Yet why should Love's least gift be disavowed — 
 
 If once her royal head the queen has bowed, 
 Lending her gracious ear to the low call 
 Of him whose glory is to be her thrall — 
 
 Who only prays his worship be allowed? 
 
 Once to have known her fairness — who is fair 
 Beyond the dreamer's dream, the painter's art — 
 
 This, only this, were bliss above compare : 
 But if he find the gateway to her heart, 
 Shall he not, like a king, be set apart 
 
 Who for one royal moment entered there ? 
 
HER YEARS. 379 
 
 HER YEARS. 
 
 \/EARS come and go, each bringing in his train, 
 Spring fair with promise, Summer glad with 
 bloom, 
 Fruit-bearing Autumn, and the Winter's gloom ; 
 But years and seasons march for Her in vain, 
 Since still she strings her rosary of pain, 
 
 Catching from far some subtle, lost perfume, 
 Some scent of roses dying on a tomb, 
 Unfreshened by Spring's dew or Summer's rain. 
 
 Why change the seasons when She cannot change ? 
 
 For pomp of morn, high noon, or setting sun 
 What cares she ? They are powerless to estrange 
 
 Her soul from Grief, who, till her day is done, 
 Companions her wherever she may range, 
 
 And makes her New Years old, ere yet begun. 
 
380 MIDWINTER FLOWERS* 
 
 MIDWINTER FLOWERS. 
 
 TO E. C. S. 
 
 T HOLD you to my lips and heart, fair flowers, 
 Dear, first- begotten children of the sun — 
 Whose summer lives in winter were begun • 
 
 Sweet aliens from the warm June's pleasant bowers, 
 
 Mocked at by cruel winds in desolate hours 
 Through which the sands of winter slowly run : 
 I touch your tender petals, one by one, 
 
 And miss no beauty born of summer showers. 
 
 I have a friend who to Life's winter days 
 
 Will bring the warmth and splendor of the June ; 
 
 From him ye come, yet need not speak his praise, 
 Since on my heart is written well that rune, 
 
 And the fine fragrance of his gentle deeds 
 
 Reveals his presence 'mong earth's common weeds. 
 
HER PRESENCE. 381 
 
 HER PRESENCE. 
 
 T LONG in vain by day, but when the night 
 With all its jewels stars the waiting sky, 
 And vagrant fireflies like stray souls flit by, 
 
 She seeks me in the tender waning light, 
 
 And sits beside me there, a Presence white ; — 
 Her eyes yearn for me, and her dear lips sigh, 
 But if to clasp her cold soft hands I try 
 
 The shadows deepen, and she fades from sight 
 
 O lost and dear ! — by what strange, devious way 
 Does she escape? for I, too, fain would flee 
 From all the hollow pageantry of life, 
 And with her through immortal meadows stray. 
 The free winds mock my quest, stars laugh to see, 
 And I wait helpless till Death end the strife. 
 
382 WHEN WE CONFRONT. 
 
 WHEN WE CONFRONT THE VASTNESS 
 OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 TI 7HEN we confront the Vastness of the Night, 
 And meet the gaze of her eternal eyes, 
 How trivial seem the garnered gains we prize — 
 
 The laurel wreath we flaunt to envious sight ; 
 
 The flower of Love we pluck for our delight ; 
 The mad, sweet music of the heart, that cries 
 An instant on the listening air, then dies — 
 
 How short the day of all things dear and bright ! 
 
 The Everlasting mocks our transient strife ; 
 
 The pageant of the Universe whirls by 
 This little sphere with petty turmoil rife — 
 
 Swift as a dream and fleeting as a sigh — 
 This brief delusion that we call our life, 
 
 Where all we can accomplish is to die. 
 
ON MEETING A SAILING VESSEL. 1%Z 
 
 ON MEETING A SAILING VESSEL IN 
 MID-OCEAN, 
 
 CHE moves on grandly 'twixt the sea and sky, 
 Like some gigantic bird from foreign shore ; 
 
 Gray mist behind her and gray mist before, 
 Riding upon the waters royally. 
 Salt winds caress her, as they urge her by, 
 
 And we who watch shall see her nevermore ; 
 
 For on she goes, to where the breakers roar 
 Round some far coast we never may descry. 
 
 So on Life's tide we meet an unknown soul, 
 And catch a passing vision of its grace ; 
 
 Just seen, then vanished, leaving us to yearn 
 With vain desire to follow to its goal 
 The revelation of the radiant face — 
 Then heartsick to our solitude we turn. 
 
384 MIDNIGHT AT SEA. 
 
 MIDNIGHT AT SEA. 
 
 ^THROUGH the deep stillness of the awful night, 
 I heard the clamor of the ship's great bell — 
 A voice cried : " Twelve o'clock, and all is 
 well ! " 
 Then silence, and the solemn, watching light 
 Of the white moon, on billows wild and white 
 That yielded, to her magical, dear spell, 
 The stormy hearts no lesser charm could quell — 
 Slaves of her lamp, and powerless to affright. 
 
 Ah, when across the wide, unfathomed sea 
 
 Which no chart maps, whose depth no plummet 
 knows, 
 To some dim, unconjectured shore we steer, 
 Through that wild night, into whose depths we flee 
 Farther than any wind from this world blows, 
 May cry of " All is well " our midnight cheer ! 
 
INTER MANES. 385 
 
 INTER MANES. 
 
 T N the dim watches of the midmost night, 
 
 A ghost confronts him, standing by his bed, 
 A lonesome ghost who walks uncomforted, 
 
 Pale child of Memory and dead Delight, 
 
 No longer fair or pleasant in his sight. 
 
 With dusky hair upon her shoulders shed, 
 And cypress leaves for garland on her head, 
 
 As patient as the moonlight and as white, 
 
 She stands beside him, and puts forth her hand 
 To lead him backward into Love's lost Land — 
 
 Sad Land which shadows people, and where wait 
 
 Memory, her sire, and dead Delight, his mate — 
 And standing there among the shadowy band, 
 
 He learns how Love mocks him who loves too late. 
 
$86 YET, STRANGELY BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 YET, STRANGELY BEAUTIFUL YOUR 
 FACE I FIND. 
 
 \7ET, strangely beautiful your face I find ; 
 Your voice is like the murmur that decrees 
 A morn of April, and awakes the trees 
 
 To meet the soft caresses of the wind. 
 
 Like sudden light your presence makes us blind ; 
 From your compelling spell the weak man flees, 
 The strong man sues you on his bended knees ; 
 
 And with your golden hair their chains you bind. 
 
 I am not of them. Not to you I kneel. 
 
 Cold is your charm — like the white moon your 
 soul ; 
 For something more akin to me I yearn. 
 You can enthrall; but, Empress, can you feel? 
 March on, unchallenged, to your far-off goal ; 
 From you to some more human heart I turn. 
 
A SUMMER'S DREAM. 387 
 
 A SUMMER'S DREAM. 
 I. 
 
 "\ \ THAT that dead summer was my heart knows 
 well — 
 Knows all it held — sad joy, and joyous pain — 
 For pain or joy it cannot come again, 
 
 With bitter sweetness we alone could tell : — 
 
 Time, when I only thought to say farewell, 
 
 To break the links of Love's long-during chain — 
 That I the stars should pass, and you remain, 
 
 Held fast to earth by some malignant spell. 
 
 Procession of long days, and longer nights — 
 When suns rose mocking, and the moon was 
 cold — 
 When Hope and I lay dying, as I thought, 
 Still could I bless Love's vanishing delights, 
 And reach pale hands to clasp him as of old, 
 Though each dread hour with Death's dismay 
 was fraught. 
 
388 A SUMMER'S DREAM. 
 
 II. 
 
 So Summer, with her slow, reluctant feet, 
 
 Went by, and lingering smiled, as loth to part, 
 While fond delusions warmed my lonesome 
 heart : — 
 
 Though lives were severed, winged dreams could 
 meet; 
 
 So met we, dear, as bodiless spirits greet — 
 Met, and were blind, foreseeing not the smart 
 Of hopes that hope not, and of tears that start 
 
 From eyes that say what lips may not repeat. 
 
 One brief day here, then gone beyond the sun — 
 How short the way, how soon the goal is won — 
 
 So less or more of love why need we measure ? 
 But Fate avenges pleasant things begun, 
 And Retribution spares not any one, 
 
 And no Gods pity those who steal their treasure. 
 
MY MASTERS. 389 
 
 MY MASTERS. 
 
