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 BY 
 
 Mme. Higgins-Glenerne. 
 
 (LiDA Lewis Watson). 
 
 JAN 
 
 N E W Y O R K : 
 
 G. IV. Dillingham, Pnblishery 
 
 Successor to G. W. Carleton & Co. 
 
 MDCCCXCI. 
 

 Copyright, 1891, 
 
 BY 
 
 Mme. HIGGINS-GLENERNE. 
 
 [All Rights Reserved?)^ 
 
 

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 ^etrimtctr: 
 
 IN FILIAL REVERENCE AND AFFECTION, 
 
 (^0 mn Sat\)c\\ nitcrcb into Hcst. 
 ^0 mn beloncb motljcr. 
 
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 WITH PALMS OF PEACE AND THE PULSE OF PASSION, 
 
 ^0 mu K^iisbanii. 
 
2)e^fcatfon. 
 
 ''A new star lighting the Lethean stream, 
 A new song mixed into the song supreme." 
 
 The praise or blame of all the world is but the same, — 
 
 — The sound, on other lips, of my own name 
 
 In loud reproach or gentlest phrase, 
 
 Seems so afar to m}' loath ears ; — in distant ways : — 
 
 The pulse-beats grow more faint as days go by, 
 
 The quick, half-breath of joy is turned to sigh 
 
 And sob ; — the weight of all the weary years 
 
 To be, perchance, seems as each single day's, — 
 
 Each passing day doth seem a year ! — the ways 
 
 That, as a child, were brightened by thy praise, 
 
 — ^The little strength made more by thine encouragement, — 
 
 Are as bewildered paths ; — and strangely spent 
 
 The pow'r of heart t'ward every duty here ; — 
 
 — ^The heights thou bade'st me reach seem dim thro' many 
 
 a tear ! 
 My feet are weary ; Father, in dreams again 
 Those years come back to me ; the constant pain 
 That dwelleth with the day yields place to peace ; — 
 The night is changed to morning, and surcease 
 Of all things present brings those earlier hours. 
 When childish hands, close-clasping, held the flowers 
 Whose thorns thine own had plucked in loving test, — 
 Thou, apprehending all the heart's unrest 
 When there should be the thorns without the rose, — 
 And life's strange, sad surprise bereft of its repose ! — 
 In dreams — and dreams alone ; or in the spell 
 Of mem'ry, when my heart, too tired for lips to tell, 
 
 7 
 
Doth- falter, worn with weights too great to bear, — 
 And sorrows grown too deep for human-speech to share : 
 
 Father, I'm tired with all the efforts made, — 
 
 I miss thy hand upon my head in pity laid, — 
 
 I miss the shelter of the arms, that, years ago, 
 
 Did lift and bear o'er all the paths that wearied so. 
 
 The little child whose steps had scarcely grown 
 
 Secure enough to trust : Father, alone. 
 
 Thro' many a year since then, in these life's after-days 
 
 Dark from their bitterness, unlightened by thy praise, 
 
 My feet have pressed the paths where but the thorns are 
 
 mine, 
 And, of the journey's end and peace the days still gave 
 
 no sign. 
 
 I lift my face to meet thy good-night kiss, — 
 I lift my hand to touch the face I cannot see : — 
 
 Thou art not here ! — what mystery is this ? 
 What means this silence that, alone, doth answer me ? 
 
 Asleep ! — O, God ! — the hush no sound can break ! 
 
 Nor tears nor prayers, nor even dumb despair, — 
 Asleep ! — and dreamless ! — and no sob of mine can 
 wake ! 
 
 Asleep ! — yet God hath touched thee lying there. 
 And woke to Life eternal ! 
 Thy hand upon my head in memory still there lies, — 
 
 The benediction of thy voice I hear to-night, — 
 And I on earth — and thou in paradise, — 
 
 And I in darkness, — thou in everlasting Light ! — 
 
Yet not alone ; — the face that, to thy Hfe did bring 
 
 The sunshine, e'vn when days were filled with care, — 
 The heart that unto thine did faithful cling, 
 
 And took thy burdens to herself to bear, — 
 The eyes that looked in thine with tender light, — 
 
 — That spoke the earnest faith and trust they had, — 
 The hps that always sang their sweetest song at night, 
 
 And made thee, — if thou would'st or no, — be glad, 
 The arms that held thee safe in love, thro' all this life, 
 
 — Wherein thou sank while passing to that other 
 And fairer one that lies Beyond, — thy wife — 
 
 Heart of thy heart, both here and There, — my Mother, — - 
 Whom all the tenderest love and sweetest praise, besides. 
 
 Must do ill justice, — her to guide and guard 
 God spareth yet, and in my life abides ; — 
 
 (Shall lips, ungrateful, then, say life is hard ?) 
 Mother, the child that first on thy bosom lay. 
 
 Whose kiss soothed into calm her tiny cry — 
 Did scarcely need thee more than yet she doth to-day. 
 
 To hush her heart's unrest to peace, by thy low lullaby. 
 
 To thee with hushed step and trembling hands, I come, — 
 
 — Somewhere I know, he, too, will understand and care ! 
 And on the lips that smile and yet are cold and dumb 
 
 To lips that lay their warmth of kisses there — 
 As on thine own, is praise, for what the world will chide ; — 
 
 For every effort made, — for every fault a prayer, — 
 And God knows all the fault and sees the heart, beside, — 
 
 And so I kneel and lay my gift upon Love's altar there. 
 
 9 
 
Untro^uction. 
 
 She who gave to others in her sweet, 
 
 Consummate way, the thoughts were her's, — 
 And sang, to ears unworthy, songs so mete 
 
 For those attuned to be mterpreters 
 Of higher harmonies than those of earth, 
 
 — Whose spirit-sense was always cleared beyond the breath 
 Of this material hfe, — in this nobler birth 
 
 Of apprehended song 
 From archetypal causes, from a heart a-glow 
 
 With woman's innate sense of right and wrong, — 
 Whose spiritual significance, by us called death. 
 
 Hath brought unconscious minds a grief should lay them low, 
 She, who, in but the little tremor of her wrist 
 
 Found all a soul's vehemence. 
 And, in every common bush, the flame of God, — 
 
 Who saw the beauties of the worlds unknown in her soul's glance, 
 And wonders of the spheres in every pebble by her foot a-trod. 
 
 Hath writ no sweeter truth than this, she said : 
 " How sure it is, 
 
 That, if we say a true word, instantly 
 We feel 't is God's, not ours, and pass it on 
 
 As bread at sacrament we taste and pass 
 Nor handle for a moment, as indeed 
 
 We dared to set up any claim to such !" 
 So, with the words our pen hath writ, — our lips have spoke, 
 
 That bear, perchance,, within them any seed 
 
Beyond the common utterance of men, 
 
 They straightway 'come as sacred as the touch, 
 To lips unworthy, of the bread were broke ; — 
 
 And, if they fall far short of such a chance 
 Whereby were any fruit, from blossom mete. 
 
 There yet were ours, (thro' introspective glance,) 
 The taste of vintage on our lips still clear and sweet ; 
 
 — The intents loyal, and the quick desires 
 That shape themselves anew, — the fresher fires 
 
 That rise from ashes blown upon by literal breath 
 Of earnest heart beats, sweeping up from pulse to brain ; 
 
 — Of half-accomplished efforts, made thro' pain. 
 The bringing back from apprehended Death. 
 
 12 
 
'jasper, mvsV' 
 
 TO MY LORD, MY KING, MY HUSBAND. 
 
 ' Hopes apace. 
 
 Were changed to long despairs, . . . till God's own grace 
 
 Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn 
 
 My heavy heart. Then thou did'st bid me bring 
 
 And let it drop adown thy calmly great Deep being ! " 
 
 I. 
 
 "And jasper, first :" To you, my king, 
 
 I come, and, at your feee I kneel, and bring 
 
 To you my gift : such gems as make, so we are told, 
 
 The glories of that Land more manifold, — 
 
 And lay, from street to portal, its foundations, fair, 
 
 — Its streets pure gold, — the portals sloping there 
 
 One pearl ; — its walls of jasper : — jasper first, they say, 
 Of all that City where is endless Day ! 
 So, gath'ring, one by one, with woman's strength, and hand 
 A-tremble with such treasure, — understand, — 
 
 — For woman's strength is small, but, tho' this be, her heart 
 Endowed of gracious Heaven, seems, to do her part, — 
 And, where her feet do falter in the ways 
 
 Of rough and daily-passing, — still the praise 
 
 Of her soul's wealth, in l>ewg woman, lies 
 
 Upon her lips ; — and, in her eyes 
 
 The tears of overgladness, as she lifts 
 
 And lays, as I do now, her holiest gifts 
 
 Upon the Altar where her king 
 
 Doth minister : — high-priest of love, 
 
 Toward whom the utmost of her being swift doth move 
 
 To prove the deep religion of her life, — to bring the sacrifice 
 
 of introspective hours, 
 — To pour, bedewed w'th her heart's blood, the flowers 
 
Her arms o'erflow, to cast them where the feet 
 
 — Of none save huii hath pressed : — the sacred aisles 
 That lead from lintel to the chancel of his smiles ! — 
 None other entereth in : — and dim and sweet 
 
 The light doth fall, — as if the peace of God 
 
 Lay quiet where his feet, — her jDriest's, — have trod. 
 
 II. 
 
 And such is woman : — And so I — 
 ■ — I, being woman, find within to lie, 
 
 — In soul and heart, the blest desire to give, 
 
 — To yield my votive off 'ring, and to live 
 
 As one who makes her life's religion her one aim; 
 And so, my lord, since that and love's the same, 
 Do know myself full true in soul and heart, — 
 And something over-willing, then, to live such part 
 As doth but make me worshipper and subject, too, 
 Finding my lord, my king, high-priest, my all in you / 
 
 III. 
 
 And, gathering, one by one, the gems were sought, 
 I lay before you what my heart has brought : 
 
 — "And jasper, first." Of heaven the founding-stone : 
 And, so, of love — for that, alone, 
 
 Means suffering : — When Heaven 's won 
 
 That must be ; — and love and Heaven are one. 
 
 — " The second, sapphire : " — that is peace. 
 And love thro' pain at last finds its surcease. 
 And so I 've followed, gem by gem ; — the years 
 That slow have passed have held no lack of tears, 
 
 14 
 
— Tho' secret, — since that man 
 
 Would not of woman's tears, since time began, 
 
 With patience j — and, so, by happy ways, 
 
 Methought, my life would gain your gracious praise ! — ■ 
 
 Chalcedony, third : and thus throughout the list, 
 
 'Till, sweet reflection of them all, there shines the amethyst ! — 
 
 God's bow of promise is not more, — 
 
 Nor, yet, in woman's soul, her treasured store 
 
 Doth fain surpass this one : — Her promise, sweet, 
 
 — Her utmost faith, — her truth ! — Here, at your feet, 
 I lay my jewels down : — your crov,-n's fair gems, — 
 And, from the flowers, your feet to press, the stems 
 
 I 've thornless made, — See ! my hands bleed ! — 
 But, in your face, my lord, I find my meed 
 If you but smile ! — for pain is best 
 To woman when there follows rest, 
 
 — Such rest as comes from love fulfilled, — 
 
 — Such peace as comes when all the pain is stilled ! 
 
 — Yes, my hands bleed, — but women count their hours 
 By blood-drops from their pulses spilled on flow'rs 
 They pluck the thorns from, — that they lay 
 
 With tender hands beneath the feet of men they love, — the way 
 
 Of such was always so ; — 'tis sweeter so to prove ; — 
 
 I think that Christ, Himself, taught women how to love ! — 
 
 IV. 
 
 And what I am is yours ! — and what I was, 
 
 Before mine eyes had rested on your face, 
 
 I have no mem'ry of, because 
 
 My soul knew neither time nor space ; — 
 
 15 
 
For, what the world was e'er God bade the sun 
 
 To shine on chaos, seems my past, before that love begun 
 
 To cast its glory o'er me ! — O, my king. 
 
 My future lies without myself ! There is no thing 
 
 The wide earth holds for which 't were worth to live 
 
 Save this : Your love to take, and mine to give ! 
 
 Do with me as you \yill, — I have no choice 
 
 But this : To be forever where your voice 
 
 May fall upon mine ears ; — 
 
 And where the light that 's on your face, thro' all life's years 
 
 May rest upon my own, 
 
 — I at your feet, and you upon your throne, — 
 
 Your throne my heart Reach forth your 
 
 hands, — 
 The hour is late ! The swaying censer throbs its breath 
 Of spiced sweetness on the dusky air ; — 
 — ' Tis morning now in other lands, somewhere ! 
 Somewhere ! Ah, me ! There is no thought of death ! 
 
 — Reach forth your hands and lay them on my hair ! — 
 Eternal morning ! and, no need for prayer ! 
 
 I would to God to-night that we were there ! 
 
 i6 
 
Serenade, 
 
 See, as the shadows deep 
 
 Tenderly foil, 
 Hark ! to his mate asleep, 
 
 The nightingale call ! 
 
 II. 
 Sweet as the bee that sips, 
 
 Light as the swallow dips, 
 Taste I as wine thy lips, 
 
 — Rarer than all. 
 
 III. 
 
 Now from my troubled breast 
 
 Banish alarms, — 
 Low let me sink to rest 
 
 Love, in thine arms \ 
 17 
 
Deatb, 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 When some Beloved, unto us most dear, 
 
 Most sweet and kind, of all the world most true, 
 Be taken from us, and we wander here 
 
 So full of grief we know not what to do, — 
 When sound of other voices fails to wake 
 
 The old, rare bliss of days that have gone by, 
 When each and every chord doth seem to break 
 
 In low and cadenced pleading, — like a sigh, — 
 When that the songs are hushed that used to sing. 
 
 And life is like some bird with broken wing, — 
 Then most like holding flowers that overflow 
 
 The tender hands, that plucked and loved them so, 
 With dying fragrance, is the breath 
 
 Of that rare presence passing life to death. 
 
failure. 
 
 There are seeds that were blossoms of beauty, 
 
 That I hold in my hands here to-night. 
 And I stand in the pathway of duty 
 
 With my face upward- turned to the light 
 Of God's stars, and I think of the treasure 
 
 I hold, — that will be in exquisite measure, 
 — When, lo ! 'midst earth's shadows of wo, 
 
 Half the seeds are blown far and are scattered 
 By the light winds that over them go, — 
 
 Shall I say, sometime, that it mattered 
 That the seeds I intended to sow, 
 
 Drifted out from my impotent keeping 
 Into far better soil at the last, 
 
 Than I, in my heavy heart-sleeping. 
 In my weakness could ever have cast ? — 
 
 When sometime, in some fairer morning, 
 On the other side of the sea, 
 
 I shall stand with my face t'ward the dawning 
 Of the day of Eternity, 
 
 And look t'ward the land overflowing, — 
 In richest abundance replete. 
 
 Shall look on the flowers there growing 
 So near the Redeemer's dear feet, 
 
 Will it be with a wistful regretting — 
 With the hot tears obscuring ray sight? 
 19 
 
Looking back on the weakness besetting 
 My heart, as I stand here to-night ? 
 
 Or shall I know the fair flowers supenial,- 
 Know them as mine, and then rest, 
 
 When He lifts them in beauty eternal, 
 And lays them, in love, on His breast? 
 20 
 
XTbe Clou^ witb tbe Silver Xining. 
 
 Last night, as the sunset faded 
 
 Out of the skies in the west, 
 I sat by the firelight, thinking 
 
 The thoughts that I love the best, 
 And weaving a bit of a fancy 
 
 Into a bit of a rhyme, 
 Founded upon a story 
 
 That I'd read somewhere, some time 
 
 How once a little maiden 
 
 Made a quest for the strangest thing, 
 A good deal like the hunting 
 
 For the hiding-place of spring. 
 Or a search in the throats of the robins 
 
 For the first sweet notes they sing ! 
 
 The story, as I remember. 
 
 Told of a rainy day. 
 And the maiden growing tired 
 
 And restless at her play, — 
 Told how, at the close of the daylight, 
 
 She wandered out and away. 
 Away 'twixt the drops of water 
 
 Coming out of the low'ring sky. 
 ** I think I can go and not get wet ; 
 
 But anyhow, I '11 try!" 
 
 21 
 
"But where are you going, darling?" 
 
 They asked ; and she answered low : 
 " Over the hills to find the cloud 
 
 That is silver-lined, you know ! " 
 Over the hills and through the woods, 
 
 And across the rivulet's bed, 
 And over the meadows, where, in spring. 
 
 The violet lifts its head,. 
 And on t'ward the dawn where the morning lark 
 
 Is singing his praise to the newborn day. 
 And up where the sky bends down to the hills 
 
 At the coming of eve, alway. 
 
 But ever afar the clouds lay low. 
 
 As far as could see the human eye ; 
 And at last of a traveler, bent and old, 
 
 The maiden asked with a sigh : 
 " Can you tell me the way to the silver-lined cloud, 
 
 And what pathway leadeth by? 
 Do you think that I could reach it to-night 
 
 If ever so hard I should try? 
 I have asked the trees and the flowers and grass, 
 
 And the birds and the running stream. 
 And they all said * Yes, they had seen it pass 
 
 But 'twas only seen m a dream.' " 
 
 " Your journey lies my way, my dear. 
 And your feet are weary and sore : 
 If you '11 lay your head on my shoulder here, 
 You need not walk any more ! 
 
 22 
 
And I '11 carry you safe to the home that lies 
 
 Just across on the opposite shore : 
 To the shore that lies beyond the sea 
 
 Whose waters glitter and glisten, 
 Where the music is sweet as music can be — 
 
 You can scarce hear it now, if you listen ; 
 But just over there where the sea touches shore, 
 
 And the radiant sun is shining, 
 Where the light begins and the dark is o'er. 
 
 Lies the cloud with the silver lining ! " 
 
 So he lifted her up, and lay her head 
 So close to his own so hoary. 
 *'I'm Father Timer' he softly said, 
 "And yours is life's olden story." 
 So she lay in peace and watched the gleam 
 
 Of the sails out on the ocean. 
 Till her eyes closed fast, and so, to dream. 
 She was cradled to sleep by the motion. 
 So she slept ; and she dreamed that the boat touched 
 shore, — 
 And she thought of the silver lining, — 
 At the sound she awoke— the morning had broke, 
 And the golden sun was shining. 
 
 And so 't was a dream, and she only a child, 
 
 I thought as I sat in the firelight there — 
 
 A child whose life was undefiled, 
 
 And whose heart unacquainted with care, 
 23 
 
But between the lines of the childish tale 
 
 Runs the story of every day : 
 Of restless hearts, and hopes that fail. 
 
 And at last the going away, 
 Asleep, like the child worn out with life's quest ; 
 
 And, too, like the child, resigning, 
 O'er the ocean of time we drift and rest, — 
 
 And awake on the Shore 
 Where the ocean's breast 
 
 Meets the cloud with the silver lining. 
 24 
 
nt 
 
 If we had known before the flowers perished, 
 
 And chill and cold the darkness came at last, 
 Before was gone the warmth our souls had cherished, 
 
 And lighi and fragrance mingled with the past ; 
 If had been proved what sweetness of thanksgiving 
 
 Could burst from solitary harps that still have lain. 
 Before had passed the glory of our living, 
 
 And rarest bliss had given place to pain — 
 
 If, through the silence of these weary hushes. 
 The thought of past time music had not come, 
 
 And to our lips had memory sent no sudden flushes 
 To mark the old-time kisses of the lips now dumb, — 
 
 If this had been — and, to our restless spirits. 
 
 The past had granted not some blessed days — 
 If all things sweetest that our life inherits 
 
 Had passed without the limits of our common ways — 
 I wonder if our hearts could still sing of God's glory — 
 
 While with our tears the sweet, sad sight were dim — 
 Or if, recounting all the olden story, 
 
 Our human lips were mute in praise of Him ? 
 
 What matters it, since not one note of sweetness 
 But answers 'neath the touch of God's own hand ? 
 25 
 
Since that, that seems a lack of life-completeness, 
 Is but our heritage within this Better Land ? 
 
 — Albe the earth- time noises hush the sweeter strain 
 Of harp and lute that all too silent lay — 
 
 Albe that to our longing sight comes not again 
 The fairer light that's hid in sudden day ! 
 
 But yet our lips are so athirst for life's rare wine ! — 
 And yet our hearts so long for earth-time music grown divine !- 
 And still from hushed harps God gives no sign ! 
 
 26 
 
H 1bear& Sweet Sounds. 
 
 I heard sweet sounds, and lo ! thy voice was brought 
 
 Unto my soul on the white wings of thought ; 
 
 The voice that mem'ry's sweet, sad self hath sought. 
 
 A tiny flower breathed upward from its dewy bed, 
 
 And to my hungry heart my soul hath said : 
 
 " It is his voice that breathed in days that dawned and fled. 
 
 I dreamed a dream : that I, in Paradise, 
 
 Awakened to a glad and sweet surprise. 
 
 When that my soul found grace within thine eyes. 
 
 And, back to-day the breaths of violets blow, 
 
 — Warm with the sweet south wind of long ago, 
 
 The sweetness of the days I used to know. 
 27 
 
Ifii /IDemoriam. 
 
 REV. HENRY WARD BEECHER. 
 
 [As published in New York World.] 
 
 With pulseless hands enfolded on the silent breast, 
 He lies asleep in sweet, eternal rest : 
 
 No more for him the count of earthly days to be, 
 Who now has fathomed God's divinest mystery. 
 
 Love dareth not to even question why, 
 
 But feels how sad a thing it was for him to die, — 
 
 For whom Love's pallid lips make constant moan, — 
 Grief's sweeter self, that, silent, sits alone 
 
 With her own great and solitary woe 
 
 That only God can understand and know ; — 
 
 For those he loved, long nights and weary days : 
 For him, glad paeans of immortal praise. 
 
 And sudden brightness of life's morrow blend 
 Li sweet, eternal calm that knows no end. 
 
 For those he loved, no praise of worthy deeds 
 Can fill the weary lack of sacred needs. 
 
 For him, availeth not the mete of praise or blame. 
 Since that he Hstened and heard God call his name ! 
 
 Beneath the fainting forms of those who wait 
 This side the fair and heavenly Gate, 
 
 Still lies the strong protection of his creed. 
 
 And th' Everlasting Arms in hours of helpless need. 
 
 28 
 
Ifncompleteness. 
 
 One sou! against the flesh of all mankind. 
 
 I. 
 
 I dream of the strains of a soft-tuned lyre 
 
 In a wordless song of sweetness 
 
 That fills my heart with its passion fire, 
 
 And my soul with incompleteness ; — 
 
 I listen in vain for a word of the lay, 
 
 As each throb of the music closes, — 
 
 But the sweet, deep meaning is hid away, 
 
 As the fragrance concealed in the rose is ! 
 
 II. 
 
 I dream of the song of a twilight bird, — 
 
 And its melody, richer and rarer 
 
 Than aught in the world thro' life I've heard. 
 
 And the songster than morning is fairer : — ■ 
 
 But I think how the sunset's tint and glow, 
 
 And the tiny bird that 's nested 
 
 Within my bosom's drifted snow, 
 
 Bring no more of peace than the rest did ! 
 
 III. 
 
 And I know that in vain, of bird and lute. 
 
 The far, sweet echo hngers, — 
 
 Of the bird's song hushed, and the lyre mute,- 
 
 Uncaressed by Love's dear fingers, — 
 
 And I ponder life's wonderful, wordless lay, — 
 
 And still long for the blissful sweetness 
 
 That I know is hidden far away 
 
 Somewhere in God's completeness ! 
 29 
 
Jerusalem tbe 6ol&en, 
 
 " And the gates of it shall not be shut at all by day, for there shall be no night there." 
 
 I. 
 
 We stand outside of the gates — the gates of the city of God — 
 And long for a gUmpse of its streets — the streets which no mortal 
 
 hath trod. 
 Some glory falls over our path, as much as He deemeth is best ; 
 Its foundations o'ershadow our ways, as the shade of a marvellous 
 
 rest. 
 Yes, outside of the walls and the gates, whereby there entereth in 
 Only whom He hath called by name — only whom He hath cleans(^d 
 
 from sin ; 
 We wait in the place of His presence, so near to the foot of the 
 
 throne. 
 And are filled with the blest contemplation of wonders and glories 
 
 unknown ! 
 
 II. 
 
 O, Jerusalem ! beautiful city ! what stones of fair colors are thine ! 
 I would the sv.'eet signification of all thy foundation were mine ! 
 Thy name o'er the tide of the human wings its way as of old did 
 
 the dove — 
 With its message of heavenly mercy, of safety, of wonderful love ; 
 Thou liest in beauty so tranquil — so fair in unspeakable grace, 
 That souls, in beholding, have slumbered to wake to the light of 
 
 His face ! 
 
 30 
 
We wait outside of the gates — the gates of the city of God ! 
 And look back o'er the ways of life's journey — the ways that we, 
 
 weary, have trod — 
 Till we've paused when the sound of far waters with jubilant music 
 
 was rife, 
 And dreamed 'twas the flow of the river — theRiver of Water of 
 Life! 
 
 III. 
 
 A twilight of rest at the noontide, a mingling of darkness and light, 
 A sound as of whispering breezes in trees that are just out of sight ; 
 And v/e know 'neath His wings is a shadow, a shade from the 
 
 wearisome heat. 
 That the trees for the healing of nations are dropping their fruits 
 
 at the feet 
 Of those who will gather them freely — the fruits that are golden 
 
 and fair — 
 That river, and refuge, and twilight, all, even the healing, are 
 
 there ; 
 A twilight that meaneth not nightfall — a glory that meaneth the 
 
 Lamb ! 
 O, Jerusalem ! fairest of cities, that showeth me just what I am ! 
 
 rv. 
 
 We wait outside of thy gates, and long for a glimpse of thy 
 
 streets. 
 For the portals whereby we ma,y enter, and, ent'ring, find rest at 
 
 His feet ; 
 
 31 
 
To breathe out our souls from the mortal, and know that 't were 
 
 praising Him so — 
 To touch but the hem of the garment that cleanseth us whiter 
 
 than snow ! 
 We wait outside of thy walls, Jerusalem, city of God, 
 And long for a gUmpse of thy streets — the streets which no 
 
 mortal hath trod ; 
 Thy glory falls over our path, as much as He deemeth is best ; 
 Thy foundations o'ershadow our ways, as the shade of a; marvellous 
 
 rest ! 
 
 32 
 
i[f Me Coum mnow! 
 
 I. 
 
 Do souls grow weary with their longing over there, 
 
 In that fair Land departing spirits seek? 
 Do wistful eyes close in the raptured prayer 
 
 For that which wistful hearts bespeak? 
 And shall we there behold the sweet fulfilling 
 
 Of cherished dreams we love to dream below ? 
 I sometimes think, if God were only willing, 
 
 How sweet would be the knowledge, — could we know ! 
 
 II. 
 Is it vain-dreaming that the snowy buds of earth, 
 
 On which hath smiled its sunlight incomplete, 
 — In the sunshine of His face shall have new birth. 
 
 And open radiant blossoms at His feet? 
 Will human love, that could not know completeness, 
 
 In bonds of human-forming here below, 
 Be ours in all the dear and olden sweetness 
 
 That oft our hearts have been a-thirst to know? 
 
 III. 
 If we could know of the waking over There, . 
 
 — The ending of our conflict here, — 
 
 That all were to be ours, — the burden of each prayer, — 
 
 — All our hungered souls have deemed most dear ! 
 
