UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SAN DIEGO 3 1822 591 5978 ^ y X3=:--*c poems IvOVK'S PHII.OSOPHI^. A WIFE) is like an unknown sea ; — Least known to him who thinks he knows Where all the Shores of Promise be, Where lie the Islands of Repose, And where the rocks that he must flee. Capricious winds, uncertain tides, Drive the young sailor on and on, Till all his charts and all his guides Prove false, and vain conceit is gone, And only docile Love abides. Where lay the shallows of the maid, No plummet-line the wife may sound, Where round the sunny islands played. The pulses of the great profound, Lies low the treacherous everglade. And, as he sails, he is, perforce, Discoverer of a strange new world ; And finds, whate'er may be his course. Green lands within white seas impearled With streams of unsuspected source. Which feed with gold delicious fruits Kept by unguessed Hesperides, Sosiab ©Ubcrt IbollanD 31 Or cool the lips of gentle brutes That breed and browse among the trees Whose wind-tossed limbs and leaves are lutes. The maiden free, the maiden wed, Can never, never be the same. A new life springs from out the dead, And with the speaking of a name, A breath upon the marriage bed, She finds herself a something new — (Which he learns later, but no less), And good or evil, false or true, May change their features — who can guess >- Seen close, or on a nearer view. For maiden life, with all its fire, Is hid within a grated cell. Where every fancy and desire, And graceless passion, guarded well, Sits dumb behind the woven wire. Marriage is freedom : only when The husband turns the prison-key Knows she herself, nor even then. Knows she more wisely well thaa hc Who finds himself least wise of men. 32 Xove poems STANZAS FROM " DESPAIR." A H ! what is so dead as a perished delight, Or a passion outlived ! or a scheme over thrown ! Save the bankrupt heart it has left in its flight, Still as quick as the eye, but as cold as a stone ! The honey-bee hoards for its winter-long need The treasure he gathers in joy from the flowers. And drinks in each sip of its silvery mead The flavc* and flush of the sweet summer hours. But a pleasure expires at its earliest breath ; No labor can hoard it, no cunning can save ; For the song of its life is the sigh of its death. And the sense it has thrilled is its shroud and its grave. Ah ! what is our love, with its tincture of lust, And its pleasure that pains us and pain that endears, But joy in an armful of beautiful dust That crumblevS, and flies on the wings of the years ? lnatUiam Metmore Stor^ 33 WIIvIvIAM WETMORB STORY. /^^OMK, as you came in the desert, Ere we were women and men, When the tiger passions were in us. And love as you loved me then ! Cleopatra. MARCUS ANTONIUS. 'TT IS vain, Fonteus ! As the half- tamed steed, Scenting the desert, lashes madly out, And strains, and storms, and struggles to bft freed. Shaking his rattling harness all about — So, fiercer for restraint, herein my breast Hot passion rages, firing every thought. For what is honor, prudence, interest. To the wild stress of love ? Oh best of life, My joy, hope, triumph, glory, my soul's wife, My Cleopatra ! I desire thee so That all restraint to the wild winds I throw, Come what come will, come life, come death, to me, 'T is equal, if again I look on thee. Away, Fonteus ! tell her I rage With madness for her. Nothing can assuage 34 Tiovc focme The strong desire, the torment, and fierce stress, That whirls my thoughts round, and inflames my brain, But her great ardent eyes — dark eyes that draw My being to them with a subtle law And an almost divine imperiousness. Tell her I do not live until I feel The thrill of her wild touch, that thro' each vein Electric shoots its lightning ; and again Hear those low tones of hers, although they steal, As by some serpent-charm my will away, And wreck my manhood. ****** Tell my dear serpent I must see her to fill My eyes with the glad light of her great eyes, Though death, dishonor, any thing you will, Stand in the way ! Ay, by my soul ! disgrace Is better in the sun of Egypt's face, Than pomp or power in this detested place. Oh for the wine my queen alone can pour From her rich nature ! Let me starve no more On this weak, tepid drink that never warms My life blood. But away with shams and forms ! Away with Rome ! One hour in Egypt's eyes Is worth a score of Roman centuries. Away, Fonteus ! Tell her till I see Those eyes I do not live — that Rome to me llXIimiam metmorc Stori^ 35 Is hateful, — tell her — Oh ! I know not what— That ever}^ thought and feeling, space and spot. Is like an ugly dream, where she is not. Oh for a breath of Egypt !— the soft nights In the voluptuous Bast — the dear delights We tasted there — the lotus-perfumed gales That dream along the low shores of the Nile, And softly flutter in the languid sails ! Oh for the queen of all ! — for the rich smile That glows like autumn over her dark face — For her large nature — her enchanting grace Her arms, that are away so many a mile ! Away, Fonteus ! — lose no hour — make sail — Weigh anchor on the instant — woo a gale To blow you to her. Tell her I shall be Close on your very heels across the sea, Praying that Neptune send me storms as strong As passion is, to sweep me swift along, Till the white spray sing whistling round my prow. And the waves gurgle 'neath the keel's sharp plough. Fly, fly, Fonteus ! When I think of her My soul within my body is astir ! My wild blood pulses, and my hot cheeks glow ! lyove with its madness overwhelms me so That I — Oh ! go, I say ! Fonteus, go ! 36 Xov>e ipoems THK WAI,TZ. AA Y arm is around your waist, love, Your hand is clasping mine, Your head leans over my shoulder, As around in the waltz we twine. I feel your quick heart throbbing, Your panting breath I breathe, And the odor rare of your hyacinth hair Comes gently up from beneath. To the rhythmic beat of the music. In the floating ebb and flow, Of the tense violin, and the lisping flute, And the burring bass we go. Whirling, whirling, whirling, In a rapture swift and sweet, To the pleading violoncello's tones, And the pulsing piano's beat. The world is alive with motion. The lights are whirling all, And the feet and brain are stirred by the strain, Of the music's incessant call. Dance ! dance ! dance ! it calls to us, And borne on the waves of sound, We circling swing in a dizzy ring. With the whole world whirling round. James IRussell Xowell 37 The jewels dance on your bosom, On your arms the bracelets dance, The swift blood speaks in your mantling cheeks, In your eyes is a dewy trance ; Your white robes flutter around you, Nothing is calm or still, And the senses stir in the music's whir, With a swift electric thrill. We pause, and your waist releasing, We stand and breathe for a while ; And, your face afire with a sweet desire, You look in my eyes and smile. We scarcely can speak for panting. But I lean to you and say, " Ah ! who, my love, can resist you ? You have waltzed my heart away." JAMES RUSSBLIy LOWBLI.. T RUE love is but a humble, low-born thing. Love, PAOIyO TO FRANCKSCA. T WAS with thee in heaven. I can not tell If years or moments, so the sudden bliss When first we found, then lost us, in a kiss, Abolished time, abolished earth and hell. 38 %ovc poems I/cft only heaven. Then from our blue there fell A dagger's flash, and did not fall amiss, For nothing now can rob my life of this — That once with thee in Heaven, all else is well. Us, undivided when man's vengeance came, God's half-forgives that doth not here divide, And, were this bitter whirl-blast fanged with flame. To me, 't were summer, we being side by side : This granted, I God's mercy would not blame, For, given thy nearness, nothing is denied. TKI/EPATHY. " A ND how could I dream of meeting ? '* Nay, how can you ask me sweet? All day my pulse has been beating The tune of your coming feet. And as nearer and ever nearer I felt the throb of your tread, To be in the world grew dearer And my blood ran rosier red. Love called, and I could not linger. But sought the forbidden tryst. As music follows the finger Of the dreaming lutanist. malt mbltman 39 And though you had said it and said it, "We must not be happy to-day," Was I not wiser to credit The fire in my feet than your Nay ? WALT WHITMAN. COxMETlMBS with one I love I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse unreturned love. But now I think there is no unreturned love, the pay is certain one way or another, (I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not returned, Yet out of that I have written these songs). FAST ANCHORED, ETERNAI,, O I^OVK ! CAST-ANCHORKD, eternal, O love! O wo- man I love ! bride ! O wife ! more resistless than I can tell, the thought of you ! Then separate, as disembodied or another born, Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consola- tion, 1 ascend, I float in the regions of your love, O man, O sharer in my roving life. 40 %ove ipoems AMONG THK MUI.TITUDK. A MONG the men and women the multitude, I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs, Acknowledging none else, not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I am. Some are baffled, but that one is not — that one knows me. Ah, lover and perfect equal, I meant that you should discover me so by faint indirections. And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you. once: I passe:d through a popui^ous city. /^NCE I passed through a populous city im- printing my brain for future use with its shows, architecture, customs, traditions. Yet now of all that city I remember only a woman I casually met there who detained me for love of me, Day by day and night by night we were to- gether — all else has long been forgotten by me, 3Benjamin Jfranftlln ZTai^lot 41 I remember, I say, only that woman who pas- sionately clung to me, Again we wander, we love, we separate again, Again she holds me by the hand, I must not go. I see her close beside me with silent lips, sad and tremulous. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN TAYLOR. V\/HEN orchards drift with blooms of white like billows on the deep, And whispers from the lilac bush across my senses sweep. That 'mind me of a girl I knew when life was always May, Who filled my nights with starry hopes that faded out by day. October. FROM **THB DESERTED HOMESTEAD." "CUI/Iv twenty summer-times ago, I walked along this country road, When life and love were both in blow And none would dream it ever snowed. I saw a schoolma'am coming down, Her rippling hair was golden-brown, I saw her firm and slender hand, I saw her foot-prints in the sand. 42 %ovc poems A pair of rhymes in dainty type That brought to mind the old Gazette Where village poets used to pipe — The cricket comer where they set, In little letters chirps of song Whose lines were only cricket long — And read them off as children tell A poem by the nonpareil. I turned highwayman as I stood Beneath these oaks, now older grown, And cried as ruder robbers would : ** Thy life and treasure are my own ! " I halted her with love's surprise, And saw my answer in her eyes ; A bee was busy with a flower, A bird sang low from maple bower. The old white school-house swarmed with noise We heeded not the babel rout, The girls knew better than the boys What meant the meeting there without, And smiling stood and watched me hold Her hand in mine, and ran and told ! FROM "hearts and HEARTHS." nPHBRE, couples sat the night away, Whist as a buttonhole bouquet — Some russets roasting in a row, Some talking flames that " told of snow," Some cider that her hands had drawn, JBenjamfn jfranfiUn ^ai^lor 43 Two pairs of lips, a single cup, Both kissed the brim and drank it up. The candle has its night-cap on, The very embers gone to bed — Who shall record what either said ? Or, who so eloquent can tell How early apples used to smell ? The woodsy, evanescent taste Of berries plucked with eager haste, As through the meadow-land they crept, And fingers touched and fancy woke And never slumbered, never slept, Till day on life's sweet dreamings broke ? The pious clock a murmur made. Held up both hands before its face. Not meant so much for twelve o'clock. But just astonishment and shock At such a want of modest grace. For up the sweetheart sprang, and laid A muffling finger on the bell. Lest the shrill steel should strike and tell, And gave the hands a backward whirl, Took time "on tick," the reckless girl ! Where is the lover ? Old and lone. And where the maiden ? Gray and gone. I read the dim italic stone : A willow tree, a " Sacred To " The sad old story, ever new, For all the twain the world moves on. 44 %ovc poems FROM ''THE MII.I.KR AND THE) MILI,." OH saw four butterflies winged in white, That fluttered over the wayside pool, They look like bits of an old love-note To Lucy Jones, and the first he wrote. But never sent to the flower of school. •' What if he had ? ' ' and ' ' Perhaps she might ! " He saw four butterflies winged in gold, And thought what things the " perhaps " might fold : A woman's foot on the powdered sill With arch enough for a running rill, To walk his world and — he thought again How blossoms show in the route of rain — Make summer-time till the first snow fall. Perhaps and might ! How they puzzle all ! SINGLE POEMS. passage; from " THE WESTERN HOME." OOW beautiful is woman's love ! That from the play-place of its birth, The sister's smile, the parent's hearth. The earliest warmth of friendship true. X^Ma tbnntlc^ Slgourneg 45 The holy church where first it knew The balm of Christ's baptismal dew, To stranger-bands, to stranger-home, O'er desert clime, o'er ocean foam, Goes forth in perfect trust, to prove The untried toil, the burdening care. The peril and the pang to dare. Oh, glorious Love ! whose purpose high With guardian angel's constancy. Till severing Death stands sternly by. Hath to a mortal's keeping given Its all of earth, its all of heaven. Lydia Huntley Sigourney. THE MATe:s. "FHB bard has sung, God never formed a soul "Without its own peculiar mate, to meet Its wandering half, when ripe to crown the whole Bright plan of bliss, most heavenly, most complete. But thousand evil things there are that hate To look on happiness : These hurt, impede. And, leagued with time, space, circumstance, and fate. Keep kindred heart from heart, to pine and pant and bleed. 46 Xove poems And, as the dove to far Palmyra flying From where her native founts of Antioch beam, Weary, exhausted, longing, panting, sighing, Lights sadly at the desert stream ; So many a soul o'er life's drear desert faring — Love's pure congenial spring unfound, un- quaffed — Suffers, recoils, then, thirsting and despairing Of what it would, descends, and sips the nearest draught. Maria Gowen Brooks. A S^RENADK. T OOK out upon the stars, my love, And shame them with thine eyes, On which, than on the lights above. There hang more destinies. Night's beauty is the harmony Of blending shades and light, Then, lady, up — look out, and be A sister to the night. Sleep not ! — thine image wakes for aye Within my watching breast ; prances Sargent ©sgooD 47 Sleep not ! — from her soft sleep should fly Who robs all hearts of rest. Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break, And make this darkness gay, With looks whose brightness well might make Of darker night a day. Edward Coate Pinkney. he; may go— if hk can. T BT me see him once more, for a moment or two, Let him tell me himself of his purpose, dear, do ; Let him gaze in these eyes while he lays out his plan To escape me, and then he may go — if he can. Let me see him once more, let me give him one smile. Let me breathe but one word of endearment the while. I ask but that moment — my life on the man ! Does he think to forget me ? He may — if he can. Fra7ices Sargent Osgood, 48 Xove ipoems A GWMPSK OF 1,0 V:e. C HE came, as comes the summer wind, A gust of beauty to my heart ; Then swept away, but left behind Emotions that shall not depart. Unheralded she came and went, Like music in the silent night. Which, when the burthened air is spent, Bequeaths to memory its delight ; Or, like the sudden April bow That spans the violet-waking rain, She made those blessed flowers grow Which may not fall or fade again. For sweeter than all things most sweet, And fairer than all things most fair. She came and passed with footsteps fleet, A shining wonder in the air. Thomas Buchanan Read, leUaabetb StoD^arD 49 merce:dks. T JNDKR a sultry, yellow sky, On the 3'ellow sand I lie ; The crinkled vapors smite my brain, i smoulder in a fiery pain. Above the crags the condor flies, — He knows where the red gold lies, He knows where the diamonds shine : If I knew, would she be mine ? Mercedes in her hammock swings. — In her court a palm-tree flings Its slender shadow on the ground. The fountain falls with silver sound. Her lips are like this cactus cup, With my hand I crush it up, I tear its flaming leaves apart : — Would that I could tear her heart ! Last night a man stood at her gate, In the hedge I lay in wait ; I saw Mercedes meet him there. By the fire-flies in her hair. I waited till the break of day, I'hen I rose and stole away. But left my dagger at her gate : — Now she knows her lover's fate. Elizabeth Stoddard, 50 Xove ipocms DOKS he; ivove ME? pRETTY robin at my window, Welcoming the day, With th)^ loud and liquid piping, Read my riddle, pray. I have conned it waking, sleeping, Vexed the more for aye, Thou 'rt a wizard, pretty robin — Does he love me — say ? Lady violet, blooming meekly By the brooklet free. Bending low thj' gentle forehead All its grace to see. Turn thee from the wooing water, Whisper soft, I pray. For the winds might hear my secret — Does he love me — say ? Star that through the silent night-tide Watchest over him, Write it with thy golden pencil On my casement dim. Thou art skilled in love's sweet magic, Tell me, then, I pray, Now, so none but I may read it — Does he love me — say ? Annie Chambers Ketchum. (3eorge Ibcnr^ :JSoIiec 51 SCENK FROM "PAOLO AND FRANCESCA." Paolo — I am mad ! The torture of unnumbered hours is o'er, The strong cord has broken, and my heart Riots in free delirium ! O Heaven ! I struggled with it, but it mastered me ! I fought against it, but it beat me down ! I prayed, I wept, but Heaven was deaf to me, And every tear rolled backward on my heart To blast and poison. Francesca — And dost thou regret ? Paolo — The love ? No, no ! I 'd dare it all again. Its direst agonies, and meanest fears. For that one kiss. Away with fond remorse ! Here, on the brink of ruin, we two stand, Lock hands with me, and brave the fearful plunge ! Thou canst not name a terror so profound That I will look or falter from. Be bold. I know thy love — I knew it long ago — Trembled and fled from it. But now I clasp The peril to my breast, and ask of thee A kindred desperation. Francesca ( Throwing herself into his arms) — Take me, all — Body and soul ! The women of our clime 52 %ovc ipoems Do never give away but half a heart ; I have no part to give, part to withhold In selfish safety. When I saw thee first, Riding alone amid a thousand men, Sole in the lustre of thy majesty. And Guido da Polenta said to me, "Daughter, behold thy husband!" With a bound My heart went forth to meet thee. He de- ceived. He lied to me — ah ! that 's the aptest word — And I believed. Shall I not turn again And meet him craft with craft ? Paolo, love. Thou 'rt dull — thou 'rt dying like a feeble fire Before the sunshine. Was it but a blaze, A flash of glory, and a long, long night ? Paolo — No, darling, no ! you could not bend me back. My course is onward, but my heart is sick with coming fears. Francesca — Away with them ! Must I Teach thee to love ? and reinform the ear Of thy spent passion with some sorcery To raise the chilly dead ? Paolo — Thy lips have not A sorcery to rouse me as this spell. {^Kisses her. Francesca — I give thy kisses back to thee again, limilUam 1bai2nc5 Xi^tle 53 And like a spendthrift only ask of thee To take while I can give. Paolo — Give, give, forever ! Have we not touched the height of human bliss ? And if the sharp rebound may hurl us back Among the prostrate, did we not soar once ? — Taste heavenly nectar, banquet with the gods. On high Olympus ? If they cast us, now, Amid the furies, shall we not go down With rich ambrosia clinging to our lips, And richer memories settled in our hearts ? George Henry Boker. ANTONY TO ClyKOPATRA. T AM dying, Egypt, dying, Kbbs the crimson life-tide fast. And the dark Plutonian shadows Gather on the evening blast ; Let thine arms, O Queen, enfold me ! Hush thy sobs and bow thine ear ; Listen to the great heart-secrets, Thou, and thou alone, must hear. Though my scarred and veteran legions Bear their eagles high no more. And my wrecked and scattered galleys Strew dark Actium's fatal shore ; 54 Xove poems Though no glittering guards surround me, Prompt to do their master's will, I must perish like a Roman, Die the great Triumvir still. Let not Csesar's servile minions Mock the Lion thus laid low ; 'T was no foeman's arm that felled him-^ 'T was his own that struck the blow, — ■ His, who, pillowed on thy bosom, Turned aside from glory's ray — • His, who, drunk with thy caresses, Madly threw a world away. Should the base plebeian rabble Dare assail my name at Rome, Where my noble spouse, Octavia, Weeps within her widowed home. Seek her ; say the gods bear witness — Altars, augurs, circling wings — That her blood, with mine commingled. Yet shall mount the throne of kings. And for thee, star-eyed Egyptian ! Glorious sorceress of the Nile, Light the path to Stygian horrors With the splendors of thy smile. John Z, G:rowbrit>ge 55 Give the Caesar crowns and arches, Ivet his brow the laurel twine ; I can scorn the Senate's triumphs, Triumphing in love like thine. I am dying, Egypt, dying ; Hark ! the insulting foeman's cry. They are coming ! quick, my falchion ! Let me front them ere I die. Ah ! no more amid the battle Shall my heart exulting swell — Isis and Crisis guard thee ! Cleopatra, Rome, farewell ! Willia^n Haines Lytle. STANZAS FROM " AUNT HANNAH." CHE was then a reigning belle, and I 've heard old ladies tell How at all the balls and parties Hannah Amsden took the lead ; Perfect bloom and maiden sweetness, lily grace of rare completeness. Though the stalk stands stiffly now the flower has gone to seed. 56 %ovc poems She had all that love could give, all that makes it sweet to live — Fond caresses, jewels, dresses ; and with eloquent appeal Many a proud and rich adorer knelt — in meta- phor — before her ; Metaphorically only does your modern lover kneel. If she heeded, 't v/as because, in their worship, their applause. Her perfection w^as reflected, and a pleasing music heard ; But she suffered them no nearer than her gold- finch or her mirror, And she hardly held them dearer than her pier-glass or her bird. But at last there came a day when she gave her heart away, If that rightly be called giving which is neis ther choice nor will, But a charm, a fascination, and a wild, sweet exultation — All the fresh young life outgoing in a strong ecstatic thrill. 5obn XL. tIrowbriOGC 57 At a city ball, by chance, she first met his ardent glance, He was neither young nor handsome, but a man of subtle parts. With an eye of such expression as your lover by profession Finds an excellent possession when he goes a-hunting hearts. It could trouble, it could burn ; and when first he chanced to turn That fine glance on Hannah Amsden, it lit up with swift desire. With a sudden dilatation, and a radiant admira- tion, And shot down her soul's deep heaven like a meteor trailing fire. How was any one to know that those eyes had looked just so On a hundred other women, with a gaze as bright and strange ? There are men who change their passions even oftener than their fashions ; And the best of loving always, to their minds, is still to change. John T, Trowbridge. 58 %ovc ipoems JANKT'S HAIR. /^H ! loosen the snood that you wear, Janet, ^^ Let me tangle a hand in your hair, my pet ; For the world to me has no daintier sight Than your brown hair behind your shoulders white, As I tangled a hand in your hair, my pet. It was brown, with a golden gloss, Janet, It was finer than silk of the floss, my pet ; 'T was a beautiful mist, falling down to your wrist ; 'T was a thing to be braided, and jeweled and kissed ; 'T was the loveliest hair in the world, my pet. My arm was the arm of a clown, Janet, It was sinewy, bristled and brown, my pet ; But warmly and softly it loved to caress Your round white neck, and your wealth of tress. Your beautiful plenty of hair, my pet. Your eyes had a swimming gloss, Janet, Revealing the dear old story, my pet ! They were gray with that chastened tinge of the sky, Cbarles (5. Ibalplne 59 When the trout leaps quickest to snap the fly, And they matched with your golden hair, my pet. Your lips — but I have no words, Janet — They were fresh as the twitter of birds, my pet; When the Spring is young and the roses are wet With dewdrops in each bosom set, And they suited your gold brown hair, my pet. Oh ! you tangled my life in your hair, Janet ! 'Twas a silken and golden snare, my pet ; But so gentle the bondage, my soul did im- plore The right to continue a slave evermore. With my fingers enmeshed in your hair, my pet. Thus ever I dream that you were, Janet, With your lips, and your eyes, and your hair, my pet ; In the darkened and desolate years I moan, And my tears fall bitterly over the stone That covers your golden hair, my pet. Charles G. Halpine {Miles O'Reilly), 6o Xovc poems ALICB GARY. O HE^ART of mine, what makes you beat So fast and sweet, so fast and sweet ? A Spinster's Stint. RUTH AND I. TT was not day, and was not night ; The eve had j ust begun to light, Along the lovely West, His golden candles, one by one. And girded up with clouds, the sun Was sunken to his rest. Between the furrows, brown and dry, We walked in silence — Ruth and I, We two had been, since morn Began her tender tunes to beat Upon the May leaves young and sweet, Together, planting corn. Homeward the evening cattle went, In patient, slow, full-fed content. Led by a rough, strong steer, His forehead all with burs thick set, Bltce Car^ 6i His horns of silver tipt with jet, And shapeless shadow near. "With timid, half reluctant grace, Like lovers in some favored place, The light and darkness met, And the air trembled near and far, With many a little tuneful jar Of milk-pans being set. We heard the house-maids at their cares Pouring their hearts out unawares In some sad poet's ditty, And heard the fluttering echoes round Reply like souls all softly drowned In heavenly love and pity. All sights, all sounds, in earth and air, Were of the sweetest ; everywhere Bar, eye, and heart were fed : The grass with one small burning flower Blushed bright, as if the elves that hour Their coats thereon had spread. One moment, where we crossed the brook. Two little sunburnt hands I took, — Why did I th«n let go ? I 've been since then in many a land, Touched, held, kissed many a fairer hand, But none that thrilled me so. 62 %ovc poems Why, when the bliss heaven for us made Is in our very bosoms laid, Should we be all unmoved, And walk, as now do Ruth and I, 'Twixt th' world's furrows, brown and dry; Unloving and unloved ? PRODIGAIv'S PI.EA. C HINE down, little head, so fair, From thy window in the wall ; Oh, my slighted golden hair, Like the sunshine round me fall — Little head, so fair, so bright, Fill my darkness with thy light ! Reach me down thy helping hand, Little sweetheart, good and true ; Shamed, and self-condemned, I stand, And wilt thou condemn me too ? Soilure of sin, be sure, Cannot harm thy hand so pure. With thy quiet, calm my cry Pleading to thee from afar. Is it not enough that I With myself should be at war ? With thy cleanness cleanse my blood, With thy goodness make me good. Ipboebe Cars 63 Eyes that loved me once, I pray, Be not crueller than death, Hide each sharp-edged glance away Underneath its tender sheath ! Make me not, sweet eyes, with scorn, Mourn that I was ever born ! Oh, my roses ! are ye dead. That in love's delicious day. Used to flower out ripe and red, Fast as kisses plucked away ? Turn thy pale cheek, little wife, Let me warm them back to life. I have wandered, oh, so far ! From the way of truth and right ; Shine out for my guiding star, Little head, so dear and bright, Dust of sin is on my brow. Good enough for both art thou ! phge:bb CARY. '* T OVE thee ? " Thou canst not ask of me So freely as I fain would give, 'T is woman's great necessity To love as long as she shall live. A Woman's Answer. 64 Xov>e ipoems SONG. T AUGH out, O stream, from your bed of green. Where you lie in the sun's embrace ; And talk to the weeds that o'er you lean To touch your dimpled face ; But let your talk be sweet as it will, And your laughter be as gay. You cannot laugh as I laugh in my heart. For my lover will come to-day. Sing sweet, little bird, sing out to your mate That hides in the leafy grove ; Sing clear and tell him for him you wait. And tell him of all your love ; But though you sing till you shake the buds And the tender leaves of May, My spirit thrills with a sweeter song. For my lover must come to-day. Come up, O winds, come up from the south. With eager, hurrying feet. And kiss your red rose on her mouth In the bower where she blushes sweet ; But you cannot kiss your darling flower, Though you clasp her as you may, As I kiss in thought the lover dear I shall hold in my arms to-day ! Ipbcebe Cars 65 HKIvPLKSS. VOU never said a word to me That was cruel under the sun ; It is n't the things you do, darling, But the things you leave undone. If you could know a wish or want. You would grant it joyfully ; Ah ! that is the worst of all, darling, That you cannot know nor see. For favors free alone are sweet. Not those that we must seek ; If you loved me as I love you, darling, I would not need to speak. But to-day I am helpless as a child That must be led along ; Then put your hand in mine, darling, And make me brave and strong ! There 's a heavy care upon my mind, A trouble on my brain ; Now gently stroke my hair, darling, And take away the pain. 66 Xove ipoems I feel a weight within my breast, As if all had gone amiss ; Oh, kiss me with thy lips, darling. And fill my heart with bliss ! Enough ! no deeper joy than this For souls below is given ; Now take me in your arms, darling. And lift me up to heaven ! THOMAS WBNTWORTH HIGGINSON. r\ PASSIONATE earthly love, ^-^ Whose tremulous pulse beats on to life's best boon, Couldst thou not give one noon, One noon of noons, all other bliss above ? A Song of Days. SERENADE BY THE SEA. /^'ER the ocean vague and wide ^-^ Sleep comes with the coming tide. Breezes lull my lady fair, Cool her eyelids, soothe her hair. While the murmuring surges seem To float her through a world of dream. TTbomae Wcntwortb Ibf^ginaon 67 Shadowy sloops are gliding in Safe the harbor-bar within. Silently each phantom pale Drops the anchor, furls the sail. She, meanwhile, remote from me, Drifts on sleep's unfathomed sea. So may every dream of ill Find its anchorage, and be still ; Sorrow furl its sails and cease In this midnight realm of peace, And each wandering thought find rest In the haven of her breast. "SINCE CI^KOPATRA DIED." " C INCE Cleopatra died ! " Long years are past, In Antony's fancy, since the deed was done. Love counts in epochs, not from sun to sun. But by the heart throb. Mercilessly fast Time has swxpt onward since she looked her last On life, a queen. For him the sands have run Whole ages through their glass, and kings have won And lost their empires o'er earth's surface vast Since Cleopatra died. Ah ! Love and Pain Make their own measure of all things that be. 68 xove poems No clock's slow ticking marks their deathless strain ; The life they own is not the life we see ; l/ove's single moment is eternity ; Eternity a thought in Shakespeare's brain. RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. A ND then was she aware of, first That she, not knowing it, had nursed His memory till it grew a part — A heart within her very heart. Leonatus. THE TURKISH MAIDEN. TF you meet my sweet gazelle. By these signs you '11 know her well ; Eyes like arrows, black and bright. Cheeks the fiery rose of night. And her voice a silver bell. I am burning with desire. Like a parchment in the fire ; I am dying ; hear my cry, 'T is for thee alone I sigh, Emir's Daughter — Peacock's Eye ! IRfcbarD fbcnv^ StoD^arD 69 Heart of rocks ! be soft to me, Or my tears will soften thee — In my passion and my pain Flowing down my cheeks like rain — And they will not flow in vain ! I know where her palace stands, It is in the far-off lands, Over mountains, over sands : Seldom letters reach her there, Never wretched lover's prayer ! I am dying, for no art Can relieve my broken heart. What I suffer none can tell, Blasted by the fires of hell — By the love of that gazelle ! There 's a stately palm that grows Where the purest water flows : She 's its fruit : her lips are red As the blush that rubies shed, Or the west when day is dead ! Life and death are met in me, But I only think of thee. Let the happy fool complain. What is dying ? Where 's the pain ? I have lived and loved in vain ! 