 HPHE first of all my masters was Delight — 
 
 I bent my knee to worship him, and sought 
 His ministers, and all the bliss they wrought, 
 
 In Day's large splendor, and the peace of Night, 
 
 In song, and mirth, and every goodly sight ; 
 Until fair Love another lesson taught, 
 And bitter pain dearer than pleasure brought, 
 
 And my whole soul was subject to his might. 
 
 Brief while I strove for Fame — his laurel wreath 
 Seemed good to wear, and dear the fleeting breath 
 
 With which men praise the idol of an hour ; 
 
 But one drew nigh me clothed upon with power, 
 And looking in the awful eyes of Death 
 
 I knew the Master at whose touch we cower. 
 
390 TO PRINCE ORIC. 
 
 TO PRINCE ORIC. 
 (six years old.) 
 
 T"\0 you remember, centuries gone by, 
 
 When you were king, and I, your subject, 
 came 
 To kiss your hand, and swell the loud acclaim 
 Wherewith the people greeted you, and cry — 
 " Long life, and love, and glory, O most high 
 And puissant lord " ? The city was aflame 
 With torches ; banners streamed ; and knight 
 and dame 
 Knelt at your feet — you smiled your proud reply. 
 
 I think you do remember ; for I caught 
 That same elusive smile upon your lips, 
 When ended was the centuries' eclipse, 
 
 And I, my sovereign found, my homage brought : 
 " Long life, and love, and glory, now as then ! " 
 And you? — your smile is my reward again. 
 
A POET'S SECOND LOVE. 391 
 
 A POET'S SECOND LOVE. 
 I. 
 
 T SHARE your heart with her, its former Queen, 
 Who taught your lips the song of love to sing — 
 To whose high altar you were wont to bring 
 Such laurels as no Fair since Time hath been 
 Has decked her brow with. Joy was there and teen. 
 And reverence, as for some most sacred thing 
 Set high in Heaven for all men's worshipping • 
 Such laurels gathers no man twice, I ween. 
 
 Your second love, ungarlanded, uncrowned — 
 Fit for life's daily uses, let us say — 
 
 Whose lips have never thrilled you with sweet sound, 
 Hears from the grave your first love's voice, 
 to-day. 
 
 With scornful laughter mock her hope to fill 
 
 The heart ruled, by its earliest sovereign still. 
 
39 2 A POET'S SECOND LOVE. 
 
 II. 
 
 Not mine the spell to charm your lute to song ; 
 
 A poet you, yet not for me your lays ; 
 
 You crowned that other woman with your praise, 
 Lifting your voice to Heaven, triumphant, strong, 
 And later rhymes might do her laurels wrong ; 
 
 Should you and I together tread life's ways, 
 
 An echo would pursue us from old days, 
 And men would say — " He loved once, well and 
 
 long, 
 So now without great love he is content, 
 
 Since she is dead whose praise he used to sing, 
 And daily needs demand their aliment." . . . 
 
 Thus some poor bird, who strives with broken 
 wing 
 To soar, might stoop — strength gone and glad life 
 spent — 
 
 To any hand that his scant food would bring. 
 
FAIR LIFE. 393 
 
 FAIR LIFE. 
 
 TIJWIR Life, thou dear companion of my days — 
 Life with the rose-red lips and shining eyes — 
 
 That led'st me through my Youth's glad Paradise, 
 And stand'st beside me still, in these dull ways 
 My older feet must tread, the tangled maze 
 
 Where cares beset me and fresh foes surprise ; 
 
 On the keen wind and from the far-off skies 
 Is borne a whisper, which my heart dismays, 
 That thou and I must part. Beloved so long, 
 
 Wilt thou not stay with me, inconstant Love ? 
 Nay, then, the cry upon the wind grows strong — 
 
 I must without thee fresh adventure prove ; 
 And yet it may be I but do thee wrong, 
 
 And I shall find thee waiting where I rove. 
 
 gA^L 
 
394 A -PLEA FOR THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 A PLEA FOR THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 T SEE the smiling New Year climb the heights — 
 The clouds, his heralds, turn the sky to rose, 
 And flush the whiteness of the winter snows 
 
 Till Earth is glad with Life and Life's delight. 
 
 The weary Old Year died when died the night, 
 And this new comer, proud with triumph, shows 
 His radiant face, and each glad subject knows 
 
 The welcome Monarch, born to rule aright. 
 
 Yet there are graves far-off that no man tends, 
 
 Where lie the vanished loves and hopes and fears, 
 The dreams that grew to be our hearts' best friends, 
 The smiles, and, dearer than the smiles, the 
 tears — 
 These were that Old Year's gifts, whom none de- 
 fends, 
 Now his strong Conqueror, the New, appears. 
 
WHEN I AM DEAD. 395 
 
 WHEN I AM DEAD. 
 
 *\ \ THEN I am dead and buried underground, 
 
 And your dear eyes still greet the shining day, 
 Will you remember — " Thus she used to say — 
 And thus, and thus, her low voice used to sound " ? 
 Will memory wander like a ghost around 
 
 The well-known paths — tread the accustomed 
 
 way; 
 Or will you pluck fresh blossoms of the May, 
 And waste no rose upon my burial mound? 
 
 I would not have your life to sorrow wed — 
 
 Your joyous youth grief-stricken for my sake; — 
 Though black-winged Care her home with you 
 should make, 
 Yet vain would be the scalding tears you shed ; 
 And though your heart for love of me should 
 break, 
 How could I hear, or heed, if I were dead? 
 
396 ONE AFTERNOON. 
 
 ONE AFTERNOON. 
 
 TO LOUISA, LADY ASHBURTON. 
 
 T^ROM the dear stillness of your pines you 
 came — 
 That vast Cathedral where the winds are choir, 
 And bear to the far heavens the soul's desire, 
 While the great sun burns golden, like the flame, 
 On some high altar, to the Highest Name — 
 From that dear shrine whence worldly thoughts 
 
 retire — 
 Where hearts are hushed, and souls to Heaven 
 aspire, 
 You came, as one who would God's peace pro- 
 claim. 
 
 Now sunset broods upon these solemn hills — 
 The day is done, and the deep, night draws nigh, 
 And soon the waiting stars will light the sky : — 
 
 Though You and Day have gone, your presence 
 fills 
 
 The place, and the glad air around me thrills 
 As if some Heaven-sent angel had passed by. 
 
$n <&ue£t of %igfot. 
 
 Darkness surrounds us. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 Once in a dream I saw the flowers 
 That bud and bloom in Paradise. 
 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 
AFAR FROM GOD. 399 
 
 AFAR FROM GOD. 
 
 T^AIN would I scale the heights that lead to God, 
 But my feet stumble and my steps are weak, 
 Warm are the valleys, and the hills are bleak : 
 
 Here, where I linger, flowers make soft the sod, 
 
 But those far paths that martyr feet have trod 
 Are sharp with flints, and from their farthest peak 
 The still, small voice but faintly seems to speak, 
 
 While here the drowsy lilies dream and nod. 
 
 I have dreamed with them, till the night draws nigh 
 In which I cannot climb : still high above, 
 
 In the blue vastness of the awful sky, 
 
 Those unsealed heights my fatal weakness prove — 
 
 Those shining heights which I must reach, or die 
 Afar from God, unquickened by His love. 
 
400 MY FATHER'S HOUSE. 
 
 MY FATHER'S HOUSE. 
 
 "\ \1 HEN shall I join the blessed company 
 
 Of those this barren world to me denies? 
 When shall I wake to the new day's surprise, 
 
 Beyond the murmur of death's moaning sea, 
 
 In that glad home where my best loved ones be ; 
 And know that I have found my Paradise, 
 Finding again the love that never dies 
 
 The heart's dear welcome, biding there for me? 
 
 I wait alone upon life's wind-swept beach — 
 
 The waves are high — the sea is wild and wide — 
 Yet Death, bold pilot, all their wrath shall dare, 
 And guide me to the shore I fain would reach : — 
 Even now I hear the swift, incoming tide, 
 Whose slow, eternal ebb my bark shall bear. 
 
NEWLY BORN 401 
 
 NEWLY BORN. 
 
 /^VUT of the dark into the arms of love 
 
 ^~^ The babe is born, and recks not of the way 
 
 His soul has traversed to confront the day : 
 Enough for him the face that smiles above, 
 The tireless feet that on his errands move, 
 The arms that clasp, the tender lips that kiss, 
 The whole dear wealth of welcome and of bliss 
 His heirship and his sovereignty that prove. 
 