 33 
 
But beyond the flowing of the River 
 
 The mountain-tops are bright with richer glow, — 
 — No need of shade to hide the pain and quiver 
 
 We vainly strive to bury here below ! — 
 And we shall leave all baneful weight of unbelief 
 
 To wander by the streams that crystal flow 
 Among the meadows, fresh with bud and leaf, 
 
 — More beautiful than earth can know, -^ 
 ShaU linger at His feet, — and near Him dwell, 
 
 — Beholding all the glories of that promised land. 
 And look, in peace, o'er all that He deemed best. 
 
 And know what now we could not understand. 
 34 
 
Jealous ! 
 
 I. 
 
 To see the sunlight fall upon his head, 
 
 And leave its smiles and kisses nested there — 
 To feel the earth astir beneath his tread, 
 
 To know his step has even rested there ; — 
 II. 
 To know the shadowed Night enfolds him, hour by hour, 
 
 And lays her touch upon him — head and heart — 
 And holds him, in her sweet voluptuous power, 
 
 From brow to feet, from all the world apart ; 
 
 HI. 
 
 To know that all the sweet, warm flesh is hers. 
 And that he lies and dreams beneath her kiss, — 
 
 That all the dusky hours are her interpreters. 
 And that / am shut out from all such bliss ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 To know he sleeps within her bosom clasped tight, 
 So close she feels his heart-throbs on her own, 
 
 — To lie awake and think of such things out of sight 
 And to the world give neither sigh nor moan ! 
 
 V. 
 
 To see him bear one pain I may not share. 
 To know his feet are weary — and his heart, — 
 
 To know that I am here while he is there. 
 That I, of trouble, may not bear his part ! 
 35 
 
To see men meet and clasp him, — hand in hand, 
 And speak his name while looking on his face, — 
 
 I wonder if all this his soul can understand, 
 And come and dwell one hour in my place ! 
 
 Ah, God ! it is not thought of other women makes my pain, 
 No face nor form can lure his heart from mine ; 
 
 My loss, I know, is not some other woman's gain, 
 For just as Love is, so is Faith, divine ! 
 
 It cannot bow itself to things less great, 
 
 Less noble, or less pure than its own self must be ; 
 
 It cannot fall below divinity's estate, 
 
 Since Love is born of God, Himself; ah, me, 
 
 IX. 
 
 If I could take his soul to-night. 
 
 And compass all the end and the beginning, 
 Unclasp his hands of Life's fair fruits held tight — 
 
 The palms just out of reach for winning. 
 
 Could change the speech for silence grown more sweet, 
 
 And rest, for unrest, found and given, 
 
 And journey toward that life complete. 
 
 We know so little of — that men call heaven. 
 36 
 
XI. 
 
 Where fruits, they say, turn not to ashes, in the gloom, 
 Where rapture comes not first, and grieving after, — 
 
 Where love finds not his only rival at a tomb, 
 Where crying mingles not with laughter. 
 
 XII. 
 
 I only know, if this could be to-night 
 
 My privilege — all human faults confessing — 
 
 And, with him, I should stand within God's sight, 
 And he himself should ask of me my blessing, 
 
 I could not give, from out the arms that cling 
 About the man that death itself must spare, 
 
 To even Him, the one and only thing, 
 
 That could make heaven for me up there ! 
 37 
 
Ubc passing of Summer. 
 
 " Thy music dropt here unaware." 
 
 ■ the sighless, songless lips, the wail and music wedding.' 
 
 I. 
 
 The sun has passed its mid-day height and heat, 
 
 And shadows slowly move across the waving grass, 
 And bend the stately heads of wheat 
 
 Beneath the lazy lang'rous winds that pass 
 In whispers : phantoms of themselves, like some spent song 
 
 That has gone by, or, like the mem'ry of a dream. 
 That after waking still abides the whole day long, 
 
 And makes reality of things that in our sleep did seem. 
 
 And nature is but half awake — 
 
 Whether in soft, voluptuous mood, or in the entranced state 
 That lies a tithe within the mysteries that break 
 
 Upon th' eternal sight, or in that drowsy sweetness of estate 
 That comes within the realm of dreams — who knows? 
 
 II. 
 
 I lay upon thy lips my kisses, sweet with vain regret, 
 
 Oh summer ! in whose dying eyes 
 
 I read my own impatient quest, and in whose hands there lies 
 The flow'rs thou'st gathered, sweet and limp and wet 
 
 With dews that fell in softer eves than e'er will fall again ; 
 Beneath thy feet the scarlet poppies burn and set 
 
 Thee roundabout with drowsy warmth : the pain 
 
 38 
 
Of all the insufficient gladn^^ss in thine heart astir, 
 
 To sooth and lull to lethargy — 
 Some wealth of giving in tliy soul tiiere were 
 
 Such wealth of having 'bideth still with thee. 
 
 Above her brow the golden bars 
 
 Of last and ling'ring sunset gleams, 
 In tear-mist eyes, like rain-washed stars, 
 
 Burn th' unquenched fires of dreams. 
 The low winds move across her breast 
 
 And lull to sweet repose. 
 Between its drifts, half viewed, half gi:essed, 
 
 The last remaining rose. 
 
 Her arms are filled with treasured sweets 
 
 Of blossoms softly clinging, 
 And half-way down the gath'ring gloom 
 
 Throbs the thrush she set a-singing. 
 
 I turn my face against the ashen grayness of the fires gone out ; 
 
 I close my ears to that low mandolin 
 That drops its golden fulness round about my life without — within ; 
 
 Who would not, weary, fain asleep to fall 
 With arms o'er full of blossoms, rich and sweet? 
 
 And have, through ears but half-remembering, the thrush's call, 
 And scarlet poppies burning at their feet ? 
 
 With luxurous tenderness of years, that lies, 
 Lived o'er and over, and the burdened strain 
 
 Of over-happy music mirrored in the eyes 
 Misty with the tears of bliss that's pain ? 
 
 39 
 
The fire-flies flash their lamps across the dark, — 
 
 The odorous night her censer swings and dips; — 
 Methought I heard the voice of Summer then — hush — hark ! 
 
 I see her face, and kiss the last sweet sigh from off her lips ! 
 
 40 
 
IRil Slue Bmore* 
 
 TO MY HUSBAND. 
 
 There is not time to love thee all I would ! 
 
 The dawn of morning sinks into the crimson sea 
 
 Of sunset at the infanthood 
 
 Of all my love. The sweet dusk shades 
 
 Of sweeter night are caught up on the wings of light. 
 
 And borne into the deep'ning space of time, 
 
 As, o'er the sunlit seas of thine own southern clime 
 
 The odor of its roses bear its soft winds far, 
 
 So do the moments, rich in rapture, bear their bliss 
 
 In burden sweeter than all thought of worlds like this^ — 
 
 The grandeur of thy loving, the glory of thy kiss — 
 
 And so, forsooth, life's day is all too brief to love thee, sweet, 
 
 (Thou mine, from uncrowned brow to perfect feet !) 
 
 I dreamed of bliss, and I am blinded by the light, 
 
 As they who dream in darkness, face to face with sight 
 
 Are blind with rapture, as before they were with night. 
 
 But from my dream I cannot wake to love thee as I would : 
 
 The dawn of morning sinks into the crimson sea 
 
 Of summer sunset at the infanthood 
 
 Of my desire. The dusk shades, fleet, 
 
 Are caught up on the wings of light, 
 
 And, lo ! the day dawns, all too brief to love thee, sweet ! 
 
 Too brief the night. 
 
 41 
 
Ueacb ^cl 
 
 [ Dedicated to John G. Whittier. ] 
 
 I. 
 
 Teach me the way, from out the vain endeavor, 
 
 To lull to rest the heart's so loud acclaim, 
 Teach thou my heart the bravest way to sever 
 
 Its life from all too much deseiT^d blame ! 
 Teach me what follows Passion's all-perpetual fire, — 
 
 Of th' eventide that ends its heated day, 
 The restlessness of mood and life's unquenched desire 
 
 That makes much part of life's long, tragic play ! 
 
 n. 
 
 Teach me, when hope is gone, to strengthen Faith's believing, — 
 When harps are broke, to mend the broken string, 
 
 To find life's richest fruit beneath the world's deceiving, 
 Its fig tree less accurst when done with blossoming ! 
 
 in. 
 
 Show me how master strains may float 'neath hands that falter 
 O'er viols worn with songs snatched forth in haste, — 
 
 Show me how thou discordant notes would alter 
 In this life's melody that idly runs to waste ! 
 
 Teach me to take upon my lips the swearing 
 
 Of the vows of human nature's all important trust, 
 
 Teach me the nobler part of burden-bearing. 
 
 Whose hardest lesson is the learning life's stern " Must ! " 
 
 42 
 
IV. 
 
 Teach me these things, thou stronger, nobler-hearted, 
 
 Upon whose loftier knowledge rests my own impatient quest, 
 Let thou thy wisdom, gentle, love-imparted, 
 
 Deal with my doubt-perplexed soul as seemeth best, 
 That I, upon the threshold of that Life, transfigured, fairer 
 
 Than this, wherein my poorer judgment erred. 
 May but become a worthy standard-bearer 
 
 Of Faith's perfected creed, to which thy life has ministered 
 43 
 
Ibuman MisDom* 
 
 ' I will go pray our God to-day 
 To teach thee how to scan 
 His work divine for human use 
 Since earth on axle ran ! " 
 
 I. 
 
 " If I were ye," she said, and gave 
 Her wisdom to the wind and wave, 
 
 — The flow'r, the butterfly, the bee, — 
 
 — The bird with golden-throated melody, — 
 " I would not waste my time on those ! " — 
 
 — And leaned her face where blushed the crimson rose, 
 And yielded up its heavy odour, sweet. 
 
 And sent its hearted petals drifting to her feet, — 
 
 And thou, when summer 's done, sweet warbler, comes the snow, 
 
 And winds, more cruel than the south-winds blow, — 
 
 Somewhere, — where drifting coldness never lies 
 
 In icy sheets beneath the frowning skies. 
 
 In fairer lands thou, surely, must belong ! 
 
 — In summer- lands would be more sweet thy song, 
 O, tiny, tender bird of Northern clime, 
 
 With song more full of faith than poet's rhyme ! 
 
 II. 
 And, banded bee, with velvet coat a-dust 
 With golden treasure, — labor-given trust, — 
 Were I but as thou art, to nestle in the rose, 
 Methinks I would not scorn, for work, such sweet repose ! 
 
 44 
 
"Were I but ye ! " she said in human pride, — 
 
 Its weakness showing forth in wisdom unapplied, — 
 
 Most human, thou, while seeming yet so strong, 
 
 Most human ! Singing of the right, while blind to wrong, 
 
 Sweet, tho' mistaken singer, playing out 
 
 Life's short, fair summer in delay and doubt, 
 
 With God's great mercy compassing about 
 
 The imperfections of thy little day. 
 
 And shedding light upon thy stumbling way ! — 
 
 III. 
 Coulds't thou but learn thy lesson from the bee that dips, 
 And gather but life's sweetness, and thy lips 
 Give back again the world its missing due, 
 
 — As God intended every soul to do, — 
 
 — Thro' individual lives thine own doth hover o'er. 
 And, from the rose that blossoms at thy door, 
 
 — To give as she, — The balm of fragrance shed, 
 As she her leaves, where human footsteps tread ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sing thou thy song for hearts less blest to hear 
 
 And catch up, when the nights are long and drear, — 
 
 Let wheresoe'er thou art thy summer be, — 
 
 — Its sunshine golden, and its zephyrs free ; — 
 Look thou within, and learn, O restless heart. 
 What God through nature teaches : Do thy part. 
 And do it faithfully, — with heartsome song, 
 
 — And dream thou not it doth to thee belong 
 
 To chide the siui to shine, because tliy day seems dark ! 
 Nor, fain, with human wisdom, hush the lark ! 
 
— Its morning comes but once in all life's fitful day, — 
 And when 't is done, and pale lips pray, 
 
 And eyes gro\vn dim with disappointments' tears, 
 
 — When looking back o'er life's completed years 
 With sad regret because of heartfelt pain. 
 Since life hath lacked the harvest-gain 
 
 Of much that might have been, left half-undone, 
 And, things accomplished 'neath the natural sun 
 That better were not so, — what then 
 
 — Fair dreamer of the sons of men ? 
 
 From some far vale that bore thy song erstwhile 
 
 Wer'i not full sweet to list with grateful smile 
 
 To echoes of thy music drifting back — 
 
 The fragrance of some blossoms in the lack 
 
 Of barren years, — thou once did plant and tend : 
 
 The ministration to oae needing friend. 
 
 This is the whole of human life, be sure : 
 
 — A helping hand, — a song, — a heart that 's pure ! 
 
 46 
 
H Cannot XTelL 
 
 I may not know the fragrance of 
 
 The flowers whose bloom I see, 
 It is not mine to sweetly prove 
 
 Life's blissful melody, 
 And yet, the flowers purely fair, 
 
 God gives to some to hold, 
 And some of the music heard up There, 
 
 This side the Gates of Gold 
 
 Fills raptured hearts with ecstasy 
 
 Too deep to be expressed ! 
 But let that be as e'er it may, 
 
 I know that God knows best. 
 Perhaps the flowers would droop and die 
 
 If in my hands they lay, 
 And, hearing such sweet sounds, might I 
 
 Almost forget to pray ! 
 
 It might be so — I cannot tell — 
 
 The gifts I long to cherish, 
 — Because that I should love too well 
 
 And clasp too close — would perish ! 
 My heart might burst with throbs of praise 
 
 For that sweet glimpse of heaven 
 That falls across some women's ways 
 
 That His great love hath given. 
 And still I know He understands 
 
 My need of sacred good, 
 
 Who holds and keeps in heavenly lands 
 
 My crown of womanhood. 
 47 
 
•jbomeslcl?. 
 
 1 am tired to-night, so tired, 
 
 And you are far away. 
 And I want you more, if it can be, 
 
 Than I have all through the day. 
 Somehow, when the sun is shining. 
 
 And the matin birds sing sweet. 
 Though I long for the sound of your 
 voice. Sweetheart, 
 
 And the coming of your feet, 
 It is n't so hard to bear, dear, 
 
 For I wake in the sweet, glad light. 
 And say to my restless heart, " take cheer ; 
 
 He is coming home to-night !" 
 
 And I watch, and wait, and listen 
 
 With a feeling in my breast 
 That will not be stilled at the nightfall, 
 
 When I want you, dear, and rest ! 
 When the daylight softly passes. 
 
 And the mist comes up from the sea, 
 And the tide com.es slowly drifting in. 
 
 But it brings no sail to me. 
 
 I am tired, and I want your kisses. 
 
 And your arms to fold me tight. 
 
 For a strangely homesick feeling 
 
 Comes over me to-night ! 
 48 
 
And I'd give my life to lie in your arms, 
 
 As ofttimes I have Iain, 
 And drink from your lips, in one long draught, 
 
 The peace to outweigh this pain ! 
 But the tide comes drifting in to-night, 
 
 And the mists come up from the sea. 
 And the skies are dark where the sun went down, 
 
 And no ship comes in for me ! 
 49 
 
(BoD's anb ©iirsi 
 
 Ours yestere'en, and God's to-night, 
 
 She needeth not our pity — 
 The little child who walks in light 
 
 Of the Celestial City, 
 So softly did the Lord unclose 
 
 The crystal gleaming Portal, 
 We knew not when her spirit rose 
 
 To rest in Realms immortal ; 
 I marvel how the birds can sing 
 
 Their low, soft vesper-praises, 
 When sweet the voice that used to ring 
 
 Is hushed beneath the daisies ! 
 With folded hands across the breast — 
 
 Her wee hands made for kisses — 
 She lieth in that dreamless rest 
 
 That human sleeping misses ; 
 Not hers, but ours, the dark of earth 
 
 At eve she closed her eyes on — 
 To waken at her angel-birth 
 
 Beyond the Heaven's horizon. 
 For us the silence in the room 
 
 Broke but by earthsome noises. 
 For her the light beyond the gloom, 
 
 And sound of choral voices ! 
 
 50 
 
What gracious knowledge now is hers, 
 
 Beyond our highest knowing, 
 Who waits where soft God's breathing stirs 
 
 The palms of heavenly growing? 
 We lean t'ward Gates left half-ajar 
 
 To list the mystic singing. 
 And see, beyond a single star. 
 
 The asphodels up-springing. 
 His light sets all the tree a-glow 
 
 — Whose leaves have perfect healing — 
 Beside the River's gentle flow, 
 
 And, 'cross our spirits stealing 
 A knowledge that within the breast 
 
 God sends in such affliction^ 
 Falls softly as the needed rest 
 
 Of His silent benediction. 
 And so we drift beyond the bounds 
 
 Of earthly sorrow sent us. 
 Hushed soft to sleep with sweeter sounds 
 
 Of heavenly music lent us. 
 SI 
 
H)ivino 5ure. 
 
 " Spun fine as fire and jewelled thick with tears." 
 I. 
 
 .... And you ask why I've need of your lips, dear, 
 
 — Your lips that are rarer than wine ? 
 And why I have need for your heart here 
 
 To place over the throbbing of mine ? 
 And why I need all of your life, dear ? — 
 
 Has my womanhood given no sign 
 Why ray restlessness seeks the calm grandeur 
 
 That dwells on your manhood's high plains? 
 Why my spirit finds peace in the wisdom 
 
 And strength that your honor retains? 
 II. 
 I list in my heart for God's whisper, 
 
 And hear but the sound of your voice. 
 Yet weep when the mercy of Heaven 
 
 Sends my heart out of all things its choice ! 
 — My choice out of time and Forever, 
 
 Out of life, and death's infinite space : 
 Just to lie in your arms and yes, ever 
 
 And ever to look on your face ! 
 III. 
 I mount up the heights of your being 
 
 With footsteps unshod of the earth, — 
 I lift up my brow with its chrism 
 
 Of the light of love's wonderful birth, 
 And my lashes are wet with a sadness 
 
 That is not — not wholly — a pain, — 
 My sight dimmed with the mist of sweet gladness 
 
 For womanhood's holiest gain ! 
 
 52 
 
Cbiaro' Scuro. 
 
 -for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are 
 not seen are eternal." — Cor. 
 
 I. 
 
 Who knows what there is in a second of time 
 
 Swept into the wonder of space, 
 That cannot be caught in the measure of rhyme, 
 
 And in thought is scarce given a place ? 
 The least little snatch, perhaps, of a song. 
 
 And voiced in a careless fashion, 
 A dash of color, an odor sweet, 
 
 And there has burst into passion 
 ir. 
 The whole of the soul, as from embers the flame, 
 
 At a breath that is blown upon it, — 
 — I suppose that each heart God has made is 
 the same, — 
 
 At sometime just such things have won it ! 
 
 roses of flame, and lilies of white — 
 The breath of your sweets on my brain, — 
 
 — And out of <^he being of darkness to-night. 
 And the realm of all possible pain, — 
 III. 
 
 1 drift, and am lost in the waves of delight 
 
 That on my restlessness break, 
 
 And dream with eternity almost in sight, — 
 
 Where the tempest-tossed soul shall awake, — 
 53 
 
— Where the fever of earth in the waters of Lethe 
 Shall be cooled, — and the blood be at rest 
 
 In the pnlse of the human, — the passions that seethe 
 'Neath the liUes of peace on the breast ! 
 
 IV, 
 
 Is it something God told us in Heavenly lands, 
 
 Told our souls as He breathed in His breath? 
 Is it something we 've lost since we came from 
 His hands. 
 
 That will dawn on us there, after death. 
 That the soul, half forgetting, keeps striving in vain 
 
 To remember, — that trust that He gave, 
 That almost drifts back to us, sometimes, again, 
 
 — That our hearts are too helpless to save ? 
 
 V. 
 
 That He writes, as a message in hearts of the flow'rs, — 
 
 On the leaves of the lily and rose. 
 And, in infinite patience with these hearts of ours, 
 
 Sends it down to us, do you suppose ? 
 Will He pity and pardon, because we forgot 
 
 On the field of the battle of life. 
 We, footsore and weary, with hearts that are hot 
 
 In the fev'rish and turbulent strife, — 
 
 VI. 
 
 Where the shot and the shell gives no chance for a prayer. 
 
 And ten thousand are felled in defeat. 
 To ten, who unharmed, may their colors still bear, — 
 
 To whom victory comes and is sweet ? 
 
 54 
 
Will forgiveness be his who falls dead on the field 
 But whose breast bears the wound and the scars, 
 
 Will God lift him up, with his sword and his shield, 
 And his blood, and his spurs, and his stars ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 When the seal of his death is stamped red on his brow, 
 
 And for whom all the battle is done, 
 Will God then remember, in pity, just how 
 
 The victory he fain tuoiihl have won ? 
 When the message He wrote on that rose on his breast, 
 
 That covers the tell-tale wound. 
 Comes back to him now, in that infinite rest 
 
 That's unbroke in its stillness by sound, — 
 
 vni. 
 To him — when the bugle in battle shall cease, 
 
 And the Heavenly choirs have burst 
 On his heart that so vainly has hungered for peace, 
 
 Will come back what God told him at first I 
 
 O, beautiful themes of wonderful lands, 
 
 That the heart in its dreaming has wrought ! 
 
 O, songs without words, that the soul understands. 
 That our hearts in their longing have sought, 
 
 IX. 
 
 And sung in the night, when the light in the East, 
 That we 've watched for with tear-laden eyes, — 
 
 As the prayer on our hps in despairing had ceased, 
 Broke in morning from darkest of skies ! 
 
 55 
 
Ye shall come to us there, in the city of God, 
 In a beauty undreamed of on earth, 
 
 There shall be for the soul as its answer to prayer. 
 The dawn of a marvelous birth, 
 
 And the silence, by speech that has never been broke, 
 
 As we 've drifted toward infinite days, 
 In the sweetest of language that lips ever spoke, 
 
 Shall resolve into anthem of praise ! 
 And from hunger of heart, and the feverish thirst, 
 
 And the craving for infinite peace, 
 And the battle of life where defeat is accurst. 
 
 The human shall have its release ! 
 56 
 
Zoi Que 5'aime ! 
 
 Die roses, — fade lights, — and the world is fading, too, 
 
 And I would that I might die, as well, for the sake of a man like 
 
 you ! 
 But, oh ! to be as I am to-night, with the passion in my breast 
 That drives me mad with its cursed power and the might of its 
 
 strange unrest ! 
 To feel, in the breath of the dusk-red rose, your quick, warm 
 
 breath on my cheek, 
 And to read in its heart with its sensuous blush the passion you 
 
 could not speak ! 
 I bury my face in the heart of it as I'd bury it on your breast, 
 If you'd only come back and let me lie in your arms to-night and 
 
 rest ! 
 
 In your warm, strong arms with their maddening clasp, — and 
 
 your throbbing heart on mine, 
 And, oh ! to drink with my burning mouth, your lips' delirious 
 
 wine ! 
 To feel, m the heat of my feverish pain, on my bosom your 
 
 passionate kiss, 
 I gladly would barter eternity's gain for an hour of such exquisite 
 
 bliss ! 
 For just one hour, — a lifetime here, — there couUii' the. any death, 
 There never could be any parting, Dear, v/hile you breathed thro' 
 
 my lips your breath ! 
 
 57 
 
I could not die tho' the gates swung wide that ope'd t'ward the 
 
 City of Light, — 
 Tho' the angels of God should beckon to me, an' I lay in your 
 
 arms to-night ! 
 I buried my face in the dusky rose, but that could not cool its 
 
 heat. 
 The lights bum low, the rose is dead, and lies here at my feet : 
 I killed it with the burning flame that flashed from my heart to 
 
 my cheek, — 
 / think that I could kill you the same with the passion I dare not 
 
 speak ! 
 I buried my face in the heart of it as I'd bury it on your breast, — 
 If you'd only come back and let me lie in your arms to-night and 
 
 rest ! 
 In your strong, warm arms with their maddening clasp, and your 
 
 throbbing heart on mine. 
 And drink, — ah, me ! with my burning mouth, your lips' delirious 
 
 wine ! 
 
 58 
 
irn tbe Silence of tbe favtbcv Sbore is IRest.' 
 
 "All success 
 Proves partial failure; all advance implies 
 What's left behind; all triumph, something crushed 
 At the chariot wheels." 
 
 " We lose sight of the sun 
 In the dust of the racing chariots." 
 
 I. 
 
 One day at a time ; — it is not so long, — 
 Be it grief with a chant, or love with a song ; 
 Be it smiling or v/eeping, we surely know 
 
 That as yesterday went, to-day will go ; 
 
 As the day went down, ere the stars came out, 
 So to-morrow, with all of its burden of doubt, 
 Its measure of cares, and its worry and fret, 
 Will go out with the tide, and the sun at its set. 
 
 11. 
 
 And the gladness, that came to the heart as its guest, 
 And the aching, that lay like a stone on the breast, 
 The hopes and the fears, and the smiles and the sighs, — 
 And the glory of dawning that crimsoned the skies 
 When the vigil of watching was dimming the sight, — 
 Will all have gone out with the coming of night. 
 
 And the pulsing of passion in wars that were rife, 
 
 And the bliss that has followed the bitter of life, 
 
 And the scarlet of carnage, that staineth the soul. 
 
 And the feet that have failed in the race for the goal, 
 
 59 
 
With Ihe heart that has faltered, in Time's telhng test, 
 And ihe soul that has lived for the sins it's confessed, — 
 Lo ! all things that be, both of wrong and of right. 
 Drift out with Time's tides, 'neath the pall of its night. 
 
 HI. 
 
 One day at a time ; not one effort is lost, — 
 For each duty that's offered God counteth the cost. 
 Yet not as we count it ; the loss 'gainst the gain ! 
 For, each disappointment, failure and pain, — 
 The failures, no matter how many they are. 
 That we mark with a cross, God sets with a star. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And the pulse of earth's passion, in wars that are rife, — 
 
 The bliss that doth follow the bitter of life, — 
 
 The scarlet of carnage that staineth the soul, 
 
 And the feet that have faltered in gaining the goal, — 
 
 All these that have been, in Time's telling test, 
 
 With the sinking of night in eternity rest. 
 
 V. 
 
 Life's day and its close ; it is not very long, — 
 
 Be it grief with a chant, or love with a song ; 
 
 And the gladness that comes to the heart, as its guest, 
 
 And the aching, that lies like a stone on the breast, 
 
 The hopes and the fears, — the smiles and the sighs, — 
 
 With our eyes toward the east, for the light in its skies. 
 
 In the vigil that was, — shall end with the dawning, 
 
 And the dark shall drift out in the light of His Morning ! 
 60 
 
Xife's /IDissing Bote, 
 
 Dark sin! White innocence ! Endurance dread! 
 Be still; within your shrouds, my buried dead — " 
 
 1 could not make her understand how one false note would 
 
 break 
 The grander harmony of tones a single touch could wake, 
 There in the shadowed twilight marking gradual daylight's close, 
 By the western window looking out upon the amethyst and rose 
 Lighting up the leaden-gray tints of the tenting sky ; 
 We were at the organ playing chords, were she and I — 
 On my knee her elbows rested, in her palms the dimpled chin, 
 Her eyes were soft with marvel of the childish thoughts within ; 
 So, sometimes quietly she listened to the wandering chords I 
 
 played, 
 Then with one small finger-tip upon the keyboard pressed the 
 
 wee- bit maid ; 
 " Is n't all 'e keys alike? " she asks, with earnest eyes, 
 " Why don't 'ey sound 'e same when 'oo plays as 'ey does when 
 
 Baby tries?" 
 What could I teach her of the mysteries of songs as yet unsung. 
 Whose heart must not be wakened first by faults of falt'ring 
 
 tongue ? 
 How could my understanding prove to her the law that must 
 
 apply 
 
 To harmony in everything — a woman weak as I ! 
 