70 %ovc ipoems I.OVE THY ne;ighbor. " T OVE thy neighbor as thyself." When at dawn I meet her, As by the garden wall she stands, And gives me flowers across the wall, My heart goes out to kiss her hands — Are hands or flowers the sweeter ? — I 'm ready at her feet to fall, And like a clown to labor ! Better than I love myself Do I love my neighbor ! '* I/Ove thy neighbor as thyself." When at dawn I meet him. As by the garden wall he stands, And takes my flowers across the wall, My soul 's already in his hands — It flew so fast to greet him ! And O, I grow so proud and tall, And my heart beats like a tabor ! Better than I love myself Do I love my neighbor ! :fi3ai2arD Q;aslor 71 SONG. T KNOW a little rose, And O, but I were blest Could I but be the drop of dew That lies upon her breast ! But I dare not look so high, Nor die a death so sweet ; It is enough for me to be The dust about her feet ! BAYARD TAYI^OR. Q FIvUTTERING heart ! control thy ^ tumult Lest eyes profane should see My cheeks betray the rush of rapture Her coming brings to me ! The Phantom. TRUE I^OVE'S TIME OF DAY. 'VA/HEN shall I find you, sweetheart. That shall be and must be mine ? I seek, though the world divide us, And I send you the secret sign. 72 xove ipoeme There 's blood in the veins of morning, So fresh it may well deceive, When man goes forth as Adam, And woman awaits him as Bve. There 's an elvish s^ell in twilight, When the bats of fancy fly. And sense is bound by a question And Fate in the quick reply. And the moon is an old enchantress, With her snares of glimmer and shade, That have ever been false and fatal To the dreams of man and maid. But I '11 meet you at noonday, sweetheart. In the billowy fields of grain, When the sun is hot for harvest And the roses athirst for rain. With the daylight's truth on your forehead. And the daylight's love in your eye, And I '11 kiss you without question. And you '11 kiss me without reply. :fi5a^arD ^a^lor 73 IF I.OVE SHOUI.D COMK AGAIN. TF Love should come again, I ask my heart, In tender tremors, not unmixed with pain, Couldst thou be calm, nor feel thy ancient smart, If Love should come again ? Couldst thou unbar the chambers where his nest So long was made, and made, alas ! in vain. Nor with embarrassed welcome chill the guest, If Love should come again ? Would Love his ruined quarters recognize Where shrouded pictures of the past remain, And gently turn them with forgiving eyes, If Love should come again ? Would bliss, in milder type, spring up anew, As silent craters with the scarlet stain Of flowers repeat the lava's ancient hue, If Love should come again ? Would Fate, relenting, sheathe the cruel blade Whereby the angel of thy youth was slain, That thou might'st all possess him, unafraid. If Love should come again ? 74 Xove ipoems In vain I ask. My heart makes no reply, But echoes evermore the sweet refrain, Till, trembling lest it seem a wish, I sigh. If Love should come again ! JULIA C. R. DORR. DUT I pray you think when some fairer face Shines like a star from her wonted place, That love will starve if it is not fed, That true hearts pray for their daily bread. A Flower for the Dead. FORESHADOWINGS. \A/IND of the winter night, Under the starry skies Somewhere my lady bright. Slumbering lies. Wrapped in calm maiden dreams, Where the pale moonlight streams. Softly she sleeps. I do not know her face, Pure as the lonely star That in yon darkling space Shineth afar ; 5ulta a» 1R. 2)orr 75 Never with soft command Touched I her willing hand, Kissed I her lips. I have not heard her voice, I do not know her name ; Yet doth my heart rejoice. Owning her claim ; Yet am I true to her ; All that is due to her Sacred I keep. Never a thought of me Troubles her soft repose ; Courant of mine may be Lily nor rose. They may not bear to her This heart's fond prayer to her, Yet — she is mine. Wind of the winter night. Over the fields of snow, Over the hills so white, Tenderly blow ! Somewhere red roses bloom ; Into her warm, hushed room, Bear thou their breath. Whisper — Nay, nay, thou sprite. Breathe thou no tender word 76 %ovc poems Wind of the winter night, Die thou unheard. True love shall yet prevail, Telling his own sweet tale : Till then I wait. WON. OIRD, by her garden gate Singing thy happy song, Round thee the listening leaves Joyously throng. Tell them that yesternight Under the stars so bright, I wooed and won her ! Red rose, rejoice with me ! Swing all thy censers low, Bid each fair bud of thine Hasten to blow. Lift every glowing cup Brimming with sweetness up, For — I have won her ! "Wind, bear the tidings far, Far over hill and dale ; Let every breeze that blows ^ulia C, 1R, Dorr 77 Swell the glad tale. River, go tell the sea, Boundless and glad and free, That I have won her ! Stars, ye who saw the blush Steal o'er her lovely face, When first her tender lips Granted me grace, Who can with her compare, Queen of the maiden's rare ? Yet — I have won her I Sun, up yon azure height Treading thy lofty way. Ruler of sea and land, King of the Day — Where 'er thy banners fly. Who is so blest as I ? I — who have won her ? Oh, heart and soul of mine. Make ye the temple clean, Make all the cloisters pure, Seen and unseen ! Bring fragrant balm and myrrh, Make the shrine meet for her, Now ye have won her ! 78 Xove ipoems IvUCY LARCOM. T OVB, sin-touched, is an unwholesome thing, A growth reversed, blight clinging into blight; Ivove meant to hallow all things with its light ! Why Life is Siueet. bkssie; and ruth. A BOVB them, the meadow-lark's call Rose, piercing the tremulous ether. As they clambered across the stone w^all, And came home through the lane together. Two girls, in their gowns of blue. With their milking-pails came through Red waves of the wind-shaken clover ; And the bloom of the grass dropped dew, And the dawn into sunrise grew. As they loitered talking it over — Talking a love-secret over. Their secret ; they thought it was hid, But the wren and the bobolink knew it ; And a wood-thrush, the alders amid. To his mate in a flute-echo threw it ; They talked of two lads on the sea, They talked of two weddings to be ; XUC12 Xarcom 79 And a rose-colored future each wove her ; Two hearts that were fettered, though free, — In the shade of a green-golden tree, As they lingered, talking it over, — Talking the old story over. They climbed the bleak slopes of a cliff Made warm by the footsteps of summer, And each asked the solemn waves if They had heard of a laggard home-comer. Mist-flushed with the heats of July, The white, solemn vessels went by, But neither saw sign of her rover ! And the deeps of Ruth's dreamy blue eye Were ruffled by Bessie's long sigh. While the slow waves murmured it over — Murmured the mystery over. Thej^ parted at dusk on the beach ; The third moon of harvest was waning, A yearning was in their low speaking. As of billow to billow complaining. To Bessie, the deep faith of Ruth Lapsed sad as the ebb-tide of youth ; And the stars in the sky-gulf above her Sank chill as her dumb thoughts in sooth, For she doubted her own maiden truth. 8o Xo\>e poems Dreaming another love over — Wondering, dreaming it over. The lark's note pierced Heaven again ; And again, in the June-lighted weather, The footsteps of two down the lane Kept time to a love-tune together. The gossip of bluebird and thrush Slid lightly from tree-top to bush, And shook with faint laughter the clover ; And the sweet-brier bent with a blush. That warned the pert blackbird to hush. While Bessie went by with her lover. Talking her second love over. Ruth came through the brown fields alone, To the sea, veiled in gray of November ; Dead leaves rustled past ; with a moan Strove the wind to revive autumn's ember. But the youth-light shone in her eye, And a joy in her heart, sweet and high, Sang clearer than curlew or plover. There is hope that is never put by ! There is love that refuses to die ! And the old sea this burden croons over, Forever over and over. IRoec Zctv^ Coofte 8i ROSE) TKRRY COOKK. UOR love with loving is not spent, Not such is love's divine intent ; What year on year the sun shall dim ? What vi^orship tire the seraphim ? An Answer. HK AND SHE. OOW does a woman love ? Once, no more, Though life forever its loss deplore. Deep in sorrow, or want, or sin. One king reigneth her heart within ; One alone, by night and day, Moves her spirit to curse or pray ; One voice only can call her soul Back from the grasp of death's control ; Though loves beset her and friends deride ; Yea, when she smileth another's bride ; Still for her master her life makes moan ; Once is forever, and once alone. How does a man love ? Once for all ; The sweetest voices of life may call, Sorrow daunt him, or death dismay, Joy's red roses bedeck his way, 6 82 %ovc t>ocme Fortune smile or jest or frown, The cruel thumb of the world turn down, Loss betray him, or gain delight, Through storm or sunshine, by day or night, Wandering, toiling, asleep, awake, Though souls may madden or frail hearts break ; Better than wife, or child, or pelf. Once and forever, he loves — himself! ONC^ BEFORE. C OLE she sat beside her window, Hearing only raindrops pour, Looking only at the shore, When, outside the little casement. Weeping in a feigned abasement. Love stood knocking — Knocking at her bolted door. Slow she swung the little casement Where the autumn roses glowed. Sweet and sad her deep eyes showed And her voice, in gentlest measure, Said aloud — " Nor Love, nor Pleasure, Can come in here any more — Never any more ! " IRose Zcvx^ Coofte 83 *' But I am not Love or Pleasure — I am but an orphan baby ; Lost my mother is, or maybe Dead she lies, while I am weeping," Sobbed the child, his soft lie creeping Softly through the bolted door — Through the maiden's door. Low she said, in accents lonely : " Once I let him in before, Once I opened wide my door. Ever since my life is dreary, All my prayers are vague and weary ; Once I let him in before. Now I '11 double-lock the door." In the rain he stands imploring. Tears and kisses storm the door, Where she let him in before, Will she never know repenting .-* Will she ever, late relenting, Let him in, as once before.-' Will she double-locii tne aoor r 84 %ovc ipoems PAUI, HAMIIvTON HAYNK. T OVB scorns degrees : the low he lifteth high. The high he draweth down to that fair plain Whereon, in his divine equality, Two loving hearts may meet. Tke Mountain of the Lovers. de:ad i,oves. '\A7'HENB'ER I think of old loves wan and ^^ dead. Of passion's wine outpoured in senseless dust. Of doomed affections and long-buried trust, Through all my soul an arctic gloom is shed ; And, oh ! I walk the world disquieted. Thou, my own love ! white lily of April ! Must Thy beauty, perfume, radiance, all be thrust Earth w^ardj to crumble in a grass-grown bed ? Yea, sweet, t is even so ! How long, how long. The dust of her wno once was tender Ruth Hath mouldereo aumbiy ! A.nrt how o^" the clod Which binds, like hers, all perished love and truth. Strives with pale weeds to veil death's hopeless wrong, Or through chill lips of flow- ers appeals to God ! Ipaul IbamtUon Ibagne 85 lyOVie'S AUTUMN. TO MY WIFE. T WOULD not lose a single silvery ray Of those white locks which like a milky way Gtreak the dusk midnight of thy raven hair ; I would not lose, O sweet ! the misty shine Of those half-saddened, thoughtful eyes of thine. Whence Love looks forth, touched by the shadow of care ; I would not miss the droop of thy dear mouth, The lips less dewy-red than when the South — The young South wind of passion sighed o'er them ; I would not miss each delicate flower that blows On thy wan cheeks, soft as September's rose Blushing but faintly on its faltering stem ; I would not miss the air of chastened grace Which breathed divinely from thy patient face, Tells of love's watchful anguish, merged in rest : 86 %ovc ipoems Naught would I miss of all thou hast, and art, O ! friend supreme, whose constant, stainless heart Doth house, unknowing, many an angel guest ; Their presence keeps thy spiritual chambers pure; While the flesh fails, strong love grows more and more Divinely beautiful with perished years ; Thus, at each slow, but surely deepening sign Of life's decay, we will not. Sweet ! repine, Nor greet its mellowing close with thankless tears ; Love's spring was fair, love's summer brave and bland, But through love's autumn mist I view the land, The land of deathless summers yet to be ; There I behold thee, young again and bright, In a great flood of rare transfiguring light, But there as here, thou smilest, Love, on me ! fbclcn 1bunt 5acf?6on 87 HEIvEN HUNT JACKSON "H. H." A H, they know not heart Of man or woman who declare That love needs time to love and dare. His altars wait, — not day nor name, Only the touch of sacred flame. The Story of Boon. A ROSK-i.:eAF. A ROSE-LEAF on the snowy deck; The high wind whirling it astern ; Nothing the wind could know or reck ; Why did the king's eyes thither turn ? "The queen hath walked here!" hoarse he cried. The courtiers, stunned, turned red, turned white ; No use if they had stammered, lied ; Aghast they fled his angry sight. King's wives die quick, when kings go mad ; To death how fair and grave she goes ! What if the king knew now she had Shut in her hand a little rose ? 88 %ovc poems And men die quick when kings have said ; Bleeding, dishonored, flung apart In outcast field a man lies dead, With rose-leaves warm upon his heart. BURNT SHIPS. r\ IvOVE, sweet Love, who came with rosy sail And foaming prow across the misty sea ! O Love, brave Love, whose faith was full and free That lands of sun and gold, which could not fail Lay in the west, that bloom no winter gale Could blight, and eyes whose love thine own should be, Called thee, with steadfast voice of prophecy, To shores unknown ! O Love, poor Love, avail Thee nothing now thy faiths, thy braveries ; There is no sun, no bloom ; a cold wind strips The bitter foam from off the wave where dips No more thy prow ; the eyes are hostile eyes ; The gold is hidden ; vain thy tears and cries ; O Love, poor Love, why didst thou bum thy ships ? Ibelen 1bunt ^achson Sg N TOGETHER. O touch — no sight — no sound — wide conti- nents And seas clasp hands to separate Them from each other now. Too late ! Triumphant love has leagued the elements To do their will. Hath light a mate For swiftness ? Can it overweight The air ? Or doth the sun know accidents ? The light, the air, the sun, inviolate For them, do constant keep and state Message of their ineffable contents And raptures, each in each. So great Their bliss of loving, even fate. In parting them, hath found no instruments Whose bitter pain insatiate Doth kill it, or their faith abate In presence of love's hourly sacraments. A WOMAN'S DEATH- WOUND. TT left upon her tender flesh no trace. The murderer is safe. As swift as light The weapon fell, and, in the summer night, Did scarce the silent, dewy air displace ; 'T was but a word. A blow had been less base, lyike dumb beast, branded by an iron white 90 Xox>e ipoems with heat, she turned in blind and helpless flight, But then remembered, and with piteous face came back. Since then, the world has nothing missed In her, in voice, or smile. But she — each day She counts until her dying be complete. One moan she makes, and ever doth repeat : " O lips that I have loved and kissed and kissed, Did I deserve to die this bitterest way ? ' ' EIvIZABBTH AKERS ALLEN. " Florence; percy." VOU did not see the bitter trace Of anguish sweep across my face ; You did not hear my proud heart beat, Heavy and slow beneath your feet ; You thought of triumphs still unwon, Of glorious deeds as yet undone ; And I, the while you talked to me, I watched the gulls float lonesomely, Till lost amid the hungry blue, And loved you better than you knew. Left Behind. Bli3abetb Bkers Bllen 91 WITH THKK. T F I could know that after all These heavy bonds have ceased to thrall, We, whom in life the fates divide, Should sweetly slumber side by side — That one green spray would drop its dew Softly alike above us two. All would be well, for I should be At last, dear loving heart, with thee ! How sweet to know this dust of ours, Mingling, will feed the self-same flowers, — The scent of leaves, the song-bird's tone, At once across our rest be blown, — One breadth of sun, one sheet of rain Make green the grass above us twain ! Ah, sweet and strange, for I should be, At last, dear tender heart, with thee ! But half the earth may intervene Thy place of rest and mine between — And leagues of land and wastes of waves May stretch and toss between our graves- Thy bed with summer light be warm While snow-drifts heap, in wind and storm, My pillow, whose one thorn will be, Beloved, that I am not with thee ! q2 %ove f>oems But if there be a blissful sphere "Where homesick souls, divided here, And wandering wide in useless quest. Shall find their longed-for heaven of test, — If in that higher, happier birth We meet the joy we missed on earth, All will be well, for I shall be, At last, dear loving heart, with thee ! THE) SII.VER BRIDGE. T^HE sunset fades along the shore, And faints behind yon rosy reach of sea Night falls again, but oh, no more. No more, no more, My love returns to me. The lonely moon builds soft and slow Her silver bridge across the main, But him who sleeps the wave below. Love waits in vain. Ah no, ah no, He never comes again ! But while some night beside the sea I watch, when sunset's red has ceased to burn, That silver path, and sigh, " Ah me, Ah me, ah me, He never will return ! " If on that bridge of rippling light. His homeward feet should find their way. J8li3abetb Bikers Bllen gs I should not wonder at the sight, But only say : " Ah love, my love, I knew you would not stay ! " GOING TO SI.E:EP. HTHE light is fading down the sky. The shadows grow and multiply, I hear the thrush's evening song ; But I have borne with toil and wrong So long, so long ! Dim dreams my drowsy senses drown, — So, darling, kiss my eyelids down ! My life's brief spring went wasted by, — My summer ended fruitlessly ; I learned to hunger, strive, and wait, — I found you, love, — oh, happy fate ! — So late, so late ! Now all my fields are turning brown, — So, darling, kiss my eyelids down ! Oh, blessed sleep ! Oh, perfect rest ! Thus pillowed on your faithful breast. Nor life nor death is wholly drear, O tender heart, since you are he-re, So dear, so dear ! Sweet love, my soul's sufficient crown ! Now, darling, kiss my eyelids down ! 