 So may there be no place for Earth's vain tears 
 When Heaven's great rapture bursts upon the 
 sight : — 
 
 Shall not the soul, new-born in heavenly spheres, 
 Forget the paths it traversed, and the night 
 
 It journeyed through, and all old hopes and fears, 
 Caught up into that Infinite, Great Light? 
 
402 THE SONG OF THE STARS 
 
 THE SONG OF THE STARS. 
 
 TN those high heavens wherein the fair stars 
 flower, 
 They do God's praises sound from night till morn, 
 And till the smiling day is newly born 
 
 Chant each to each His glory and His power; 
 
 Then, silent, wait, through Day's brief triumph-hour, 
 Watching till Night shall come again, with scorn 
 Of those chameleon splendors that adorn 
 
 Day's death, and then before his victor cower. 
 
 Forever, to immortal ears, they sing, — 
 
 These shining stars that praise their Maker's 
 grace — 
 
 And from far world to world their anthems ring : 
 They shine and sing because they see His face 
 
 We, cowards, dread the vision Death shall bring, 
 The waking rapture, and the fair, far place. 
 
A QUESTION: AT SEA. 4°3 
 
 A QUESTION: AT SEA. 
 
 IT OW dark the clouds that hide the sky from 
 11 sight, 
 
 While winds like human souls moan round our 
 keel, 
 
 Their woe inexplicable to reveal — 
 With lone, unsilenced cries for lost delight, 
 That suns by day, or journeying moons by night 
 
 Can find no more, till the vast heavens reel 
 
 And the strong worlds are rent by that last peal, 
 The trumpet-blast that puts old Time to flight. 
 
 Then, when the End has come, and Chaos reigns, 
 And darkness mocks past glories of the sun, 
 
 Will human hearts forget their human pains 
 In some unearthly blessedness, new- won? 
 
 Shall we outlast this brief earth's transient gains, 
 And know ourselves the one thing not undone ? 
 
404 THE LAND OF GOLD. 
 
 THE LAND OF GOLD. 
 
 T) EHIND the sunset's bars in the wide West, 
 We catch the radiance of the Land of Gold ; 
 The dazzling splendors of its wealth untold 
 Flash through our dreams, and wake to vague un- 
 rest 
 The soul — with Life's dull weariness opprest, 
 Or wrapped in weeds of sorrow, fold on fold — 
 Till, with sheer longing and despair grown bold, 
 We turn to seek that Land where all are blest. 
 
 But the Gold fades, and the strong stars arise 
 That look beyond the sunset and the sun ; 
 They see our little world swing far below, 
 While over it imperial planets glow — 
 From Heaven they whisper, " Heaven cannot be 
 won 
 Until great Death has come to make men wise." 
 
A PRAYER IN THE DARK. 405 
 
 A PRAYER IN THE DARK. 
 
 [ STRETCH my hand out through the lonesome 
 night, 
 My helpless hand, and pray Thee, Lord, to lead 
 My ignorant steps, and help me at my need : 
 Far off from home, pity my hapless plight, 
 And through the darkness guide me on to light ! 
 I have no hope unless my cry Thou heed, — 
 Be merciful ; for I am lost, indeed, 
 Unless thy rising sun the darkness smite. 
 
 How shall I find, who know not how to seek? 
 
 Kindle my soul, enlighten my dull mind ; 
 My heart is heavy, and my faith is weak, — 
 
 A stone am I, and deaf and dumb and blind, — 
 Unhelped of Thee my footsteps helpless stray, — 
 Have pity, Thou, and lead me to the Day ! 
 
St 2Deatfj*i6f $o£t<m 
 
 The dead but sceptered sovereigns who still rule. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 The ways of Death are soothing and serene — 
 And all the words of Death are grave and sweet. 
 
 W. E. Henley 
 
ACROSS THE SEA. 409 
 
 ACROSS THE SEA. 
 
 T NTO the silence of the silent night 
 
 He passed, whom all men honor ; and the sun 
 
 Arose to shine upon a world undone, 
 And barren lives, bereft of Life's delight. 
 The morning air was chill with sudden blight, 
 
 And Winter's cruel triumph had begun ; 
 
 But He to some far Summer shore had won, 
 Whose splendor hides him from our dazzled sight. 
 
 Not England's pride alone, this Lord of Song ! 
 We — heirs to Shakespeare's and to Milton's 
 speech — 
 Claim heritage from Tennyson's proud years : 
 To us his spacious, splendid lines belong — 
 We, too, repeat his praises, each to each — 
 We share his glory, and we share your tears. 
 
 October, 1892. 
 
4*0 ROBERT BROWNING, 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 I. 
 
 HIS STAR. 
 
 HPHE Century was young — the month was 
 1 May — 
 
 The spacious East was kindled with a light 
 That lent a sudden glory to the night, 
 And a new star began its upward way 
 Toward the high splendor of the perfect day : 
 With pure white flame, inexorably bright, 
 It reached the souls of men — no stain so slight 
 As to escape its all-revealing ray. 
 
 When countless voices cried, " The Star has set ! " 
 
 And through the lands there surged a sea of pain, 
 
 Was it Death's triumph — victory of Woe? — 
 
 Nay ! There are lights the sky may not forget : 
 
 When suns, and moons, and souls shall rise again, 
 
 In the New Life's wide East that star shall 
 
 glow. 
 
ROBER T BRO WNING. 4 1 1 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 II. 
 
 THE POET OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 O ILENCE and Night sequestered thee in vain ! 
 Oblivion's threats thou proudly couldst defy. 
 
 Thou art not dead — such great souls do not die : 
 One small world's range no longer could constrain 
 That strong-winged spirit of its freedom fain : 
 
 New stars, new lives, thy fearless quest would try. 
 
 Our baffled vision may not soar so high — 
 We mourn, as loss, thine infinite, great gain. 
 
 Yet, keen of sight, to whom men's souls lay bare, 
 Stripped clean of shams, unclothed of all disguise, 
 Revealed to thee as if at each soul's birth 
 Thou hadst been nigh to stamp it foul or fair — 
 Why shouldst thou seek new schools to make 
 thee wise 
 Who shared Heaven's secrets whilst thou 
 walked on earth? 
 
 December, 1890. 
 
4 12 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 A ND can it be on the relentless blast 
 
 The Last Leaf has blown by — the tree is 
 bare ? 
 Strange was the chill that shivered on the air, 
 As if an unclothed soul were hurrying past, 
 In search of some new region strange and vast — 
 Some Country unexplored, where dead men fare, 
 Assuaged of Life, and all Life's carking care, 
 To the Great Rapture, waiting them at last. 
 
 He may be glad for whom the Heavens ope, 
 And the New Day shines royally and clear — 
 But we, who mourn him and shall mourn him 
 long, 
 For what meet consolation shall we hope — 
 Or whither shall our sorrow turn for cheer, 
 Bereft of our dear Singer, and his song? 
 
 October, 1894. 
 
SUMMONED BY THE KING. 41 3 
 
 SUMMONED BY THE KING. 1 
 
 TT E was at home in Courts and knew the great, 
 "*■ Himself was of them. Ofttimes Kings have 
 
 sent 
 To call him to their presence ; and he went, 
 A welcome guest, to share their royal state, 
 For earth's high potentates a fitting mate. 
 
 He was of all men honored — crowned of Song, 
 And crowned of Love — and high above the 
 wrong 
 Of envy, or the littleness of hate. 
 
 And now the mightiest King — to summon him 
 To that far place whereto all souls must come — 
 Has sent swift Azrael, Heaven's chamber- 
 lain, — 
 Beyond the ultimate sea's remotest rim, 
 
 Where all the voices of this earth are dumb, 
 The Courtier journeys - — called to Court again. 
 
 1 James Russell Lowell — August, 1891. 
 
4M PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON. 
 
 PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " GARDEN SECRETS." 
 
 T_T E, who those secrets whispered — he is dead — 
 No more the rose and lily shall confide 
 
 To him how faithless was the Wind that sighed 
 With fleeting love, rifled their bloom and fled ; 
 The " Garden Fairies," by Titania led, 
 
 Ring no more chimes of rapture since he died ; 
 
 And from unseen " Wind Gardens," where abide 
 The souls of blossoms, no sweet breath is shed. 
 
 His flowers and he have vanished : yet, who knows 
 Through what fair fields unwitnessed of the sun 
 He wanders, among blossoms red and white, 
 Fostered of Joy — where never chill blast blows, 
 And the glad year is always just begun? — 
 Nor Time, nor Death, immortal youth can 
 blight. 
 