 6 1 
 
How teach the very thmgs that one day she must know — 
 As I had known them — hfe's experience proving that they must 
 be so ! 
 
 But I talked and Baby Hstened, there as closed another day — 
 Amethyst and rose-tints mingling with the solemn gray, 
 Changing to the dusk of evening, out the western window where 
 Tired Nature closed her sunlit eyes in vesper prayer. 
 And I thought how much like children in our questioning of life, 
 Where God's grand key-note in our hearts sounds thro' the 
 
 wilful strife — 
 How e'er we try them, touching here and there a tone. 
 Making discords — we, God's children, only little older grown 
 Than this babe, who, reaching tiny finger-tips. 
 Asks the self same question ever on our human lips ! 
 
 in. 
 
 And I answer as God answered me, ah, long ago : 
 
 " Be patient yet a little longer ; some day thou shalt surely know." 
 
 Some day ! When out life's western window into its November 
 
 gray 
 Shine the amethystine rose-tints of the closing day. 
 When with solemn, earnest faces, pressing closely to our Lord, 
 We shall learn what note we missed here of life's perfect chord. 
 
Brittfng 'JS>om\ tbe 35Sas. 
 
 Sweet the tiny bird that sung 
 
 Somewhere, — not far away, — 
 
 That forth its Uquid music flung, 
 
 'Round which the shadows closed and clung 
 A year ago to-day, 
 
 With daisy-drift and drift of snow, 
 
 A long, long year ago. 
 
 Beneath the bird and bending spray 
 The limpid waters liquid lay, 
 And, on their bosom hid away, 
 A little wayward, wandering barque 
 Went drifting down the bay ; 
 We drifted down the dimpled stream, 
 And dreamed again our love's sweet dream, 
 To-day a year ago ! 
 
 A little bird sings sweet and clear, — 
 Nearer yet and yet more near. 
 The same fair waters shadowed lay 
 A year ago and yet to-day ; 
 But heart and voice are far away, 
 And I have naught to do but pray ! 
 Oh, sad and sweet, and sweet and sad 
 The prayer I pray, the dream we had 
 
 A year ago to-day, 
 
 One little year to-day ! 
 
 63 
 
Into the bosom of the night 
 The late bird, in his homeward flight, 
 No matter how so tired he be, 
 His sweet note droppeth cheerily, 
 The languid, sheltered waters lay. 
 As first they did upon that day 
 When out we drifted out of sight 
 Upon the shadowed stream. 
 
 Again in evening's merging dark 
 
 The little wayward, wandering barque 
 
 Is drifting down the bay : 
 
 We linger with the song that's sung, 
 
 'Round which the somber darkness clung, 
 
 As we, those mem'ries sweet among, 
 
 Dream over love's old dream, — 
 
 Dream life's and love's sweet dream. 
 64 
 
H5 ]£li^sium. 
 
 ' Love, that is flesh upon the spirit of man. 
 
 I. 
 
 . . . What do we care for the world that 's without us ? 
 
 What do we care for its pulse-beats about us ? 
 
 Fold your arms yet more close, let your mouth rest on mine, 
 
 And there 's naught of this world, or the next, to resign ! 
 
 In the half-light that makes but sweet virtues of vices, 
 
 In the music that breathes and the song that entices, 
 
 Love listens and groweth far paler than ashes, 
 
 And the bliss in my heart turns to tears on my lashes ! 
 
 You hold me so close, but I still would be nearer, — 
 
 You, sweet, are so precious you could not be dearer ! 
 
 Lift up, sweet, your face to my bosom that 's swelling 
 
 For the touch of your cheek and your lips, and the dwelling 
 
 Of kisses that cling as my kisses that kill you. 
 
 For the sweep of your breath, as my touch, sweet, to still you ! 
 
 HI. 
 
 And the crown of our life is the darkness that closes. 
 And the fruit is far sweeter than, with thorns, still, the roses ! 
 Fruits fail — and the wine drank drawn to the lees is, 
 And passion is more than the foam on the seas is ! 
 
 65 
 
Out of the past of desires and embraces, 
 
 Through the wisdom of years that hes deep in the traces 
 
 Of limbs locked with limbs, and hands clasped in love's trances. 
 
 Out from the stings and the tortures of lances 
 
 IV. 
 
 Barbed sweet with the poison of clinging and kisses, 
 
 Sweet with the trouble of turbulent blisses, — 
 
 Over the threshold of passionate prayer. 
 
 In thro' the furthermost portal of care, — 
 
 To the shrine where the cup that we hold hath its draining 
 
 In the draught of the wine of our passion and paining. 
 
 Is offered the peace of our sacrament, sweet. 
 
 And out of your arms, here, I kneel at your feet ! 
 
 For, the sovereign of peace and of passion my part, 
 
 Thou art crowned as God's gift and the king of my heart ! 
 
 66 
 
Cbariti?, 
 
 "And though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, 
 I am nothing." 
 
 I. 
 
 Little reck we of the crosses lying in our neighbor's way, — 
 Little thought we give his losses in the labor of the day, 
 Though the ills we deem so petty, when he bears them all alone, 
 Change to great afflictions, always, when they come to be our 
 
 own ! 
 Though we know how light our burdens grow when sympathy is 
 
 near. 
 Yet how often we are careless, heedless of the word of cheer 
 That might lighten all the darkness of the oftimes weary strife 
 That must mingle in the sweetest and the best of human life ! 
 
 II. 
 It is not the steepest pathways we must climb with weary feet. 
 That are most devoid of resting, that have least of sunshine, 
 
 sweet, 
 Not the sympathy the world gives, mingled with its implied 
 
 blame. 
 That the heart feels most sincerely; — ' tis the speaking of our 
 
 name 
 With excuses for each weakness — what the world may deem as 
 
 weak ! — 
 And a friendly hand clasp, meaning more than lips could ever 
 
 speak ! 
 
 67 
 
III. 
 For we know life's weary journey leads up to the Heavenly 
 
 light, 
 And its tedious distance ends here with the coming of the night, 
 And its sorrows, lying heavy, almost more than we can bear, 
 
 — Human pity cannot heal them, — they are only soothed by 
 
 prayer ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 But the average daily trials, testing patience, and the smart 
 Of wrong interpretation of the motives of the heart, — 
 These are they that make us children, all of us, at times, we 
 know, 
 
 — And the longings that possess us, and the sense of utter woe, 
 
 When the soul, almost, seems tired and the heart within is chilled, 
 
 And we long, like weary children, to be comforted and stilled ! 
 
 Faith and Hope ! The sweetest music lieth in the thought of ye, 
 
 But the spirit that doth breathe it is the soul of Charity I 
 
 68 
 
Bmong tbe ^incB. 
 
 ' Look up t'vvard the higher hills, where the waves of everlasting green roll silently into 
 their long inlets among the shadows of the pines." 
 
 " — When from under this terrestrial ball, 
 He fires the proud tops of the Eastern pines." 
 
 The sun falls golden on the mountains, gray and cold, 
 As ages passing ages, in the march of Time, 
 
 Unclose their record pages, sere and old, 
 To trace the unvoiced dreams of Nature's soul sublime : — 
 
 What eye may pierce the secrets of the Master-mind, 
 Or penetrate the working of that Hand divine 
 
 While earth, containing laws surmounting reach of human-kind, 
 Is but a shadow of the world beyond, — a line 
 
 Or link connecting seen and unseen proofs of power 
 Not understood, tho' felt ; acknowledged and dispensed 
 
 In revelations of the mind, while, hour by hour, 
 Corporeal forms delineate the spiritual in-sensed ! 
 
 m. 
 
 The sun gleams golden thro' the forests of our God : — 
 
 A silence — as if Nature barkened to His voice, — 
 
 As, 'mong the pillared hails of Kamak, when untrod. 
 
 Perchance found Solitude the habitations of her choice : — 
 
 69 
 
IV. 
 
 So, muteness reigns supreme among the pines,, and Thought 
 Herself lies dreaming ; — far is revelry of strife — 
 
 — The triumphing of deadly wars of blood with blood 
 Removed : The martial din on chaos-fields of life 
 
 Is drowned within this breathless calm of sunset- flood. 
 
 V. 
 
 Among the pines, whose stately ranks proclaim abroad 
 
 An Aracarian majesty, two perfect chords 
 Commingle, each with each : — the presence of the Lord 
 
 That Eden-land beheld, anew affords 
 The underlying strains of love, begun in Heaven, — 
 
 — Whose key-note, sweetly fraught with majesty Divine, 
 Conceives the arborescent music, verdure-riven. 
 
 In hymns of silent, ceaseless praise, — earth-undefined. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The lingering flush of many vanished summers, fair. 
 Like golden shadows, lies across each tree of state. 
 
 As if their passing touched in fond caresses there. 
 
 And tinged with glories of those realms where now they wait : — 
 
 Scarce just beyond are landscape shadows, cool and dim. 
 
 And God's hand hov'ring o'er the harp-strings of the wind ; — 
 
 — Replete the tones with tremulas that breathe of Him, 
 
 While the reluctant hours, with chiming vespers, soothe the mind. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The perfume-ladened air o'erwhelms each yielding sense, — 
 
 Powers of busy brain, beguiled by retrospective theme, 
 Lie dormant in the slumb'rousness intense 
 
 Pervading Nature's altar, sweet with prayerful dream. 
 
 70 
 
VIII. 
 
 The sanctuary of the Lo/d ! — Its far, blue dome 
 
 Gleaming betwixt the heights of massive columns, rare 
 
 In sacred sculpture of their fretted boughs : the home 
 And dwelling-place of peace, for God is there ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 No burdening awe of Odin or of Thor here rise 
 In brooding shadow over the expectant hush 
 
 That fills the dim, perspective aisles, — no discords crush 
 The one grand strain within this chancel-place of ParadisCo 
 
 X. 
 
 Still shadows gather, — deepening in the solitude, 
 
 And would the hov'ring darkness close without, — within? 
 
 The thousand silent voices, with His love imbued. 
 Are tearful with the burden of earth's weary sin ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Be still, and know that I am God ; " — the glories pale 
 
 O'er mystic mounts, like shad'wy lihes fall afar, — 
 At the thresholds of another world earth's visions fail 
 
 To pierce beyond the gleaming portal of a single star : — 
 As in this hallowed tenderness of grace, — to-day's, — 
 
 Is soft'ning every outline dim beneath His hand, 
 So, tliro' the broken ways of life, His pity stays 
 
 To touch with subdued glories of the Better Land. 
 
 XII. 
 
 In jasper sunset-tints the day hath fallen asleep 
 Forever ; — and its requiem is chanted low 
 And full of aught too deep for tears : 
 
XIII„ 
 
 The music of celestial spheres, in echo, lends 
 
 Th' expectant hush of Nature's solitude, its calm, — 
 And all of God's great wisdom with his pity blends 
 
 Throughout the mighty throbbing of this perfect psalm. 
 
 72 
 
Bab^, Bear! 
 
 ' A little hii^^an hope of that or this." 
 'A silken peace thro' a golden ring." 
 ' God made women to save men by love.' 
 
 A little child with hair of gold, 
 
 And smiling tiny mouth and eyes, 
 
 Where lingers memoried paradise, 
 
 Upon which dawned earth's strange surprise, 
 
 Like Raphael's Angel-child of old : 
 
 From off one shoulder, sweet and fair, 
 
 The frock slipped down in careless grace, 
 
 The twilight's jasper slants apace 
 
 And falls upon the dreamful face 
 
 That bears no shade of earthsome care : 
 
 Half ankle-deep beside the brook. 
 
 With feet that press the wild, sweet flowers, 
 
 And taking childish heed of hours, 
 
 On thee I smile and sigh to look. 
 
 Remembering how, one day, sometime, 
 
 I shall not smile as I do here, 
 
 To dream of lilies in thy hand, — 
 
 Sometime,— some day, — dost understand? 
 
 When doubt has passed the borderland. 
 
 When faith shall have ta'en the place of fear; 
 
 I sigh, for in ray heart 's a tear 
 
 For all that may be, baby, dear ! 
 
Sometime — one day thou'lt stand and wait. 
 
 Thy hands with lilies hfted, 
 
 Plucked just within the heavenly gate 
 
 Where thy spirit will have drifted, 
 
 Thy feet upon the asphodels 
 
 As now they are in clover. 
 
 And on thy face falls fairer light 
 
 When earth's sweet day is over : 
 
 When off thy shoulders, sweet and fair, 
 
 The robe of earthly fashion 
 
 Shall have given place to one up There 
 
 For Death's Annunciation : 
 
 Sometime ! Ah me ! Dost understand ? 
 
 When life hath passed the borderland, 
 
 And knowledge, such as dawns not here, 
 
 Shall leave within thy heart no tear 
 
 For all that has been, baby, dear ! 
 
 III. 
 
 I smile for visions unfulfilled, — 
 For sweetnesses but yet begun, 
 Life's prizes that may yet be won. 
 And hopes beneath the natural sun 
 That mortal issues have not stilled ; 
 As, on the human lips will rise 
 A pathos vocal to her ears 
 Who, Ust'ning, fitter music hears 
 Than earth's, that lacks high harmonies. 
 
I shape anew my smile and sigh, 
 And Hft my forehead from the dust — 
 Obeying, not because I must ; 
 A child myself, and free from guile — 
 A child in faith that means great ends 
 T'ward which mounts up its visions grand ; — 
 ■ — In trust that clasps hope hand in hand, 
 And journeys toward the border land 
 With thanks for all the hidden good — 
 Without the doubt that apprehends — 
 A child — like thee, — dost understand ? 
 Save that within my heart 's a tear 
 That 's not in thine, my baby, dear ! 
 75 
 
©b, tbe IRoses, BlusbiuQ 1Re5 1 
 
 Oh, the roses blushing red — 
 
 Red with passion's fire ! 
 Oh, the music that is fled — 
 
 And the broken lyre ! 
 Oh, the days that used to be 
 
 Perfect in their seeming ! 
 Oh, the waking — sad to me 
 
 After such rare dreaming ! 
 
 "Love is sweet and love is strong," 
 
 Was his whisper tender, 
 " I have loved thee, Sweet, so long — 
 
 Hast thou naught to render 
 For the heart I gave to thee? " 
 
 — And his head leaned nearer — 
 " A heart, as true as heart can be 
 
 To thee, than life far dearer ! " 
 
 Then he laid me on his breast 
 With his arms around me — 
 
 Where could be a sweeter rest 
 
 Than where love had bound me ? 
 
 Came the night with closing shade 
 
 O'er rose and vine a-clinging, 
 
 O'er the sweetest music made 
 
 By birds that then were singing ! 
 76 
 
Came the darkness o'er my soul 
 
 When love's low bells were chimmg, 
 For sudden they began to toll 
 
 My heart's so sad repining ! 
 So the music's gone away — 
 
 And the bird has hushed its singing, 
 For my Dear hath died — alas the day ! 
 
 When joy's sweet bells were ringing ! 
 
 But, oh, for the roses, blushing red — 
 
 Red with jmssion's fire ! 
 Oh, for the music that is fled — 
 
 And life's broken lyre ! 
 And, oh, for the days that used to be 
 
 Perfect in their seeming ! 
 And, oh, the waking — sad to me 
 
 After such sweet dreaming ! 
 77 
 
Sappbo. 
 
 Swifter than dreams — Sweeter than life — Stronger than death! 
 
 Do you know what you did by a touch of your lips — 
 By the sound of your voice — with a clasp and a kiss? 
 
 Did you drink of the wine of the cup that Love dips 
 Into the sea of mad, passionate bUss? 
 
 Do you know what I found in you, Sweet, as a man, 
 In one tortured, half-bUnded look into your face ? 
 
 How can I tell what weak words never can — 
 
 What came to my soul in that anguished embrace ! 
 
 Ah, God ! that a woman with soul and with heart. 
 
 Could have sounded such depths as the deeps I have known ! 
 
 Could have gained more of bliss than e'en Heaven can impart. 
 In the sweets of man's arms and his kisses, alone ! 
 
 Yes, — I ask it again, — do you know what you gave me 
 Last night as you lay in my arms — on my breast ? 
 
 Shall I dream o'er the passion that never will leave me, 
 Nor give me an hour that my heart can call rest? 
 
 Forever and ever the fever will haunt me — 
 
 Relentless and merciless ; — fierce as the breath 
 
 Of a fiend that pursues ! Tell me. Sweet, do you want me 
 
 To love you like this to the hour of death ? 
 
 78 
 
®ur JBelopeD. 
 
 What shall we do for our Beloved ? 
 
 Shall we bring forth our offerings to cast upon the bier 
 
 Where lies the form of our sweet dead — 
 
 Rare flowers — our saddest gaze and love's regretful tear — 
 
 To lay upon life's lowly altar, when too late — at last? 
 
 When altar fires have slowly burned, 
 
 — The sacred flame our hearts desires have fed — 
 
 And slowly turned to ashes, cold and gray, 
 
 And left our longing souls benumbed, we've said 
 
 As hearts before have said, — as now we say : 
 
 "Alas ! for life's sad lesson we have learned to-day — 
 
 The lesson that we knew not till too late we've learned !" 
 
 And cover up the embers turned to ashen hue ; 
 
 The cold, pale ashes of life's duty done — 
 
 And sigh and think our day is o'er on earth, 
 
 That nevermore to Love's sweet graciousness can we give birth ; 
 
 When in the vacant chamber, far remote, qf life's sole worth. 
 
 Our soul doth sit apart and mourn for our beloved one. 
 
 II. 
 
 What shall we do for our Beloved? 
 
 Not so — not as the grievers-o'er of golden days that were. 
 When life's sweet sun was shining and we knew it not 
 Because of human blindness, and, because of human doubt, 
 We closed unconscious heart to life's interpreter, 
 
 79 
 
And from the darkness of self-solitude we shut the sunlight 
 
 out; 
 But rather let us build a temple that shall stand amid 
 The plainer structures of life's dutiful, 
 Subservient toils ; that shall not be hid 
 Among them, but that nobly-tow'ring shall be beautiful 
 With off'rings of our quiet moments in a life's unquiet 
 
 hours : 
 There let us place an altar to an earthly god — , 
 Life's golden opportunity, — and be there trod, 
 The aisles of this fair temple thus to be 
 Strewn with our fairest, sweetest flowers — 
 By worshippers well pleased to come awhile 
 And at the altar bow adoring knee ; 
 E'en when the cares of life crowd thick and fast ; 
 And, with our well-beloved, there to cast 
 Sweet incense — and rare flowers of charity to bring, 
 Fair votive off rings — and sweet chants to sing, 
 And kindle altar-fires that shall not turn 
 To cold, dead ashes, that long grief inters 
 To leave benumbed the hearts of love's sweet worshippers. 
 80 
 
" The word of the wind to the sea."— 
 
 [to my sister.] 
 
 I. 
 
 You would know her if you saw her 
 
 Once, — forever after, 
 Know her by her eyes so true, 
 
 And her merry laughter, — 
 
 II, 
 Know her by her rosy mouth, 
 
 — Where the winds have kissed her 
 • - - Blowing from the scented South, — 
 
 — Naniae, — that's my sister ! 
 
 III. 
 In her hair of chestnut brown 
 
 Sunlight dies a-nestling, — 
 In her eyes, demure, cast down 
 
 Cupid hes a-resting ! — 
 
 IV. 
 
 Have you seen her, do you 'spose ? 
 
 You could not have missed her, — 
 Near her lips a dimple shows, 
 
 Where Love — ( the rascal ! ) — kissed her ! 
 
White laurustine, perfect flow'r, 
 Fragrant foam from out the sea, 
 
 Star-white sweet that lives an hour, 
 That the billow brings to me, — 
 
 VI. 
 
 She's like thee — oh, fair and sweet, 
 
 — Sun and winds have kissed her, 
 But daintier, far, from brow to feet, 
 
 — Anemonae, my sister ! 
 
 82 
 
SiuOt Sweet IF^arp ! 
 
 [" The rhythmic turbulence of blood and brain swept outward upon words."] 
 
 I, 
 
 Sing thou, sweet harp, whose dripping shell 
 
 O'erbrims with tuneful measures 
 Of liquid music from the well 
 
 Of Love's divinest treasures ! 
 Whose slumbers draughts of sweetness cool 
 
 The sacrificial fires 
 That fill our human hearts o'er full 
 
 Of vainly sought desires : 
 Sing us a song, oh, sweet and sad. 
 
 Sing of the trust that maketh glad, 
 Sing of the faith which Love hath had, — 
 
 Of truth that Love admires ; 
 Not of the twilight, shad'wy, cast 
 
 By the trailing robe of the dark, dim past ; 
 Not of the bird witli broken wing, 
 
 Not of thine own poor broken string. 
 Sweet shattered thing ! 
 
 But soft and low that sacred lips have sung : 
 The lips to which our own, in time o'erpast, have clung. 
 
 Low and soft the music sweeter than our due. 
 Our sighing hearts, in time o'erpast, once knew. 
 
 Sing these, oh, shattered shell of dripping music clear. 
 Pour out the songs our hstening souls deem dear ! 
 83 
 
II. 
 
 The days wherein these songs were sung are fled, — 
 
 The Ufe that stirred these songs is dead, — 
 And, to our restless hearts we shall have said : 
 
 " How fleet the passing tides of sweet desire ! 
 How false the fitful glow of passion-fire ! 
 
 How vain the aims to which our longing souls aspire ! 
 When, with the tides of time 't is ebb, not flow, — 
 
 When that the fires of life are burning low, — 
 When that our hearts have learned to prove them so ! 
 
 III. 
 And yet we war not with nor tide nor time ; 
 
 With life's fair harp, whose music was sublime, 
 The life like some sweet story told in broken rhyme ! 
 
 But yet of past-time music what remains? 
 The heart's low echo of the sweet, hushed strains, — ■ 
 
 The old-time longing and the sad refrains ! 
 
 Still wake again, fair harp, for pulseless fingers sweep thy 
 strings. 
 And to thy music some sweet voice long hushed still sings 
 And bringeth back life's half-remembered things. 
 84 
 
I. 
 
 I have wept for the roses that blossomed to fade 
 
 Away from the world's busy marts, 
 When I've thought of the gladness their fragrance had made 
 
 In its restless and care-throbbing hearts ! 
 When I've heard the sweet song of melodious bird 
 
 Somewhere in bright regions of light, — 
 How I've longed that an echo might only be heard 
 
 Floating down the deep darkness of night ! 
 
 II. 
 There are rivers of waters so peaceful and sweet — 
 
 Their shores sloping down fair beside, 
 Where the glories of purity, soulful, complete, 
 
 As the sunlight, forever abide, — 
 But I'm sad for the water's murmurless calm, 
 
 — Sad for the untrodden shores, — 
 
 And I list for some ripple beladen with balm, 
 And I sigh for the dipping of oars ! — 
 
 III. 
 But, fairest the dream that is soonest dispelled 
 
 — Of something we never may reach, — 
 Most precious the fetters our dreaming that held 
 
 Are the thoughts that have never found speech ! 
 So a tear for the waking that cometh at last, — 
 
 But a smile for the dreaming, tho' vain ! — 
 For the glimmering treasure- light flooding the past, 
 
 — Tho' dimmed by the shadow of pain. 
 
 85 
 
Bom* 
 
 There is a land, so wondrous fair, 
 Where flowers bloom in beauty rare, 
 — Where naught .but music fills the air. 
 Where my Beloved dwells : — 
 
 The sunshine gleams in purest ray, — 
 Night cannot come to 'sturb the day, — 
 Think'st thou that land is far away, 
 Where my Beloved dwells ? 
 
 Its birds, I know, will ne'er depart : — 
 
 Its music floats o'er Rapture's mart, — - 
 
 For lo ! that land is mine own heart, 
 
 Where my Beloved dwells i 
 86 
 
perbaps— at Xast. 
 
 I stooped to lift a blossom up 
 
 A child had dropped erstwhile — 
 A rose-bloom with its petaled cup, 
 
 Cast downward with a smile 
 At eventide ; the rose was white 
 
 That lay there at my feet, I knew, 
 Yet there beneath the sunset light, 
 
 (I cannot tell what made it so) — 
 Still this I saw, and felt and knew — 
 
 That something from the tender flush 
 Of twi-lit skies of roseate hue 
 
 Gave to the ro:e its blush ! 
 A light that fell from tender skies 
 
 To tenderer flower beneath the sun — 
 A rose a child with sleep-lade eyes 
 
 Had dropped when day was done : 
 What meaning could it have to me ; 
 
 Or what, because the skies smiled on it, 
 Hath made it fairer yet to see — 
 
 What mystic beauty won it? 
 — I said, and saying, in my heart, 
 
 As ever with a flower or child 
 (Who ever thinks of them apart?) 
 
 This thought came, and I smiled : 
 That one day — some day — we shall fling 
 
 To earth life's fairest flower plucked purely, 
 87 
 
When sunset to our eyes shall bring 
 
 The sleep-lade shadows surely, 
 Perhaps, when we go home at last, 
 
 One who may follow nearly. 
 And look upon our blossoms cast. 
 
 With vision seeing clearly, 
 Will say : " Life's flowers were v/hite, forsooth, 
 
 And now its sun is setting, 
 Whence shineth down the light of truth, 
 
 All human faults forgetting, 
 Doth fall upon them, making bright. 
 
 With brightness born of Heaven, 
 Doth lend its amethystine light. 
 
 That means with God — ' Forgiven.' " 
 
 88 
 
Love me, Sweet, with thine own soul, 
 
 As thou canst a woman ; 
 Give not part, but give the whole, 
 
 Thou divinely human ! 
 Love me with thy manhood strong, 
 
 Strong and true and tender, — 
 All that doth to love belong 
 
 Unto me surrender ! 
 
 Love me with thy voice that turns 
 Faint with passion's power 
 
 When your soul with passion bums 
 
 At night's dusk-dark hour ! 
 With thy manhood me imbue. 
 As man can a woman, — 
 
 Love me. Sweet, as I do you,— 
 
 For we both are human ! 
 89 
 
H Scarlet 1Rose, 
 
 ' QuEe mentem insania mutat? ' 
 
 You gave me the rose as you did the caress, 
 
 With the mien of a king, and the grace of a lover ; 
 But the heart of a woman is mine to confess, 
 
 And 'tis hard to conceal what a man may discover. 
 How I longed, in the throes of a nameless unrest. 
 
 For a draught of the wine of your lips and your eyes, 
 For your heart, in the place of the rose on my breast, 
 
 And your breath on my bosom in passionful sighs ! 
 A thirsty Bacchante — the cup that you gave me 
 
 I had quaffed to the dregs but an hour before, 
 Tho' drunk with the lees, but one draught more had saved me, 
 
 For I sure should have died e'er the drinking was o'er ! 
 There was death in the draught, — but 't were better than living, - 
 
 'T was a dream, — but 'twere kinder than waking to me, — 
 And passion more sweet than regretful retrieving, 
 
 And red roses are warmer than white ones can be ! 
 