94 %ovc poems EDMUND CIvARBNCE STKDMAN. PERHAPS 't was boyish love, yet still, O listless woman, weary lover ! To feel once more that fresh, wild thrill I 'd give — but who can live youth over ? T/ie Doorstep. r\^ all the beautiful demons who fasten on ^^^ human hearts, To fetter the bodies and souls of men with ex- quisite mocking arts, The cruellest, and subtlest, and fairest to mortal sight Is surely a woman called Estelle, who tortures me day and night. The first time that I saw her she passed with sweet lips mute, As if in scorn of the vacant praise of those who made her suit ; A hundred lustres flashed and shone as she rustled through the crowd. And a passion seized me for her there, — so passionless and proud. SDmunD Clarence Ste&man 95 The second time that I saw her she met me face to face, Her bending beauty answered my bow in a tremulous moment's space ; With an upward glance that instantly fell, she read me through and through, And found in me something worth her while to idle with and subdue ; Something, I know not what ; perhaps the spirit of eager youth That named her a queen of queens, at once, and loved her in very truth ; That threw its pearl of pearls at her feet, and offered her, in a breath, The costliest gift a man can give from his cradle to his death. The third time that I saw her — this woman called Estelle— She passed her milk-white arm through mine and dazzled me with her spell ; A blissful fever thrilled my veins, and there, in the moon-beams white, I yielded my soul to the fierce control of that maddening delight ! And at many a trysting afterwards she wove my heart-strings round 96 Xove ip>oem9 Her delicate fingers, twisting them, and chant- ing low as she wound ; The tune she sang rang sweet and clear like the chime of a witch's bell ; Its echo haunts me even now, with the word, Bstelle ! Estelle ! Ah, then, as a dozen before me had, I lay at last at her feet. And she turned me off with a calm surprise when her triumph was all complete : It made me wild, the stroke which smiled so pitiless out of her eyes, lyike lightning fallen, in clear noonday, from cloudless and bluest skies ! The whirlwind followed upon my brain and beat my thoughts to rack. Who knows how many a month I lay ere mem- ory floated back ? Even now, I tell you, I wonder whether this woman called Estelle Is flesh and blood, or a beautiful lie sent up from the depths of hell. For at night she stands where the pallid moon streams into this grated cell, And only gives me that mocking glance when I speak her name — Estelle. j6DmunD Clarence SteOinan 97 with the old resistless longing often I strive to clasp her there, But she vanishes from my open arms and hides I know not where. And I hold that if she were human she could not fly like the wind, But her heart would flutter against my own in spite of her scornful mind : Yet, oh ! she is not a phantom, since devils are not so bad As to haunt and torture a man long after their tricks have made him mad ! THE WKDDING-DAY. C WEBTHEART, name the day for me When we two shall wedded be. Make it ere another moon, While the meadows are in tune, And the trees are blossoming. And the robins mate and sing ; Whisper, love, and name a day In this merry month of May. No, no, no, You shall not escape me so ! Ivove will not forever wait ; Roses fade when gathered late. 7 Xove poems II. Fie, for shame, Sir Malcontent ! How can time be better spent Than in wooing ? I would wed When the clover blossoms red. When the air is full of bliss, And the sunshine like a kiss. If you 're good I '11 grant a boon. You shall have me, sir, in June. Nay, nay, nay, Girls for once should have their way ! If you love me wait till June ; Rosebuds wither picked too soon. HARRIET PRKSCOTT SPOFFORD. T^WO faces bent,— Bent in a swift and daring dream. An ecstasy of trembling bliss, And sealed together in a kiss, — And the night waiting passion-spent. Lovers. FANTASIA. "\X7E 're all alone ! we 're all alone ! The moon and stars are dead and gone. The night 's at deep, the wind asleep, And thou and I are all alone. Ibarrict iprcscott SpoftorD 99 What care have we though life there be ? Tumult and life are not for me ! Silence and sleep about us creep, Tumult and life are not for thee ! How late it is since such as this Had topped the height of breathing bliss ! And now we keep an iron sleep, — In that grave thou, and I in this ! the: price;. I. 'T'HB velvet gloss of the purple chair Deepened beneath her yellow hair ; Idly she folded and fluttered her fan, Nor deigned a glance at the haughty man. Soft was the robe she wore that night, Softly her jewels shed their light ; In lace, like the hoar-frost, fine and thin, Rested the curve of her soft round chin. Rich was the shadow of the room, And warm the shifting fire-light's bloom That lofty wall and ceiling sheathed, Heavy the perfumed air she breathed. The panel picture, half descried, Opened a summer country-side ; Xove ipocms The statues in the ruddy gleam Seemed happy spirits lost in dream. From a tripod's crystal vase Full-blown blossoms filled the place With their fragance and delight, Floated out in day's despite. Sumptuous sense of costly cheer Pervaded the bright atmosphere, As if charmed walls had shut it in From all the dark night's gust}^ din. II. The sad old year went out with rain, The new year tapped upon the pane — Tapped in a whirl of frozen snow, And shrouded all the earth below. Chill, as it silvered her casement o'er, The pitiless wind blew over the moor, Into the great black night o'erhead The wild white storm forever fled. Bitter, she knew, the stinging sleet Far away on the moor-side beat — Beat on a hillock hidden there, And heaped on a broken heart's despair. Ibarrfet ipreecott SpottorO She shivered as though one touched the dead, That grave-mound lay on her hope like lead ; Round her the light and the warmth of breath. Round him the desolate dark of death. Oh, if she lay in that silent tomb — If she were wrapped in that rayless gloom — If those dear^arms but clasped her in Out of the black night's storm and sin ! But here a creature bartered and sold, Bound by the baseness of hard red gold, Held b}^ the master, whose gloating eyes Hovered like hawks above their prize. III. He leaned his arm on the mantle there. He looked at her with her shining hair. With her drooping eyes and her rosy chin, And the dimples for smiles to gather in. His from the dainty foot's slight tip Up to the crimson of the lip — His from the halo of the hair To the white hand's magic in the air. But never his the tender thought, Not his the sigh with yearning fraught, The conscious blush that flits and flies, The lingering of impassioned eyes. %ovc poems All her bearing seemed to say : " I am yours. Bid me obey. But the rebel in my soul Spurns to answer your control ! " Of women she the peerless flower So scornfully defied his power ; The smouldering anger burned his heart. Then blazed and tore his lips apart. IV. " Madam," said he, " since you are mine, Lift those eyes and let them shine, Sometimes, when you hear me speak, Let the smile impinge your cheek." " When you bought me, Sir," said she, ** You bought and paid for simply me ; No one bargained for my smile — It was not thought of all the while." Said he : " Owe you naught beside — Home, nor peace, where still hours glide ? Morn means sunshine, song, and dew — Are not smiles a part of you ? " " Once, indeed, perhaps they were," She replied. " Now, should they stir, Smiles would be with all their blooms, Like the funeral lamps in tombs." Ibarriet prescott SpottorD 103 ** Though one shut you dungeon-deep In his heart, awake, asleep — Though he claim of you no more Than the beggar at the door — " But the lightnings of her eyes More than swift and low replies, Whose music hid the word they said Sharper than an arrow-head. Hushed and told him all was loss, All his wealth but gilded dross ; Bars retain nor rubies buy Ivove, whose light wings cleave the sky. *' Ah ! 't is well you stand away — Fire and flint disturb my clay ; Klse, although I am a slave, Every day I dig your grave." * ' Cruel words ! " he answered her, " Kinder eternal silence were, Am I before you so unclean — Easy to put a world between ? " " Nay," she said, '* make no ado, Be to me as I to you. When I pass you mind no more Than a shadow on the floor." I04 Xove poems Ah ! how fair th' unruffled face ! How complete the weary grace ! How remote the quiet tone — She that should be all his own ! " See," he said, " I cannot sue, Never was I taught to woo. Yet I love you, though you make Heart and soul within me ache." She lifted both her snowy arms. Loaded with his golden charms. *' If you love me, Sir," said she, ** Take your chains and set me free ! " he;rE AFTER. T OVB, when all these years are silent, van- *-^ ished quite and laid to rest, "When you and I are sleeping, folded into one another's breast, When no morrow is before us, and the long grass tosses o'er us. And our grave remains forgotten, or by alien footsteps pressed — Still that love of ours will linger, that great love enrich the earth. Sunshine in the heavenly azure, breezes blow- ing joyous mirth ; Ibarrlct jpregcott SpofforD 105 Fragrance fanning off from flowers, melody of summer showers, Sparkle of the spicy wood-fires round the happy autumn hearth. That 's our love. But you and I, dear — shall we linger with it yet, JMingled in one dew-drop, tangled in one sun- beam's golden net, On the violet's purple bosom — I the sheen, but j-ou the blossom — Stream on sunset winds and be the haze with which some hill is wet ? Or, beloved — if ascending — when we have en- dowed the world With the best bloom of our being, whither will our way be whirled, Through what vast and starry spaces, toward what awful holy places, With a white light on our faces, spirit over spirit furled ? Only this our yearning answers — wheresoe'er the way defile, Not a film shall part us through the aeons of that mighty while. In the fair eternal weather, even as phantoms still together. Floating, floating, one forever, in the light of God's great smile ! io6 %ovc f>oem0 LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. CO blithely rose the happy day When you and I began to kiss, The birds believed December May, So blithely rose the happy day. And blossoms bloomed along our way, Though it was time for snow, I wis — So blithely rose the happy day When you and I began to kiss. Triolet. AT MIDNIGHT. 'T'HE room is cold and dark to-night — The fire is low ; Why come you, you who love the light, To mock me so ? I pray you leave me now alone ; You worked your will, And turned my heart to frozen stone ; Why haunt me still ? I got me to this empty place ; I shut the door ; Yet through the dark I see your face Just as of yore. Xoufse GbanMcr /DSouUon 107 The old smile curves your lips to-night. Your deep eyes glow With that old gleam that made them bright So long ago. I listen ; do I hear your tone The silence thrill ? Why come you ? I am alone, Why vex me still ? What ! Would you that we re-embrace — We two once more ? Are these your tears that wet my face Just as before ? You let me seek some new delight, Yet your tears flow. What sorrow brings you back to-night? Shall I not know? I will not let you grieve alone — The night is chill- Though love is dead and hope is flown Pity lives still. How silent is the empty space ! Dreamed I once more ? Henceforth against your haunting face I bar the door. io8 %ovc poems PARTING. "T* IS you, not I, have chosen. Love, go free | No cry of mine shall stop you on your way. I wept above the dead Past yesterday, Let it lie now where all fair dead things be, Beneath the waves of Time's all-whelming sea. Forget it or remember — come what may — The time is past when one could bid it stay ; What boots it any more to you or me ? It was my life — what matter — I am dead, And if I seem to move or speak, or smile. If some strange round of being still I tread. And am not buried, for a little while, Yet, look you, Love, I am not what I seem, / died when died my faith in that dear dream. SONG piLL the swift days full, my dear Since life is fleet ; Love, and hold love fast, my dear, He is so sweet — Sweetest, dearest, fleetest comer, Fledgling of the sudden summer. Love, but not too well, my dear ! When skies are gray, Xouise CbanMcr /IRoulton 109 And the autumn winds are here, Ivove will away — Fleetest, vaguest, farthest rover, When the summer's warmth is over. IFI^OVE COUI.D I^AST. [F love could last, I 'd spend my all And think the price was yet too small To buy his light upon my way, His cheer whatever might befall. Were I his slave, or he my thrall, No terrors could my heart appall ; I 'd fear no wreckage or dismay, If love could last. Heaven's lilies grow up white and tall, But warm within earth's garden wall — With roses red the soft winds play — Ah, might I gather them to-day ! My hands should never let them fall, If love cou/d last ! NOW AND THEN. A ND had you loved me then, my dear, And had you loved me there. When still the sun was in the east. And hope was in the air, — no Xove ipoems When all the birds sang, in the dawn, And I but sang to you, — And had you loved me then, my dear, And had you then been true ! But oh ! The day wore on, my dear, And when the noon grew hot, The drowsy bird forgot to sing, And you and I To talk of love, or live for faith. Or build ourselves a nest. And now our hearts are shelterless, Our sun is in the west. JOHN JAMBS PIATT. "XA/HEN our half kisses meet, love, What marvels have birth ! — All fair things, and sweet, love, New Heaven, new Earth ! Counterparts. hai.f-i.ive;s. 'X'WO were they, two ; but one They might have been. Each knew The other's spirit — fittest mate — apart. 5obn Barnes piatt m Ah, hapless ! though once jealous Fortune drew Them almost heart to heart, In a l^rief-lighted sun ! So near they came, and then — they are so far ! They seemed like two who pass. Bach on a world-long journey opposite, Their two trains hurrying dark With long-drawn roar through the dread deep of night, (O faces close — they almost touched, alas ! O hands that might have thrilled with meeting spark ! O lips that might have kissed ! O eyes with folded sight Dreaming some vision bright !) In darkness and in mist. A ROS:e'S JOURNKY. O ASTB on your gentle journey, sent To sweetest goal flower ever went : Ah me, that cannot follow close — But my heart runs before you, rose ! O happy rose, I envy you — But sweetness makes such sweet grace due : First to her lips one moment pressed. Then your long heaven on her dear breast ! Xove ipocms SAIyLiB M. B. PIATT. W HISPBR me, love, all things that are not true ! Life and Death. TWEIvVE) HOURS APART. TJB loved me. But he loved, likewise, This morning's world in bloom and wings Ah, does he love the world that lies In dampness, whispering shadowy things. Under this little band of noon ? He loves me. Will he fail to see A phantom hand has touched my hair, (And wavered, withering, over me) To leave a subtle grayness there, Below the outer shine of June? He loves me. Would he call it fair, The flushed half-flower he left me, say ? For it has passed beneath the glare And from my bosom drops away. Shaken into the grass with pain ? He loves me ? Well, I do not know, A song in plumage crossed the hill Sallic jfflb. 