THE CLOSED GATE. 4*5 
 
 THE CLOSED GATE. 
 
 But life is short ; so gently close the gate. 
 
 Winifred Howells. 
 
 HPHUS wrote she when the heart in her was high, 
 And her brief tale of youth seemed just begun. 
 Like some white flower that shivers in the sun 
 
 She heard from far the low winds prophesy — 
 
 Blowing across the grave where she must lie — 
 Had strange prevision of the victory won 
 In the swift race that Life with Death should run, 
 
 And, hand in hand with Life, saw Death draw nigh. 
 
 Beyond this world the hostile surges foam : 
 Our eyes are dim with tears and cannot see 
 In what fair paths her feet our coming wait, 
 What stars rise for her in her far new home : — 
 We but conjecture all she yet may be, 
 
 While on the Joy she was, we close the gate. 
 
4i 6 A DREAM IN THE NIGHT. 
 
 A DREAM IN THE NIGHT. 
 
 TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 O OMETIMES it seems thy face — thy long-hid 
 ^ face — 
 
 Looks out on me as from a passing cloud, 
 
 Till I forget they clad thee in thy shroud, 
 And laid thee sleeping in thy far-off place — 
 So once again the tender, healing grace 
 
 Of thy dear presence is to me allowed. 
 
 Wilt thou not bless the head before thee bowed ? 
 Wilt not thy voice thrill through the empty space ? 
 
 How lone and cold the world without thee seemed ! 
 Regaining thee, how warm it is and bright ! 
 Yet all in vain to reach thee do I seek : — 
 And then I wake to know I have but dreamed, 
 And thou art silent as the silent night — 
 
 With tears I call thee, yet thou dost not speak. 
 
ftontiete an& Moxtiitaux. 
 
 With pipe and flute the rustic Pan 
 Of old made music sweet for man. 
 
 Austin Dobson. 
 
 Like echo of an old refrain 
 That long within the mind has lain. 
 Canon Bell. 
 
VA GRANT LOVE. 4 1 9 
 
 VAGRANT LOVE. 
 
 (~\ VAGRANT Love ! do you come this way? 
 ^-"^ I hear you knock at the long-closed door 
 
 That turned too oft on its hinge before — 
 I am stronger now ; I can say you Nay. 
 
 The vague, sweet smile on your lips to-day, 
 Its meaning and magic I know of yore : 
 
 O vagrant Love, do you come this way? 
 I hear your knock at the long-closed door. 
 
 But why your summons should I obey? 
 I listened once till my heart grew sore — 
 Shall I listen again, and again deplore? 
 Nay ! Autumn must ever be wiser than May — 
 And the more we welcome the more you betray — 
 O vagrant Love, would you come this way? 
 
420 THOUGH WE REPENT. 
 
 THOUGH WE REPENT. 
 
 TH HOUGH we repent, can any God give back 
 The dear, lost days we might have made so 
 fair — 
 Turn false to true, and carelessness to care 
 And let us find again what now we lack? 
 
 Oh, once, once more to tread the old-time track, 
 The flowers we threw away once more to wear — 
 
 Though we repent, can any God give back 
 
 The dear, lost days we might have made so fair? 
 
 Who can repulse a stealthy ghost's attack — 
 Silence a voice that doth the midnight dare — 
 Make fresh hopes spring from grave-sod of 
 despair — 
 Set free a tortured soul from memory's rack? 
 Though we repent, can any God give back 
 
 The dear, lost days we might have made so 
 fair? 
 
 ^^^^^^^ 
 
THE SPRING IS HERE, 421 
 
 THE SPRING IS HERE. 
 
 FEEL the kindness of the lengthening days — 
 I warm me at the strong fire of the sun — 
 I know the year's glad course is well begun — 
 Ah, what awaits me in its devious ways? 
 
 What strange, new bliss shall thrill me with amaze ? 
 
 What prize shall I rejoice that I have won? 
 I feel the kindness of the lengthening days — 
 
 I warm me at the strong fire of the sun. 
 
 Yet I behold the phantom that dismays — 
 The face of Grief that spares not any one — 
 Rewards come not until the task is done, 
 And there are minor chords in all earth's lays ; — 
 Nay ! ■ Trust the kindness of the lengthening 
 days — 
 I '11 warm me at the strong fires of the sun. 
 
422 TO THE GHOST OF MARY, ETC. 
 
 TO THE GHOST OF MARY QUEEN OF 
 SCOTS. 
 
 T^AIR, ruthless Ghost, I know you well ! 
 
 High poets praised you with their lays, 
 Yet could not half your beauty tell ; 
 So. now, your loveliness dismays 
 
 My rhyme, and mocks my poor essays 
 To hint, in words, its magic spell. 
 Ah, witching Queen, strange woes befell 
 
 The bards who served you in old days ! 
 
 Sweet, ruthless Ghost, their songs of praise 
 Like warning music with me dwell, 
 
 And bid me to beware your plays 
 
 With love and death — your charm repel. 
 
 You smile again ! that smile betrays 
 
 Hearts still are playthings : Fare you well. 
 
AFTER SUPPING WITH A POET 4 2 3 
 
 AFTER SUPPING WITH A POET. 
 
 TO E. G. 
 
 \/0U called your mystic draught Canary sack — 
 I drank, and dreamed of far-off Southern 
 Seas, 
 And heard the wraiths of vagrant melodies ; 
 And Joys and Hopes from some dim shade came 
 back. 
 
 What blithe feet walked upon a grass-grown track ! 
 
 What glad winds gossiped under summer trees ! 
 You called your mystic draught Canary sack — 
 
 I drank, and dreamed of far-off Southern Seas. 
 
 This wine, from strange grapes pressed, upon my 
 track 
 Lets loose the band of Ancient Memories : 
 Now this sole cup my waywardness can please ; 
 All other brews some fine distinction lack — 
 You called your magic draught Canary sack ! 
 
4 2 4 ROSAMOND'S ROSE. 
 
 ROSAMOND'S ROSE. 
 
 D OSAMOND gave me a rose, 
 
 Rose-red and alive in the sun : 
 Ah, what was its secret?' Who knows? — 
 Her garden held only that one. 
 
 Now alive in my heart it glows ; 
 
 By its magic my peace is undone — 
 There are spells that the wise should shun - 
 
 Rosamond gave me a rose. 
 
 But where is my old repose ? 
 
 She calls — to her feet I run : 
 Oh, who shall the secret disclose? 
 
 Or how was my bondage begun ? — 
 Rosamond gave me a rose, 
 
 Rose-red and alive in the sun. 
 
TO A FAIR LADY. 425 
 
 TO A FAIR LADY. 
 
 TH^AIR Lady, you were clad in white 
 When first your gentle eyes I met, 
 And never shall my heart forget 
 The vision of that August night. 
 
 With the pale moon's transcendent light, 
 You shone, in your clear heaven set ; 
 
 Fair Lady, you were clad in white 
 When first your gentle eyes I met. 
 
 Bend, Moon of Women, from your height, 
 Soothe with your smile earth's care and fret, 
 Let us be happy in your debt, 
 
 Since you Love's varied charms unite ; 
 
 Your soul and you were clad in white 
 When first your gentle eyes I met. 
 
426 TWO THRUSHES MET 
 
 TWO THRUSHES MET. 
 
 FOR M. E. S. 
 
 TPWO thrushes met upon an April day, 
 
 And sang a simple song of love and glee : 
 . . . "And I am I, dear heart, and you are she 
 Whose tender note beguiled me on my way ! " 
 
 They did not heed that all the sky was gray, 
 And not a neighbor leaf on any tree — 
 
 Two thrushes met upon an April day, 
 And sang a simple song of love and glee. 
 
 They did not miss the brightness of the May, 
 Or long the Summer's lavish wealth to see. 
 "April," he chirped, "is fair enough for me, 
 
 And when you sing, lo, Spring is on the way " — 
 
 Two thrushes met upon an April day, 
 And sang a simple song of love and glee. 
 
 ^ 
 
LOVE MAKES THE SPRING. 427 
 
 LOVE MAKES THE SPRING. 
 
 IT AS Spring come back ? Is this the May 
 That makes the air so bland to-day? 
 The wild sweet winds are glad to know — 
 The waiting flowers begin to blow. 
 
 Green things are blithe along the way. 
 