 II. 
 There was death in the draught, — there was heaven in the 
 drinking ; 
 It was nectar, — but such as no god ever sips, — 
 And my soul fell asleep, and my senses were sinking. 
 In the light of your eyes — with the wine of your lips ! 
 
 90 
 
m. 
 
 'Twas a dream ! It was poison that, thirsting, I tasted, 
 
 And the chaUce Ues low with the dregs it contained, 
 And the rose, with the wine that the dead years have wasted, 
 
 Is red with the lees that its whiteness have stained. 
 But, tho' 'twere my life were the cost of the blessing 
 
 Of your touch, as of old, on my brow and my hair, 
 I would yield it up gladly, my darling, possessing 
 
 The thought that one day you would know and would care 
 How I longed, in those days of our sweet, secret passion, 
 — As I do here to-night in my helpless unrest, — 
 As I have ever since, in a woman's mad fashion, 
 
 For your heart in the place of the rose on my breast ! 
 91 
 
Ht Hlesan^ria. 
 
 So let them die ! 
 
 The world shows nothing lost ; 
 Therefore, not blood ! above or underneath 
 What matter? .... 
 . "As sword returns to sheath. 
 So dust to grave, but souls find place in Heaven.' 
 
 I. 
 
 The splendors of the setting sun shone fair upon 
 
 The lofty domes of Alexandria. 
 
 Its crimson-crested radiance rested soft 
 
 Upon the restless sea that circled Pharos Isle, 
 
 And o'er one hundred miles the evening dusk 
 
 Went forth to fall upon her marble heights, 
 
 As fain to die in one lingering caress 
 
 Of that sweet Charity : her watch-towered v/alls ; 
 
 But yet the power of Nature's loveliness 
 
 Was vain to soften human hearts, and vain 
 
 Her beauty gleamed and glowed and then died out, 
 
 To yield apace to shadows dark as Hell, 
 
 That should befit a scene as devilish as her agonies. 
 
 II. 
 
 Within the walls of Greece's vast amphitheatre 
 
 Threescore one thousand voices rise and fall "*■ 
 
 In ceaseless shout and murmur, like a sea 
 
 That wars in constant clamor with the elements in storm ;- 
 
 Row on row of eager faces scan th' arena sands ; 
 
 A gleam of fiery eyes^and glittering teeth, 
 92 
 
And heavy lashing of the bars that hold encaged 
 
 The savage beasts that wait their liberty : 
 
 The waste of sands — the subdued growls that fill the 
 stifled air ; — 
 
 The sometimes hush that speaks of something dread 
 to come, 
 
 Like Nature's own before her direst storms, 
 
 When low the thunder rolls and growls, and fitful light- 
 nings flash the bolts between. 
 
 III. 
 As one,o'ercome at noontide with the heat 
 Of Summer sun and labor in the field, 
 Sinks down fatigued with eyes half-closed 
 And powers spent, and caring naught 
 For things around : the waving grass — 
 The gleaming scythe — the loaded wains, and breath 
 Of clover-bloom and belted bee, and yields, 
 Forsooth, in sweet forgetfulness, to dreams. 
 As such a one, beneath the sea of wild 
 And savage-eager faces all intent upon th' arena. 
 Crouches a man, — half nude, and all in apathy. 
 "Bring forth the victim !" rings th' excited cry — 
 "Bring forth the bestiary doomed to die !" 
 And thousand-throated demons dance before his sight, 
 And yell defiance in his ears to-night ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 He 's on his feet ! — above — around — the banks 
 Of eager faces on him fixed he meets with scorn : — 
 the muscles firm, 
 
 93 
 
Like knotted cords upon his flesh stand out, — 
 
 The symbols of the mighty strength that lies within. — 
 
 The signal 's giv'n : — on he comes — 
 
 The beast a-thirst for human blood ! 
 
 With one wild bound the tiger reaches — clears him — 
 
 And, long paces off falls with howls of rage ! 
 
 And thrice the baffled foe falls prone 
 
 To rise with force and rage redoubled : Now 
 
 His eyes are balls of fire, and his jaws. 
 
 All foam-beflecked, just show the cruel teeth, 
 
 As slow, with cautious cat-like tread, 
 
 He gains approach, as if to sniff his prey. 
 
 And now he springs — and man and beast in deadly 
 
 contest fall : — 
 The multitude with terror-stricken faces watch 
 Th' inhuman fray : And these are men of Greece ! 
 For their fair pleasure Dacian men must die ! 
 And calmly rise and set her suns upon such scenes 
 As 'twere stern Valor's self her tribute paid 
 To Valor's own ; — But look ! 
 Upon the naked shoulders of the man 
 The tiger's paws fall heavily ; — his jaws 
 Are open, and the breath he breathes 
 Is full and hot : Back falls the Gladiator's head, 
 And with his straightened arms he grasps the tiger's 
 
 neck, 
 
 While his own blood is flowuig fresh with every effort 
 
 made. 
 
 94 
 
VI. 
 
 Down — down — he bears the struggling brute — 
 
 A crash of breaking bones — a low, deep growl — 
 
 A gurgling sound half-heard : — he struggles still — 
 
 The claws tenacious keep their hold, 
 
 He weakens — sinks and falls ; — the contest done ; 
 
 The blood of man and beast commingling flow. 
 
 And drenches all the sand ; — and now 
 
 The gladiator leans upon the carcass, and from off 
 
 One bloody claw, a shred of human flesh he plucks, — 
 
 his own, — 
 Then stands before th' acclaiming multitude 
 Whose shouts his triumph ring with deaf ning uproar. 
 As he lifts the bloody-dripping trophy of his deeds 
 And flings it from his sight. 
 Then sinks upon the sands in faint recline — 
 As slow the life-blood ebbs and drops. 
 
 The stifling scenes are half forgot,— his breath 
 Comes fainter still and almost stops — 
 The devilish yells that hailed the onset sound no more : - 
 The gleaming spears lie prone — and fainter sinks 
 The tumult to a hushed murmur : changed 
 To other, sweeter sounds as heard afar — 
 And then he falls asleep and sweetly dreams : — 
 As one who, wounded in the battle, falls 
 And sinks upon the field, his shield upon — 
 The contest fairly fought — the victory won, — 
 Hears 'round about him noises vague and dim, 
 While still sounds on the battle done to him, 
 
 95 
 
And dreams, while Death's white angel hovers near, 
 
 Of other scenes and faces, grown more dear 
 
 For all the tumult, triumph and acclaim, 
 
 And, dreaming, hears sweet voices call his name. 
 
 And in such dreaming sees each fresh, fair field. 
 
 That in his youth its beauty used to yield. 
 
 And on his brow stills feels the cool, soft touch 
 
 Of Nature's sweet restorer healing such 
 
 As come to her with wounds gained in the strife 
 
 That proveth every well-won battle on the field of life : — 
 
 And so, in such fair dreaming, fain forgets to pray — 
 
 And in such dreaming sweetly sleeps alway, 
 
 Till, waking somewhere where the sounds of battle cease. 
 
 He knows the sweeter hushes of eternal Peace ! 
 96 
 
HC)rift, 
 
 I. 
 
 I, lingering, stand upon the strand, 
 
 — For I am Fancy's daughter, — 
 And wait for the boat that is idly afloat 
 
 Far out upon the water, — 
 That is far away on the glittering bay, 
 
 In the shadows of the gloaming : 
 And sad were the cost if my barque be lost 
 
 On the shores where Love is roaming ! 
 
 II. 
 With drooping sail my barque comes back 
 
 Across Time's wide, wide ocean : 
 No zephyr follows in her track 
 
 To give her speedy motion, 
 She floats away thro' night and day. 
 
 Within the twilight gleaming, 
 But sweet were the cost were the rudder lost 
 
 On shores where Love lies dreaming ! 
 
 III. 
 
 I watch and wait till all too late ; 
 
 Till the night's deep shadow falling, 
 Till the midnight mist my brain has kist. 
 
 And the midnight winds are calling 
 About my head that my darling's dead, 
 
 And I stand sadly weeping : 
 But sweet is the cost, for my barque was lost 
 
 By the shores where Love lies sleeping. 
 97 
 
Bane anb Balm. 
 
 ' One moment, and our hearts have flown 
 
 Through clasping hands and fond lips meeting; 
 The next, we stand and wait alone. 
 While memory holds the place of greeting." 
 
 I. 
 
 Yes, — you 're gone — I 'm alone — and I 'm crazed with the ache 
 
 That lies like the weight of a ton on my heart ! 
 I tried to keep calm, when you went, for your sake — 
 
 Concealing her pain is a woman's life-part ! 
 I look on your face, and the world fades before me, — 
 
 I feel but your touch and I faint with the bliss, — 
 O, what is the influence. Sweet, you have o'er me ? 
 
 What do you put in the balm of a kiss? 
 
 II. 
 I know but one thing, — and that is that you kissed me, 
 
 And held me, and soothed me, last night in this room : — 
 I wonder — God help me ! — if you ever have missed me 
 
 As I miss you now, in this desolate gloom ! 
 I look at the pillow — your head there has nested ! — 
 
 I dare not e'en touch it, to-night, here alone ! 
 I fell on my knees there, last night, and just rested 
 
 My cheek, when you 'd gone, with my prayer and my moan. -— 
 
 III. 
 The pillow was warm, — and I buried my face 
 
 Deep down in the dent that your dear one had made. 
 And I poured out my hunger — there 's left there the trace ! — 
 
I dare not go near it, to-night, I'm afraid ! 
 
 — I'm afraid of the passion poured out in my praying, — 
 As I knelt all alone in my torture of pain, 
 
 — Yes, I prayed, — but I scarcely knew what I was saying: 
 I only knew this — that you 'd left me again ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, God ! could I sleep and know not awaking 
 Between the sweet times of your coming, my king ! 
 
 O, God ! could I hush this bitter heartaching 
 The desolate hours of your absence must bring ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Make the lock secure in the door as you close it ! — 
 
 Put the world from us far as is darkness from light ! — 
 Let the dusk be upon us, — we often have chose it, — 
 
 It brings us but nearer each other to-night. 
 Don't talk ! — Let the silence be sweeter than ever, 
 
 Don't speak — for my hunger's beyond ray control ! — 
 Let me rest in your arms, (would God 'twere forever !) — 
 
 O, bring just one moment of peace to my soul ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 No, I can 't see your face, — I have looked till I'm dying 
 With the bitter starvation for you in my life, — 
 
 — Let me reach for your lips in their passionate sighing, — 
 Call me once, — just to-night, by that sacred name — wife ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Do you think if I died, and you over my casket 
 
 Should bend, and should speak to me just that one word, 
 
 Do you think — no, my heart is too full now to ask it, — 
 
 99 
 
My Sweet, in that kiss I both asked and you — heard ! 
 Let me reach to your mouth, O, my Life ! let me keep there 
 My own till I drink, in my thirst, or I die ! — 
 
 — Put your face on my bosom, — is it blessed to rest there, 
 The world so far from us, — we here — you and I ? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oh, world ! with your fever and madness of passion, 
 
 — Your pleasures and vices that beat at flood-tide 
 In the pulses of men in your old, reckless fashion, 
 
 There is mingled the peace of your altars, beside ! — 
 And you lay by the sweets of your roses carnation, 
 
 The lilies carved white as the soul of a child, 
 And you lift, with the cup of your votive- oblation, 
 
 The sacrament wine that 's for lips undefiled ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 What were the years of the la-.Tiul:; aui paining 
 
 That some hearts call happiness — comfort or bliss, — 
 
 What were a life of abandon's mad gaining, 
 
 Without love, when compared with one moment of this ? 
 
 — One moment to rest in the peace of your presence, — 
 Just to look on your face, — and to hear but your voice ! 
 
 Where it mine — or the wealth of earth's kingdoms without you, - 
 Or a lifetime of toil \vith you, which were my choice? 
 
 X. 
 
 Lift me up ! — let me wake ! — tell me. Sweet, I 'm not dying !• 
 — Is it Heaven — and this the reward for Life's pain ? 
 
 — O, how I have missed you ! — O, the peace of this lying 
 At rest, — and to know you are with me again ! 
 
Don't speak ! let the silence be sweeter than ever ; — 
 Don't cry, Sweet, lest tears be beyond our control, — 
 
 Let me rest in your arms, (thank God, 't is forever !) 
 
 Let the pain we 've both suffered bring peace to each soul. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Let me reach to your lips, O, my Life ! let me keep there 
 My ovm till I drink in my thirst till I die, — 
 
 — Put your face on my bosom, — is it blessed to sleep there 
 The world so far from us, — we here, — you and I ? 
 
 O World ! yes, you lay by your roses carnation 
 Your lilies — carved white as the soul of a child ! 
 
 And you lift, with the chalice of votive-oblation, 
 The sacrament wine that 's for lips undefiled ! 
 
Ube Bream of Uo*/lDorrow. 
 
 Like the mem'ry of a sweet, sad song, 
 
 Like a hope that was born and died, 
 Like a faith that we cherished, pure and strong, 
 
 Like the outward-going tide ; — 
 Like the prayer that we prayed, when the heart was full, 
 
 In some sanctuary dim. 
 Like the close of a psahii that was beautiful, — 
 
 Like the chant of a vesper-hymn, — 
 It floated out and was gone e'ermore, — 
 
 It died, and was lost to earth ; 
 It left the heart bereft and sore 
 
 At the loss of its priceless worth ; — 
 It glimmered afar like a beautiful star 
 
 That's seen through the clouds of sorrow, — 
 Too fair for Sorrow's clouds to mar : — 
 
 — That rare, sweet dream of To-morrow. 
 
 I02 
 
Uempest^TTosseD, 
 
 I. 
 
 We stood together, you and I, 
 
 On that night that is long since dead, 
 That night with the dew-damp grass at our feet, 
 
 The roses overhead ! 
 The rose trees that drooped with their sensuous blooms, 
 Unquenched by the fall of the dew, 
 
 And they filled my veins with their scarlet fire 
 As I stood there alone with you ! 
 
 II. 
 
 That night is dead in passionate June, 
 
 'Twas three long years ago ! 
 The birds were perfect in their tune. 
 
 The waters in their flo\y ; 
 No birds but June birds sing as those ! 
 
 In dusky shadows winging. 
 Their liquid notes adown the dark 
 
 The nightingales were flinging ! 
 I heard them there, but it seemed like a dream. 
 
 For your face in its passionate splendor. 
 As dusk as the shadows that sheltered the rose, 
 
 Was over me sweet and tender ! 
 
 Your breath on my cheek, your touch on my brow, 
 
 Your clasp and your mouth's soft sighing, 
 103 
 
I felt it all, as you swore your vow, 
 
 As a soul must feel heaven when dying ! 
 
 Once more I stand where the roses bum 
 
 Their blood-red flames to ashes, — 
 The dew-drops on their petaled hearts, 
 
 The tear drops on my lashes, 
 And I feel in my veins the olden fires, 
 
 As my heart throbs out your name, 
 And I know that forever the old desires 
 
 Will be the same ! 
 
 III. 
 
 And so, like a dream, it comes back to me, 
 Your face and your sweet mouth's sighing, 
 
 And once more in my dreams I seem to be. 
 To-night, in your strong arms lying ! 
 
 O roses of flame ! O heart of fire ; 
 
 O nightingale in the copse ! 
 O heart ! that throbbed with your mad desire ; ■ 
 
 O storm-tossed hopes ! 
 104 
 
trbe }£b& of %ovc. 
 
 I said in my heart : If the skies had grown dark, 
 
 And had been tempestuous weather, 
 If storms had beaten upon our barque, 
 
 As we two sailed together, 
 If the billows of fate had parted us. 
 
 While our tears with the surf were flowing, 
 If our love had gone out as the day goes out. 
 
 When the tide was out\vard going, — 
 
 If the pitiless winds of circumstance, 
 
 In life's uncertain weather, 
 Had beaten upon our clinging hearts. 
 
 We, at least, could have died together ! 
 And I could have lain upon your heart, 
 
 And breathed, thro' your lips, my final breath. 
 And I think there'd have been no shadow of smart, 
 
 Nor sting, in the passing of death ; 
 
 But to have drifted apart, as we have done, 
 
 With the skies so fair above us. 
 For not one reason, — no, not one. 
 
 And not even a test to prove us ! 
 To have drifted apart, as the ships that go out, 
 
 One to the East, and one to the West, — 
 That leave no trace on the restless waves. 
 
 As our dream leaves none in your breast ! 
 
 And, alas ! for us both, and the vain regret. 
 
 And the constant thought of it all, I say, — 
 
 And, alas ! that we two should ever have met, 
 
 To be as we are to-day ! 
 105 
 
xrbe Xute ot Xife» 
 
 I dreamed a dream of a golden Lyre 
 
 Attuned by the touch of Truth, 
 Its gold was tried in the furnace-fire 
 
 That burned with the passions of youth ; 
 
 And the breath of the Lute that floated far 
 Was tlie strain that an Angel sung, > 
 
 Whose echoes were caught from the morning star 
 When the heavens and earth were young. 
 
 Its chords were pure and the Lute was fair 
 
 As harps in the Land untrod ; 
 For I dreamed that the song that I listened to there 
 
 Had its melody written by God ! 
 
 But the star that shone in the early morn 
 
 Is hid in the noonday- light ; — 
 And the Lute that sang when the day was born, 
 
 Is veiled from the souly sight ! 
 
 And I list for the echoes, soft and sweet 
 
 In a power untried before — 
 
 Floating down on the tide of Time to meet 
 
 The waves of Eternity's Shore. 
 io6 
 
The lights are out, and the laughter hushed, 
 
 And the music has ceased its sighing, 
 The sweet, rare breath of the roses, crushed. 
 
 Fills the air where the roses are dying : — ■ 
 The last song sung, with its sweet refrain, 
 
 And all of the guests departed. 
 And I wait here, with a weary pain, 
 
 A litde sadder-hearted 
 For the lights that gleamed awhile ago, — 
 
 For the songs I heard them singing, — 
 For the sound of a lute that sweet and low, — 
 
 And the scent of the roses clinging. — 
 
 For the broken chalice low, that lies 
 
 With its sweetness all untasted. 
 The cup that was filled in Paradise, 
 
 Whose sacred wine is wasted ! 
 Shall I stoop and lift up from the rest 
 
 One passion-rose to cherish. 
 That lay upon some woman's breast 
 
 To bloom and then to perish? 
 Shall I lift the shattered cup, alas ! 
 
 And bathe ray hands in the blood-red wine ? 
 
 Or, shall I, rather, straightway pass 
 
 The ruins of what was never mine? 
 107 
 
For what does it matter, have I said, 
 
 The throbbing heart when the Hghts are out, 
 When the laughter's hushed and the music fled,- 
 
 What does it matter, faith or doubt ? 
 Yes, the hghts are out and the laughter hushed. 
 
 And the music has ceased its sighing, 
 And the roses at my feet are crushed, 
 
 And the chalice lowly lying : 
 The last song sung with its sweet refrain. 
 
 And all of the guests departed. 
 
 And I wait here with a weary pain, 
 
 But so much sadder-hearted ! 
 io8 
 
H Mollis not Mafte tbe Xute. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 " Und wende den Blick nicht wieder weg von mir!" 
 
 I would not wake the lute's sweet tone 
 In dreams as those of yore, 
 
 To wander mid the past alone, 
 
 And breathe those sighs once more ! 
 
 I'd ne'er disturb the deep, sweet rest 
 Of strains long-hushed with tears, 
 
 To mingle with their fragrance, blest, 
 The mists of vanished years ! 
 
 I'd bury chords of long-ago 
 
 'Neath Mem'ry's moonlit beams — 
 
 Till, in the sweeter By-and-By, 
 
 They rise in Heavenly themes ! 
 109 
 
moli Hemulari ! 
 
 Oh, human heart, thou canst not know- 
 God's will, 
 — His devious ways of wisdom prove, and so 
 
 Be still ! 
 Too weak art thou to question long 
 
 In vain, — 
 T'were better, far, in faith to grow more strong 
 
 Again ; — 
 Tho' sorrow's and tho" joy's strong tides 
 
 Between, 
 'Twere sweeter than all else besides. 
 
 To lean 
 Upon the Love that comes in ways 
 
 Unknown — 
 Thou canst not pass thro' shadowed days 
 
 Alone ! 
 Let all the longing and the hopes thou cherished 
 
 So,— 
 Let all the strangely-sweet desires. 
 
 Go! 
 So fair were they on earth ? So richly treasured 
 
 Here? 
 — More fair and e'en in more abundance measured, 
 
 More dear 
 
They *11 be within the Land where sunUght falleth 
 
 Ever, — 
 And where the shade of fear appalleth 
 
 Never. 
 So, let the fair and fondly-cherished dreams 
 
 Depart, 
 'Twere sweeter, far, than now it seems. 
 
 Poor heart. 
 Sometime, within the Better Land, 
 
 To know 
 
 'T were best to be, when thou canst understand, 
 
 Ev'n so. 
 
 Ill 
 
Ooo^^'h^, Swectbeart* 
 
 Good-by, Sweetheart ! 
 The thought that quivers in my breast 
 
 Is but an arrow winging swift and free, 
 That takes not hfe away, but, breaking all its rest, 
 
 Must separate us ever — me and thee ! 
 I wonder doth it grieve thy soul, as mine to part? 
 
 To say, good-by, Sweetheart? 
 
 Good-by, Sweetheart ! 
 As Summer leaves her restful calm on earth — 
 
 Her breathless silence, like a dream of peace, 
 Ev'n so I would that in thy path some gentle birth 
 
 Of sacred recollections, when shall cease 
 The music of to-day, my aught of bliss impart 
 
 To comfort thee, Sweetheart ! 
 
 Good-by, Sweetheart ! 
 I hear the vesper voices call, — 
 
 But yet thy soul's dear grace I cannot lose, — 
 We view our paths which lie apart ; the tears must fall. 
 
 We can but pray, our ways we may not choose. 
 But Heaven waits for both beyond, where thou and I 
 Need never say good-by ! 
 
 Sweetheart, Good-by ! 
 Before us fall such strange, strange mists 
 
 Where once there Avas but sunshine and fair skies, — 
 I reach my hands to thee in vain, — for Fate insists 
 
 Love's links must be unclasped : so close thine eyes 
 While on thy brow I lay my last and tender touch, and sigh 
 To breathe, Sweetheart, Good-by ! 
 
(Bol& an^ purple. 
 
 " Pansies are for thoughts," I said, and lay 
 
 The flower he gave me yesterday. 
 
 Upon the pillow near the tiny face, 
 
 That scarce seemed larger with its month of tender grace ; — 
 
 For little weeks ago I did not know the bliss 
 
 That, could the wealth of the world be mine, I would not 
 change for this. 
 " And pansies are for thoughts," I knew he thought as I did, 
 
 That there upon the pillow lay one thought of God divided ! 
 
 A purple pansy, with its heart of golden sunshine, purely — 
 
 An infant's soul the other part 
 
 Of God's great thought, most surely ! 
 
 And, looking on them, could we say 
 
 Which, out of such completeness, 
 
 The babe, or the flower plucked yesterday, 
 
 Had most of hidden sweetness ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh, dimly purple as the dark 
 Of bay-crowned muses' tresses. 
 Holding within thy depth one spark 
 Of sunlight, vaguely guesses 
 She, who to lips scarce worthy, lifts 
 Such cup of human wonder, 
 113 
 
Of other of God's greatest gifts 
 
 His goodness lying under ; 
 
 Some prescience of the babe that sleeps 
 
 Beside the flow'r dropt lightly, 
 
 Within the heart its music keeps 
 
 That solves all doubt arightly : — 
 
 Oh, little life, outreaching far 
 
 Beyond love's orb of kisses, 
 
 Whose future years, that somewhere are. 
 
 Lie dimly — dark as this is. 
 
 Whose royal purple's rich in shade 
 
 As oriental eves are, 
 
 As perfect is thy future lade — 
 
 As stainless as these leaves are ? 
 
 Upon thine unaccomplished fate 
 
 The silence falls in singing. 
 
 And Faith, that needeth not to wait, 
 
 Sets all her joy-bells ringing ; 
 
 And pansies are for thoughts — and both 
 
 Are God's thought, said we, parted. 
 
 How canst thou, then, sweet little babe, 
 
 Be other than pure-hearted ? 
 114 
 
©, Ibapp^ Maters I 
 
 TO MY HUSBAND (BEFORE OUR MARRIAGE). 
 
 ' I found a little stream of clear cold water, dancing over the porphyry boulders anc! 
 singing to itself; — I drank and laved my hands in it, and smiled at it and loved it, 
 and lay down and rested by it, and it continued its singing always." — 
 
 Thou smiled upon the water, — happy waters thus to know thy 
 smile ! — 
 
 And drank, and laved thy hands, and cooled thy pulse's heat, — 
 And lay thee down and rested there awhile, 
 
 — The silvery song still rippling at thy feet : — 
 
 And thou wast weary, and so lay thee down beside the stream, 
 ah, me ! 
 Thou, footsore, and with heart discouraged, — craving rest, 
 And fev'rish with the thirst of hearts before, and hearts that yet 
 shall be, 
 — The sunlight shining down upon thy breast, 
 
 m. 
 
 And thou did'st sleep : — and dream, perchance, and in those 
 dreams what bliss was thine ? 
 What hopes, forsooth, long-cherished, found fruition sweet ? 
 What brave ambitions bursting earth's confine. 
 Did make thy life, one hour, at least, complete? 
 
 "5 
 
IV. 
 
 Or, did no dreaming lie upon thy soul, to lend thee peace or 
 pain, — 
 
 But sleep, that, biding softly, gave thee perfect rest? 
 ( I only know I would that thou didst sleep again, — 
 My heart the happy sunshine on thy breast ! ) 
 
 V. 
 
 I would thou were once more a-weary, and thy pulse at fever- 
 heat, — 
 
 — Thy heart an-hungered, and thy lips a-thirst 
 For rippling waters flowing at thy feet, 
 
 And silv'ry song upon thy heart to burst ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 O, sunlit, happy waters, flowing, that his smile has rested on ! 
 
 O, happy music sounding on his ear ! — 
 O, restless flow, that fell his pulse upon, — 
 
 O porphyry banks his form has rested near ! — 
 
 VII. 
 
 Would he once more were weary, oh, my life, and thou that 
 happy stream ! 
 
 — Were he a-thirst, — and ye, oh, lips of mine, the cup 
 Whereof he drank to sink to sleep and dream, 
 
 — O, life and lips ! to his own lifted up ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 O, happy fate ! what more had life to yield, or hope to proffer me ! 
 
 What hath this world beside — or earth to give ! 
 
 What sweeter peace than this could Heaven offer me, — 
 
 Than that his life within my own should live ? 
 
 ii6 
 
IX. 
 
 That he, a thirst, should freely drink, and cool the fever heat, 
 And lave his pulses in the life that flows in mine, — 
 
 And, smiling, own that life to him were sweet? 
 
 ( O, soul of mine, that, hung'ring, gives no sign ! ) 
 
 O, sunlit, happy waters, flowing, that his smile has rested on ! 
 
 O, happy music, sounding on his ear ! 
 
 O, restless flow that fell his pulse upon — 
 
 O, happy banks his form has rested near ! 
 
 117 
 
Uhc Cit^ Beautitul. 
 
 Sometimes, when the day is ended, 
 
 And its round of duties done, 
 I watch at the western windows 
 
 The gleam of the setting sun. 
 When my heart has been unquiet, 
 
 And its longings unbeguiled 
 By the day's vexatious trials, 
 
 And cannot be reconciled, 
 I look on the slope of the mountains 
 
 And over the restless sea. 
 And I think of the Beautiful City 
 
 That lieth not far from me, — 
 And my spirit is hushed in a moment, 
 
 As the twilight falls tender and sweet, 
 And I cross, in my fancy, the river. 
 