36. Piatt 113 At sunrise when I felt him go — And song and plumage now are still, He could not praise the bird again. He loves me ? Veiled in mist I stand, My veins less high with life than when To-day's thin dew was in the land, Vaguely less beautiful than then — Myself a dimness with the dim. He loves me ? I am faint with fear, He never saw me quite so old ; I never met him quite so near My grave, nor quite so pale and cold, — Nor quite so sweet, he says, to him ! IN DOUBT. T^HROUGH dream and dusk a frightened whisper said : "Lay down the world; the one you love is dead." In the near waters, without any cry, I sank, therefore — glad, oh, so glad, to die ! Far on the shore, with sun, and dove, and dew. And apple-flowers, I suddenly saw you. Then — was it kind or cruel that the sea. Held back my hands, and kissed and clung to me? 114 %ovc poema WIIvLIAM WINTER. T Wllvly drink to the woman who wrought my woe, In the diamond morning of Long Ago. Org^ia. re;fuge;. C ET your face to the sea, fond lover, — Cold in darkness the sea- winds blow ! Waves and clouds and the night will cover All your passion and all your woe. Sobbing waves and the death that is in them, Sweet as the lips that once you prest — Pray that your hopeless heart may win them, Pray that your weary life may rest ! Set your face to the stars, fond lover, — Calm and silent, and bright and true, They will pity you, they will hover Tenderly over the deep for you. Winds of heaven will sigh your dirges, Tears of heaven for you be spent. And sweet for you, will the murmuring surges Pour the wail of their low lament. milliam liminter 115 WITHEIRED ROS^S. M OT waked by worth, nor marred by flaw, Not won by good, nor lost by ill, lyove is its own and only law, And lives and dies by its own will. It was our fate, and not our sin, That we should love and love should win. Not bound by oath, nor stayed by prayer, Nor held by thirst of strong desire, Love lives like fragrance in the air, And dies as breaking waves expire. 'T was death, not falsehood, bade us part, — The death of love that broke my heart. Not kind, as dreaming poets think. Nor merciful, as sages say, — Love heeds not where its victims sink. When once its heart is torn away. 'T was nature, it was not disdain. That made thee careless of my pain. Not thralled by law, nor ruled by right, Love keeps no audit wath the skies : Its star, that once is quenched in night. Has set, — and never more will rise. My soul is dead, by thee forgot, And there 's no heaven where thou art not. i6 %ovc ipoems But happy he, though scathed and lone, Who sees afar, love's fading wings, — Whose seared and bHghted soul has known The splendid agony it brings ! No life that is, no life to be, Can ever take the past from me ! Red roses, bloom for other lives — Your withered leaves alone are mine ! Yet, not for all that time survives Would I your heavenly gift resign, — Now cold and dead, once warm and true, The love that lived and died in you. WII,I,IAM DEAN HOWELIvS. r^ DARIvING, and darling, and darling. If I dared to trust my thought ; If I dared to believe what I must not. Believe what no one ought. T/ie Doubt. FROM *' NO IvOVE; I.OST." C OMETIMES, it seems that this love, which I feel is eternal. Must have begun with my life, and that only an absence was ended William Dean Ibowells 117 Wheti we met and knew in our souls that we loved one another, For from the first was no doubt. The earliest hints of the passion Whispered to girlhood's tremulous dream, may- be mixed with misgiving, But, when very love comes, it bears no vague- ness of meaning. Touched by its truth (too fine to be felt by the ignorant senses, Knowing but looks and utterance), soul unto soul makes confession. Silence to silence speaks. And I think that this subtile assurance Yet unconfirmed from without, is even sweeter and dearer Than the perfected bliss that comes when the words have been spoken. THE THORN. " C VERY Rose," you sang, " has its Thorn, But this has none, I know." She clasped my rival's Rose Over her breast of snow. I bowed to hide my pain. With a man's unskilful art, I moved my lips, and could not say, The Thorn was in my heart. ii8 %ovc ipoems CONVENTION. TJE falters on the threshold, She lingers on the stair,: Can it be that was his footstep ? Can it be that she is there ? Without is tender yearning, And tender love is within ; They can hear each other's heart-beats, But a wooden door is between. SARAH C. WOOIvSEY. "SUSAN COOIylDGE." O OSES have thorns ; and love is thorny, too ; And this is love's sharp thorn which guards its flower, That our beloved have the cruel power To hurt us deeper than all others do. T/iorns. RKPLY. *' \A7HAT, then, is Love? " she said. "Love is a music, blent in curious key. Of jarring discords and of harmony ; Sarab C. 'Qdoolscg 119 'T is a delicious draught which, as you sip, Turns sometimes into poison on your lip. It is a sunny sky infolding storm, The fire to ruin or the fire to warm ; A garland of fresh roses fair to sight, WTiich then becomes a chain and fetters tight. It is a half-heard secret told to two, A life-long puzzle or a guiding clue, The joy of joys, the deepest pain of pains. All these love has been and will be again." ' ' How may I know ? ' ' she said. "Thou mayst not know, for Love has conned the art To blind the reason and befool the heart. So subtle is he, not himself may guess Whether he shall be more or shall be less ; Wrapped in a veil of many-colored mists He flits disguised wheresoe'er he lists, And for the moment is the thing he seems. The child of vagrant hope and fairy dreams ; Sails like a rainbow bubble on the wind, Now high, now low, before us or behind ; And only when your fingers grasp the prize Changes his form and swiftly vanishes." " Then best not love," she said. " Dear child, there is no better and no best ; Love comes not, bides not at thy slight behest. Xove ipoems As well might thy frail fingers seek to stay The march of waves in yonder land-locked bay, As stem the surging tide which ebbs and fills 'Mid human energies and human wills. The moon leads on the strong resisting sea ; And so the moon of love shall beckon thee, And at her bidding thou wilt leap and rise, And follow o'er strange seas, 'neath unknown skies, Unquestioning, to dash, or soon, or late, On sand or cruel crag, as is thy fate." "Then woe is me," she said. *' Weep not, there is a harder, sadder thing, Never to know this sweetest suffering ! Never to see the sun, though suns may slay, Or share the richer feast as others may. Sooner the sealed and closely guarded wine Shall seek again his purple clustered vine, Sooner the attar be again the rose, Than love unlearn the secret that it knows ! /: bide thy fate, whether for good or ill ; Fearlessly wait, and be thou certain still Whether as foe disguised or friendly guest. He comes, Ivove's coming is of all things best.'' Sarab C. TKIloolseB 121 TWO WAYS TO I.OVK. " Da7is V amour il y a toujours Pun qui baise et Vautre qui tend lajouey OE says be loves me well, and I Believe it ; in my hands to make Or mar, his life lies utterly ; Nor can I the strong plea deny Which claims my love for his love's sake. He says there is no face so fair As mine ; when I draw near, his eyes Light up ; each ripple of my hair He loves ; the very cloak I wear He touches gently where it lies. And roses, roses all the way Upon my path fall, strewed by him ; His tenderness by night, by day, Keeps constant watch, and heaps alway M}' cup of pleasure to the brim. The other women in their spite Count me the happiest woman born, To be so worshipped ; I delight To flaunt this homage in the sight Of all, and pay them scorn for scorn. %ovc poems I love him — or I think I do : Sure one mus^ love what is so sweet. He is so tender and so true, So eloquent to plead and sue, So strong, though kneeling at my feet. Yet I had visions once of yore. Girlish imaginings of a zest, A possible thrill, — but why run o'er These fancies, idle dreams, no more. I will forget them, this is best. So let him take — the past is past ; The future with its golden key Into his outstretched hands I cast ; I shall love him, — perhaps, — at last. As now I love his love for me. Not as all other women may, Love I my Love ; he is so great, So beautiful, I dare essay No nearness, but in silence lay My heart upon his path, — and wait. Poor heart, its beatings are so low He does not heed them passing by, Save as one heeds where violets grow A fragrance, caring not to know Where the veiled purple buds may lie. Sarab C. Moolseg 133 I sometimes think that it is dead, It lies so still. I bend and lean Like mother over cradle-head, Listening if still faint breaths are shed Like sighs tlie parted lips between. And then with vivid pulse and thrill It quickens into sudden bliss At sound of step or voice, nor will Be hushed, although, regardless still. He knows not, cares not, it is his, I would not lift it if I could, The little flame, though faint and dim As glowworm spark in lonely wood, Shining where no man calls it good. May some day light the path for him. May guide his way, or soon or late, Through blinding mist and falling rain. And so content I watch and wait ; Let others share his happier fate, I only ask to share his pain. But if some day, when passing slow, My dear Love should his steps arrest. Should spy the poor heart, bending low. Should raise it, scan it, love it ? — so — Why, — God alone can tell the rest. 124 %ovc ipoems MARY MAPES DODGE. T HE leaping of heart unto heart with bliss that can never be spoken. Enfoldings. SECRETS. T 'D be like a daisy In the clover, That I might look up bravely At my lover. I 'd bid the willing breezes Bend me sweet, That I might, as he passed me, Kiss his feet. I 'd let the dew so quickly Start and glisten, That, thinking I had called him. He would listen. Yet would he listen vainly — Happy me ! No bee should find my secret. How could he ? HSbat^ /IRapes BoDge 125 If ever the clover Couch he made, I 'd softly kiss his eyelids lu the shade. Then would I breathe sweet incense All for hini, And fill with perfect bloom The twilight dim. What should I do, I wonder, When he went? Why I would — like a daisy — Be content. Alack ! to live so bravely Peace o'erladeu. Has ne'er been granted yet To simple maiden. READING. /^NE day in the bloom of a violet, I found a simple word ; And my heart went softly humming it Till the violet must have heard. And deep in the depths of a crimson rose A writing showed so plain, I scanned it o'er in veriest joy To the patter of summer rain. 126 %ovc poems And then from the grateful mignonette I read — oh, such a thing ! That the glad tears fell on it like dew, And my soul was ready to sing. A few little words ! Before that day I never had taken heed ; But, oh, how I blessed the love that catm The love that taught me to read ! MARY CLBMMER AMES. 'T'HERB is no distance, — not for those who know The silent countersign that makes them one. Distance. GOOD-BY SWEETHE;ART. r^ OOD-BY, Sweetheart ! ^-^ I leave thee with the loveliest things The beauty-burdened spring-time brings — The anemone in snowy hood. The sweet arbutus in the wood ; And to the smiling skies above I say, " Bend lightly o'er my love " ; And to the perfume-breathing breeze I sigh, " Sing softest symphonies." O lute-like leaves of laden trees. /fcarg Clcmmer Bmcs 127 Bear all your sweet refrain to liim, While in the June-time twilights dim He thinks of me as I of him. And so good-by, Sweetheart. Ciood-by, v^weetheart ! I leave thee with the purest things, That when some fair temptation sings Its luring song, though sore beset. Thou 'It stronger be. Then no regret Life-long will follow after thee. With touches lighter than the air I kiss thy forehead brave and fair, I say to God this last deep prayer : " O guard him always, night and day, So from thy peace he shall not stray." And so good-by. Sweetheart, Good-b^^ Sweetheart, we seem to part, Yet still within my inmost heart Thou goest with me. Still my place I hold in thine by love's dear grace ; Yet all my life seems going out. As slow I turn my face about. To go alone till life's last day. Unless thy smile can light my way — Good-by, vSweetheart, the dreaded dawn That tells our love's long tr3'st is gone Is purpling all the pallid sky As low I sigh, Sweetheart, good-by. 128 Xove ipoems WORDS FOR PARTING. i^H, what shall I do, dear, In the coming years, I wonder, When our paths, which lie so sweetly near, Shall lie so far asunder? Oh, what shall I do, dear, Through all the sad to-morrows. When the sunny smile has ceased to cheer. That smiles away my sorrows ? What shall I do, my friend, When you are gone forever ? My heart its eager need will send Through the years, to find you never. And how will it be with you. In the weary world, I wonder. Will you love me with a love as true When our paths lie far asunder ? A sweeter, sadder thing, My life for having known you. Forever with its sacred kin, My soul's soul, I must own you,— = Forever mine, my friend, From June to life's December, — Not mine to have or hold, But to pray for and remember. 5obn Ibag 129 JOHN HAY. T O be deceived in your true heart's desire Is bitterer than a thousand years of fire. A Woman'' s Love. HOW IT HAPPENKD. T PRAY you, pardon me, Elsie, And smile that frown away That dims the light of your lovely face As a thunder-cloud the day. I really could not help it, — Before I thought 't was done, — And those great gray eyes flashed bright and cold, Like icicles in the sun. I was thinking of the summers When we were boys and girls, And wandered in the blossoming woods, And the gay winds romped with your curls. And you seemed to me the same little girl I kissed in the alder-path, I kissed the little girl's lips, and alas ! I have roused a woman's wrath. 9 I30 %ove poems There is not so mucli to pardon, — For why were your lips so red ? The blonde hair fell in a shower of gold From the proud, provoking head. And the beauty that flashed from the splendid eyes, And played round the tender mouth, Rushed over my soul like a warm sweet wind That blows from the fragrant south. And where, after all, is the harm done ? I believe we were made to be gay. And all of youth not given to love Is vainly squandered away. And strewn through life's low labors, Like gold in the desert sands, Are love's sweet kisses and sighs and vows And the clasp of clinging hands. And when you are old and lonely In Memory's magic shine. You will see on your thin and wasting hands, — Like gems, these kisses of mine ; And when you muse at evening At the sound of some vanished name, The ghost of my kisses shall touch your lips And kindle your heart to flame. Xaura C. IRc^^cn 131 REMORvSK. C AD is the light of sunniest days Of love and rapture perished, And shine through memory's tearful haze, The eyes once fondliest cherished. Reproachful is the ghost of toys That charmed while life was wasted, But saddest is the thought of joys That never yet were tasted. Sad is the vague and tender dream Of dead love's lingering kisses, To crushed hearts haloed by the gleam Of unretuming blisses, Deep mourns the soul in anguished pride For the pitiless death that won them, — But the saddest wail is for lips that died With the virgin dew upon them. LAURA C. REDDEN. " HOWARD GIvYNDON." 'T'HE sun stole to a red rose, and wiled her leaves apart. May dew and June air had wooed her at the start. But was 't not fair the sun should have her gol- den perfect heart ? A Madrigal. 132 %ovc poems DISARMED. r\ IvOVE, so sweet at first, ^ So bitter in the end ! Thou canst be fiercest foe As well as fairest friend. Are these poor withered leaves The fruitage of thy May ? Thou that wert strong to save, How swift thou art to slay. Ay, thou art swift to slay, Despite thy kiss and clasp, Thy long, caressing look, Thy subtle, thrilling grasp ! Ay, swifter far to slay Than thou art strong to sav^ And selfish in thy need. And cruel as the grave. Yes, cruel as the grave. Go, go, and come no more ! But canst thou set my heart Just where it was before ? Go, go, and come no more ! Go, leave me with thy tears. The only gift of thine That shall outlive the years. Xaura Q* IRcDDen 133 Yet shall outlive the years One other cherished thing, Light as a vagrant plume Shed from some passing wing : — The memory of thy first Divine, half-timid kiss, Go ! I forgive thee all In weeping over this ! QUITS. T AM the victor, Philip May ! You knew it the moment we met to-night. You had not looked for such easy grace, For our parting left me crushed and white. My lips were curved in a quiet smile — You had seen them stiffen with sudden pain — Did you think as you searched my eyes the while. Of the times they had looked for you in vain ? Did they tell you the story you hoped to read? — The tale of a lingering love for you ? — Why did you quail and falter so, 'Neath the level ray of their frozen blue ? Why did you drop your faultless voice To the tender tone of the olden strain ? — You cannot recall the early trust Whose delicate life by scorn was slain ! 