 " What happy spell," I hear them say, 
 " Has turned the Winter into May? " 
 
 Each to the other — "Do you know? 
 Has Spring come back?" 
 
 Ah, Love is he who warms the day, 
 
 And turns the Winter into May — 
 And happy things begin to grow, 
 Alive with Love's glad overflow, 
 
 And answer to his ardent ray - — 
 
 " Spring has come back. " 
 
428 LIFE'S DAY, 
 
 LIFE'S DAY. 
 
 TO ONE WHO ASKS ME FOR A MERRY SONG. 
 
 /^\H, could I know how long Life's day — 
 How near its end, or far away — 
 What space for mirth, what room for tears - 
 Then might I put aside my fears, 
 
 And for a little while be gay. 
 
 But now, I think, Death soon may stray 
 Hereward, and find me at my play, 
 
 And mock my laughter with his jeers — 
 Ah, could I know ! 
 
 And so I tremble 'neath the sway 
 
 Of that arch Foe, who at me peers, 
 And hour by hour my covert nears, 
 
 Yet mocks me when I bid him say 
 
 How long for me may be Life's day. 
 
(©uattaittg. 
 
 Sudden and swift, and like a passing wind. 
 
 Matthew Arnold^ 
 
THE LOST ROOM. 
 
 431 
 
 THE LOST ROOM. 
 
 \ "X 7HEN I came out of the fair House of Youth 
 I heedlessly behind me closed the door — 
 Now every hour is bitter with the truth 
 That I can find that portal never more. 
 
43 2 
 
 AUTUMN DAYS. 
 
 AUTUMN DAYS. 
 
 A UTUMN days no solace brin£ 
 Harvest time is vain — 
 Come again, O joy of spring — 
 Come Youth's April pain. 
 
A DEAD POET. 
 
 433 
 
 A DEAD POET. 
 
 CHE was the brightest thing beneath the sun - 
 
 Joy had of her his will — 
 And, now her singirfg life is spent and done, 
 
 The world seems strange and chill. 
 
434 
 
 IN A LIBRARY. 
 
 IN A LIBRARY. 
 
 T^HE living ofttimes vex us — 
 The wise old dead are best — - 
 
 When Life's vain games perplex us 
 'T is here we turn for rest. 
 
THE KING DETHRONED. 435 
 
 THE KING DETHRONED. 
 
 LT E wore the purple a year and a day — 
 
 His pride was high, and his will was strong :- 
 
 " Then why was his reign so brief? " you say — 
 He reigneth gently who reigneth long. 
 
43 6 
 
 WHO KNOWS? 
 
 WHO KNOWS? 
 
 THE Lily lifts to mine her nunlike face, 
 
 But my wild heart is beating for the Rose : 
 
 How can I pause to heed the Lily's grace? — 
 Shall I repent me by and by? Who knows? 
 
DAY'S MOCKERY. 437 
 
 DAY'S MOCKERY. 
 
 T HEARD Love's voice thrill all the waiting Night, 
 And I arose and followed where he led : 
 
 Then Morning mocked me with revealing light — 
 The great bright world was empty — Love 
 was dead. 
 
43§ 
 
 YOU. 
 
 YOU. 
 
 F SAW your face, and knew it was the Spring ; 
 
 Your eyes were bluer than the morning skies, 
 And when you smiled the birds began to sing, 
 Waiting no longer for the sun to rise. 
 
T STUDIED LIFE. 
 
 439 
 
 I STUDIED LIFE. 
 
 T STUDIED Life in Helen's look, 
 And knew that Life was mine — 
 
 Now she is dead I close the book ; 
 Death has no countersign. 
 
44° THE PRODIGAL. 
 
 THE PRODIGAL. 
 
 CAD penitent, beloved of God thou art, 
 
 Thy wandering feet He welcomes home at 
 night — 
 
 More dear than those who never did depart 
 Is the returning sinner, to His sight. 
 
€ran£lation£. 
 
 Turn over a new leaf. 
 
 Dekker. 
 
LONG WEEPING. 443 
 
 LONG WEEPING. 
 
 (From the German of Heine.) 
 
 T HAVE in a dream been weeping ; 
 
 Thou wert in thy grave, I dreamed. 
 I awoke from that bitter dreaming, 
 And still the hot tears streamed. 
 
 I have in a dream been weeping ; 
 
 I dreamed thou wert gone from me. 
 I awoke, and awake kept weeping, 
 
 Long time and bitterly. 
 
 I have in a dream been weeping ; 
 
 I dreamed that thou still wert kind. 
 I awoke, but I weep forever : 
 
 My tears have made me blind. 
 
444 BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 [From Heine) 
 
 T IKE dark dreams stand the houses, 
 ^-^ Stretched out in lengthened row ; 
 And shrouded close in my mantle 
 I silently by them go. 
 
 The bell of the Cathedral 
 
 Chimes midnight from above ; 
 
 I know, with charms and kisses, 
 Now waits for me my Love. 
 
 The moon is my companion, 
 
 Who kindly leadeth me ; 
 At last I reach her dwelling, 
 
 And cry out joyfully : 
 
 i€ Old Confidante, I thank thee 
 
 That thou hast lit my way ! 
 Shine on, now that I leave thee, 
 
 And lend the rest thy ray ! 
 
BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 445 
 
 " And should'st thou find a lover, 
 Who lonely makes his moan, 
 
 Give him the same dear comfort 
 That I, of old, have known." 
 
446 THROUGH THE DARKNESS. 
 
 THROUGH THE DARKNESS. 
 
 {From Heine?) 
 
 \ \ TE travelled alone in the darkness, 
 
 Posted the whole night through ; 
 On each other's hearts we rested ; 
 We laughed and jested, too. 
 
 But with the dawn of the morning, 
 My Child, how astonished were we ; 
 
 For between us Love was sitting, 
 A passenger blind was he. 
 
THE MIRROR. 44 7 
 
 THE MIRROR. 
 
 {From the Provencal of Theodore Aubanel.) 
 
 PjH, long ago she dwelt 
 
 In this gay little room — 
 How shall I find my flower 
 
 Here where she used to bloom? 
 O longing, thirsting eyes, 
 Pursue the dear surprise : 
 
 Mirror, thou know'st her well — 
 Work thou some magic spell 
 And bring her back ! 
 
 Here, when the morn was bright, 
 She bathed her lovely face, 
 
 Her little hands she bathed, 
 And clad herself with grace. 
 
 Between lips glad with song 
 
 Her teeth shone, white and strong % 
 Mirror, thou know'st her well — 
 Work thou some magic spell 
 To bring her back ! 
 
44-8 THE MIRROR. 
 
 So innocent, so blithe, 
 Yet starting at a sound, 
 
 She let her long hair's veil 
 
 Fall her white shoulders round. 
 
 Then from her grandsire's book 
 
 Her morning prayer she took : 
 Mirror, thou know'st her well — 
 Work thou some magic spell 
 And bring her back ! 
 
 Ah, there the book leans now, 
 Against the sacred palm — # 
 
 Open, as when she prayed, 
 Or read some holy psalm ! 
 
 Surely I hear her feet — 
 
 The wind with them is fleet : 
 
 Mirror, thou know'st her well — 
 Hast thou no magic spell 
 To bring her back ? 
 
 At high mass or at fete 
 How fair she was to see ! 
 
 And I, who should have prayed, — 
 O Lord, forgive thou me ! — 
 
 Watched her, as there she knelt ; 
 
 For prayer her name I spelt : 
 Mirror, thou know'st her well — 
 Work me some magic spell 
 And bring her back ! 
 
THE MIRROR. 449 
 
 Here leaned she forth to talk ; 
 
 Here of her tasks she thought ; 
 For God's love and God's poor 
 
 Such patient stitches wrought ; 
 Her swift hands to and fro 
 Before thee used to go : 
 
 Mirror, thou know'st her well, 
 
 Yet hast no magic spell 
 To bring her back ! 
 
 Glad days of foolish chat, 
 
 Dear days of love and rhyme, 
 Season of mirth and dance, 
 
 Love's long-lost, golden time, 
 Bright hair where sunshine lay 
 The priest's hands sheared away : 
 
 Mirror, thou know'st her well — ■ 
 
 Hast thou, indeed, no spell 
 To bring her back? 
 
 But thou dost rule, O God ! 
 
 Thy harvest springs from pain ; 
 And fairest blooms are fed 
 
 On tears that fall like rain. 
 O Gatherer divine, 
 The sweetest flowers are thine ! 
 