 And kneel at the Master's feet. 
 And I rest in the shade that there falleth 
 
 From the trees that with healing are rife,- 
 That shadow the banks of the river, — 
 
 The River of Water of Life. 
 And, some time, when daylight is ended, 
 
 And the duties He gave me are done, 
 
 I shall watch at life's western windows 
 
 The gleam of its setting sun. 
 
 I shall fall asleep in the twilight, 
 
 As I never have slept before, 
 ii8 
 
To dream of the beautiful City 
 Till I waken to sleep no more. 
 
 There will fall on my restless spirit 
 A hush, oh, so wondrously sweet, 
 
 And I shall cross o'er the river 
 
 To rest at the Master's feet I 
 119 
 
Uo a Dase^Brealier. 
 
 Iconoclast, of fame more fair, — 
 
 Destroyer of vases, — 
 Than his who smites the idols, rare. 
 
 In merest social phases, 
 What is the power thy presence keeps, — 
 
 What magnetism holdeth. 
 That, in thine absence, perfume sleeps, 
 
 That the red, red rose enfoldeth? 
 Alas ! for the cup that shattered Hes, 
 
 And the crushed, rare, damask roses, — 
 Alas, that all the fragrance dies 
 
 When grief the wreck discloses ! 
 I stooped to catch, — if aught were there,- 
 
 Above the atoms shattered. 
 Some lingering breath of their despair 
 
 From leaves that 'round lay scattered ; 
 But, ah ! as man's and woman's lot, 
 
 When Love's sweet share's divided, 
 The fragrance floated where you went ; 
 
 The ruins stayed where I did ! 
 
XHnwrttten /IDusic 
 
 Above, where the moonbeam, gUttering, strayeth, 
 
 And glances its crystal breast, trembhng with Hght, 
 
 Afar, where the billow, foam-crested, soft playeth. 
 
 And, rippling its vesper-song, passeth from sight, — 
 Above the ruby stars, — Eve's gems, — are gleaming. 
 
 And watch o'er fair Nature's sleep, gentle and still, 
 
 And, where cool zephyr's breath, guarding her dreaming. 
 
 Are whispering to rosebuds to leave them at will ; — 
 
 II. 
 
 Up o'er the steep where the green-swarded highlands 
 
 Are basking in smiles from the sunny blue sky, 
 
 And give richer gems than far ocean islands. 
 
 Or Ocean's deep breast where the coral caves lie, 
 
 Up o'er the heights where the Chamois, climbing. 
 
 Is wand 'ring all day in his freedom, so light. 
 Wanders all day, till the sun's rays declining, 
 
 Descend with the starry-gemmed mantle of night ; 
 
 III. 
 
 Down in the home of the dew-drops and roses, — 
 
 Roses that faded at summer's farewell. 
 And died, — but whose secret no song-bird discloses. 
 
 And naught but the summer their story can tell ; 
 
 Their crimson leaves scattered, — a fragrant pall "making, 
 
 Around us they lie in their beauteous sleep, — 
 While starlight and zephyr last farewells are taking, 
 
 And nesting birds fondly their sweet vigils keep. 
 
rv. 
 And, o'er the highland and lowland and billow, 
 
 Over each spot where deep twilight-shades fall, 
 Come silent voices blending o'er Nature's pillow, — 
 
 Come many soft whispers, like Memory's call. 
 That tell of the bright worlds of beauty around us — 
 
 And breathe of our earth as at first it was given, 
 'Till soft strains of music, enchanted, have bound us, 
 
 And opened to fancy the portals of Heaven ! 
 
 V. 
 
 'T is strange, how the unwritten music of silence 
 
 Can bear away hearts in celestial-like strains, — 
 — 'T is strange how a sweet- warbling bird, by its guidance. 
 
 Bears the heart on its wings, and the golden shore gains ! 
 There is beauty immortal in twilights resplendent, 
 
 And praise in the hearts which in Nature rejoice, — 
 That hear, throughout all her bright glory attendant, 
 
 Th' unwritten music of Jehovah's own Voice I 
 
Won TRfsseb /IDel 
 
 I downward looked into the depths 
 
 Of soul that showed as dark as night, 
 
 Nor saw a trace of clearer light ; 
 
 The path was closed and sealed with God's own seal. 
 
 As one who suffers long nor weeps, 
 I shut my eyes and stand and wait 
 The summons of a far-off fate 
 Our life and death alike that keeps. 
 
 A late bird in the homeward flight, 
 
 With pinions drooping wearily, 
 
 Into the bosom of the night 
 
 One sweet note droppeth cheerily ; 
 
 No matter how so tired he be — 
 
 His note of sweetness droppeth he ! 
 
 Methinks my heart, the' tired, could sing 
 
 Its note of praise at eventide, 
 
 If evening's hour, at last, would bring 
 
 The rest of home ! Than all beside 
 
 More sweet to lowly-drooping wing 
 
 Of spirit lade with Marah's spray. 
 
 Than any other earthly thing, 
 
 When falls the twilight of the day. 
 
 You kissed me, — and it seemed a dream 
 
 Had passed the bounds of hfe and thought ; 
 123 
 
The music of love's sacred theme 
 
 Into my soul its sweetness brought. 
 
 I looked above and heard a strain 
 
 Of sweet, perplexed music rise 
 
 And caught a glimpse of Paradise, 
 
 And God with longing filled my heart ; 
 
 I could not have more near than this 
 
 The far-off dream of passion's bliss ; 
 
 And far away the music throbbed again, 
 
 And filled my soul with nameless pain ! 
 
 Unconscious, dear musician, tell, 
 
 (That hold'st a strange and wondrous power. 
 
 So sweet in life's still changing hour), 
 
 Did'st know what soundless depths thou d'st stirred, 
 
 When, without sound of lyre or lute. 
 
 But from thy lips love's sweet salute 
 
 Fell deep within my heart — a dripping shell 
 
 Of liquid music down a darksome well ? 
 
 And so, upon the sloping altar-stairs, 
 
 Away from earthly Jife to God, 
 
 I, pausing, turn from having trod. 
 
 And, half within the sweet, dim light of hope 
 
 That faint encompasses the way 
 
 And smiles the darkest night to day, 
 
 And half within the dusk of large despair, 
 
 I pause, and learn life's sweetest lesson there. 
 124 
 
TUnstalneD purple. 
 
 ■ the sighing years 
 
 Re-sighing on my lips renunciative; ■ 
 
 I. 
 
 If you were dying, darling, in a far-off land, — 
 
 Beyond the distance lying between you and me, 
 And you should long, in that lone hour, to clasp my hand 
 
 Across the waste of waters there would be. 
 In spirit I could grant, yes, all the tenderness of days gone by, — 
 
 But 't were not mine to overpass the gulf that lies. 
 For not with merely friendship's grief and friendship's sigh 
 
 Could I, Beloved, look into your dying eyes, — 
 
 And, should we meet each other here to-night, 
 — As I have longed and prayed that we might meet, — 
 
 If, on my heart's long hungering should f^iU the old love's light. 
 And you were kneeling at my feet, 
 
 I would not dare to lift your weary head 
 And lay it on my bosom in the old-time way, 
 
 I would not dare to listen to the words that once you said 
 
 — Before that weary years o'erpassed our parting day ! 
 
 II. 
 Sweet, if you died to-night, and I beside your bier 
 
 Should stand, and know that you were free 
 From all that bound you to another here — 
 
 And at this hour of death, — at last, — belonged to me, 
 Could know that in the Better Land, beyond the crystal Sea, 
 Would cease my endless longing, and my heart's low, famished 
 cry,— 
 
 — Could know that only death could give you back to me, — 
 I fain, to-night, would pray : My Father, let me die ! 
 
CiQav Smofte, 
 
 'T was a year ago — a day like this — 
 
 I settled myself in my cushions at ease ; 
 
 Forgetful of dates ? — Is a woman amiss 
 
 When she makes up her calender out of a kiss — 
 
 Out of an hour or so of bliss — 
 
 — Or a day and a night, — if you put it so ? 
 
 I leave it to you ; you ought to know ! 
 
 Yes ! men were made for women to please : 
 
 To drink the wine and to leave the lees, 
 
 You reclined somewhere — I think not far, — 
 
 With your eyes half closed, and a fragrant cigar 
 
 Half- smoked in your passionate lips, 
 
 I envied the weed — did I tell you so then? 
 
 I felt your hand as it toyed with the rose 
 
 That lay on my bosom — yes, I suppose 
 
 At least a dozen or so of men 
 
 Have given me crimson roses since then, 
 
 And dozens of others before that too ; 
 
 But — well, you know, they were none of them you/ 
 
 Perhaps 'twas the wine — I don't know, that we quaffed, 
 
 For you smoked, and we chatted and sipped and laughed- 
 
 But your hand still toyed with the flower — . 
 
 The firelight flamed in the open grate, 
 
 The curtains were drawn — 'twas cosy there ! 
 126 
 
And dangerous too ? Perhaps so ; well, 
 
 Such things are to live, inon cher, not to tell. 
 
 Oh ! I 'd give ten years of my life for that hour — 
 
 To live once more as we lived it then, 
 
 My king, from among the world of men 
 
 I 've met in my lifetime, — Ah ! 
 
 Over your wine-cup filled with wine — 
 
 Your eyes half closed (with the smoke, may be), 
 
 And the dusk too deep for either to see, — 
 
 But quite light enough, you said, cher ami. 
 
 I wonder how many have cradled your head. 
 
 Their bosom your pillow, their heart your bed 
 
 For love's own dreams ? — 
 
 And something more, I thought 'twas then ! 
 
 Did I count you different from most of men ? 
 
 No ! I 'm just what I seem ; 't is the smoke in my eyes, 
 
 ^Tis the smoke — don't you see? your face is too near; 
 
 I never believed a word of your vow, 
 
 And am sure that I would n't, repeated right now ; 
 
 Go solace yourself with those others, my dear ! 
 
 Your mistaken ! 'iis smoke in my eyes — not a tear. 
 
 Do I envy the weed as I did that day ! 
 
 — 'T was a year ago, and your lips were so sweet ! 
 
 (Perhaps 'tis the wine I 've sipped twice this glass.) 
 
 And the old days are gone ! Ah, well, let them pass. 
 
 Life at best is so fleet ! 
 
 You wish that your lips were this rose on my breast? 
 
 Well, / wish myself that — ah ! guessing the rest? 
 
 127 
 
O your mouth is as passionate now as then ! 
 
 You know in your heart that no other men — 
 
 But, you have no fear? 
 
 O ! your mouth makes me say it : I love you so, Dear ! 
 
 128 
 
H /!Dot)ern IRomeo, 
 
 Good night, Beloved ! Still I wait, 
 
 And hold thy hand in closer clasp. 
 Ah, could it close the dawning gate 
 
 That turns night's warmth to morrow's cold - 
 That steals the secret I enfold — 
 That closes on the bliss I hold — 
 And takes such treasure from my grasp ! 
 
 Good night, Beloved ! You and I 
 
 Would, lingering, say "Good night" till morn 
 
 Would stay the hours that swiftly fly — 
 
 Would pierce morn through, and bid it die, 
 With passion's winged, barbed dart 
 Because it fain would have us part — 
 Would take thee, Love, from off my heart — 
 
 Would separate us, you and I ! 
 
 Why should we, sweet one, say, Adieu? 
 
 You say 't is wrong to question fate, 
 
 You say 't is wrong to linger late ; 
 
 And yet some time, sweet one, at last, 
 
 Some time when days are overpast, 
 
 Some time kind fate will bid me stay 
 
 Till sweet night's shadows flee away. 
 
 Till sweet night passes into day ! 
 
 Sweetheart, good night ! 't is growing late ! 
 129 
 
Sweetheart, 't is very late ; good night ! 
 
 It must be that the morrow's flush 
 
 Falls on thy cheek in tint and blush ! 
 
 Or is it that I whispered — hush, — 
 
 Beloved one, just once more for rest, 
 
 Lay thy head low upon my breast : 
 
 There ! — So ! — The day with lesser charms 
 
 Comes soon ; to-night within my arms 
 
 Whisper good night, Beloved ! good night ! 
 130 
 
Bn nEmpt^ Cacje. 
 
 I. 
 
 The morning sunshine fresh and fair, 
 
 Its luxurousness upon the air, — 
 
 The damp, faint odor of the flowers, that now anew 
 
 Lift up their sleepy faces wet Vv'ith dew. 
 
 And slowly waken to the light, 
 
 And bare their bosoms to its soft caress, 
 
 — Their incensed bosoms, where low sank the night 
 Its weary head in grateful tenderness : — 
 
 A window open wide to all this wealth of morn, — 
 This beauteousness of Nature newly born ; 
 
 — A little cage above the bower of sweetness swung, — 
 A tiny cage, about which all the sweetness clung. 
 
 And, 'mid the sweetness all its wealth of liquid music flung 
 A tiny bird within the cage in days gone past, 
 
 — The days that died when all its song was cast ! 
 
 The cage still swings above the bower of bloom 
 In early morning and in evening gloom, 
 — In sunshine and in shadow sweet and sad, — 
 In shadow and in sunshine sweet and glad : — 
 And this was yestermorn and yesternight ! 
 
 — How long the hours linger in their flight ! 
 
 — How long in passing outward from our sight ! - 
 
 — There is no song-bird in the cage that swings, - 
 No bird o'er bower and bloom its music flings, — 
 But soft and stilly yet the distance brings 
 
An echo from some far-away, the faintest trill, 
 — The sweetest, faintest lay that heart e'er heard, — 
 The liquid notes like rippling water echoes still, 
 And somewhere, yet, methinks, there sings my bird ! 
 
 III. 
 
 And so, within my heart I say : 
 
 How fair was yestermorn, — how dark to-day ! 
 
 The flow'rs lift up their faces to the light 
 
 That comes when flee the shadows of the night, — 
 
 — Their faces wet with dews that fell 
 
 Within the hours whose sweetness none can tell ! 
 
 Not here, but somewhere ; still the echo trills 
 
 Of liquid music that the heart soft fills. 
 
 The heart that yet with throbs of mem'ry thrills ! 
 
 Not here, but somewhere ; yet the song comes back 
 
 To fill, with echo, soft and low, the weary lack 
 
 Within the soul that makes no moan : 
 
 Love's empty cage from which the bird is flov/n ! 
 132 
 
B fiboob. 
 
 There ! — let them He where they fell, — at my feet,- 
 They are nothing but words, at the most, I say :- 
 
 A half of a letter, incomplete, 
 Written just as I felt to-day : 
 
 Wrttk7ijust as Ifeli ! my God ! is it true, 
 That, lying beneath my lightest tread, 
 
 Are the thoughts I have felt for you ! 
 
a jfraGment ot a Song. 
 
 " A sea-drift blown from windward back to lee! ' 
 
 " ' Past Hades, past Elysium, the long, 
 Slow, smooth, strong lapse of Lethe ." 
 
 I. 
 
 A little fragment of a song, 
 
 With tremulas that thrill and quiver, 
 Whose echoes, lingering late and long, 
 
 Float down a rippling river ; 
 The song was full and clear and sweet, 
 
 The echoes linger clearer, yet, and sweeter, 
 As down they float, the wind-kissed waves to meet, 
 
 And in the meeting make the song completer. 
 
 II. 
 Thro' time and tide — thro' Love's strong light, 
 
 The melody, by rift unbroken, 
 Comes back again to me to-night, 
 
 And brings the words so long unspoken ; — 
 That memory of vanished song, 
 
 With tremulas that thrill and quiver, 
 That filled my famished heart so long 
 
 While passsing down Time's ever-changing river ! 
 
 III. 
 Come back, O love ! and sing again 
 
 To soothe the soul e'er since by grief perturbed ! 
 134 
 
Give back to me the sweet refrain 
 
 Of song, by rift of doubt all undisturbed ! 
 
 Sweet songs ! that echo down 'the shores of Time, 
 When shadow after sunshine all too quickly falleth, 
 
 When life no longer flows like liquid rhyme 
 That mem'ry, sad and sweet, recalleth ! 
 
 rv. 
 Pure songs, — that pulse the praise of dreams tho' unfulfilled, 
 
 That fall within the rifts of life with restful calm, — 
 That echo back, thro' restive years unstilled. 
 
 Like the lowly chanting, — far away, — of some sweet 
 psalm ! 
 
 135 
 
B Sonnet. 
 
 I sec thy loved face, lit by Memory's beams, — 
 
 Whose loving, hallowed light seems never dying, — 
 In softened tenderness, as in a dream, 
 
 I hear thy whispering in breezes sighing ! 
 In all the fancy's wanderings o'er the past, — 
 
 It, guided on by Love's bright starlight shining, 
 Returns to thy beloved name at last, 
 
 With dreams that yet were true, tho' undefining ; 
 And should my future lead in ways more golden 
 
 Than e'er the past has shown — still fairer to me 
 There lies within my heart, tho' ne'er unfolden, 
 
 Something to lead me on ; — a memory of thee ! 
 
 Thou long hast been — e'er shall be — a guiding star 
 
 Through life's long night to foir eternity. 
 136 
 
Bmourcss. 
 
 " Warmed with faint fires - Sweetened with dead flowers - Measured by low music." 
 
 Sweet, never o'er Lethean stream, thro' its mists, in the night, 
 Shall thy sleep-sealed eyes look away t'ward the dark, and hide 
 
 from my soul their light ! 
 Never visions of dreams,— faces that plead,— voices that call, 
 Lure thy soul to the shadowless land, leaving love that were 
 
 dearer than all ! 
 Sweet, the kisses of Death on thy lips were colder than mine, 
 Yea, my lips, that have poured out their passionate blisses like 
 
 wine ! 
 Let thine eyes on my face rest their light, as the stars on the 
 
 waters they kiss, 
 O, mine own, is Death's countenance fairer,— more blessed to 
 
 thee, than is this ? 
 Lilies that rise by the palms,— white as ivory,— thornless as 
 
 peace, — 
 Rising out of the grayness of ashes, as life out of death,— out of 
 
 turmoil surcease : — 
 White and cold ; yea, and dearth of sweet warmth as smile of the 
 
 moon upon snow. 
 For such yieldest the roses,— red as drops from the heart that 
 
 loveth thee so ? 
 Sweet, to thee once,— sweeter than these,— more sweet than were 
 
 rest, 
 
 Whiter and warmer and softer the bosom thou'st loved,— which 
 
 to-night, were the best? 
 Nay, sleep not ! Awaken ! for love is so far from content ! 
 
 137 
 
Slumber were thine ; O, my loved one, when night were far spent ! 
 
 Nay, sleep if thou wilt, e'en now, — on my breast, Sweet, thy 
 
 cheek : 
 Nay, hush perfect lips ! on my own laid, they need not to speak ! 
 
 Mindless of passion that burned, of love that has lived, ev'n of 
 
 life that dies, 
 Senseless of strength, — bereft of it, — deaf to all sound, — here, in 
 
 the light of thine eyes. 
 Back to my soul, Sweet, is surging and ebbing the vow that I 
 
 swore. 
 And the love that defied, face to face. Death, defies him no 
 
 more ! 
 My soul clings to thine, — God never takes back what He gave, — 
 And love were not love, if were laid down its vows at the grave ! 
 Sweet, the kisses thou'st set on my lips were sweeter than 
 
 sacrament wine. 
 And the roses I laid on thy heart were red as the blood-drops 
 
 from mine ! 
 Blossoms, thornful and passionate, — rich as the heat of the sun. 
 Fruits, sweet and voluptuous, — warm as the life thou hast won ! 
 
 Nay, then, to sleep. Sweet, sink in my bosom thy face. 
 My soul goeth out with thine own. Love, death-faint with thy 
 sweets of embrace ! . , 
 
 Lilies, that rise by the palms, — white as ivory, — thornless as 
 
 peace, 
 Rising out of the grayness of ashes, — life out of death, — out of 
 
 turmoil, surcease. 
 
 138 
 
H Moman's Gift. 
 
 What gift can I, from out the heartfelt treasures 
 Of wordless gifts the tongue cannot express, 
 
 Sweet, offer thee, within the stinted measures 
 Of rhythmic rules that seem so meaningless? 
 
 A word ! when all the language lips have ever spoken 
 Is powerless, dear, to e'en express a thought ! 
 
 A sigh ! when but the hush of God's eternal years betoken 
 The endless love with which my soul is fraught ! 
 
 What deed may I, in human thought conceiving. 
 
 Assume, in hope of ever carrying through. 
 That finally shall prove to thine own unbelieving, 
 
 The grander will of what I warit to do ? 
 
 A note snatched up in haste from out the sweeter singing 
 Of harp and lute that have no broken string, 
 
 A branch of olive, that the dove of peace were bringing — 
 The only bird in all life's storms that bears no broken wing. 
 
 A prayer to pray, upon life's altar-stairway sloping, 
 
 A chant, that pleaseth best my woman's heart to say — 
 
 A prayer embodying all that faith can mean in hoping 
 That God will hear, and answer, too, some day. 
 139 
 
These things are all : " It is no wealth of giving," 
 The world, in heartless fashion I can hear acclaim. 
 
 And yet, all noblest things that make life worth the living, 
 I offer thee each time I breathe thy name. 
 
 These things are all ; but, when this life is ended, 
 
 And God has given thy heart the power to see. 
 
 Thou 'It know the truest thing His love has lended, 
 
 Was just the human love I gave to thee. 
 140 
 
H fortior!* 
 
 ' I lift my heavy heart up solemnly ; 
 As once Electra her sepulchral urn. 
 And, looking in thine eyes, I over turn 
 The ashes at thy feet." 
 
 " How the red wild sparkles dimly burn 
 
 Thro' the ashen grayness ! " 
 
 If thou shouldst die, before the glimmering dawn 
 
 The darkness would not flee as erst-time it had done, 
 When bright the worlds afar beyond our spheric morn 
 
 Withdrew their lights before the natural sun ; — 
 Methinks the Night, with sable robes a-trail. 
 
 Upon the edges, dark, of sensuous day, would stand 
 Where Sorrow's chast'ning hand uplifts the veil 
 
 That falls before the portals of the unknown Land, — 
 Where angel voices, from the heavenly height, 
 
 Break through the rolling clouds with music Infinite. 
 
 II. 
 
 But through the portals of my life could break, 
 — From out such dread apocalypse control, — 
 
 No sound of answ'ring sweetness, Dear, to wake 
 
 To light the groping darkness of my sorrowing soul ! 
 
 For, where the Night would wait, and, one by one, 
 Would mourn her lights struck outward to new day, 
 
 My soul would wait apart, in sackcloth spun. 
 
 And grieve but for the light that 'neath thine eyelids lay ! 
 141 
 
Bmbition. 
 
 If time would haste its pace, we' ve said, — 
 
 The years pass swifter in the flight — 
 — When faintly o'er the childish head 
 
 Had worldly wisdom shed her light : — 
 So long to serve in life's stern school, 
 
 Its lengthened, needsome task to learn, 
 E'er that beneath its strictest rule, 
 
 We fairly may its honors earn ! 
 And, as we cannot be content 
 
 With plodding in the common way, 
 To best improve the moments lent, 
 
 Our fair ideals turn to clay ! 
 Like children grieving o'er some task, 
 
 We reach impatient hands to gain 
 What we may only sometime ask 
 
 As Heaven's reward for earthsome pain ! — 
 Oh, time ! we fain would bid thee stay 
 
 Thy progress in the years' swift flight ! 
 For we would gather day by day. 
 
 Aught of the harvest, e'er life's night ! 
 We would Heaven's light before us beamed 
 
 To fix the goal that must be won, — 
 
 And prove the paths we 've trod, that seemed 
 
 But rough, — the ways of glory, when we 've done. 
 J42 
 
'B})it:)C witb ins I 
 
 INVOCATION. 
 
 Abide with us when morning beams 
 Her radiance from the skies, — 
 
 Abide with us when evening gleam 
 With light from Paradise ! 
 
 Abide with us ! Where'er we tread, — 
 
 Whatever paths among. 
 Let Trust's calm, earnest prayer be said. 
 
 And Faith's sweet song be sung. 
 
 Abide with us, — who go, who stay, — 
 
 — The lilies of Thy grace 
 Let fall across the untried way, 
 
 And the sunshine of Thy face ! 
 143 
 
' Tu Mi Chamas.' 
 
 I. 
 
 Here 's to your health in sunht wine, 
 
 And a Hfetime brief but merry, — 
 I tip you a kiss from this glass of mine 
 
 And pledge young Love in Sherry ! 
 
 II. 
 You may sing the praise of your rare old Port, 
 
 And your "Extra Dry," my Honey, 
 But the cup I lift is the gods' own gift 
 
 And can 't be bought for money ! 
 
 III. 
 They may chant of the " crystal " sparkling, bright. 
 
 And the moss-covered bucket at leisure, — 
 But the cup for quaffing that gladdens my sight 
 
 Is the chalice of passion and pleasure ! 
 
 O, 't is so, — don't I know ! 
 
 You 're in for it once you begin it ! 
 As with wine, so with love, you 'd better go slow. 
 
 For the devil himself is in it ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Man Cher, midst the smoke of your fragrant cigar 
 
 Yes, I 'm fond of that sort of thing — very — 
 
 I touch with your glass for a " Here 's how you are ! " 
 
 In this draught, — 't is the third of old Sherry / 
 144 
 
V. 
 
 You may trust, mark my words, any man that you please, 
 (If you 're made with a heart that is human,) — 
 
 You may drink, of love's sacrament, down to the lees, 
 Provided, of course, you 're a woman. 
 
 VI. 
 
 You may give him the blood from your heart — yes, 't is so ! 
 
 — And starve every day while you pet him, 
 
 But make up your mind : from the very word Go .' 
 
 He '11 drain that heart dry if you '11 let him ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then turn on his heel as he leisurely strikes 
 A match for " the smoke " that comes after, — 
 
 And your pleading is flattery such as he likes, — 
 As you mingle your tears with his laughter ! 
 
 O, 't is so, don't I know ! 
 
 You 're in for it, once you begin it ! 
 As with wine — so with love, you 'd better go slow, 
 
 For the devil himself is in it ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But 't is better to "smile" than to sigh all the while 
 Life 's brief, and so ought to be merry — 
 
 To live as you go is a pretty good style — 
 (So, my boy, just a little more Sherry ! ) 
 
 IX. 
 
 You may tell about trusting a man out of sight — 
 
 — All that kind of thing at your pleasure, — 
 My ideas are m.ore forcible, far, than polite ! — 
 
 But — a man, after all, — he 's a treasure ! 
 145 
 
O, 't is so ! — don't I know ! 
 
 Yes, you 're in for it once you begin it — 
 As with wine, — so with love, — you can 't seem to go slow, 
 
 — Tho' you know that the devil is in it ! 
 
 X. 
 
 So here 's to the Lethe for all sorrows and sighs, 
 
 And here 's to the night that is dying, — 
 I quaff to the ominous light in your eyes, — 
 
 And the sweets on your lips that are lying ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 We '11 drink to the joy, (tho' it 's partly alloy,) 
 
 It is true, tho' it 's singular — very, — 
 
 But life, as / view it 's no failure, my boy. 
 