134 Xove poems You 're foiled for once, my king of hearts ! Mine was too high to break for you, I might have loved you long and well, Had I proved you noble and good and true. But when I saw that the thing I loved Was not you, but my soul's Ideal, — When I knew you selfish and hard and cold,— I had no fealty for the Real. You are not my master any more ! Your thrall of the olden time is free, The broken wing of the bird is healed, And I scorn your pliant tongue and knee. Have you forgotten your spoken words ? I shall remember them till I die ; — My heart went down in the dust to you, And low in the dust you let it lie ! You have mistaken me all the while, I do not miss you, nor want you now ! The lesson you taught me is potent yet, Though it left no line on my open brow. Clever player, of cunning touch. The chords are jangled and will not chime ! Well, are the throes of a tortured heart Set to the flow of a pleasant rhyme ? But God, he knows that I had no hope Ever to lure you back again ; 5oaquin /iRillcr 135 And the wish went out with the Long Ago, And never can come to me again. How dared you dream you were dear to me? Or speak of things that you should forget? I blush to think a kiss of yours Ever upon my mouth was set ! The love that I bore you, Philip May, Nearly killed me ere it died ; But one dark night the stubborn thing Was sternly stifled and pushed aside. And the arms of a true love took in me, Whom you left to moan at your heart's shut door ; I 'm clothed about with his tenderness, And wrapped from loneness evermore ! JOAQUIN MlLIvBR. OBTTER sit still where born, I say, Wed one sweet woman and love her well, IvOve and be loved in the old East way, Drink sweet waters and dream in a spell, Than to wander in search of the Blessed Isles, And to sail the thousands of watery miles In the search of love, and find you at last On the edge of the world, and a cursed outcast. Pace Implora. 136 %ovc ipocms STANZAS FROM "TH]^ IDEAI. AND THE REAI,." lA/B two had been parted — God pity us ! — when The stars were unnamed and all heaven was dim ; "We two had been parted far back on the rim And the outermost border of heaven's red bars ; We two had been parted ere the meeting of men, Or God had set compass on spaces as yet. We two had been parted ere God had set His finger to spinning the purple with stars, — ■ And now, at the last in the gold and set Of the sun in Venice, we two had met. I saw her one moment, then fell back abashed, And filled full to the throat — then I turned me once more So glad to the sea, while the level sun flashed On the far snowy Alps — her breast ! — why, her breast Was white as twin pillows that lure you to rest. Her sloping limbs moved like to melodies, told As she rose from the sea, and she threw back the gold Of her glorious hair, and set face to the shore. — I knew her, I knew her, though we had not met Since the far stars sang to the sun's first set. 5oaquln /IRiller 137 How long I had sought her ! I had hungered nor ate Of my sweet fruits, I had tasted not one Of all the fair glories under the sun. I had sought only her. Yea, I knew that she Had come upon earth, and stood waiting for me Somewhere by my way. But the pathways of fate Thej^ had led otherwhere, the round world round. The far North seas and the near profound Had failed me for aye. Now I stood by that sea Where ships drave in, and all dreamily. I spake not, but caught at my breath, I did raise My face to fair heaven, to give God praise That at last, ere the ending of time, we two Had touched upon earth at the same sweet place — Never, since ages ere Adam's fall Had we two met in fulness of soul. Where two are as one, but had wandered on through The spheres divided, where planets roll Unnamed and in darkness through limitless space. 138 Xox^e poems RECOI.I.KCTION. C OME things are sooner marred than made, The moon was white, the stars a-chill — A frost fell on a soul that night. And lips were whiter, colder still. A soul was black that erst was white. And you forget the place — the night ! Forget that aught was done or said — Say this has passed a long decade — Say not a single tear was shed — Say you forget these little things ! Is not your recollection loath ? Well, little bees have little stings, And I remember for us both. SONG. nTHBRE is many a love in the land, my love, But never a love like this is ; Then kill me dead with your love, my love, And cover me up with kisses. So kill me dead and cover me deep Where never a soul discovers ; Deep in your heart to sleep, to sleep, In the darlingest tomb of lovers. 5oaquin filler 139 A KARKWEJI.!.. pAREWKLL, farewell ! for aye, farewell. Yet must I end as I began. I love you, love you, love but you — I love you now as never man Has loved since man and woman fell, Or God gave man inheritance, Or sense of love, or any sense. And that is why, O Love, I can Lift up to you my burning brow To-night, and so renounce you now. TO FI^ORKNC^. TF all God's world a garden were, If women were but flowers ; If men were bees that busied there. Through all the summer hours, — Oh, I would hum God's garden through For honey, till I came to you. Then I should hive within your hair, Its sun and gold together : And I should hide in glory there. Through all the changeful weather. Oh ! I should sip but one, this one Sweet flower beneath the sun. I40 Xove ipoema Oh, I would be a king, and coin Your golden hair in money ; And I would only have to seek Your lips for hoards of honey. Oh ! I would be the richest king That ever wore a signet-ring. NORA PERRY. 'TYING her bonnet under her chin, She tied her raven ringlets in, But not alone in the silken snare Did she catch her lovely floating hair, For, tying her bonnet under her chin. She tied a young man's heart within. The Love-Knot. THE KING'S KISS. " LJOWlong," he asked, " will you remember ^ this— How long?" Then downward bent His kingly head, and on her lips a kiss Fell like a flame — a flame that sent Through every vein Love's joy and pain ; "How long," he asked, "will you remember this?" Iftora iperrg 141 "How long?" she lifted from his breast a cheek Red with her sacred love, Yet when her redder lips essayed to speak, And when her heart did move To answer grave and sweet, Somehow a smile unmeet Broke waywardly across red lips and cheek. " How long, how long will I remember this ? Say you," she murmured low — " Say you" — and while she trembled with her bliss. That smile went to and fro Across her flushing face, And hid a graver grace — " Say you, how long will you remember this ? " He bent above her in that moment's bliss, He held her close and fast : " How long, how long will I remember this ? Until I cross at last. With failing, dying breath, That river men call Death — So long, so long, will I remember this ! " But, when apart they stood, did he remember Plis words that summer day ? Did he remember through the long December The warmth and love of May, 142 %ovc ipocm6 The warmth, and love, and bliss, The meaning of that kiss. When kingdoms stood between — did he re- member ? Ah ! who can say for him ? For her we know The king's kiss was her crown ; For her we know no agony of woe, No other smile or frown, Could make her heart forswear That summer morning there. Beneath the forest-trees of Fontainebleau. RIDING DOWN. /^H, did you see him riding down And riding down, while all the town Came out to see, came out to see. And all the bells rang mad with glee ? Oh, did you hear those bells ring out, The bells ring out, the people shout ; And did you hear that cheer on cheer That over all the bells rang clear? And did you see the waving flags. The fluttering flags, the tattered rags. Red, white, and blue, shot through and through, Baptized with battle's deadly dew? Bora peers 143 And did you hear the drums' gay beat, The drums' gay beat, the music sweet, The cymbals' clash, the cannons' crash. That rent the sky with sound and flash ? And did you see me waiting there, And waiting there, and watching there, One little lass, amid the mass That pressed to see the hero pass ? And did you see him smiling down, And smiling down, as riding down With slowest pace, with stately grace. He caught the vision of a face, — My face uplifted red and white. Turned red and white with sheer delight. To meet the eyes, the smiling eyes, Outflashing in their swift surprise? Oh, did you see how swift it came, How swift it came, like sudden flame, That smile to me, to only me, The little lass who blushed to see? And at the windows all along, Oh, all along, a lovely throng Of faces fair, beyond compare, Beamed out upon him riding there ! 144 Xovc pocmd Each face was like a radiant gem, A sparkling gem, and yet for tl:eni No swift smile came, like sudden flame, No arrowy glance took certain aim. He turned away from all their grace, I'Vom all that grace of perfect face, He turned to me, to only me. The little lass who blushed to see ! vSn)NKY LANnm. Co one in heart and thought, I trow '^ That thou niightst press the strings and I might draw the bow , And both w ould meet in nmsic sweet, Thou and I, I trow. ThoH and I. IN AHSKNCK. T^IIIv storm thiit snapped our fate's one ship in twain Halh blown my half o' the wreck from thine apart. O Love ! O Love ! across the gray-waved main To thee-ward strain my eyes, my arms, my heart. Sl&nes Xanler 145 I ask my God if e'en in His sweet place Where by one waving of a wistful wing My soul could straightway tremble face to face With thee, with thee, across the stellar ring — Yea, where thine absence I could ne'er bewail Longer than lasts that little blank of bliss When lips draw back with recent pressure pale, To round and redden for another kiss — Would not my lonesome heart still sigh for thee What time the drear kiss intervals nmst be ? vSo do the mottled formulas of Sense Crlide snake-wise through our dreams of Aftcrtime ; So errors breed in reeds and grasses dense That bank our singing rivulets of rhyme. By Sense rule Space and Time ; but in (^od's land Their intervals are not, save such as lie Betwixt successive tones in concords bland ^\^lose loving distance makes the harmony. Ah, there shall never come 'twixt me and thee Gross dissonances of the mile, the year, But in the multichords of ecstasy Our souls shall mingle, yet be featured clear. And absence wrought in intersals divine vShall part, yet link, thy nature's tone and mine, 10 146 Xovc pocnid Look down the shining peaks of all my days, Base-hidden in the valleys of deep night, So shall thou see the heights and depths of praise My love would render unto love's delight ; Tor I would make each day an Alp sublime Of passionate snow, white-hot yet icy-clear, — One crystal of the true-loves of all time Spiring the world's prismatic atmosphere ; And I would make each night an awful vale, I)eep as thy soul, obscure as modesty, With every star in heaven trembling pale O'er sweet profounds where only Love can see. Oh, runs not thus the lesson thou hast taught ? — Where life 's all love, 't is life : aught else, 't is naught. Let no man say, He at his lady's /vet Lays worship that to Heaven alone belongs; Yea, sings the incense that for GchI is meet In flippant censers of light lovers' songs. Who says it, knows not God, nor love, nor thee ; For love is large as is yon heavenly dome : In love's great blue each passion is full free To fly his favorite flight and build his home. Did e'er a lark with skyward pointing beak Stab by mischance a level-flying dove ? Wife-love flies level, his dear mate to seek : Si&ncis Xantcr i4V God-love darts straight into the skies above. Crossing the windage of each other's wings. But speeds them both upon their jour- neyings. EVENING SONG. I OOK off, dear love, across the sallow sands, And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea. How long they kiss in sight of all the lands. Ah ! longer, love, kiss \vf. Now in the sea's red vintage melts the sun, As Egypt's pearl dissolved in rosy wine. And Cleopatra-night, drinks all. 'T is done, Love, lay thine hand in mine. Come forth, sweet stars, and comfort heaven's heart ; Glimmer, ye waves, round else un lighted sands, O night ! divorce our sun and sky apart, Never our lips, our hands. 148 %0K>c pocm0 THOMAS S. COLLIRR. VOU ask what love is. It is this, my own, To hoM all women pure because of you, Yet give heart-reverence unio you alone, And for your sake be steadfast, brave, and true. Love. CLKOPATRA DYING. C INKS the sun below the desert, Golden glows the sluggish Nile ; Pur])lc flame crowns sphinx and temple, Lights up every ancient pile Where the old gods now are sleeping ; Isis and Osiris great. Guard me, help me, give me courage Like a queen to meet my fate ! "I am dying, Egypt, dying ! " Let the Ciesar's army come — I will cheat him of his glor>', Though beyond the Styx I roam. Shall he drag this beauty with him While the crowd his triumph sings ? No, no, never ! I will show him What lies in the blood of kings. ^boma» S. Collier Mg Though he hold the golden sceptre, Rule the Pharaoh's sunny land, WTiere old Xilus rolls resistless, Through the sweeps of silvery sand, He shall never say I met him Fawning, abject, like a slave — I will foil him, though to do it I must cross the Stygian wave. Oh, my hero, sleeping, sleeping — Shall I meet you on the shore Of Plutonian shadows ? Shall we In death meet and love once more? See, I follow in your footsteps — Scorn the Caesar and his might ; For your love I will leap boMly Into realms of death and night. Do\%Ti below^ the desert sinking. Fades Apollo's brilliant car. And from out the distant azure Breaks the bright gleam of a star ; Venus, queen of love and beauty. Welcomes me to death's embrace, Dying free, proud, and triumphant. The last sovereign of my race. Dying ! dying ! I am coming, Oh, my hero, to your arms ! ISO Xovc pocmd You will welcome nie, I know it — Guard inc from all rude alarms. Hark ! I hear the legions coining, Hear their cries of triumph swell, But, jjroutl CiL'sar, dead I sconi you, Egypt — Antony— farewell ! IN LOVK'S DKI'KNSK. \\l 1 1 IvN love like a red rose hums and hlushes. How sweet is the kiss that warm li|)s give ; The soul's far deep at its coming hushes The thirsting passions that in them live. And fair as a lily, newly breaking The odorous sleep of its natal gloom, Is the i)ure, white flame, to glory waking, As fragrant blossoms unfold in bloom. Oh, lyove that fdls us with \'isions tender, What gift, can we give Ixifitting thee ? What gem can the mines unto thee render ? What pearl from caves in the lustrous sea ? With hands that tremble, and steps that falter, We bring our gold, or our dross, and claim A draught of fire from the radiant altar. And win our tithe of the sacred flame. Cbomas S. CoIItcr 151 It may be sweet, or it may be bitter, But thou, dear Love, hast no blame for this ; Not thine are the eyes that falsely glitter, Not thine are the lips that falsely kiss. For one man wins from another's labor, The heavy grain of the harvest home ; And by the blows of his foeman's sabre. The rightful prince to his throne shall come. And thou, when we ask the gift most fitting, Will unto our needs be true and just ; It is we %vh(> break the thread in the knitting, And pluck the fruit that is made of dust. It is ours, llie blow whose dissonance clashes. Through valleys loud with the ringing song ; If we shun thy flame fur fireless ashes, And our hearts grow cold, we do thee wrong. I'or fair, as when first thy dart went sin-eding Through glooms made bright by the violet's breath, .\re thy gifts, it our >.)uls were not unheeding. And would not quaff what will bring thee death. The vanished years, and the years before us, Can win from thy lips no song sublime, That does not echo amid the chorus, Thrilling our souls in the present time. 152 XOVC pOCIUfi DAVID L. PROrDFIT. "PELKG ARKWRIGIIT." " IT 's hard ! I might have kiiowe travel Right out from a beautiful soul. If slu- had been lively and liearly I could n't have helped her, y* see ; An' similar then, it ain't likely That she would have took up wiUi me. An* I would n't uv knowed her and loved he? , So patient and gentle and sweet ; An' I wish that the whole of creation I could lay at her jjoor little feet. I was never so chirk an' galloptious, An' never before felt so sprv. An' I 've just took to nolicin' lately How amazin'ly blue is the sky ; An' how gay is the stars in the night-time, A-winkin' an' glimmerin' down- Good gracious ! I come near forgcttin* That barrel of oysters for Brown. 