 Mirror, thou know'st her well — • 
 
 Why hast thou not some spell 
 To bring her back? 
 
45° THE MIRROR. 
 
 The day she went away 
 
 Her cheeks were bathed in tears ; 
 The long night she had wept 
 
 Past joys and future fears ; 
 But when the convent's door 
 Had closed, she wept no more : 
 
 Mirror, thou know'st her well — 
 
 I seek thy magic spell 
 To bring her back. 
 
 Under the half-dead vine 
 To this porch I drew nigh : 
 "This House to Let," I read — 
 It hurt me like a cry. 
 No one awaits me here ; 
 But still my heart draws near : 
 Mirror, thou know'st her well — 
 Yet thou canst work no spell 
 To bring her back. 
 
LA VIE. 45 T 
 
 LA VIE. 
 
 {From the French of Monte nae ken.) 
 
 A H, brief is Life, 
 
 Love's short, sweet way, 
 With dreamings rife, 
 
 And then — Good-day ! 
 
 And Life is vain — 
 Hope's vague delight, 
 
 Grief's transient pain, 
 
 And then — Good-night ! 
 
ADDITIONAL POEMS. 
 
TO JULIA WARD HOWE. 
 
 On her Eighty-seventh Birthday, May 27, 1907. 
 
 "X/OUTH is thy gift — the youth that baffles Time, 
 And smiles derisively at vanished years. 
 Since the long past the present more endears, 
 And life but ripens in its golden prime, 
 Who knows to what proud heights thou still may'st 
 climb — 
 What summoning call thy listening spirit 
 
 hears — 
 What triumphs wait, ere conquering death 
 appears — 
 What magic beauty thou may'st lend to rhyme? 
 
 Sovereign of Love and May, we kiss the hand 
 
 Such noble work has wrought, and add our 
 bays 
 To those with which the world has crowned thy 
 brow : 
 Thy subjects we, in this the happy land, 
 Thy presence gladdens, and thy gracious ways 
 Enchant — Queen of the Long- Ago and Now. 
 
456 WHY? 
 
 WHY? 
 
 T^HE New Year comes with her radiant face, 
 
 Clad in white, like a waiting bride — 
 But she brings no word through the empty space, 
 No message has reached me since you died. 
 
 Was Death Life's ending, or did you go 
 To a realm so vast, and a task so high, 
 
 That you have forgotten this world below, 
 
 Where Life is a Dream, and the Dreamers die ? 
 
 Shall I know, some day, when a cold, still hand 
 Leads me, in my turn, from this transient 
 sphere, 
 
 And guides me on to that Unseen Land, 
 Why you were taken, and I left here ? 
 
ALL IN ONE. 457 
 
 ALL IN ONE. 
 
 'T'HE pomp of Day and Night — 
 
 The sunset and the sun — 
 Thou, my own Heart's Delight, 
 Art Day and Night in one. 
 
45 8 IF ONCE, JUST ONCE, 
 
 IF ONCE, JUST ONCE. 
 
 TX^HY do I never see you in my dreams? 
 
 The lips are cold that you no longer kiss ; 
 And missing you, the Universe I miss. 
 The far stars lure me with evasive gleams, 
 But no new Joy the dead Past's pledge redeems. 
 Though you have found a larger world than 
 
 this, 
 Can you not spare one hour from that wide 
 bliss ? 
 Why do I never see you in my dreams? 
 
 One little touch, and I should know you near, — 
 One whispered word would wake my soul from 
 
 sleep, 
 And all I thought was dead, alive would be, 
 Saved from the blank forgetfulness I fear, — 
 Immortal then your image I could keep, 
 If once, just once, you would come back to 
 me. 
 
THE BOLD GHOST. . 459 
 
 THE BOLD GHOST. 
 
 HPHE year was young, but the place was old, 
 ■*- And the house had gone to sleep, 
 And the ghost that came by night was bold, 
 For the silence was so deep. 
 
 Aloud he called to his heart's fair queen, 
 
 But she would not unbar the door, 
 And the window from which she used to lean 
 
 Stirred at her touch no more. 
 
 In vain through the empty night he cried, 
 But there came no answering tone ; 
 
 And then he bethought him that since he died 
 A hundred years had flown. 
 
 But a hundred years should have brought more 
 near 
 
 The Love that he loved so well ; 
 And the bold ghost's heart turned cold with fear — 
 
 Where was the old-time spell ? 
 
 Had she forgotten what he held fast ? — 
 
 They say 't is a woman's way ; 
 Was it only a dream that Love could last, 
 
 The dream of an idle day ? 
 
460 
 
 THE BOLD GHOST. 
 
 From the silent house the bold ghost turned • 
 Why dream that a dream is true ? — 
 
 Ashes were where Love's fire once burned ; 
 Death's meaning at last he knew. 
 
ONCE MORE. 461 
 
 ONCE MORE. 
 
 /^\NCE more the Morning mocks me with its 
 
 ^^^ scorn, 
 
 The Sun derides me with its radiant face, 
 Since you vouchsafe no word from your far 
 place, 
 
 And, lacking you, there is no joy of morn. 
 
 Did you but speak, my heart would be new-born, 
 And I — alive again, through that dear grace 
 Of love, that scoffs at time and conquers 
 space — 
 
 Could laugh at those who call my fate forlorn. 
 
 Why are you silent ? Does your heart forget, 
 In the proud affluence of joys untold, 
 
 Old ways, old words that I remember yet 
 
 And treasure, as a miser counts his gold ? 
 
 Is it that your far ear I cannot reach — 
 
 Or am I, earth-enslaved, deaf to Heaven's speech ? 
 
462 ONE DAY. 
 
 ONE DAY. 
 
 T T OW glad we were of the mom, 
 
 When the royal Sun climbed high, 
 And the winds went wild with glee, 
 
 And the birds flew singing by — 
 Till the swift, bright hours were spent, 
 
 And the scornful stars looked down, 
 For Night is stronger than Day — 
 
 And hearts turn cold at its frown. 
 
 Ah well, it is so with Life — 
 
 We hope, we despair, we die — 
 We joy in the transient strife — 
 
 Then low in the dust we lie — 
 And over us blossoms creep — 
 
 And the moon and the stars look down- 
 What matter when we are asleep ? 
 
 We heed neither smile, nor frown. 
 
"BEYOND." 463 
 
 " BEYOND." 
 
 T TOW many times has shone the morning sun 
 
 On this so lonesome world bereft of thee — 
 And still I wonder, with each day begun, 
 Can any sun shine from its sky for me? 
 
 Dost thou watch some far dawn, and wish good 
 cheer 
 
 To glad new friends who meet thee on thy way, 
 Or, by the past compelled, dost thou draw near 
 
 And whisper old words on this new-born day? 
 
 I cannot see thee, for my eyes are blind — 
 My ears are deaf to unaccustomed speecfi ; 
 
 Vainly I grope an outstretched hand to find — 
 Why didst thou go so far beyond my reach? 
 
464 FOR EASTER MORN. 
 
 FOR EASTER MORN. 
 
 T TOW gladly dawns the Easter sun ! 
 
 The wide world thrills with prayer and 
 praise. 
 Gone by are all Lent's mournful days, 
 And Hope and Joy seem just begun. 
 
 The laughing streams to seaward run — 
 Wild flowers bedeck the woodland ways, 
 And homing birds sing merry lays 
 
 Of triumph over winter done. 
 
 ShalFwe not joy? We, too, have won, 
 Through winter's hostile ice-bound days, 
 To this new dawn that all things praise ; 
 
 Let us be glad — aye, every one — 
 
 When gladly dawns the Easter sun. 
 
LIFE'S SEASONS, 465 
 
 LIFE'S SEASONS. 
 
 n^HE seasons come, and the seasons go — 
 Winter begins them, white with snow ; 
 Then Spring steals on, with her wayward grace, 
 And the glad world smiles to see her face, 
 Till Summer, her rival, warms the day, 
 And the year's proud Queen holds regal sway — 
 
 But Autumn follows, and roses die, 
 And birds fly Southward, and sad winds sigh. 
 