 So long as there 's kisses and — Sherry! 
 146 
 
XTbe Sonas tbat are Sung tor B^e, 
 
 Over the hills as the sun went down, 
 
 Over the hills in the summer time, 
 As the sun went down in gold and gray, 
 
 Like a dream that is dreamed of a cloudless clime, 
 A little song-bird winged its way, — 
 A little bird at the close of day ; — 
 Its pinions drooped, but its song was sweet 
 
 As ever the song of a bird could be. 
 And after the day with its weary heat, 
 
 The peace of the evening came to me. 
 
 A little child with a happy smile 
 
 Stood looking out from the window pane : 
 " Will the bird come back in a little while 
 And sing the pretty song again? " 
 
 After the dust and the heat of the day, 
 With its added cares and its labors done. 
 
 After the gathered sheaves, alway, 
 
 There is vesper-tide for the weary one ! 
 
 There is always the sun with its gray and gold, 
 
 And the peace and the calm and the rest complete.^ 
 
 After the labors manifold, 
 
 There's ever a bird whose song is sweet. 
 
 But the tiny child with his wondering eyes. 
 Who waits each day for the hom.eward flight, 
 
 Looking up to the blue of the steadfast skies, 
 In the growing dusk of the coming night. 
 
Turns back to me with his wistful smile, 
 As he tip-toe stands at the window pane, 
 "Will the bird come back in a little while 
 And sing his sweet song over again?" 
 
 Over again ! What can I say 
 
 That the heart of a child may understand ? 
 What can he know of the word " alway, " 
 
 Or what we mean by the Better Land ? 
 Of the songs once sung that are sung for aye, 
 
 And never come back to human heart ? 
 What can he know of the Sweet Someday, 
 
 Of life and its grander, better part? 
 
 What shall I answer thee ? tell me, Sweet, 
 
 Who have just come down from the fair Above, 
 
 From out whose gates thy tiny feet 
 
 Have wandered here to prove God's love ! 
 
 Shall I answer softly : " Dear, one day, 
 
 When the birds come back from the Southern clime,- 
 — That one will come?" — perhaps he may, 
 
 " Perhaps, " I whisper, " Dear, Som.etime. " 
 
 And I say in my heart : Sometime, — Someday, — 
 
 In the summer-time beyond the Sea 
 In the perfect peace that is there alway 
 
 Life's silent songs will come back to me ! 
 But I know in my heart that never again 
 
 The song of that bird in its homeward flight, — 
 
 And the little child at the window pane. 
 
 Will be to me as they were that night ! 
 1.48 
 
XTbe Uiiuit>^ ot ^Ime. 
 
 A woman's creed, insooth! 
 
 HUSBAND. 
 
 Strange, mystic word of woman's heart, and its most sacred 
 
 dream : 
 The deep, rich keynote, — chiefest part, of Ufe's sweet, holy 
 
 theme — 
 The refuge of each hour that flies, and its redeeming glory, 
 That means the young world's paradise, and Eden's primal story \ 
 
 BABE. 
 
 The sacred seal of human love, — 
 
 When love, too deep for speaking, 
 Can know none other sweeter proof. 
 
 And finds no holier seeking, — 
 When God's sweet pity lists the prayer, 
 
 And wills no contradiction, 
 But lays on human hearts this rare 
 
 And wondrous benediction. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 The purest chord of Heaven and Earth touched by our Father's 
 
 fingers, 
 Whose harmony finds only birth where'er His presence lingers 
 Who proffers such libation-cup filled to the utmost brim 
 Of life's sweet nectar, not of gods, but such as comes from Him 
 To human lips ; O, blessed Trinity of Time ! and thought that 
 
 draws us nearer 
 The perfectness of trust sublime, and faith that must be dearer 
 Because He teaches love supreme in ways of wondrous sweetness, 
 And grants this earthly life to share so much of Heaven's com- 
 pleteness ! 
 
 149 
 
Summer 's Going t 
 
 " Summer 's going !" woodlands cry, 
 Blossoms, brooks and birds reply : 
 " Summer 's going, — going fast, 
 " Happy aays too sweet to last ! " — 
 Joyous birds among the flow'rs, 
 Are ye treasuring up the hours? 
 Do ye watch the ling'ring light 
 Of days so swiftly taking flight ? 
 
 Summer 's going ! Like the theme 
 
 Of a broken, happy dream, 
 
 — Like the mist before the rain. 
 
 Like the shadow of a pain. 
 
 Dawns this knowledge of the heart 
 
 Joys come, but soon depart. 
 
 Is this the comfort that ye bring, 
 
 Birds, that in the twilight sing? 
 
 Ah ! bending skies that rarest smile. 
 Folding blossoms wait awhile ! 
 Brooks to rippling brooks that call. 
 Tell me how the moments fall? 
 '^' This that human hearts must know : 
 Joys come, e'en though they go ; 
 Lights and shadows tho' there be, 
 Light will bid the shadows flee." 
 150 
 
Sine;, Smile, Sleep. 
 
 A NOCTURNE. 
 
 I. 
 
 My beloved, sing to-night ! For in thy voice there lies 
 
 The pathos of a whole world's cry for its lost paradise ! 
 
 I know not whence the wondrous pow'r of chords thy soul within, 
 
 I only know that when it breathes earth seems so free from sin ! 
 
 II. 
 Beloved, smile just as of old, — 'Tis strange that more to-night 
 Thy face amid the shadows' fall seems like a fadeless light ! 
 I dare not question this I feel, I dare not if I would, — 
 The strange, sweet truth, that in thy smile is power to make me 
 good ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Beloved, sleep ! 'tis well for thee, this peaceful, dreamless rest, 
 
 I send my spirit out to-night upon its ceaseless quest, — 
 
 I think upon this sudden hush, — if this were death's deep sleep ! — 
 
 I know the Christ, in life or death, beloved, thy soul will keep — 
 
 And if I could only place thee within His arms and know 
 
 Thou rested safely there with Him, could my arms let thee go ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Beloved, earth hath much of hunger, grief, and strife, and care, 
 But song and smile and rest, — yes^ all, — await us over there. 
 Yet were there naught of what we know there is to be. 
 To me 'twere heaven just the same if I were but with thee ! 
 Beloved, I place my heart on thine, and both on Christ's, and cease 
 All thoughts save this : That round us flows His pure and perfect 
 peace. 
 
3Beforc tbe jfootligbts. 
 
 I can see her now as I saw her then, — 
 
 As 't were only last night it comes back to me, 
 
 She posed like a Queen, and the faces of men 
 Surged up like the tide of the sea ; 
 
 And she looked like a Queen, with the lights at her feet. 
 The light on her face -surpassing them far, 
 
 With the flash of the gems on her breast, fair and sweet. 
 And each of her eyes like a star. 
 
 I watched her there as she swayed and sang, 
 Her voice an angel in heaven might own, 
 
 I heard the applause as its echoing rang, 
 And the viols died down to a moan, — 
 
 And the mist of lace on her bosom's rifts. 
 
 Like the foam that is cradled on billows at sea, — 
 
 As it rose and fell in two soft, white drifts, 
 With a hint where its coral reefs be, — 
 
 I saw it move men with the dangerous thrill 
 Of a passion that stirred as no song ever could, 
 
 As the force of the tempest ungoverned by will. 
 Strong ships that have vainly withstood ! 
 
 And the roses they flung at her feet were as red 
 
 As the flush of the passion I read in their faces, — ■ 
 
 And the breath of the bower she stood in was sweet 
 
 As that where the serpent left death in its traces ! 
 152 
 
'T is years since that time, — V ve seen her again 
 
 Since that night when the world flung its bravas and roses, 
 
 And the men at her feet went nearly insane, 
 
 But the world vainly looked for what scandal exposes ! 
 
 I saw her last night, — no footlights before her, 
 And her singing? Well, that was a lullaby sweet. 
 
 And a man, with his soul in his face, bending o'er her. 
 And a cradle, — low-swinging, lace-draped, — at her feeto 
 
 On her bosom where drifted the softest of laces, 
 Like foam that is tossed by the waves of the sea. 
 
 There nestled the smallest and sweetest of faces, 
 With its mouth where the coral reefs be. 
 
 And her arms that o'erflowed with the clinging of roses, 
 When men by her smiles had reckoned their bliss. 
 
 Are clasping all sweets that a woman's life closes, 
 And she lifts to the giver her lips for his kiss. 
 
 Oh, life ! with the sham of your vanity's glitter. 
 
 Your plaudits of praise and your laurel cast down, 
 
 There 's one sacred thing left, — one sweet 'mid the bitter, — 
 
 Wifehood and motherhood, chrism and crown ! 
 153 
 
JSene^icite* 
 
 Wherefore, if anywhere, be any death; 
 I fain would find and fold him fast to me. 
 
 What word of mine can give to God the praise 
 
 I feel within my heart, that, in life's hidden ways 
 
 Thy presence came to mark the sweetest of its days ! 
 
 A Hfe within my life a-newly moved, 
 
 A gift I could not understand His goodness proved, 
 
 A rest that, tho' unquiet, sweetly soothed; — 
 
 A little clasping to the heart, with tender touch 
 
 Of love and passion burning overmuch, 
 
 A little heartache that must follow such ! 
 
 God's blessing, darling, wheresoe'er thou art. 
 Rest down upon thee, keep thee pure in heart, 
 — In image of Himself, from stain of sin apart ! 
 And yet again, God bless thee ! Go, 
 Remembering, as He knows, I love thee so ! 
 154 
 
Cbrist on Calvarp. " 
 
 MUNKACSY S PACKING. 
 
 Deep calms of space, where Time's all-restless sea 
 
 Doth beat its waves upon a soundless shore, 
 
 Where thought and deed, and conscience ever more 
 
 Cease all contention and debates that be, — 
 
 Where pride gives place to sweet humility. 
 
 And knowledge proves pure Faith's largess in store. 
 
 Where brooding night yields way to day, as trust to dread, 
 
 And human nature stands unveiled where angels dare not tread. 
 
 " A/ui the sun was darkened, and the veil of the temple was rent 
 in the midst r 
 
 Oh, whence the deluge-darkness in such space. 
 
 That thrills the world with wonder's mystic grace, 
 
 Where common Silence large-dilates 
 
 Her grand proportions to such vast estates, 
 
 To fill with ashen grayness earth's bare vacant room 
 
 Where Grief, with mufifled step slow treads the gloom ! 
 
 Eece Homo ! 
 Hush ! peace divine rests on the patient brow, 
 And on the holy lips : my Lord, 't is Thou ! 
 Whose thunders roll about Thy stricken Head, — 
 Whose unseen Light o'erwhelms the undivine, art dead ! 
 
 155 
 
But not as Man, — new-born, where calm 
 
 Is undisturbed save at the unseen breath, 
 
 Where Nature, speechless at the sudden balm, 
 
 Opes wond'ring eyes upon the Life that follows death. 
 
 De Profundis. 
 
 No more the weight of earth's sad turmoil makes Thy pain. 
 
 For into earthly grief and loss drops Love's sweet gain. 
 
 'Tis done ! The darkness from fair Calvary's hill 
 
 Breaks into fairer day, and still, 
 
 And sofdy-sweet Heav'n's music greets Earth's ear, 
 
 As past the dark the pale stars drift and disappear. 
 
 And where His feet once trod the v/hie-press, dropping blood. 
 
 The natural sun breaks forth and bathes the hills in hallowed flood. 
 
 The lilies lift their sacramental cups to Heaven, 
 Filled with His passion's wine that peace hath giv'n, 
 For His remembered sake who oped Sin's darksome prison, 
 Love tunes her sweetest music, chiming : " Christ is Risen ! " 
 
 156 
 
It seems sometimes when the spirit of longing sweeps over me 
 With its low and wistful wailing, like a breath from the restless 
 
 sea, — 
 When tired of life's endeavors, — of the ceaseless ebb and flow 
 Of the tide of human existence, tired of the way things go, — 
 i\nd I ponder upon the brightness that makes up life's sunshine, 
 
 — On the blessings He giveth His children, — on the blessings 
 
 that have been mine, — 
 As I think them over slov/ly, — the gifts of every day, 
 I feel that God is gracious, yet, in my heart I say : 
 It seems, sometimes, if He'd give me the gift I've deemed Plis 
 
 best, 
 
 — In my hours of earnest longing, — this one of all the rest, — 
 That, if He could not trust me in my weakness, to enfold 
 
 The one best treasure that I've prayed within my arras to hold, — 
 
 — If but for a year, — a year and a day, with the love of a whole 
 
 life-time, 
 Till the night and the day of my human love should fade from 
 
 the shores of Time, — 
 Till the human soul, to close v.ath mine in the rapture of 
 
 passionate bliss. 
 Should there be mine in the world beyond as it never could be in 
 
 this ! — 
 I say if He could not trust me so, as He looked into the heart. 
 And knew it could not bear it a//, why could n't He give me/c?;-/, 
 
 -5 7 
 
As in the arms of a pleading child a tiny babe we lay 
 For the child to hold, a moment, brief, in her own, sweet 
 
 childish way, — 
 While underneath we place our own, and the child looks up to 
 
 smile. 
 Because she thinks she holds the babe, — and we hold it all the 
 
 while ; — 
 If only this, — if only so within my arms He'd place 
 The sweetest thing a woman can know, except the gift of His 
 
 grace, — 
 But I wonder if I could be content with a year of happiness, 
 If I could smile up into God's face, and know the gift was His? — 
 If underneath my own His arm.s would fold in tender care. 
 And I could feel His presence and His wondrous peace was 
 
 there ? — 
 And I wonder if I could give back again, and be content to give. 
 If I could live for a year and a day the life I have longed to live ? 
 For, ah me ! the soul to close with mine in the passionate rapture 
 
 of bliss, 
 Can never be mine in the world beyond, as it might be here in 
 
 this! 
 
Xife's mine ©'Glocft. 
 
 The morning sunshine, fresh and fair, — 
 The morning-sweetness in the air, — 
 The morn without one shade of care. 
 
 The shifting sunUght thro' the trees, — 
 
 — The wand'ring breath of summer breeze 
 Intoxicated with the lees 
 
 Of draughts dipped from the amber seas : — 
 
 A hint of primal sweets forbidden, 
 
 A sweet suggestion that is hidden 
 
 In folded buds, like dreams of Eden ; 
 
 — The fuller tide of mid-day hour, — 
 The opening bud that 's turned to flower, 
 
 — The valley-depths, and mounts that tower: 
 
 Out upon the summer-grass, 
 O'er which the changeful sunbeams pass, 
 Sleeps sweetly noon-tide hours away 
 A little child grown tired of play : 
 
 Within the tiny fingers prest — 
 
 A little withered flower ; — the best 
 
 Of all his toys cast by for rest : 
 
 — One little flow'r clasped to his breast. 
 
 Around the lips, that, ' while before 
 Sang childish songs, now hushed and o'er, 
 Cling drops of childhood's mandragore. 
 159 
 
What joy within those dreams thou hast ! 
 
 — No clouds thy sky to overcast, — 
 No darkness when the day is past : — 
 
 And so thou wak'st and sleep'st again ; 
 No thoughts that vex the minds of men 
 Disturb the peace of childhood's ken. 
 
 And so he sleeps thro' morning hours — 
 'Midst song of birds and scent of flowers, 
 
 — Whose sky above forebodes no showers 
 
 The hours pass : The closing day 
 In length'ning shadows melt away 
 In gold and amethyst and gray, — 
 
 And, as the shadows slowly close 
 'Round nesting bird and shutting rose, 
 A little child led, homeward, goes : — 
 
 The clinging fingers lightly press 
 The withered flower with soft caress, 
 
 — Plucked in the morning's happiness. 
 
 No other toy his hands enfold, 
 
 — The playthings he v/as wont to hold 
 E'er that the day had grown so old. 
 
 A little, weary child, at best, 
 
 Led homeward for his needed rest, 
 
 Unconscious, proving Nature's test. 
 
 A little kneehng at the knee, — 
 
 — A little pray'r said sleepily, 
 
 Outdoing man's philosophy. 
 i6o 
 
And, after, — slumber that doth mock, 
 
 The morning's dreams, — the wrinkled frock, - 
 
 The well-worn shoes, — the tiny sock 
 
 Laid by at evening's Nine O'Clock. 
 
 And this is all ; and men at will 
 
 Philosophize and argue still 
 
 With creeds they understand but ill. 
 
 With what results ? AVhat peace of mind 
 
 — What depth of comfort can ye find 
 In judgments of a human kind, 
 
 O, men, whose idols prove but dust, 
 Because of creeds that hold no trust, 
 Whose light 's extinguished by a gust 
 Of understandings wrong, that bear 
 Upon a life that 's filled with care. 
 And lightened by no heartfelt prayer? 
 
 Ye cannot know what mothers learn, — 
 Ye would not such sweet lessons spurn 
 As mothers' cares and labors earn ! 
 
 Beneath the summer's waving grass, 
 O'er which the changing breezes pass — 
 Earth's child, grown tired of life's long day. 
 Sleeps peacefully and sleeps alway : — 
 
 Within the folded fingers pressed 
 
 A withered flower, — carih-plucked, — the best 
 
 Of all her gifts cast by for rest : 
 
 — A withered How' r laid on the breast. 
 
 i6i 
 
For God, thro' Nature's self, has planned, 
 In breathings from the Better-land, 
 The foith a child may understand ! 
 
 And sweet the lips, that, while before, 
 
 Sang earth-time songs, — now hushed and o'er. 
 
 Are bathed in Nature's mandragore. 
 
 And this such slumber as doth mock 
 
 Life's morning dreams : — the hushed talk 
 
 And resting at life's Nine O'Clock. 
 162 
 
Xo\)e's Beep, Beep Sleep. 
 
 No need of weak lamenting any more, — 
 No need of vain repenting ; it is o'er ! 
 Or false or true, Love lieth dead and white 
 With damp regretful blossoms of the night, 
 That fain do weep and silent, tearful, grieve, 
 Because that Love hath ta'en his leave, 
 Because that Love hath died because of you 
 Whom he found false, alas ! but thought so true, 
 Upon the heart and on the stilled breast, 
 That's changed a sweet, tumultuous hfe for rest. 
 
 Wake not his lute, that has one broken string. 
 
 No more the chords, without one missing note, Love used to sing 
 
 Shall touch to life the old, rare bliss that's crushed. 
 
 Shall breathe again the old, sweet song that's hushed ! 
 
 So Love lies dead, and you and I are left ; 
 
 His tranquil, dreamless sleep leaves us bereft ; 
 
 Our souls still linger by the grave we've made to-night — 
 
 The grave where Love lies lowly out of sight. 
 
 The grave that holds whate'er we've known of sweet delight. 
 
 But, since we mourn together, you and I, 
 
 Since we have learned how sad a thing it is for Love to die, 
 
 Let's comfort each the other, darling, in our grief, 
 
 And in life's sweetest creed fix our belief : 
 
 That just because of sacred faith our hearts have kept, 
 
 Sweet love has never died, but only slept ! 
 
 163 
 
Bastet. 
 
 Adagio. 
 Here lies the world : 
 The scarlet tulips of her carnival, half crushed and wilted, fall 
 And burn their passion- fires against the velvet blackness of the 
 
 Lenten pall 
 That covers her, and throws in clear relief her still voluptuous 
 
 pose, — 
 The cynic smile upon the upturned face and eyes that close 
 But half upon the scornful light that in them gleamed ; — 
 And we stand here beside her, wond'ring if that she seemed, 
 She was, — and warm and sweet, 
 From crimson-parted lips to perfect feet, 
 That stood in waiting on the shores of Time, 
 There drifted to our hearts the music of her rhyme, — 
 And on our thirsting lips her kisses fell, and on the brow 
 Her gracious touch like wine that steals along the veins, but now 
 The Lethean dreams to dreamless sleep do turn : 
 The scarlet fires against the darksome pall still burn 
 Like vestal torches twinkling in the dark of earth's confine ; 
 So lies the world ! 
 
 Allegro. 
 
 The night is past : from gone-out fires 
 
 The incense rises unto day ! 
 
 There is no death ; the soul's desires 
 
 Find wings and leave the clay : 
 164 
 
Up from the ashes of earth's flame 
 The UHes rise to meet the Light, 
 
 And, from the garments of her fame, 
 The world mounts to His sight, 
 
 " I am the resurrection," — hft each cup, 
 
 Oh, liHes, cool and dim ; 
 Break forth in songs, and bear them up, 
 
 Oh, birds, in praise of Him ! 
 There is no sadness, — all the dark 
 
 Has melted into endless day, 
 And, bathed in wondrous floods of light;, 
 
 Sin dies for aye. 
 
 Break forth, oh, soul, in songs of praise ! 
 
 Shine forth from out thy prison. 
 For, lo ! the night is passed away. 
 
 And Christ is risen ! 
 165 
 
aspic Xcaves. 
 
 "... and die where thou hast lived; 
 
 Quicken with kissing had my lips that power, 
 Thus would I wear them out." 
 
 " . . . the aspic leaves 
 Upon the caves of Nile." 
 
 You swore by your life that you loved me, 
 
 Last night as you lay on on my breast, 
 You said you would die, if it need be, 
 
 For an hour of such rapturous unrest — 
 Would die as the soul dies in sinning, 
 
 To whom all eternity's lost, — 
 And you swore that you thought that such winning 
 
 Were worthy such infinite cost ! 
 You vowed that a deathless passion. 
 
 As fierce as the fires of hell — 
 As true as the heights of heaven. 
 
 And eternity, as well. 
 Possessed your very being 
 
 With a strength surpassing each, 
 And you taught me the sweetest lesson 
 
 That a man knows how to teach ! 
 II. 
 You woke all the soul that God gave me 
 
 Into a new, strange birth. 
 And you seemed, in your splendid manhood, 
 
 Beyond all the men of this earth, — 
 You were a god in the mystery 
 
 Of love that no words can e'er name, 
 
 Yet you were a man in the wonder 
 1 66 
 
And strength of that passion I claim — 
 And I held you close in the silence, 
 
 Unbroke, save by shudder and sigh, 
 Till, drunk with the lees of love's wine-draught, 
 
 I prayed in my anguish to die, — 
 To die in the exquisite torture 
 
 Of your clasp and your kiss and embrace, 
 To die ! — and to-night I am starving 
 
 To look just once more in your face ! 
 
 III. 
 
 For, last night 'though the chalice were emptied, 
 
 I could drain it again to the lees, 
 — 'Though the cup were the dome of the heavens, 
 
 And its wine as the tempest-tossed seas ! 
 Ah, me ! I would die if it need be. 
 
 For one hour of delicious unrest. 
 To-night, if your lips in their burning. 
 
 On my passion-laid bosom were prest ! 
 Would die as the soul dies in sinning. 
 
 To whom all eternity's lost, 
 For oh, to my heart, your love's winning, 
 
 Is worthy an infinite cost ! 
 And a sense of your own deathless passion. 
 
 As fierce as the fires of hell ; 
 As true as the heights of heaven. 
 
 And eternity, as well. 
 Fills full my very being. 
 
 With its strength surpassing each, 
 
 Since you taught me the sweet, strange lesson 
 
 That a man like you, only, could teach ! 
 167 
 
faiv was tbe IRose! 
 
 Fair was the rose he gave me, 
 
 — Fair and blushing red ; — 
 — Wet with the dews of evening, — 
 
 And sweet were the words he said„ 
 A-done is the Summer's passing, — 
 
 The rose-leaves scattered lie, — 
 His love was like the Summer 
 
 That swiftly passed by ! 
 Alas ! and alack for beauty, 
 
 Alack ! and alas for love ! 
 
 For one is a dream that flitteth, 
 
 And one hath the wings of a dove ! 
 i68 
 
Ibcsitation. 
 
 I turn me where the setting sun 
 
 With parting glory floods the earth, 
 And muse, half-sad, on tasks undone, 
 
 Half-glad to prove some hidden worth 
 And wealth of life's significance : 
 
 The daily joy communing with the pain, — 
 And seek to find, in one day's wistful glance. 
 
 The consciousness of lesser loss than gain. 
 
 As one who pauses when the way 
 
 Slopes doubtful t'ward the fitful Hght 
 That falls, from out the bars of day, 
 
 Across the starless pall of night; — 
 Scarce daring trust the transient gleam, 
 
 Or e'en the paths, that, 'chance may lead 
 Thro' coverts dang'rous or thro' sullen stream. 
 
 Instead by shore and fragrant mead ; 
 Emerging cautiously and slow — 
 
 Not all in dread, not quite in fear, 
 Of whate'er lurking, deadly foe 
 
 That lies within an ambush near, 
 Because of armor girded on, 
 
 — Of nerve that will not fail in hour of need, — 
 
 Yet, pausing where the journey's but begun, 
 
 With feet, that, faltering on the threshold, bleed. 
 169 
 
Oh, heart and soul ! immortal birth, 
 
 Grown sick with bearing overmuch. 
 Of standing face to face with earth, 
 
 And earth's stern laws ! One gentler touch 
 Of kindly hand upon the weight 
 
 Of what years bring when years are old, 
 Doth prove at last — almost too late — 
 
 That warmth can glow midst chill and cold. 
 Oh, Love ! draw near and closer still, 
 
 And hold my hand in closer clasp ! 
 Too weak to meet the stronger will 
 
 And hold such treasure within grasp : 
 The reaching after higher light 
 
 That burns with stern Ambition's flame ; 
 Too soon the shadows come to-night, 
 
 To-morrow 'twill be just the same ! 
 
 Dear Love, thou 'rt strong and I am weak, 
 
 And I am frail while thou art strong ! 
 Sweet Love, I fain, with cheek on cheek, 
 
 AVould have thee clasp me close and long, 
 To-morrow comes ! and all too soon 
 
 The night's sweet shades will pass to day, 
 Our paths may verge so strangely wide, 
 
 And thou may'st be so far away ! 
 So, sweetly stealing all the balm 
 
 From wounds that may be thine and mine, 
 
 Let's fall asleep v/ithin the calm 
 
 Of life's sweet opiate, love's old wine. 
 170 
 
IbusbeD is Huburn's Sacce& X^re I 
 
 Commencement Hymn — Lasell Seminary. 
 
 [written by request.] 
 
 I. 
 
 All hushed is Auburn's sacred lyre 
 That hangs in memory's hall, 
 
 Whose closing strains to-day expire 
 And in our bosoms fall ; 
 
 II. 
 Fair humid dale ! Whose echoed note 
 
 Of music rarely-sweet, — 
 And hills that catch the strain afloat 
 
 And make the song complete, 
 
 III. 
 Than which no chord of life shall rise, 
 
 O'er waiting hearts to brood, 
 l^lore full of meaning from the skies 
 
 Of dawning womanhood ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Call down, in Nature's silent prayer — 
 
 Of peace and purity 
 
 Our Father's ever-watchful care. 
 
 His love's security : — 
 171 
 
V. 
 
 Sweet Spirit, hear ! With us abide 
 From morn till shadows fall, 
 
 O, Thou, more fair than all beside, 
 To whom our spirits call, 
 
 VI. 
 
 Abide with us ! — who go — who stay, 
 
 The lilies of Thy grace 
 
 Let fall across the untried way, 
 
 — The sunshine of Thy face ! 
 172 
 
Xrbat IRiobt at the pla^. 
 
 ' Till death have broken." 
 
 I 've lived it over day and night, 
 
 And night and day, for years, — yes, more !■ — 
 
 I remember it all, from the orchestra's clash. 
 
 From the faint sweet scent and the footlights' flash. 
 
 To the flow'rs I wore ! 
 