2)a\nc> X. prouOfit 155 A KISS. AH, rosebud mouth, for kisses made, And you are not the least afraid ? And do not know, my little one, What mischief kisses sweet have done ? O'er all the world and throu^^h all time, In every age and every clime, Men have kissed women's mouths, and still, Through every coming age they will, While rolls the world the ether through. What then ? That should I not tell you. I love you, darling, but I know What way the summer zephyrs blow. And you love me, but in your heart Love sitteth, pensive and apart Demure, serene, and lost in dreams Of all that is and all that seems. You know not even why it is That you are startled by a kiss. Hut I, a veteran, scarred and worn, Ou battle surges tossed aud toni. And scorched by passion's fiery breath ; I that have been playmate with death, And mocked the heavy hand of fate, And plumbed the depths of love and hate, 156 Xovc pocm;3 I know, ray little star-eyed miss, Why devils laugh when mortals kiss. Alas, and who shall count the cost Of human souls for love's sake lost ? For jK-asant's hut, and kingly crown, And rural dell, and stately town. And vineyards ripening in the sun, And kingdoms by the strong arm won ; And armies marsluUled for the fray. Have iK-en o'erthrown and swept away, Betrayed ant XT MY TIME BY TIMES THAT I MEET THKlt I COUNT my time by times that I meet thee ; These are my yesterdays, my morrows, noons. And nights. These my old moons and tay new moons. Slow fly the boors, or fast the boois do flee. If thou art far from or art near to me : If thou art far, the binls* tunes are no tones ; If thou art near, the wintrj- da>-s are Janes, — Darkness is light, and sorrow cannot be. Thoo art my dream come true, and thon my dream. The air I breathe, the world wherein I dwell ; My journey's end thou art, and tboo the way; Thou art what I woold be, yet only seem ; Thoa art my heaven and thou art my hell ; Thoa art my ever-Iivinf judgment day. MY SONGS ARK AXX. OP THEE. 1^ V songs are all of thee, what though I sing Of morning, when the stars are yet in sight. Of evening, or the melancholy night. Of birds that o'er tht- rt-tldening waters wing; Elijabctb Stua^t=pbclp^''ala^^ i(n Of song, of fire, of winds, or mists that cling To mountain tops, of winter all in white. Of rivers that toward ocean take their ilight. Of summer, when the rose is blossoming. I think no thought that is not thine, no breath Of life I breathe beyond thy sanctity ; Thou art the voice that silence uttereth. And of all sound thou arc the sense. From thee The music of my song, and what it saith Is but the l>eat of thy heart, throbbetl through me. KLIZAHirril STUART-PI n: LI 'S-W.XR I). A H ! who can sing of any thing, With none to listen lovingly ? Jiroktu Rhythm. WHAT THi: VIOLINS SAID. SONG. " ' M'c 're allforlovi-: the violins saidr SiDNKV LaNIKR. r\0 I love you ? Do I love you ? Ask the heavens that Ixmd al>ove you To find language and to prove you If they love the living suu. II 1 62 Xove poems Ask the burning, blinded meadows If they love the falling shadows, If they hold the happy shadows When the fers-id day is done. Ask the blue-bells and the daisies, Lost amid the hot field-mazes, Lifting up their thirsty faces, If they love the summer rains. Ask the linnets and the plovers. In the nest-life made for lovers, Ask the ]>ees and ask the clovers — Will they tell you for your pains ? Do I, Darling, do I love you? What, I pray, can that behoove you ? How in Love's name can I move you ? When for Love's sake I am dumb ? If I told you, if I told you, Would that keep you, would that hold you, Here at last where I enfold you ? If it would — hush ! Darling, come ! TOIJ) IN CONFIDENCK. Wow you '11 never, never tell him ! Freezing stars now glittering farthest, fairest on the winter sky ; If he woo me. mm Carleton 163 Not your coldest, cruel ray Or can or may Be found more chill and still to liim than I. Swear you '11 never, never tell him ! Warm, red roses lifting your shy faces to the summer dew ; If he win me. Blush your sweetest in liis sight For his delight, But I can be as warm and sweet as you. WILL CARLETON. W KLL, so far as I can see, In the line of love an' lovin', what 's to be is apt to be." T/ie New Lochinvar. ONF, AND TWO. I F you to me be cold. Or I be false to you, The world will go on, I think, Just as it used to do : The clouds will flirt with the moon, The sun will kiss the sea. 764 XOVC pOC IUi3 The wind to the trees will whisper, And laiiKh nt you and me. Hut the sun will not shine so bright. The clouds will not seem so while. To one as they will to two ; So I think you had better l>c kinc finifthe; ro o". Just a'i it used to do. If we \viu> ii.ivu >ailcd to>^ether I'lit out of each r)ther's view, The world will sail on, I think, Vam Carlcton 165 Just as it used to do : And wc may reckon by stars That flash from different skies, And another of Love's pirates May capture my lost prize. lUit ships ]ou^ lime tci^^ether Can better the tempest weather Than any other two ; So I think you had lx.'tter l)e kinest be true, That we togetlier may sail, Just as we used to do. D' TWKLV1-: O'CLOCK. A I.Kr.ENI) OK HKOOKI.YN. i() I love you ? ' O but listen ! " And he saw her dark eyes jjlisten With a j^entle joy that filled him, With a passion wave that thrilled him. " ' Do I love you ? ' Ask the a^es Tront of this life's blotted pages — Cycles that our minds forget. But our souls rememl>er yet — If the strands thvy saw us t^^nne In great moments half divine Cannot stand against the cold Voice and touch of senseless gold ? How can wealth forbid the meeting i66 Xovc poems Of two hearts that blend in beating? How can thrift presume to fashion Heaven's eternal love and passion ? Listen ! If 't is not o'er soon, Come to-morrow-day at noon — On that glad, that mournful day, When ray girlhood creeps away ; On that day — the understood Birthday of my womanhooell. "Should I fail you, dear, to-morrow, Go away, but not in sorrow ; There be many ways may meet Fetters round a maiden's feet. There be watchers, there be spies, There be jealous tongues and eyes ; Many hate my love for you. And would cut our love in two. Oh, they guard me all the time, As if loving were a crime ! " Should I fail the second morrow, Hope from next day you must borrow. 'mm Garleton 167 If I fail you then — endure ; Hope and trust be still the cure. Naught on earth has power — has art — Long to hold us two apart. None but God were equal to it, And I know He would not do it. I will come to you, indeed. You would wait, love, were there need? " And he said, with brave endeavor : " I will wait for you forever. Each day I will come for you, Till you come and find me true. Each day hear the hopeful swell Of the mid-day Court-house bell." So next day he stood and waited For the soul his soul had mated ; Saw the clock's black finger climb To its topmost round of time ; Heard the mighty metal throat Sing afar its mid-day note ; Listened with a nervous thrill And his warm heart standing still ; Glanced about with keen desire And his yearning soul afire ; Searched and searched with jealous care — Searched, but saw no loved one there. " ' Should I fail you, love, to-morrow, Go away, but not in sorrow,' i68 %ovc poems *T was her word," he softly said. " Be she livinj^, be she dead, Still my heart is scatit of fear ; She will some time meet me here. My sad soul I will employ With to-morrow's destined joy ; Here is happiness for me, IJvinjj o'er what is to be. She will come— her love to tell — With to-morrow's mid-c pocnid Springe's sweet-scented mid-day air, Sumincr's fierce meridian glare, Autumn's minj^led lead anocmd Do you luar luc ? Do you feel me ? Can the world no more conceal me ? ' Did I meet you ? ' Oh, but listen ! When uleased from pain's hlack prison, Long throu;^!! >^ardens and throuj^h meadows, Lon;^ throuy(h death's black silent shadows, With my soul God's help entreating, Sought I for our place of meeting. *• Oh, I crushed my anns around you When I found you— when I fouml you ; Saw your sorrow's black net weaving ; Fondly suffering, bravely grie\'ing ; Saw the truth you could not see ; Felt your loving faith in me. How each day — ("iod's help entreating — Came I to our place of meeting ! How I hailed each welcome morrow ! How I strove to soothe your sorrow ! Times the thought would come to cheer me, He can see me ! he can hear me ! Then the mists of earth would screen us ; Then the darkness stepped l)etween us. Still your dtar soul I could see, SufTcringyet its way to me. Pain at last has cut the tether ; Death will let us live together. Darling throw your arms around me ! You have found me — vou have found me. lUill Carlcton 173 Naught on earth had power — had art — Long to hold us two apart. None but God were equal to it, And I knew He would not do it. Listen ! Hear the echoes swell ! T is our merry wedding bell." LOVE. I ()\'Iv, dear friend, is a sacree poemd The blossoms on the boughs are white in spring, The wind is soft, the birds spread joyous wing, And soar and wheel in the blue sky — and sing. Because — because — I love you. I scarcely know my own face in the glass, It almost seems to mock me as I pass, Once of its few poor beauties I was vain, Now they can only rouse me to disdain, I should be twenty thousand times as fair, The stars and sun should light my eyes and hair — And yet — sometimes I think I only care, Because — because — I love you. I am so changeful and so full of mood, Sometimes I would not — and sometimes — I would, I 'm proud and humble, scornful, thoughtful, light, A hundred times between the mom and night, I cast you off— I try to draw you near, I hold you lightly — and I hold you dear. And all the time I know with joy, with fear. It is — because — I love you ! Will you remember this when I seem cold ? When what I yearn to tell is all untold — When I am wayward, wilful, silent, proud. prances l)oDg6on :fiSurnett iSi When if I dared to think m\' thoughts aloud They would repeat my jesting — of to-day, " A woman's reason — and a woman's way, It is — because — I love you ! " There is a reason now for life and death, A reason why one's heart beats and one's breath Comes quicker at the light touch of a hand, My reason makes it summer in the land, Once from all pain I longed all earth to free, But now there is a reason Pain should be, Since some day I might bear it patiently Because — because — I love you. And now — my hand clings closer to your breast. Bend your head lower while I say the rest, The greatest change of all is this — that I, Who used to be so cold, so fierce, vSo shy, In the sweet moment that I feel you near. Forget to be ashamed, and know no fear, Forget that Life is sad and Death is drear. Because — because — I love you ! TF he had known that when her proud, fair face Turned from him calm and slow. Beneath its cold indifference had place A passionate, deep woe. i82 Xove poem0 If he had known that when her hand lay still, Pulseless so near his own, It was because pain's bitter, bitter chill Changed her to very stone. If he had known that she had borne so much For sake of the sweet past. That mere despair said : " This cold look and touch Must be the cruel last." If he had known her eyes so cold and bright, Watching the sunset's red, Held back within their deeps of purple light A storm of tears unshed. If he had known the keenly barbed jest, With such hard lightness thrown, Cut through the hot, proud heart within her breast Before it pierced his own. If she had known that when her calm glance swept Him as she passed him by. His blood was fire, his pulses madly leapt Beneath her careless eye. If she had known that when he touched her hand. And felt it still and cold, jfrances IboDgson :ffiurnett 183 There closed round his wrung heart the iron band Of misery untold. If she had known that when her laughter rang In scorn of sweet past days, His ver>' soul shook with a deadly pang Before her light dispraise. If she had known that every poisoned dart, If she had understood That each sunk to the depths of his man's heart And drew the burning blood. If she had known that when in the wide west The sun sank gold and red. He whispered bitterly : " 'T is like the rest. The warmth and light have fled." If she had known the longing and the pain. If she had only guessed, — One look — one word — and she perliaps had lain Silent upon his breast. If she had known how oft when their eyes met, And his so fiercely shone, But for man's shame and pride they had been wet, — Ah ! if she had but known ! i84 Xovc poems If they had known the wastes lost love must cross, — The wastes of unlit lands, — If they had known what seas of salt tears toss Between the barren strands. If they had known how lost love prays for death And makes low, ceaseless moan. Yet never fails his sad, sweet, wearying breath — Ah ! if they had but known. VKSTHKDAY AND TO-DAY. YESTERDAY. TT is SO wide, this great world vaulted o'er By the blue sky clasping white shore to shore. And yet it is not wide enough for me ! I love you so — it cannot hold my love. There is not space in earth or heaven above. There is not room for my great love and me. TODAY. It is so wide, this great world vaulted o'er By the sad sky clasping dark shore to shore. It is too wide — it is too wide for me ! Would God that it were narrowed to a grave, And I slept quiet, naught hid with me save The love that was too great — too great for me. IRobert 36\xvne TSUilson 185 ROBERT BURNS WILSON. EXTRACT FROM "CONSTANCE." r\0 I remember ? Ask me not a<;aiu : My heart hath but one passion— to forget. Oh, is there nothing in the world, then. To take away but once the soul's regret ! Alas ! for love is ever more divine ; Immortal is the sorrow love must briu"- ; The golden cup aches for withholden wine ; Of sun-kissed flight still dreams the broken wing ; The buried jewel seeketh yet tp shine. And nmsic's spirit haunts the idle string : So doth the heart in sadness ever twine vSome fading wreath that keeps hope lingering. Remember not, my soul, remember not ! There is a madness lurks in memory. She hath her music, and the strain once caught Forever must the silent wings of thought Bear to thine ears the mournful threnody. Bright is the sky to-day and fair above vie : Nearest thou me, oh ! hearest thou me ? Light is my heart to-day, for I do love thee ; Hearest thou me, my lover ? i86 Xovc poems white is the bloom of the apple fair ^ Szvcct is the smell of the clover. Soft is the kiss of the wanton air; But I ore is best, True love is best : Ah / hearest thou that, my lover? Thus ran the song, and she who sang that day, No other seemed but God's own masterpiece. ■X- * * * * * Fair zcere the fields to-iiay aud thou hadst found me: Hearest thou vie, oh / hearest thou me f Sweet were the bonds of love and thou hadst bound fne : Hearest thou tne, my lover? Sweet is the sound of the red-breast 's song' When the owl flies out from cover, Szceetest is. sleep if the day be long^ But love is best — Get thee to my breast : Ah ! hearest thou that, my lover f A SONG. T DO not ask — dear love — not I, A jeweled crown to win, Nor robe, nor crown — nor do I cry To those that guard the gates of heaven, That they should let me in. Brio JBates 187 Oh, when they talk of far-off strands, I have no heart to pray. So lonely seem those heavenly lands, I feel no wish for an^^el hands To wipe my tears away. I care not for the joyous throng. My soul could never share The endless bliss— the happy song ; How long the days, O God, how long, If I should miss thee there ! Nay, love ; I only could be blest Close by thy side to be. To hold thy hand — to lean at rest. Forever on thy faithful Ijreast, That would be heaven for me. ARXO BATES. onp:. T^HK world is naught till one is come Who is the world ; then beauty wakes, And voices sing that have been dumb. The world is naught when one is gone Who was the world ; then the heart breaks That this is lost which once was won. 1 88 Xorc poems Dear love, this life, so passion-fraught, From you its bliss or sorrow takes ; With you is all ; ^vithout you naught. A FANTASY. IF there were a thousand years Between my life and me, And as in an age-dim tome I might its story see, — How mystic and sweet and strange, Like some old tale, would be The anguish that now I know In my hopeless love for thee ! A RECOGNITION. T OVER and mistress, sleeping side by side, Death smote at once ; and in the outer air, Amazedly confronted, each to each. Their spirits stood, of all disguises bare. With sudden loathing stung, one spirit fled, Crying, " Love turns to hate if this be thou ! " " Ah, stay ! '* the other wailed, in swift pursuit, ** Thee I have never truly loved till now ! " f). C, J3unner 189 H. C. BUNNRR. CANDOR. " T KNOW what you are going to say," she said, And she stood iip, looking unconiinonly tall ; **You are going to speak of the hectic fall, A.nd say you are sorry the summer 's dead. And no other summer was like it, you know, And can I imagine what made it so ? Now, are n't you honestly?" "Yes," I said. " I know what you are going to say," she said. "You are going to ask if I forget That day in June when the woods were wet. And you carried nie " — here she dropped her head — " Over the creek ; you are going to say Do I remember that horrid day. Now, are n't you honestly?" "Yes," I said. " I know what you are going to say," she said. "You are going to say that since that time, You have rather tended to run to rhyme, igo %ove poems And " — her clear glance fell and her cheek grew red — ''And have I noticed your tone was queer? — Why, everybody has seen it here ! — Now, are n't you honestly?" "Yes," I said. " I know what you are going to say," I said. "You are going to say you 've been much annoyed. And I 'm short of tact — you will say devoid — And I 'm clumsy and awkward, and call me Ted, And I bear abuse like a dear old lamb, And you '11 have me any way, just as I am. Now, aren't you honesth' ? " " Ye-es," she said. FROM " THK WAV TO ARCADY." JJ/HA T know you 7iot, old man (quoth he)— Your hair is white y your face is wise — Thai Love must kiss that 7nortal *s eyes Who hopes to see fair A ready ? No gold can buy you entrance there^ But beggared Love may go all bare — No wisdom won with weariness ; But Love goes in with Folly's dress — No fame that ivit could ever witt ; But 07ily Love tnay lead Love in To A ready, to A ready. !)