 So is our life, with its changeful days — 
 Shadow and sunlight, and blame and praise — 
 Its seasons come, and its seasons go — 
 But God is Our Father — 't is all we know. 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A ghostly ship sails on a ghostly sea 348 
 
 A little while ago you knew not I was I 323 
 
 A maiden sits in her bower and sings 145 
 
 A rose by any other name 142 
 
 A rose to smell a moment, then to leave 199 
 
 A Spanish Castle long ago I built 217 
 
 A thousand voices whisper it is spring 302 
 
 Across this sea I sail, and do not know 237 
 
 After the long and dreary night 305 
 
 Ah, brief is Life 451 
 
 Ah, it was a lonely place 327 
 
 Ah, the place is wild and sweet ^37 
 
 All in the summer even 16 
 
 Alone all day in my cabin 139 
 
 Alone in Death I think my heart will be 226 
 
 Already the feet of the Winter fly 262 
 
 Among the ruins of La Garraye 177 
 
 Andean it be on the relentless blast 412 
 
 And had you loved me then, my dear 179 
 
 As the wind at play with a spark 253 
 
 At end of Love, at end of Life 154 
 
 Autumn days no solace bring 432 
 
 Away from carking care 69 
 
 Back through the rain and mist 147 
 
 Because I seek Thee not, oh seek Thou me ! 232 
 
 Because your eyes are blue, your lips are red 347 
 
 Beauty for ashes thou hast brought me, dear ! 48 
 
 Behind the sunset's bars in the wide West 404 
 
 Bend low and hark with me, my Dear 319 
 
4 6& INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Bend low, dusky Night 136 
 
 Bend low, O Moon, for I fain would tell , . 334 
 
 Break, ties that bind me to this world of sense 375 
 
 Chide not because I doubt who would believe ! 116 
 
 Come back, dear days, from out the past ! 123 
 
 Come hither and behold this lady's face 214 
 
 Come once, just once, dear Love, when I am dead .... 42 
 
 Come Sleep, and kiss mine eyelids down 299 
 
 Dark are the clouds that hide from longing eyes .... 241 
 
 Dear and blessed dead ones, can you look and listen ... 67 
 
 Do any hearts ache there, beyond the peaceful river ? . . . 95 
 
 Do I love thee? Who can tell? 175 
 
 Do you remember, centuries gone by . • 390 
 
 Do you remember the summer day 33 
 
 Do you see how the Old Year hides his eyes 180 
 
 Do you think the summer will ever come 7 
 
 Dost thou take note and say, in thy far place 361 
 
 Down the wonderful, magical river 62 
 
 Earth's awake, 'neath the laughing skies 8 
 
 Fain would I scale the heights that lead to God ..... 399 
 
 Fair face the Greeks had worshipped, have you come . . . 313 
 
 Fair Lady June, proud Queen of all the year 330 
 
 Fair Lady Rose, round whom black-coated bees . . . . 166 
 
 Fair Lady, you were clad in white 425 
 
 Fair Life, thou dear companion of my days 393 
 
 Fair, ruthless Ghost, I know you well ! 422 
 
 Fair was the flower which proffers now its fruit 115 
 
 Far on the gray sea glooms and glowers 149 
 
 Far out at sea I hear the wind complain 190 
 
 Fill the swift days full, my dear 131 
 
 Fly away, O white-winged moth ! . . J70 
 
 For very humbleness Great Love is proud ^yS 
 
 Forth from the wind-swept Country of my Heart .... 3 
 
 From a brier-grown garden that nobody knows 118 
 
 From some dim height of being, undescried 233 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 469 
 
 PAGE 
 
 From the soft south the constant bird comes back .... 236 
 
 From the dear stillness of your pines you came 396 
 
 Full soon I shall be gone, where dead men go 201 
 
 Give me the potent draught that Helen poured 185 
 
 Harold on a summer day 61 
 
 Has lavish summer brought the rose ? 326 
 
 Has Spring come back ? Is this the May 427 
 
 Have I not learned to live without thee yet ? 360 
 
 Have pity thou, who all my heart hast known ! 200 
 
 He is gone. O my heart, he is gone 25 
 
 " He loved me once! " What words are these 207 
 
 He sent them forth, these softly gleaming shapes .... 247 
 
 He was a gay deceiver when 263 
 
 He was at home in Courts and knew the great 413 
 
 He, who those secrets whispered — he is dead 414 
 
 He wore the purple a year and a day 435 
 
 Heart, sad heart, for what are you pleading? 259 
 
 Her gentle ghost is with me everywhere ! 248 
 
 Here come we, to this temple strange and vast 231 
 
 Here he is, in marble, waiting by a tomb . . , . . . . 315 
 
 His death-blow struck him there in the ranks 130 
 
 His soul was one with Nature everywhere 246 
 
 How can I go into the dark 294 
 
 How could I tell skies would be gray 267 
 
 How dark the clouds that hide the sky from sight .... 403 
 
 How glad we were of the morn 462 
 
 How gladly dawns the Easter sun ! 464 
 
 How long wilt thou be silent, lying there ? 197 
 
 How many times has shone the morning sun 463 
 
 How mockingly the morning dawns for me 357 
 
 How shall a little weed grow 15 
 
 How shall I here her placid picture paint 219 
 
 How shall we know it is the last good-by ? 193 
 
 How we, poor players on Life's little stage 72 
 
 Humble is Love, for he is Honor's child 2>77 
 
 I brought her home, my bonny bride 87 
 
 I built a shrine, and set my idol there 203 
 
470 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I came between the glad green hills 135 
 
 I caught a little bird, and I shut him in a cage 59 
 
 I chant the praises of the regal June 318 
 
 I do forgive you for the pain I bear 113 
 
 I feel the kindness of the lengthening days 421 
 
 I found a shy little violet root ' &$ 
 
 I found her walking in a lonely place 206 
 
 I give you a day of my life 346 
 
 I had a little bird once 84 
 
 I had never kissed her her whole life long 167 
 
 I have been lonely the whole day long 285 
 
 I have called thee many a night ^^3 
 
 I have in a dream been weeping 443 
 
 I hear the low voice call that bids me come 240 
 
 I hear the v soft September rain intone 46 
 
 I heard a cry in the night 340 
 
 I heard Love's voice thrill all the waiting night 437 
 
 I heard one cry out strongly, " Love is dead ! ? ' 194 
 
 I hied me off to Arcady 290 
 
 I hold a shadow's cold, soft hand 134 
 
 I hold you to my lips and heart, fair flowers 380 
 
 I kneel before Thee, Lord, oh hear my cry 239 
 
 I lie here at rest in my chamber 19 
 
 I lie here very still ; and he draws nigh 212 
 
 I long in vain by day, but when the night 381 
 
 I longed for rest and some one spoke me fair 223 
 
 I may live long, but some old days 53 
 
 I miss you, sweet ! The spring is here 257 
 
 I plucked an apple from off a tree • . . 39 
 
 I sat in my window, high overhead 158 
 
 I saw your face, and knew it was the Spring 438 
 
 I see the smiling New Year climb the heights 394 
 
 I share your heart with her, its former Queen 391 
 
 I sit and wait for you, Dear, my dear 288 
 
 I stretch my hand out through the lonesome night .... 405 
 
 I studied Life in Helen's look 439 
 
 I tire of phantoms that my heart distrain 362 
 
 I wandered long beside the alien waters 51 
 
 I will not speak. For ever from old days ...... 224 
 
INDEX OF FIRST FIXES. 471 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I wish thee length of days 345 
 
 I wish they could live forever 260 
 
 I win the summer back again 28 7 
 
 I would, indeed, that Heaven had made me meek .... 225 
 
 I would not have thee warm when I am cold 1S9 
 
 I would not have you mourn too much 157 
 
 If I am dust while thou art quick and glad 22 
 
 If I should see thee, Most Unhappy, dead 215 
 
 If Love could last, I ? d spend my all 269 
 
 If on my grave the summer grass were growing ^ 
 
 If she unclosed her lips and made her moan 1S6 
 
 If there were dreams to sell 128 
 
 If you catch a breath of sweetness 5 
 
 If you were here, or I were there 271 
 
 I'm waiting for my darling 21 
 
 In after years a twilight ghost shall fill 208 
 
 In my dreams I see the hill-tops 24 
 
 In Summer, when the days are long 296 
 
 In the dim watches of the midmost night 3S5 
 
 In the South is Love's Land 64 
 
 In the vast realms of unconjectured space 356 
 
 In those high heavens wherein the fair stars flower .... 402 
 
 In thy long, lonely times, poor aching heart ....... 49 
 
 In Venice once they lived and loved 335 
 
 Into the silence of the silent night 409 
 
 Is Love at end ? How did he go ? 266 
 
 Is the world the same, do you think, my dear 163 
 
 It is only the name on a door 342 
 
 It stands in a sunny meadow 89 
 
 It was just at the close of a summer day 93 
 
 It was the Voice of Spring 293 
 
 Just a flower on the window-sill 57 
 
 Just a little baby, lying in my arms 74 
 
 Just a picture of Somebody's child 96 
 
 Let me forget ! Why should I seek to hold 339 
 
 Like dark dreams stand the houses 444 
 
 Little Maid Marion, Rose in June 161 
 
472 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Long is the way, Lord ! 1 1 
 