 I watched your face in the shadow there, 
 
 As the curtain rose and the lights went low, 
 
 And I lifted to God, from my heart, a prayer 
 
 That before it was over you 'd know and would care — 
 
 That you 'd understand, — that 't would come to you there, 
 
 Before we were ready to go, — 
 
 How, out of the breath of the flow'rs that breathed. 
 
 That you'd given me there — did you understand? 
 
 The love was born and the passion spoke. 
 
 And all that there was of my being awoke 
 
 At the very first touch of your hand ! 
 
 And I lived as a person lives in a dream, — 
 I heard the lines, and I watched them play ; 
 I saw each swell of their bosoms fair, 
 And the lights play through the gold of their hair, — 
 1/3 
 
I followed the mould of each beautiful limb, — 
 
 The lights were low and the outlines dim, — 
 
 And my heart kept time to the music's beat, 
 
 And my pulse to the tinkle of sandaled feet, 
 
 And I was alive to the music's throb, 
 
 The bassoon's thunder, the viols' sob, 
 
 And the xylophone's ring, — 
 
 And the blood surged up from my heart in a tide, 
 
 I could feel your touch on my hand still cling, 
 
 I watched your face as you sat at my side, 
 
 I saw only that thro' the whole of the theme, — 
 
 And I knew only that as I lived in a dream, — 
 
 I knew 't was the face of my king ! 
 
 III. 
 
 And had you but turned, e'er the hour had died. 
 And spoken the words that I thirsted to hear, 
 I 'd have given up all of the world beside, — 
 And had for the future no fear. 
 Had you asked me then to have left behind 
 Whatever there was, or had been, of my life, 
 I 'd have given it all up — sealed and signed, — 
 To have been, that night, your wife ! 
 
 And never before had I known that you lived, — 
 Had seen your face or heard your voice, — 
 But your hand clasped mine, in the dim light there, 
 And my soul made its sacred choice ! 
 174 
 
And I knew that forever, for earth and Heaven, 
 My body and soul were a part of your own — 
 And my heart kept time to the music's beat, 
 And my pulse to the twinkle of sandaled feet 
 As the viols died down to a moan. 
 
 V. 
 
 The years lay wide, since that night's sweet dream. 
 With their fever-thirst and hunger of heart, 
 Only minor chords have filled the theme 
 Of the time we have been apart, — 
 But the past is dead with its weary pain 
 Of waiting and hungering, struggle and care, — 
 And God never sends to us loss without gain. 
 And He knew just how much we could bear. 
 Perhaps, if from the first, when our hands met and clasped, 
 And our hearts, without language of speech, took their vow. 
 There nothing had been to have kept us apart. 
 Our peace were less blessed than now ! — 
 For the hearts that have suffered are truest, they say. 
 And, I think, are more tender when pain leaves its trace ; 
 And the answer to whether God hears when we pray 
 Is mine as I look on your face ! 
 175 
 
S)eaD*Sea 3fruit» 
 
 ' Of things unspeakable spoken, 
 
 ' Of tears unendurable shed." 
 
 I. 
 
 All night long the light breeze lifts the laces at the lattice, — ■ 
 
 The south- wind, soft and sensuous, — half-asleep, 
 — The dusk within the chamber, such as that is 
 
 When th' heavens forget their vestal lamps to keep 
 A-burn, and soft and fragrant as the ashes 
 
 Of roses perished in their crimson flame. 
 And tender as the tear upon Love's lashes, — 
 
 And full of passion as the whisper of your name ! 
 The calling of the nightingale, that brings upon each note, 
 
 The faint, sweet breath of lilies, slumber- swayed, — 
 — The shadows shifting on the marble of your throat, 
 
 And the curving of your bosom where my lips were laid ! 
 The silence brokeh' only by your raptured sighs, 
 
 — The dark unbroke but by the light that gleamed 
 Between the dusky lashes of your half-shut eyes. 
 
 The while you lay in sweet abandon there and dreamed : 
 And on my breast your darksome cloud of tresses 
 
 Lay like the night upon tumultuous seas, — 
 And dim, faint outlines that desire half-guesses, 
 
 Set brain and pulse a- war, like wine at lees ! 
 
 II. 
 Oh, lips ! With your scarlet temptations, 
 Your soft laugh, full of languor and lust, 
 176 
 
And of sleep, — as the somnolent poppies 
 
 That spill their red blood in the dust, 
 Was there ever a man in the whole world wide. 
 
 Of all the men who have knelt at your feet, 
 Would have died for your sake as I would have died, 
 
 Had it made your happiness more complete, 
 Would have given his life for your own, to drink. 
 
 The blood from his heart for your favor's sake, — 
 Would have given his flesh for your love, do you think, 
 
 To have^ spared your heart one ache ? 
 Yet, when hope was highest, and blossom to fruit 
 
 Was granted to life for its golden dower, 
 I'd have given it all — and that life to boot, 
 
 To have owned you mine for one hour? 
 My own, — with the knowledge of all your past, 
 
 — With all dead loves as a memory, merely, 
 As you lay that night in my arms held fast, 
 
 And the love in my soul that I gave sincerely ! 
 HI. 
 But the love that comes in the life of a man 
 
 Is sad and swift as the tides of the sea. 
 And a woman loves as best she can, — 
 
 Is as true as a woman can be ! 
 
 It is only a little a man can save 
 
 From the shipwreck of trust on the sands of time, — 
 — A flower, perchance, to lay in his grave, — 
 
 — A tress of hair — or a rhyme ; — 
 
 IV. 
 
 There are worse things come to a man than death. 
 For death is a triumph, whatever the cost, 
 
 177 
 
But, for what he would give his final breath, 
 
 Drifts out of his reach and is lost ! 
 And he sleeps — and the tides go out with the ships, — 
 
 Times change, and the winds that veer in the tides, 
 But the moan that lives in the prayer on his lips — 
 
 — That never subsides ! 
 From the wreck of hope and the ruin of trust, 
 
 And the echo of passionate pain and strife. 
 And the things man suffers because he must, 
 
 — In th' unequal battle of life, — 
 
 — From the sounds of delight when the heart is on fire, 
 
 — In the bliss that rebels and the pain it discloses, — 
 And the pitiful pulse of its own desire 
 
 In the surcease sleeps, and in peace reposes, 
 v. 
 But to-night the fire on my brain, like wine, 
 
 Till spirit and flesh seem molten asunder. 
 Goes back to that night, when, your lips on mine, 
 
 In the war of passion and pulse of wonder, 
 I lay and slaked the thirst of my heart, 
 
 Love's lotos and lethe on my soul like dew, 
 And dreamed of our lives to be never apart, 
 
 ( And I staked that soul on you !) 
 And there comes again the late lark's note, 
 
 And the scent of the lilies — slumber-swayed, 
 And I see the shadows shift on your throat. 
 
 And your breast where my lips were laid ! 
 And, O God ! for the sleep in the shadow of space — 
 
 For the Lethean v/aters o' er time that has been ! 
 
 When the heart is dead to the sight of a face, 
 178 
 
And the soul to the hurt of a sin ! 
 Could I have, once more, my hfe complete — 
 
 All the years I have giv' n and life let go,— 
 All the bitter of grief and the little of sweet, 
 
 And the dreams and the hopes laid low, — 
 I' d give it all for that hour of peace. 
 
 Before my faith in mankind was broken, 
 Or, if death had but given my soul release 
 
 Ere a curse, in place of a prayer, was spoken ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 But the dead sea fruit in the waves that hiss 
 
 With their purple and gold of buried plunder. 
 And a lustful laugh, and a man's pure kiss, 
 
 Time's ebbing tides lie under ! 
 And the prayer moans on, and the curse is dead, 
 
 And both are still, in eternity sleeping — 
 And the lips that lied in the vows they said. 
 
 And the soul that sinned, are in God's own keeping ! 
 
 From the sounds of delight when the heart was on fire, 
 
 In the bliss that rebels and the pain it discloses. 
 
 And the pitiful pulse of its own desire 
 
 In the surcease sleeps and in peace reposes. 
 179 
 
Despair* 
 
 Who says Despair goes forth as woman in her grief, 
 
 With hands clasped in such frenzy seemeth must not be, — 
 
 — With eyes still capable of tears, and wild with late regret, 
 
 — With heart a-flame, but that cannot forget, 
 But burneth on and on, forever with the past, 
 
 And feeds upon the ache that must make moan or die, 
 
 But, aching, cannot die, tho' moan be turned to prayer : — 
 
 — Who sayeth this, forsooth, can be Despair? 
 
 1 tell ye such she never was ! I 've looked on her ! 
 
 Most like a statue wrought in marble, white and cold, 
 
 And void of supplication as th' Egyptian Sphynx, 
 
 In everlasting watch and wo ; — 
 
 The marble eyelids never droop in sleep. 
 
 And never tears do moist the stony gaze 
 
 Whence hope bath quenched its light forevermore : — 
 
 — That looks upon the smile of day and sees but night, 
 Nor knoweth when that suns do rise and set. 
 
 And knovv^i not hours from centuries that pass ; — 
 
 And so doth time t' eternity move on, 
 
 And so the heart that erst did throb with God's own warmth, 
 
 — Before that Sorrow laid her touch thereon, 
 
 — Turned into marble — cold as dead hearts be, 
 
 — Yea, colder than these e'er become, — 
 
 Still keepeth watch and ward thro' time that seems eternity, 
 Nor knoweth Desolation's surcease, while the heavens are dumb. 
 
Bjtract. 
 
 The broadest field of action 
 Is not in the outward marts, 
 
 All the sweetest of life's living 
 Lies within our human hearts. 
 
 A. « 9 • C • 
 
 iSi 
 
iBccc 1bomo ! 
 
 Oh, lips in anguish parted ! 
 
 Oh, bleeding brow, thorn-crowned ! 
 Oh, Christ ! thou tender-hearted. 
 
 In whom all life is found, — 
 Our hearts no creeds are seeking. 
 
 The mind no question knows. 
 Thy patient eyes are speaking, 
 
 — Thy life-blood, crimson, flows ! 
 Thy pierced palms outstretched. 
 
 Our burdens safely hold, — 
 And us, tho' poor and wretched. 
 
 Thy gentle arms enfold ! 
 Upon Thy grace supernal 
 
 Our weight of grief is prest, 
 
 And in Thy love eternal 
 
 Our souls shall sweetly rest. 
 182 
 
Cum Spfritu Uuo, 
 
 Upon the western sky another twihght smiled, 
 
 And in the shades of ev'n its tears would hide, 
 The smiles for some sweet deed that day-long care beguiled, 
 
 — Its tears for golden opportunities defied : — 
 And so another day had passed beyond 
 
 Our feeble grasp and heart-desire, 
 Leaving the soul to feel how slight the bond 
 
 That held it to the sacrificial fire ! 
 We would not justify ourselves by search of creed, 
 
 Nor fain would prove our purest intents right, 
 When every day doth but reveal to us our need, 
 
 And prove us what we are, at best, within His sight ! 
 . . . The days Thy seal hath closed are Thine alone, 
 
 We may not view the unknovv^n Land 
 
 That lies before, but ask of Thee this boon 
 
 Of faith : that we may, trusting, only clasp Thy hand ! 
 183 
 
H Slab. 
 
 If you were mine and I held you safe 
 
 From the danger of others' embrace — 
 If I only could know that no eyes but mine 
 
 Would look on your passionful face, 
 — If a thousand years were as one day, 
 
 With Time in his mystical flight, 
 I would that that day were ended here 
 
 In the exquisite bliss of to-night ! 
 
Mbat JSelonaetb, Soul, to Ubee? 
 
 I. 
 
 What belongeth, soul, to thee? 
 
 A breath of Spring's sweet melody, — 
 
 A dream of other Springs that yet may be, — 
 
 A flutter of the wing of happy bird, — 
 
 The mem'ry of some cherished, loving word, — 
 
 Some thought of Life's sweet story thou 'st heard, — 
 
 A gleam of sunset sky that burneth bright, 
 
 That seems a glimpse of heaven's own, wondrous light,- 
 
 — Like dream of thine that fades when cometh night ; - 
 
 — Labor in the field thro' noontide sun, — the sheaves 
 Thou 'st gathered, and eve's pure, cool lily-leaves 
 Filled with the dews of blessings life receives, — 
 
 — The blush of morning, and the ev^ening's breath, — 
 
 — A wakening unto earthly life, then Death ! 
 
 Is this, then, all th' immortal spirit hath? 
 
 II. 
 What belongeth, soul, to thee ? 
 The spring of resurrected life, — The melody 
 Of praise, and songs thou 'st heard 
 While wand'ring down the mystic vales of life, 
 Sweet songs ! without one pulse of strife. 
 Pure songs ! with throbs of everlasting praise, and rife 
 With tremulas of bliss unknown, — 
 Fair strains, whose echoes thou 'st heard, 
 185 
 
— The sweetness of thine earth-time dreams to fullness grown ! 
 
 — The gathered sheaves of harvest ; — and the lily-leaves 
 That hover o'er and breathe their cool, pure breath, 
 
 In likeness of the one fair Lily of the Valley — Death, 
 That breathes upon the sheaves of Heaven's redeemed 
 ones His breath ; — 
 
 — The hush of even-calm, when earth-time labor's past, — 
 And the brightness of the eternal morn, at last ! 
 
 i86 
 
With Sunsbine Marm an& UenDer. 
 
 The day had just begun to wake, 
 
 The dew-drops lingered on the flowers, 
 She wandered down the garden path. 
 
 And thro' the trembUng covert bowers ; - 
 The dawn was fair with roseate hue, 
 
 More fair her cheeks' sweet blushes, 
 The birds burst forth in song anew. 
 
 Her voice was sweeter than the thrushes. 
 
 She stood beside the laughing brook, 
 
 That morning in the month of June, 
 And life was like some rhyme that took 
 
 A new and strangely perfect tune. 
 She gathered roses by the way, 
 
 Bright with the morning's splendor ; 
 Her heart was like the opening day. 
 
 With love-light warm and tender. 
 
 He met her where the waters smiled, 
 
 That morn in month of roses, — 
 
 And love the long fair hours beguiled, 
 
 And she arranged her posies. 
 187 
 
And, though as fell ths dews at last, 
 The rose leaves 'round lay scattered, 
 
 And tho' the morning long had passed, 
 To them it little mattered. 
 
 The day had just begun to close. 
 
 The dew-drops fell upon the flowers, 
 Two wandered down the garden path 
 
 Where one had passed its covered bowers ;- 
 They walked home by the longest way, 
 
 Thro' twilight's softened splendor, 
 Their hearts were like the golden day, — 
 
 With love-light warm and tender. 
 
Xove's Xogic. 
 
 You knew it when first I met you, 
 
 And so foresaw the end, — 
 Why couldn't you have kept your secret 
 
 And still have been my friend, 
 Enjoying the time that was passing, 
 
 With never a thought of more 
 Than a Platonic friendship, 
 
 Like others you 've had before ? 
 Why need there have been any danger, 
 
 — As we talked with ethical sense, — 
 On subjects of art and science. 
 
 Of a feeling more intense, 
 
 — That has grown, you say, into passion. 
 As it never ought to have grown 
 
 From the subjects we deftly touched on 
 While we walked there alone ! 
 
 — Walked, as we ought not to 
 
 Have done, in the dusk and the dew, — 
 I know, — but 'twas pleasant talking 
 
 With a friend, when that friend was you ! 
 But I tried from my heart sincerely 
 
 As ever a woman can. 
 
 To prove a consistent friendship, 
 
 Although that friend be a man ! 
 189 
 
II. 
 And you knew of my promise plighted, 
 
 — And I knew of your promised bride, — 
 And still I walked in the garden, 
 
 And still you walked at my side ; — 
 But I thought that I had conquered, 
 
 When I tried to keep from sight 
 The love that had grown into longing, 
 
 And, vainly, I strived to do right ! 
 And now you have told me your story, — 
 
 And I 've told you mine ! — Is it fate 
 That has matched our mistakes in the plighting 
 
 With others before 'twas too late? 
 So here, in the dusk of the twilight, 
 
 — In the dusk, with the roses and dew, 
 I have learned the sweet lesson of loving. 
 
 And you say, Dear, I 've taught it to you? 
 Yet I tried from my heart sincerely, 
 
 — As ever a woman can. 
 
 To prove a consistent friendship, 
 Although that friend be a man. 
 But what friendship is sweeter than love is — 
 
 — If the logic but govern the life ? 
 
 And what friend is more true than a woman, 
 
 When the woman and friend is — your wife ? 
 190 
 
/R)otberboo&. 
 
 A blossom blown against her bosom's drifted snow, 
 A wee-bit bud of velvet whiteness cast below, 
 From out Heaven's height, to teach her how to go, 
 
 — To mark the v/ay, thro' depths of sweetest pain. 
 
 To where God's flowers unfold their leaves that have no stain. 
 
 A little prayer, and song of psalm beside — 
 
 A little chanting at day's eventide, 
 
 When Heaven's gracious gates are open wide : 
 
 A little rift of music sung below, — 
 
 A httle note of pleading breathed so low 
 
 That God could hear, what human heart could know ! 
 
 A meaning far beyond all mortal ken, 
 
 A little stir and thrill beneath the heart, — and then, 
 
 To love's sweet, sacred deed God's grand Amen ! 
 
 What word from praiseful lips may fall 
 
 To break such hush as over all 
 
 Falls deep when soft His voice doth call ? 
 
 She standeth now within His holy sight, 
 
 About her head a halo of the light 
 
 That breaks beyond the shade of earthly night ! 
 191 
 
Within her heart the knowledge of all good : 
 
 The dust of golden lilies where her feet have stood, — 
 
 And on her brow the crown of womanhood. 
 
 Within her hands lay life's most precious things, 
 Upon her lips love's praiseful song still sings, 
 And in her heart the dove of peace hath folded its white 
 wings. 
 
 She hath them all, — the gifts that can be given ; — 
 
 Life, love, motherhood, and God and Rest and Heaven. 
 192 
 
I. 
 
 You are all that I have to live for — 
 
 All that I want to love, 
 All that the whole Avorld holds for me 
 
 Of a faith in a world above ! 
 You came, — and it seemed too mighty 
 
 For my human heart to hold ; 
 It seemed, in its sacred glory, 
 
 Like a glimpse thro' the Gates of Gold ; 
 Like life in the primal Eden 
 
 Created, formed anew — 
 This dream of a perfect manhood 
 
 That I realize in you ! 
 
 11. 
 And you are mine till your Maker calls you — 
 
 Your soul and your body. Sweet ! 
 Your breath, and the whole of your being 
 
 From your kingly head to your feet — 
 Your eyes, and the light that is in them, — 
 
 Your lips, with their maddening wine, — 
 
 Your arms, with their passionate clasp, my king 
 
 Your body and soul are mine ! 
 193 
 
III. 
 No power whatsoever, 
 
 No will but God's alone 
 Can take you from my keeping ; 
 
 You are His and mine, alone ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 I know not when, if ever — 
 
 I know not where or how 
 Death's hand may try the fetters 
 
 That bind us here and now ; 
 But Some-day, when God beckons. 
 
 Where rise His frond ed palms. 
 My soul shall cross the River 
 
 And lay you in His arms : 
 Forever and forever 
 
 Beyond the Silent Sea, 
 
 You will rest in the Arms Eternal 
 
 And still belong to me ! 
 194 
 
•the song of covert bird! 
 
 I. 
 
 A late bird in the homeward flight, 
 
 With pinions drooping wearily, 
 Into the bosom of the night 
 
 One sweet note droppeth tenderly, 
 No matter howso' tired he be. 
 That note of sweetness droppeth he ! 
 Dear little weary nestling, thou, 
 
 Whose wings are heavy with the shower. 
 Still singest as sweetly, even now. 
 
 As e'er thou didst at morning hour, 
 Methinks my heart, tho' tired, could sing 
 
 Its note of praise at eventide, 
 If evening's hour at last would bring 
 
 The rest of home, — then all beside 
 More sweet to lowly drooping wing 
 
 Of spirit lade with Marah's spray. 
 Than any other earthly thing. 
 
 When follows night upon the day ! 
 
 11. 
 Sweet falls the dew on woodland flower, 
 
 On sleepy flower and clinging vine. 
 More sweetly drops, in covert bower. 
 That bliss-contented song of thine ! 
 195 
 
And, in my soul, dear little bird, 
 
 Thou leav'st a thought of restful peace 
 That nestles in the depths thou'st stirred, 
 
 To comfort when thy song shall cease ; 
 Methinks my heart, perchance, at last, 
 
 May know the sweet content of love. 
 When that some days are overpast, 
 
 That will the Lord's dear pity prove ; 
 Some night love's rest to wand 'ring feet, 
 
 On waiting heart and faith's pure flowers. 
 
 As doth thy song to-night, so sweet. 
 
 Within the woodland bowers ! 
 196 
 
Xovc's ^an^i5pute^ proof. 
 
 No proof that you said you loved me ? 
 
 How can such things be said ? 
 We cannot prove the song of the bird 
 
 When the bird with its song is fled : 
 In the hush that comes when the song is done, 
 
 When the bird Hes still and dead ! 
 What proof that the summer's glory 
 
 Has come and gone again? 
 What proof of the olden story 
 
 In the aftermath of pain? 
 What proof of the summer's scarlet bloom 
 
 In the autumn chill and rain ? 
 
 So, what proof of the maddening passion 
 That was hid from the world's cold sight? 
 
 What proof, in the world's cold fashion. 
 Can I offer you to-night? 
 
 What proof, when the shadows of darkness come, 
 That there ever has been any light ? 
 
 I have given you all that my soul could give — 
 
 Have proved that I loved you so ; 
 You have taught me all I could learn and live 
 
 And now — you are ready to go ! 
 
 Why ask my heart for a proof of the past 
 
 That is dead to you and to me ? 
 T97 
 
The love that was all too sweet to last 
 
 Is dead ; now let it be ! 
 It is dead, and lieth too deep in its grave 
 
 For tearless eyes to see. 
 
 But sometime, dear — sometime — some day — 
 When here by the side of the mound 
 
 Of life's sweetest things we have buried to-day 
 In life's holy and consecrate ground, 
 
 You will think, with a man's tardy tenderness then 
 Of the passion that perished uncrowned. 
 
 My hands are lade with the flowers 
 
 That, too, died of the warmth I gave ; 
 And over the perished glory 
 
 That lieth in its grave, 
 I scatter the scarlet blossoms 
 
 That, living, I know Love would crave ; 
 The blossoms Love calleth his asphodels, 
 
 That he lay on the hearts of his brave. 
 
 It is my proof that I deal with our dead there 
 
 As only a woman can deal, 
 And I add to your transient pity 
 
 What a woman's heart can feel ; 
 The proof that her heart can be just as true 
 
 In the hours of woe as in weal. 
 
 But I cannot prove that I loved you — 
 
 How can such things be said ? 
 198 
 
What need to prove that the bird ever sang 
 When the bird and the song are fled ? 
 
 In the solemn hush when the song is done, 
 And the bird Hes still and dead. 
 
 There is no proof of love's summer, dear, 
 
 Save the aftermath of pain ; 
 And no proof of the scarlet blossoms 
 
 That never will bloom again ; 
 
 And the love I gave with all my soul 
 
 Was given, alas ! in vain. 
 199 
 
/IDisun&erstoo&. 
 
 "Land me," she says, " where love 
 Shows but one shaft, one dove. 
 One heart, one hand." 
 
 I. 
 
 They called her cold and passionless : — 
 They did not know — they could not guess, 
 
 — Because she did not fling broadcast 
 Her violets in the ways she passed, 
 
 By which Love's spring might be confessed, — 
 And every thought within her breast ! 
 They stood not at her altitude 
 Of high-born strength and fortitude, — 
 They could not see the lights that burned, 
 
 — The tapers weaker hearts have spurned, — 
 On altars high, the primal good 
 
 Of incarnated womanhood. 
 
 II. 
 They could not hear the fine, clear strain 
 That thrills the summits of great pain, 
 And consummates its sweetest gain : 
 — The mounts o'ertow'ring Life's sad sea, — 
 Beyond which lies its Italy. — 
 They held no power commensurate 
 With that sweet sense of such estate 
 As man calls cold, but God calls grea^/ 
 
 HI. 
 
 They called her cold : — while o'er Life's sea 
 Came passion's full antiphony 
 
With Love's sweet ministering grace ; — 
 And, through the heights and depths of space, 
 Rolled back the music of the spheres 
 In promise for the future years ; 
 
 — The dear and consummating breath 
 Before the sunset-gates of Death. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The world, of sorrow, gives no sign 
 When woman's pearls are melt in wine, 
 But down its empty chalice dips 
 And lifts it to her thirsting lips ! 
 On her are fixt expectant eyes : 
 
 — She will not taste such sacrifice — 
 The draught and chalice are not mete — 
 She flings it downward at her feet ! 
 
 And still the changeless planets pass, — 
 And still grows on the blade of grass ; — 
 
 — Unslaked the lands thro' swell of tides 
 That flows and ebbs, but ne'er abides, — 
 
 — And hearts are as the lands : 
 From out God's gracious hands. 
 That hold Life's sacramental wine, 
 They wait the mystery and the sign. 
 
 V. 
 
 And dreams are thyme shut up in drawers, — 
 — The string that tied the last year's flowers ; — 
 The leaf turned down to mark its rhyme, — 
 Its bird that's flown to other clime. 
 
/IDountafns of /lDust» 
 
 " Mistaking still the cherub's sword 
 For shining of the sun ! " 
 
 Sometimes, when the spirit of sadness 
 
 Hath fallen on long-cherished dreams, 
 Sometimes when the shadow of sorrow 
 
 Obscures faith's heavenly gleams. 
 When not always the paths He appointeth 
 
 Beside the still waters are ours, — 
 And the ways that our footsteps must follow, 
 
 Blossom not with life's choicest of flowers, - 
 When we stand on the mount of confliction, 
 
 In struggle with duty and right. 
 The heights that rise fair in the gleam of 
 
 Revelation's all-radiant light, 
 — ^The heights that are tow 'ring about us 
 
 With a grandeur and glory sublime 
 That have stood thro' the progress of ages, 
 
 Withstanding the tempests of time, — 
 We, in struggle, I say, with stern duty, 
 
 — With right 'gainst the longing of heart 
 That yearns for the valleys beneath us 
 
 Till the tears, thro' the soul's anguish, start. 
 Because afar down in the valleys 
 
 There seemeth are pastures of peace. 
 
And we think if our hearts could but reach there 
 All heartache and sorrow would cease, 
 
 And. we lean tired souls toward the valleys, 
 From the slopes of the mountains of trust, — 
 
 — Till our faces are hid from the sunshine 
 Of God's beautiful mountains of " Must " ! 
 
 If we only could learn all the lessons 
 He fain would have human hearts learn, 
 
 — If we could but accept all the truths that 
 Our poor faltering judgments will spurn. 
 
 Less oft were our dissatisfaction 
 With what we must know is for best, 
 
 More oft v/ere the hearts of the human 
 Strong in trust of God's will for the rest ! 
 