 Look at me, love, with those clear eyes 265 
 
 Love-children of the summer and the sun 204 
 
 Love is a day, Sweetheart, shining and bright 66 
 
 " Love is a fire," she said. " Love is a fire " 160 
 
 Love plumes his wings to fly away 276 
 
 My darling has a merry eye 55 
 
 My heart is at Thy feet — my helpless heart ! 235 
 
 My thoughts go home to that old brown house 126 
 
 No depth, dear Love, for thee is too profound 108 
 
 Not a hand has lifted the latchet 29 
 
 Now, at last, I lie asleep 43 
 
 Now with the summer she has come again 249 
 
 O large of heart, and grand, and calm 100 
 
 O passer-by, draw near 314 
 
 O Rose, so subtly sweet ! 171 
 
 O spacious, splendid Land that no man knows 355 
 
 O sweetest maid, in other days 270 
 
 O thou long-silent, solitary house - ... 188 
 
 O Thou who sendest dewdrops to the garden y^ 
 
 O wanderer in unknown lands, what cheer 187 
 
 O vagrant Love ! do you come this way ? 419 
 
 Of that old Summer can you still recall 45 
 
 Oh, could I know how long Life's day 428 
 
 Oh, glad and free was Love until the fall 12 
 
 Oh, long ago she dwelt 447 
 
 Oh long the weary vigils since you left me 169 
 
 Oh, long-time Friend, 't is many a year since we . . , . 369 
 
 Oh, strong and sweet these tones that seek the sky . . . 242 
 
 Oh, to go back to the days of June 277 
 
 Oh, traveller by unaccustomed ways 376 
 
 On Easter morn she kneels and prays 258 
 
 Once more the Morning mocks me with its scorn .... 461 
 
 Out of her window, that morn of grace 65 
 
 Out of the dark into the arms of love 401 
 
 Outside the mad sea ravens for its prey 213 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 473 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Pale in the pallid moonlight 152 
 
 Palimpsest heart, on which so many names 202 
 
 Pallid with too much longing . . 132 
 
 Playing there in the sun, chasing the butterflies .... 81 
 
 Poet and friend, beloved of us so long 264 
 
 Poet to poet gave this mask, of him 368 
 
 Red, red roses glowing in the garden 155 
 
 Rosamond gave me a rose 424 
 
 Roses and butterflies snared on a fan 10 
 
 Roses lean from their slender stalks 321 
 
 Roses that briefly live 146 
 
 Roses the lover gives to his love 168 
 
 Round among the quiet graves 125 
 
 Sad penitent, beloved of God thou art 440 
 
 Shall I be glad because the year is young ? 311 
 
 Shall I complain because the feast is o'er 371 
 
 Shall I lie down to sleep, and see no more 370 
 
 Shall we grow old together ? 176 
 
 She bends her beauteous head to taste thy draught . ... 191 
 
 She moves on grandly 'twixt the sea and sky ^S^ 
 
 She sees her image in the glass 261 
 
 She stood alone amidst the April fields 71 
 
 She was the brightest thing beneath the sun 433 
 
 She was won in an idle day 31 
 
 Silence and Night sequestered thee in vain 411 
 
 Sitting in that picture 58 
 
 So blithely rose the happy day 274 
 
 So far, so far have I come 280 
 
 So I am free whom Love held thrall so long ! ^jt, 
 
 So Love is dead that has been quick so long ! 195 
 
 So near ! and yet, I think, as far apart 210 
 
 Some day or other I shall surely come 18 
 
 Sometimes in heaven-sent dreams I do behold 238 
 
 Sometimes it seems thy face — thy long-hid face .... 416 
 
 Straight through the sea-foam and the awful sea .... 234 
 
 Such joy it was with Love to walk ! 272 
 
474 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Take thou these words thine elder brother writ . . . . . 192 
 
 That longed-for door stood open, and he passed .... 246 
 
 The birds come back to their last year's nest 304 
 
 The Century was young — the month was May ..... 410 
 
 The clouds that watched in the west have fled 137 
 
 The end has come, which never seems the end 211 
 
 The first of all my masters was Delight 389 
 
 The gray day's ending followed the gray day . . . . . 220 
 
 The laughing garlanded May-time is here 336 
 
 The Lily lifts to mine her nunlike face 436 
 
 The lingering charm of a dream that has fled y6 
 
 The living ofttimes vex us 434 
 
 The New Year comes with her radiant face 456 
 
 The New Year dawns — the sun shines strong and clear . . 374 
 
 The ocean beats against the stern, dumb shore 28 
 
 The pomp of Day and Night . 457 
 
 The room is cold and dark to-night 143 
 
 The royalty of midsummer is here ! 26 
 
 The seasons come, and the seasons go 465 
 
 The snow and the silence came down together ..... 13 
 
 The spacious Noon enfolds me with its peace 367 
 
 The time will come full soon ! I shall be gone 114 
 
 The western sky has begun to darken 344 
 
 The wild, beleaguering March wind storms my door . . . 218 
 
 The wind went wooing the rose 332 
 
 The year was young, but the place was old 459 
 
 There in the strange old gilded hearse 151 
 
 There is not much, indeed, that I can say 101 
 
 These lions were sculptured centuries ago 216 
 
 They bid me welcome in the proud New Year 363 
 
 This life is a fleeting breath 324 
 
 Thistle-down is a woman's love 275 
 
 Thou gazest in mine eyes and thine are wet 227 
 
 Thou liv'st and reignest in my memory 358 
 
 Thou wilt not speak ! Day after silent day 250 
 
 Though we repent, can any God give back 420 
 
 Thrice happy day, that saw our Fair Maid's eyes . . . . 174 
 
 Through the deep stillness of the awful night 384 
 
 Through the large stormy splendors of the night .... 209 
 
INDEX OF FIRST FINES. 475 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Through the silence come to mock me 329 
 
 Thus wrote she when the heart in her was high 415 
 
 Thy darkened life is over. Thou hast found 251 
 
 Time was, beloved, when from this far-off place 359 
 
 Time was when Love's dear ways I used to know .... 297 
 
 Time was you heard the music of a sigh 112 
 
 'Tis you, not I, have chosen. Love, go free ! 372 
 
 Two thrushes met upon an April day 426 
 
 Under the apple-tree blossoms, in May 97 
 
 Under the heavy sod she lies 292 
 
 Up in the maples the robins sung 7S 
 
 We lay us down to sleep 103 
 
 We loved so well in that old time 273 
 
 We sit and chat in the familiar place 252 
 
 We travelled alone in the darkness 446 
 
 Were but my spirit loosed upon the air 364 
 
 What had I been, lost Love, if you had loved me .... 40 
 
 What hap dismays the dead ? Their couch is low .... 140 
 
 What that dead summer was my heart knows well .... 387 
 
 When I am dead and buried underground 395 
 
 When I am dead, with mockery of praise 198 
 
 When I came out of the fair House of Youth 431 
 
 When Love is dead, what more but funeral rites . . . . 102 
 
 When Love was young, in days of yore 268 
 
 When over me the heedless wild things grow 172 
 
 When shall I join the blessed company 400 
 
 When the great sun sets the glad East aflame 107 
 
 When we confront the Vastness of the Night 382 
 
 When with your fair, new Love you laughing go .... 205 
 
 When you are dead, my dainty dear ......... 300 
 
 When you, my love, were here 310 
 
 Whence did the music come, my Dear . 307 
 
 Where Thou art not no day holds light for me 109 
 
 Who dares to say the dead men were not glad 308 
 
 Why do I never see you in my dreams ? 458 
 
 Wilt thou forget me in that other sphere 196 
 
476 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 With the leaves around her dying 165 
 
 Within the crimson gloom 36 
 
 Years come and go, each bringing in his train 379 
 
 Yes, all is ended now, for I have weighed thee 41 
 
 Yet, strangely beautiful your face I find 386 
 
 You called your mystic draught Canary sack 423 
 
 You fain would know the story of my life 349 
 
 You thought, O Love, you loved me then, I know .... no 
 
 Youth is thy gift — the youth that baffles Time 455