 And so, when the spirit of sadness 
 Hath fallen on long-cherished dreams, 
 
 Whenever the shadow of sorrow 
 Obscureth faith's heavenly gleams, — 
 
 When not always the paths He appointeth 
 Beside the still waters are ours, — 
 
 And the paths that our footsteps must follow, 
 Blossom not with life's choicest of flowers, — 
 
 Looking not t'ward the valley's fair sunlight. 
 Away from the mountains of trust, — 
 
 Let us stand with glad feet on the hillsides 
 
 Sloping up to the heights of God's " Must " ! 
 203 
 
%0\K, 
 
 I would that Love were as a rose, 
 
 That we might pluck it at our pleasure, 
 
 Or like the ruby wine that flows, 
 
 That there need be no stinted measure ; — 
 
 I would that Love were as a stream 
 In silvery, rippling music breaking ; — 
 
 Ah, me ! I would 't were as a dream, 
 
 Whose happy sleep should know no waking ! 
 204 
 
3false or Urue. 
 
 I wonder if I could look, to-night, 
 
 Into your own self-seeming, 
 Could read your thoughts, and read them aright, — 
 
 Leaving all of the womanhood's dreaming, — 
 Could know of the false as well as the true, 
 
 And not only the joys, but the sorrows 
 That have truly come home to the heart in you, 
 
 With the knowledge experience borrows 
 From the days of the past that have lended their charm, — 
 
 From the days that have seem to make gladder 
 Your life in the old times, — • that have lingered like balm 
 
 For the hours that were darker and sadder, — 
 So much I know, do I know it all, 
 
 — Making up your human existence ? — 
 
 Of the hours when your Hades has bidden you call 
 
 In vain for your human resistance, — 
 When the woman's share, — the woman's part, — 
 
 Was pledged for the upward-lifting 
 From the tide of temptation bearing your heart 
 
 Afar, in an impotent drifting. 
 And, after it all, and I stood to-night 
 
 And looked into your inward-seeming, 
 And read your heart, — not by Love's mystic light, 
 
 — Leaving all of my womanhood's dreaming, — 
 
 205 
 
" — Would I place my hands in your hands, Dear, 
 
 And clasp them over the wide, 
 Deep gulf that lies between me, here, 
 
 And you on the other side? 
 And I wonder if you, rememb'ring the fleet, 
 
 Fair hours that died long ago, 
 
 — As you stand in Time's hght that is tender and sweet, 
 And look over the waters that flow, — 
 
 Would you, friend of mine, reach forth your hand, 
 And in honesty clasp my own, 
 
 — As you wait there in a distant land. 
 And as I wait here alone, — 
 
 Could I trust that in all you would tell me aright, 
 
 And deal with me truly as I would. 
 If you stood in my place and I questioned to-night, — 
 
 — Would you answer me truly as I should ? 
 But, alas ! for the gulf that can never be crossed, — 
 
 And the winds that are over it blowing ! 
 Alas, for the years that so sadly are lost, — 
 
 And the years that so sadly are going ! 
 Still, I know that if I could look, to-night, — 
 
 Into your own self-seeming, — 
 
 — Could read your soul, and read it aright, 
 I couldn't give up the dreaming ! — 
 
 But, taking the false as well the true, 
 
 — If false with the true there be, — 
 
 I could bury whatever were false in you, 
 
 In the depths of love in me ! 
 206 
 
5esus, Xover of tii^ Soul. 
 
 I. 
 
 Come closer, closer, — Savior mine, — 
 
 And breathe Thy soul of love 
 Into my weak and human heart, — 
 
 So thus Thy presence prove ! 
 Upon Thy heart I 'd lay me down — 
 
 My restless soul of sin — 
 That Thou may'st speak to me, alone, 
 
 Where none can enter in 
 II. 
 To mock the pangs of weary pain, 
 
 And voice of ceaseless ill. 
 That naught of earth hath power to heal. 
 
 And nothing earthly still ! 
 Breathe softly, Christ, Thy tones of love 
 
 To my o'er burdened heart. 
 And, through Thy tender, pitying eyes, 
 
 Thy righteousness impart ! 
 Drink in my human weaknesses 
 
 With that deep look of Thine, — 
 And give, instead, Thy holiness, — 
 
 Thy grace, and truth divine ! 
 III. 
 And place more near Thy face to mine, — 
 
 More near the thorn-crowned brow, — 
 
 Take in Thy precious, pierced palm 
 
 My hands, and whisper low, — 
 207 
 
O, Jesus, Lover of my Soul, 
 
 Thy passion marvellous, — 
 The blood Thou 'st shed in agony, 
 
 And that redeemeth us ! 
 
 i 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thy tears I'd feel upon my head, — 
 
 Upon my brow and cheek, — 
 My love for Thee is measureless, 
 
 The love no tongue can speak : — 
 So lay me sweetly on Thy breast 
 
 That I yet more may feel 
 Thy heart-throbs 'neath my own, — Thy life 
 
 That shall my soul full fill ! 
 
 So near Thou art, O Life, divine, — 
 
 So near am I to Thee, 
 That, calm, my raptured soul looks out 
 
 Upon Eternity, 
 And feareth naught in life or death, 
 
 For Thou dost always keep, — 
 
 And in Thine arms Thou hushest us,— 
 
 My soul and me, — to sleep. 
 208 
 
J^outb anb mature. 
 
 A dream of Dante's paradise, — 
 
 An hundred hills and bending skies, — 
 
 — The restless waters' rush and fall, 
 And Nature's myriad voices' call : 
 
 — Her mad and merry madrigal : — 
 When half-way up Life's golden stair 
 
 We pause and learn our sweetest lesson there, — 
 
 When Earth's roses share the diamond dew 
 
 With the same sweet flow'rs that in the primal garden grew, 
 
 Before that, for our sake, God made all things a-new. 
 209 
 
HnswereD ipra^er. 
 
 Like sinking of the midnight dews 
 
 On flowers He doth love, 
 So, silent, fall the dews of grace 
 
 From founts of peace above : — 
 And, if there starlight beams or no. 
 
 Which e'er God deemeth best. 
 Within His whisper, low, is love, 
 
 — Within his arms is rest ! 
 
A SONNET. 
 
 We stooa upon life's hillside, fresh and fair, 
 When morning broke anew in eastern skies : — 
 — As on eardi's natal morn in Paradise, 
 God's sacred presence breathed upon us there ; — 
 And this was youth ; — life's invocative prayer. 
 And so in dreams we fain forgot to pray, — 
 And sang, in dreams, our sweetest songs all day, 
 — Our trust, unconscious, in our Father's care : — 
 And so slept on, nor knew the summits gained, 
 
 And passed, nor, therefrom viewed th' enchanted land ; — ■ 
 And this was yesterday; — At some new dawn shall waker 
 unconstrained. 
 Our aspirant souls, and, waking, understand 
 Life's sweet narcotic from our Father's hand ! 
 
 211 
 
Spring's Hwakenino. 
 
 The blushing spring, in all her fragrant verdure, 
 
 Looks forth from 'mid the drifts of glittering snow, 
 
 Smiles tenderly on all awakening Nature, 
 And, bending low, 
 
 Bids the earth rejoice, awakens sleeping rills, 
 
 Bids blossoms wake to life, and birds to sweetest lays, 
 
 Beauty, at the magic breath, the world now fills, 
 And, as in praise, 
 
 III. 
 
 Life, sunshine, — like Love's spirit in each blossom. 
 Burst forth in splendor : tints from icy Winter's hush. 
 
 As from a long, deep sleep on Nature's bosom, — 
 'Neath Heaven's blush ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 A mystic, golden haze rests on the earth, — 
 
 We hear some message from the coming Summer, 
 
 In the cerulean light that, at her birth. 
 
 Doth greet with heart of love the fair new-comer ! 
 
So as a Motnan» 
 
 How can you, after all, find heart to offer me 
 
 The cold and distant meaning of a word the world calls "friend" f 
 How can you make your mind up now to proffer me 
 
 Such things when that your love has found its end ? 
 How dare you to approach and bid me kneel 
 
 And offer homage to the smouldering ashes of Love's scarlet 
 flame, — 
 How can a man like you send straight your glittering steel 
 
 To tear the heart that bears inscribed your name ? 
 And I, a woman, whose now emptied hands, 
 
 Filled with the choicest flowers, rare and sweet, 
 And lade with all the tokens Love demands. 
 
 Have brought and laid so gladly at your feet ! 
 And there they lie ! Look at the wealth of my devotion 
 
 In reckless bounty squandered 'neath your eyes ! 
 Look ! Where this side of Love's eternal ocean, 
 
 Your hands have shut the gates of Paradise ! 
 Perhaps were in my keeping gifts I had not proffered, — 
 
 If in my heart were thoughts you did not now possess, — 
 If there were anything I had not offered. 
 
 Or, had I loved you less, — 
 But, no ! that could not be ! e'en tho' your lips were marble and 
 your heart the same, — 
 
 If not one clasp or sigh or kiss had made up Love's embrace. 
 
Tho' on my heart in liquid fire you'd never writ your name, 
 
 Since once my eyes had rested on your face, 
 They must be blind to faults, as human eyes are blind 
 
 When dimmed with tender tears the sight o'er much, 
 Yet seeing as Love sees, in clearer light, 
 
 — As God, Himself, sees, pardoning such ! 
 
 Oh, thou ! redeem but one sweet promise broken, — 
 
 — Take back but one harsh word thy hps have said, — 
 Speak to me once again as thou hast spoken, — 
 
 Lift up one flower from out the dead. 
 That lives, as in my veins the olden fires, 
 
 That, 'midst Love's ruins have not burned to embers, dim and 
 gray,— 
 — Whose sweetness lives, — as live the old desires, — 
 
 That worship tho' the idol turn to clay ! 
 Be once again the god that worship found thee ! 
 
 Upon whose altar lies a woman's clinging trust, — 
 
 Who folds her arms in tender faith around thee 
 
 And loves unceasingly, because she must ! 
 
 214 
 
Sometime, 
 
 ' We're tired — my heart and I.' 
 
 I. 
 
 I know that one day, when we' ve learned the lessons God hath 
 
 given, 
 When all the clouds that sometimes lower, by His own hand arc 
 
 riven, 
 Because He knew when we have grieved with lashes wet with 
 
 tears, 
 O'er things our judgments, poor and weak, have spurned through 
 
 all these years, 
 We shall one day understand why we were so denied 
 What seemed to us we needed most, and shall be satisfied. 
 
 One day the fetters seeming to our souls like prison bands, 
 And paths that to our wayward feet were not as golden sands. 
 Because so near the mercy seat we then shall rest, and know 
 The fetters were of His dear love — the pathways fair as snow. 
 Then shall we see how weak our hearts in sacrificial test, 
 W^hen strongest seemed our faith — and, too, that all God's ways 
 were best. 
 
 III. 
 
 From o'er the waters of the past the pure dove. Memory, fain 
 Would bring our longing souls the peace of life's expected gain, 
 
 2^5 
 
But not to-day ; the mystery's Divinity 's alone, 
 
 And its interpretation lies unclosed before the Throne. 
 
 In shadowed density the sounds of human moanings fall, — 
 
 One day will revelation teach how God heeded every call. 
 
 No wonder more why fountains sweet to Marah's waters turned, 
 
 When all life's duties we have done, and all life's lessons learned, 
 
 Why all the lilies, pure and sweet, could not for us unfold, 
 
 And the twilights of each closing day be sunset-gleams of gold, — 
 
 Because when 'yond the silent Sea, with sandals loosed we '11 rest 
 
 Within the Gates of Pearl, and know His ways, not ours, were best. 
 
 216 
 
Somebot)^'5 Comino Zo^^a^. 
 
 Bird, sweet bird, in the apple-tree spray, 
 Bending down with its blushing snow, 
 
 Lift up your sweetest songs to-day 
 For the secret that I know ! 
 
 A secret that's tender, — a secret that's true, 
 
 Do you wish, happy bird, that I'd tell it to you? 
 
 You, sure, would not listen and then fly away, 
 
 Piping : " Somebody's coming to-day — to-day — 
 
 Somebody's coming to-day?" 
 
 Fair,sapphire skies that are soft smiling down, 
 
 Smiling down in the golden sun. 
 Fall fair on his head, like a gleaming crown. 
 
 Crown my beloved one ! 
 For I have a secret, fair sky, blue sky, 
 And no one to-day is more gladsome than I ! 
 Flash it not, sunbeams, with waters at play, 
 That somebody's coming to-day, to-day, 
 Somebody's coming to-day ! 
 
 Purest of lily buds, cool,on the breast 
 
 Of the lake's fair sheen and shade, 
 I wish adown deep in your chalice at rest, 
 
 Were my secret, for I am afraid 
 That the tree and the sky and the bird in his song, 
 And the sunbeam that glides on your bosom along, 
 Will tell all that I think and all that I say 
 
 Is : " Somebody's coming to-day — 
 
 Ah, me ! Someboby's coming to-day ! " 
 
H la /iDoDe, 
 
 upon her breast a damask rose-bud rested. 
 
 And shut its petals from the light of day ; 
 Within her heart a dream of love had nested, 
 
 And from the world its sweetness hid away : 
 The morrow came with all its wealth of glory, — 
 
 — The morrow bright with sunlight and with song, — 
 To rose and heart, both, came the olden story 
 
 To heart and rose that ever must belong ; — 
 The sun smiled fairly on the opening flower, 
 
 And fain with sweet beguiling on its bosom lay, — 
 That fuller breathed its fragrance every hour 
 
 Till shadows marked at last the close of day ; 
 
 A whisper, and the maiden's heart was learning 
 
 The meaning of the words her dreaming wrought, 
 And heart and whisper, — both with passion burning ; — 
 
 Their own sweet answer made to calmer thought ; 
 And evening came, — ^Around the leaves lay scattered, 
 
 That breathed their fragrance freely in the morn, 
 To light and lover, both, it little mattered, 
 
 For lo ! they laughed the maid and rose to scorn ! 
 For, on her bosom where the flower rested, 
 
 A stain, alone, remaineth night and day, — 
 
 And from the heart, where Love's sweet dream had nested. 
 
 Life's bitterness will never pass away. 
 218 
 
faith. 
 
 As sunlight fades, and, soothed in rest by twiUght fingers cool, 
 day's eyelids close, 
 As weary- winged bird, with pinions drooping, in the homeward 
 flight finds rest. 
 So on the human heart Faith rests her touch ; the sweet assuring 
 thought Go^ knoivs, 
 The soul, all weakness in itself, fleeing to Him, finds refuge on 
 His breast. 
 
 219 
 
B Summer Somj. 
 
 ' O might we of such rare days 
 Build up the spirit's dwelling place! 
 
 'O unestrang^d birds and bees! 
 O face of Nature always true! " 
 
 I. 
 
 The Summer sweet ne'er lingers long, — 
 
 And each note of the wild bird's song, — 
 
 The hushed, low breath of winds that pass 
 
 O'er daisy drift and meadow grass, 
 
 Beneath the blue of bending skies 
 
 Throughout the golden hour that flies, — 
 
 Are but sweet dreams that flee away, — 
 
 Sweet dreams that will not stay ! 
 
 The liquid, languid lake that lies 
 
 Beneath the sunset's crimson dyes, — 
 
 Reflecting all the matchless glow 
 
 Of days that dawn, and eves that go, — ■ 
 
 The little joys that flash between, — 
 
 Within its clear and crystal sheen. 
 
 Smile on the hours that will not stay, — ■ 
 
 That float in dreams away : — 
 
 Sweet dreams away ! 
 
 II. 
 
 So, vain our fervid, feverish grasp 
 
 To hold our own the things we clasp, 
 
 And think them ours for one brief while : 
 
 The word, the glance, the sigh, the smile, — 
 220 
 
To gain and keep some of the bliss 
 Belonging to the life that is ; — 
 Clasping the hand of Yesterday, 
 Forgetting what we fain would say, 
 But reading in her eyes half-glad 
 And sweet, — half sweet and sad, — 
 Some glory of the ways we 've trod, 
 Some knowledge of the ways of God ! 
 And life is but a Summer-day, 
 That dawns and is, but will not stay : — 
 Its morning and its evening meet, — 
 And eve and morning, both, are sweet ; — 
 While song-bird sings and light wind passes 
 'Cross daisy drift and meadow grasses, 
 
 — O'er daisy drift and drifted clover, — 
 O'er the graves they sweetly cover, 
 
 — O'er the graves the wide world over ; — 
 What matters it, time will not stay, 
 
 If love lasts through its little day? 
 
"m tbe Maters ot Babplon." 
 
 Whenever the world, grown weary with care, 
 
 Shall say, with a sigh or a sneer in its breath, 
 That bliss is a dream and love but a snare. 
 
 That there's nothing, whatever, that's true but death ; 
 Whenever it whispers. Beware of the dream, 
 
 And turn from its sweets as you would from its bane. 
 That hearts are untrue, whatever they seem. 
 
 And in all that is precious there's brooding a pain. 
 Whenever you dream, with the warmth on your mouth. 
 
 Of the kisses red passion had set with a vow, 
 When the winds that were blowing came up from the south, 
 
 And the love that was then is a memory now, — 
 What then? If a woman you be, will you swear 
 
 That your hand shall be lifted in vengeance of man? 
 For the vows that were taken — as empty as air — 
 
 Will you answer with steel and with blood, if you can? 
 Will you hate the old world for the treason that's tested, 
 
 And faith proven unfaith, trusted again? 
 Will you smile when each note that you hold is protested. 
 
 And scorn to be sad for the falseness of men? 
 Being woman — what then ? Ask the winds of the south, 
 
 And the scent of the lilacs, grown pale in the night, 
 And the mem'ry of kisses still warm on the mouth. 
 
 And the sighs of a lang'rous delight, 
 And the touch of a hand on the bosom that throbbed, 
 
 And a voice vainly hushing the pulses' hot burning ; 
 Forgetful of wrong is the heart that was robbed. 
 
 And back to the past is regretfully turning ! 
 
In the longing for that in the days that are dead, 
 And the kisses of passion that strengthened thro' ali, 
 
 For the breast where once tenderness pillowed its head, 
 For the rest of the bier and the pall ! 
 
 What availeth the sneers of the world that was old, 
 
 When the heart and the lips were yet warm in delight? 
 What avail for the truths that experience told ? 
 
 (Oh, the winds that blew sweet in a night !) 
 Sighs on the lips, and tears on the lashes. 
 
 Songs in the heart that have ceased to be sung, 
 Fires of the soul that are burned down to ashes, 
 
 And the life and the spirit to love that have clune;;. 
 Be the true and the trustless together forgot 
 
 By the world, with its sneers and its curses to-day, 
 But the heart that has given, whatever its lot, 
 
 And have suffered whatever it may, 
 (While the mountains, immovable, lift up their crest 
 
 To the glory of promise that comes with the dawning, 
 And the tide, like a heart with its moan of unrest, 
 
 Drifts out with the soul at the birth of the morning,) 
 Still has offered sijme sweet to the world as its gift. 
 
 And proven its faith in its God as the Giver, 
 
 The' the song hath its sob, and the music its rift, 
 
 And the shadows fall dusk on the gold of life's river. 
 223 
 
Bpening, 
 
 The sweet marvel of the morn hath ceased its glad surprise ; 
 The last faint gleam of sunset fades from western skies, 
 And Evening lays her cool, soft touch on Nature's tired eyes. 
 
 224 
 
Ibereafter* 
 
 ' Shall we not weary in the windless days hereafter? ' 
 ' Still to the land we love our longings cling, 
 ' The dear, vain world of turmoil and unrest." 
 
 I. 
 
 Sometime, asks one, in heavenly ways 
 
 When we shall walk immortal. 
 When, all-bewildered in the maze. 
 
 We pass the shining portal 
 And go thro' stately streets and see — 
 
 When that our sight is fitter — 
 The waving of the palms, ah me ! 
 
 The gold and jasper glitter. 
 II. 
 When all the ways we walk among 
 
 Seem strange and wondrous, wholly, 
 When that our ears hear only sung 
 
 The "Holy, Holy, Holy!" 
 Shall we not strain our eyes to see — 
 
 With homesick tears to blind us — 
 Will not our hearts a-wearied be 
 
 For the old life left behind us ? 
 III. 
 Sometime, when we, at God's white throne, 
 
 As His angels veil our faces. 
 
 Will there be on our lips no moan 
 
 For earth's familiar places ? 
 225 
 
Shall we not hunger for the sight 
 
 Of faces we shall miss there? 
 And long for earth, to say " Good-night," 
 
 And the human lips to kiss there ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 We wonder — but what speech can tell ? — 
 
 Will homesick hearts be clinging. 
 When over fields of asphodel 
 
 Breaks forth the choral singing, 
 To the olden songs we used to list, 
 
 The songs that, thro' the rifting 
 Of earthsome cares, up there we Ve missed. 
 
 To homesick souls come drifting? 
 
 How will it be in other lands ? 
 
 With parted lips in sighing. 
 We ask, while in our clasping hands 
 
 The flowers we plucked are dying — 
 How will it be ? With bleeding feet. 
 
 And eyelids hot with weeping, 
 We wonder, 'midst the noontide heat, 
 
 If Heaven means rest and sleeping. 
 
 O, Earth ! With thy delirious strife, 
 Thy feverish thirst — thy sorrow. 
 
 Thy fitful dream that men call life. 
 
 That ends with some to-morrow ; 
 
 What will it be? We' say good-night, 
 226 
 
And kiss the lips that brought us bliss. 
 And turn us faceward to the light 
 That falls from other lands than this, 
 
 VII. 
 
 And lay us down with sleep-lade eyes, 
 
 With, in our ears, the singing 
 Of thine half-broken lullabies 
 
 That sunset tints are bringing, 
 Within our clinging hands the flowers 
 
 We plucked, and kissed, and cherishedj 
 And held through all the weary hours. 
 
 When strength and courage perished, 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And fall asleep as children do. 
 
 Whose cheeks bear tears undrying ; 
 Within whose heart old griefs are new, 
 
 Whose quivering mouth is sighing — 
 Yes, fall asleep, and, so forget 
 
 The things our hearts were breaking, 
 And, where the sun doth never set, 
 
 Somewhere will come the waking. 
 
 22] 
 
Mrs. Mary J. Holmes' Works. 
 
 TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE. 
 ENGLISH ORPHANS. 
 HOMES'l'KAU ON HILLSIDE. 
 'LENA lUVERS. 
 MEADOW BROOK. 
 DORA DEANE. 
 COUSIN MAUDE. 
 MARIAN GREY. 
 EDITH LYLE. 
 DAISY TilORNTON. 
 CHATEAU D'OR. 
 QUEENIE HETHERTON. 
 lilisslK'S FORTUNE. 
 MARGUERITE. (jVeic.) 
 
 DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. 
 
 HUGH WORTHINGTON. 
 
 CAMERON PRIDE. 
 
 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 ETTIEL\N\S MISTAKE. 
 
 MILLBANK. 
 
 EDNA BROWNING. 
 
 WEST L\WN. 
 
 MILDRED. 
 
 FOREST HOUSE. 
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 CilRISTMAS STORIES. 
 
 GRETCHEN. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 " Mi'.s. Holmes' stories are uiiivei-sally rond. Her admirers arc numbcrlcs-t:. 
 She is in many respects without a rival in the world of fiction. Her characters 
 are always life-like, and .she makes tlieni talk and act like human beings, subject 
 to the same emotions, swayed by the same jiast^ions, and actuated by the same 
 motiveswhich are commouaniong men and women of every-day existence. Jhs. 
 Holmes is very happy in jiortrayiiig domestic life. Old and young peruse her 
 ptoiies with great delight, for she writes in a style that all can comprehend." 
 —New Yoi'k Weeliy. 
 
 Tlie IVortli Anicrleazi Keview, vol. 81, page 557, says of Mrs. Mary 
 J. Holmes' novel "EngliL^h Orphans":— "Vrith this novel of Mrs. Holmes' we 
 have been charmed, and soliaveai)r(tty numerous circle of discriminating readers 
 to whom we have lent it. The ch:uacterizatioii is e.Kquisite, especially so far as 
 concerns rural and villaj^e life, of \\hich there are some jjiclures that deserve to 
 be hung up in perjietiial memory of types of humanity fast becoming extinct. 
 The dialogues are generally briif, pointed, and appropriate. Tlie plot seems 
 simi)le, so easily and n;;tnrally is it developed and consummated. Moreover, the 
 story thns gracefully constrncted and written, inculcates without obtruding, not 
 only pure Christian morality in general, bnt, with especial point and power, the 
 dependence of true encces.s on character, and of true respectability on merit." 
 
 "Mrs. Holmis' stories are all of a domestic character, and their interest, 
 therefore, is not so intense as if they were more highly seasoned with sensation- 
 alism, but it is of a h'.Mlthy and aliiding character. Tlie interest in her tales 
 begins at once, and is maintained to the close. Her sentiments are so sound, Iv r 
 sympathies so warm and ready, and her knowledge of manners, character, and 
 the varied incidents of ordinary life is so thorough, that she would find it difri- 
 cult to write any other than an excellent tale if she were to try it." — Boston 
 Banner. 
 
 It^" The volumes are all handsomely printed and bound in cloth, sold everj-- 
 where, and sent by mail, ]>os/a;/efr,e, on receipt of jirice [$1.50 each]. 
 
 Ct. W. DILLINGHAM, Publisher, 
 
 Successor (0 G. W. C'ARLETON & CO., 
 
 33 W. 23d St., NEW YORK. 
 
ADGHSTA J. EVANS' 
 
 MAGHIFICEHT HOVELS, 
 
 BEUI.AH, $1.75 
 
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 INEZ, $1.75 
 
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 INFELICE, . . . . $2.00 
 
 AT THE MBBCIT OF TIBERIUS {JV^7a), $2.00 
 
 A Prominent Critic Says of these Novels: 
 
 "The author's style is beautiful, cliaste and elegant. 
 Her ideals are clothed in tlie most fascinating imagery, 
 and her power of delineating character is truly remark- 
 able. One of the marked and striking characteristics 
 of each and all her works, is the purity of sentiment 
 which pervades every line, every page and every chapter." 
 
 A/l handsomely printed end bound in cloth, sold every^ 
 where, and sent by mail, postaf^e free, on receipt of price, by 
 
 *^ Gr. ¥. DlLinGEAM, PUBLISHER, 
 
 S3 West 23d Ctreet, Kew York. 
 
Y AGMS FL 
 
 The following is a list of the Novels by the Author •( 
 "Guy Earlscourt's Wife." 
 
 SILENT AND TRUE. 
 
 A WONDERFUL WOMAN. 
 
 A TERRIBLE SECRET. 
 
 NORINE'S REVENGE. 
 
 A MAD MARRIAGE. 
 
 ONE NIGHT S MYSTERY. 
 
 KATE DANTON. 
 
 GUY EARLSCOURT'S WIFE. 
 
 HEIR OF CHARLTON. 
 
 CARRIED BY STORM. 
 LOST FOR A WOMAN 
 A WIFE'S TRAGEDY. 
 A CHANGED HEART. 
 PRIDE AND PASSION. 
 SHARING HER CRIME- 
 A WRONGED WIFE. 
 MAUDE PERCY S SECRET, 
 THE ACTRESS' DAUGHTEH. 
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE (New). 
 
 These vols, can be had at any bookstore in the cloth- 
 bound library edition. Price $1.50. 
 
 " Mfs. Fleming's stories are growing more and more popular every day. Thel: 
 
 delineations of character, life-like conversations, flashed of wit, constantly 
 
 varying scenes, and deeply interesting plots, combine to place 
 
 their nnthor in the vej-y fir-t rink of Modern Novelists." 
 
 All liandsomely printed and bound in cloth, sold eterywhere, and 
 III mail, postage free, on receipt of price (!jl.50 each), by 
 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM, PUBLISHER, 
 
 33 West 23rd Street, New York. 
 
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