♦ C. JiSunner 191 Ah, woe is me ! through all my days Wisdom and wealth I both have got, And fame, and name, and great men's praise, But Love, ah, Love ! I have it not. There was a time when life was new — But far away and half forgot — I only know her eyes were blue ; But Love — I fear I knew it not. We did not wed, for lack of gold, And she is dead and I am old. All things have come since then to me, Save Love, oh. Love ! and Arcady. Ah, then I fear we part (quoth he), My way 'sfor Love and Arcady. But you, you fare alone, like me ; The gray is likewise in your hair. What love have you to lead you there ? To Arcady, to Arcady ? Ah, no, not lonely do I fare; My true companion 's Memory. With love he fills the spring-time air; With love he clothes the winter tree. Oh, past this poor horizojVs bound. My song goes straight to one who stands— Her face all gladdening at the sound- To lead me to the spring-green lands. To wafider with enlacing hands. 192 Xore poems The songs withiti my heart that stir Are all of her, are all of her. My tnaid is dead long years (quoth he), She waits for me in A ready. HOMER GREENE. WHAT MY LOVER SAID. OY the merest chance, in the twilight gloom, ^ In the orchard path he met me ; In the tall wet grass, with its faint perfume, And I tried to pass, but he made no room, Oh ! I tried, but he would not let me. So I stood and blushed till the grass grew red, With my face bent down above it, While he took my hand, as he whispering said— (How the clover lifted each pink, sweet head. To listen to all that my lover said ; Oh, the clover in bloom, I love it !) In the high wet grass went the path to hide, And the low wet leaves hung over ; But I could not pass upon either side, For I found myself, when I vainly tried, In the arms of my steadfast lover. And he held me there and he raised m^' head, While he closed the path before me, Ibomer (Brecne 193 And he looked down into my eyes and said — (How the leaves bent down from the boughs o'erhead To listen to all that my lover said ; Oh ! the leaves hanging lowly o'er me !) Had he moved aside but a little way I could surely then have passed him ; And he knew I never could wish to stay, And would not have heard what he had to say, Could I only aside have cast him. It was almost dark, and the moments sped, And the searching night-wind found us. But he drew me nearer and softly said — (How the pure, sweet wind grew still, instead, To listen to all that my lover said ; Oh ! the whispering wind around us ! ) I am sure that he knew when he held me fast, That I must be all unwilling ; For I tried to go, and I would have passed, As the night was come with its dew at last. And the sky with its stars was filling. But he clasped me close, when I would have fled, And he made me hear his story, And his soul came out from his lips and said — (How the stars crept out when the white moon led, 13 194 %ovc poems To listen to all that my lover said ; Oh, the moon and stars in glory ! ) I know that the grass and leaves will not tell, And I 'm sure that the wind, precious rover, Will carry his secret so safely and well That no being will ever discover One word of the many that rapidly fell From the soul-speaking lips of my lover ; And the moon and the stars that looked over Shall never reveal what a fairy-like spell They wove round about us that night in the dell, In the path through the dew-laden clover, Nor echo the whispers that made my heart swell, As they fell from the lips of my lover. MIZPAH. " The lyord watch between me and thee, when we are absent one from another."— Genesis xxxi, 49. T KISSED your lips and held your hands. And said, " Farewell," and went away, Well knowing that another day Would speed you forth to other lands. And down the summer-scented street I heard your echoing voice repeat The Hebrew motto, quaint and sweet— "Mizpah." Ibomer Greene 195 A thousaud miles between us lay When Autumn passed, in lingering flight, And drenched with fragrant dew at night The woodland fires he lit by day ; But, all the golden distance through, From you to me and me to you Went out the tender prayer and true — " Mizpah." The winter night falls cold and bleak ; I sit, in saddened mood, alone, And listen to the wind's low moan, And hide a fear I dare not speak. For you are far, so far away, And younger lips have turned to clay : Dear love ! I tremble while I pray, " Mizpah." But spring shall blossom up the plain, And Easter lilies scent the air. And song-birds riot everywhere. And heart and hope grow glad again. Yet still my nightly prayer shall be. Though swallows build or swallows flee, Until my love come back to me, " Mizpah." And when, with flowers of June, you come, And face to face again we stand. 196 Xorc poems And heart to heart and hand to hand, O love ! within the one dear home, We shall not need to say again, In winter's snow or summer's rain, Till death shall come to part ns twain, '* Mizpah." JAMES WHITCOMH RILEY. WHEN SHK COMES HOME. AA/IIEN she comes home again ! A thou- sand ways I fashion to myself, the tenderness Of my glad welcome : I shall tremble — yes ; And touch her, as when first in the old days I touched her girlish hand, nor dared upraise Mine eyes, such was my faint heart's sweet distress. Then silence : And the perfume of her dress : The room will sway a little, and a haze Cloy eyesight — soulsight, even, — for a space : And tears — yes ; and the ache here in the throat. To know that I so ill-deserve the place Her arms make for me ; and the sobbing note I stay with kisses, ere the tearful face Again is hidden in the old embrace. yiBaurlcc Francis lEgan 197 THE DEAD I.OVER. "TIME is SO long when a man is dead ! Some one sews ; and the room is made Very clean ; and the light is shed vSoftly through the \\nndow shade. Yesterday I thought : "I know Just how the bells will sound, and how The friends will talk, and the sermon go, And the hearse-horse bow and bow ! " This is to-day ; and I have no thing To think of — nothing whatever to do But to hear the throb of the pulse of a wing That wants to flv back to vou. MAURICE FRANCIS EG AN. THE ANXIOUS LOVKK. T SAW a damsel in a sombre room, Laid low in beds of purple violet, And pale, sweet roses, that perfumed the gloom ; And then I thought : This is a gray sunset igS Xovc pocm0 Of days of loving life. Shall be who stands Beside her bier, in sorrow for his love, Be first in Heaven to clasp her gentle hands, To bow with her before the Lord above ? If love can die, let my heart be as cold As Galatea's was before the words Of the warm scnlptor drew it from the mold And made her hear the sound of singing birds. Love's sunshine and love's shadows are they all Like April sun and shadow on the earth? If love can die at sight of funeral-pall, Would I had strangled it in its sad birth. I know that the sweet Spring will surely go, Ane poems In their leafy home in yonder oak the swallows Are resting from the chatter of the day, And the broken star-beams glimmer in the hollows Of the scarcely heaving waters of the bay. The outer stillness steals in through the casement And falls as with a spell upon our lips, And the sadness of a sudden deep abasement Comes o'er me like a shadow of eclipse. And I look upon you sitting silent by me, As one by one the stars grow bright above, And wonder what great trial waits to trj- me And fit me for the treasure of your love. I have loved you, O my darling ! with a passion Too absolute to dread its own unworth ; I have lavished all my life in reckless fashion, Nor counted what the moments should bring forth. And now at last, when all the doubt is over, And that dear heart has nestled in my own. Do you wonder that I pause — your human lover ? Do you marvel that so grave my eyes have grown ? Ah ! well, I will not teach you all the reason, Nor whisper the sad secret of fhy pain. What heart that ever loved but had its season (5. "fcerbcrt Sass 205 Of passionate, impulsive self-disdain? I only see your dear eyes shining on me, I only feel the trouble pass and cease, And bow beneath the gentle grace that won me, And clasp again my talisman of peace. And verily, my darling, as you sit there So unconscious, with your cheek upon your hand, While the deepening shadows round you glide and flit there, I think that now at last I understand All the power and the blessing and the glory That lifts the faithful spirit far above The troubles of life's sad and stormy story, The magic of the mighty name of Love. On the blue bay's placid bosom over yonder The harbor lights gleam dimly far and near ; Back and forth and up and down the slow waves wander, And the surf-beat echoes faintly in my ear ; And through the darkness, timidly and slowly, Your little hand steals softly into mine ; And lo ! on yonder cloud-bank couching lowly, Love sets his star before us for a sign. H DEFEAT. E took her hand and looked at her, No sound did that deep stillness stir ; 2o6 Xovc poems Even the weary wandering rain Had ceased to beat upon the pane ; Only about the wistful mouth A sigh, more faint than the faint South, Hovered a moment's space, and then Died into nothingness again. The words he spoke were brief and slow : What could he say she did not know ! What pulse of that impetuous soul But owned her calm, serene control ? No need for him to test her heart With cunning fence of verbal art ; Only to ask and wait her will. And, winning — losing — love her still. Perhaps she wavered ; ay, perhaps The shadow of the cloud that wraps The future from our questioning gaze Let in some glimpse of after days : — Some hint of all she might possess In that true spirit's tenderness, If but her weaker life might move Unto the nuisic of his love. Perhaps ! Who knows? He only knew The great grey eyes were dim with dew ; Saw only on the mouth's sweet bloom The shadow of reluctant doom ; Susan ^arr Spaul^fng 207 Felt only one sad, gentle word And then, through that deep stillness heard Once more the weary, wandering rain Beat dull against the window pane. SUSAN MARR SPAULDING. DEATH'S FIRST I^ESSON. T^HREE sad, strange things already death hath shown To nie who lived but yesterday. :My love Who loved to kiss my hands and lips above All other joys, — whose heart upon my own So oft has throbbed, — fears me, now life has flown, And shuddering turns away. The friend who strove My trust to win, and all my faith did prove. Sees, in my pale, still form, a bar o'erthrown To some most dear desire. While one who spake No fond and flattering word of love or praise, Who only cold and stern reproof would give To all my foolish, unconsidered wavs — This one would glad have died that I might live, This heart alone lies broken for my sake. 2o8 TLovc pocm^ KATK. 'pWO shall be born the whole wide world apart, .villi speak in difierent tonj^ues, aii( wreck, defyinj^ death ; And all unconsciously shajK* ever>' act And bend each wanderinj^ step to this one end — That, one day, out of darkness they shall meet, And read life's meaninjj in each other's eyes. And two shall walk some narrow way oflife, So nearly side by side, that should one turn Ever so little to the left or rij^'ht. They needs must stand acknowledged face to face, And yet with wistful eyes that never meet. With groping hands that never clasp, and lips Calling in vain to ears that never hear, They seek each other all their weary days, And die unsatisfied — and this is I'ate. ^oeepbtnc pollarD 209 JOSEPHINK POLLARD. OPPOSITKS. FIRE. T^HPv heat of a thousand summers With passion inflames my blood, And the spirit of countless demons Pours throuj^h my veins like a flood ; Oh, never were kisses hotter Than those on her lips I press, And vainly would Love dissemble The fervor of my caress. vSwiftly I work my will, And none can deny my power; Love has its lessons from me, And where I love I devour ! As cold as sierra's crest Are the seas in my breast congeale' round thee centre That would lighten up the gloom. And my heart would surely guide me, With Love's second-sight provide me. One amid the crowd to find. If I were blind ! If I were deaf, and thou hadst spoken Ere thy presence I had known, I should know it, I should feel it. Something subtle would reveal it, Blla lailbecler TiUilcoi 21] And the seal at once be broken By Love's liquid undertone. Deaf to other, stranger voices, And the world's discordant noises, — Whisper, wheresoe'er thou art, 'T will reach my heart ! If I were dead, and thou shouldst venture Near the coffin where I lay, I should know it, I should feel it, vSomething subtle would reveal it, And no look of mildest censure Rest upon that face of clay. vShouldst thou kiss me, conscious flashes Of Love's fire through Death's cold ashes Would give back the cheek ils red, If I were dead ! ELLA WHEELKR WILCOX. WHAT LOVE IS. T OVE is the centre and circumference ; The cause and aim of all thing.s— 't is the key- To joy and sorrow, and the recompense For all the ills that have been, or may be. 212 Xove poemd I,ove is as bitter as the dreps of sin, As sweet as clover-honey in its cell ; Tyove is the password whereby souls j^et in To Heaven — the j^ate that leatls, sometimes, to Hell. Love is the crown that glorifies ; the curse That brands and burdens ; it is life and death. It is the great law of the universe ; And nothing can exist without its breath. Ivove is the impulse wliich directs the world, And all things know it and obey its power. Man, in the maelstrom of his passions whirled ; The bee that takes the pollen to the flower ; The earth, uplifting her bare, pulsing breast To fervent kisses of the amorous sun ; — Kach but obeys creative Love's behest, Wliich everywhere instinctively is done. Love is the only thing that pays for birth, Or makes death welcome. Oh, dear God above This beautiful but sad, perplexing earth. Pity the hearts that know — or know not — Love ! BHa mbcclcr milcor 213 FROM "COUIvEUR DK ROSE " /^H, rapture— promise of the May, ^-^ Oh, June, fulfilling after ! If Autumn sighs when Summer dies, 'T is drowned in Winter's laughter. Oh, maiden dawns — oh, wifely noons, Oh, siren sweet, sweet nights ! I 'd want no Heaven could earth be given Again with its delights, (If love stayed near). IMTATIKNCK. OOW can I wait until 30U come to me ? The once fleet mornings linger hv the way ; Their .sunny smiles touched with malicious glee At my unrest, they seem to pause and play Like truant children, while I sigh and say, How can I wait ? How can I wait? Of old, the rapid hours Refused to pause or loiter with me long ; Rut now they idly fill my hands with flowers. And make no haste, but slowlv stroll among The summer blooms, not heeding mv one song, How can I wait ? 214 Xove poems How can I wait ? The nights alone are kind ; They reach forth to a future day, and bring Sweet dreams of you to people all my mind, And time speeds by on light and airy wing. I feast upon your face, I no more sing, How can I wait ? How can I wait ? The morning breaks the spell A pitying night has flung upon my soul. You are not near me, and I know full well My heart has need of patience and control ; Before we meet, hours, days, and weeks must roll. How can I wait ? How can I wait? Oh, love, how can I wait I'ntil the sunlight of your eyes shall shine Upon my world that seems so desolate? Until your hand-clasp warms my blood like wine ; Until you come again, O love of mine, How can I wait ? AD KINEM. /^N the white throat of the useless passion That scorched my soul with its burning breath, I clutched my fingers in murderous fashion And gathered them close in a grip of death ; £lla TIClbeckr TlClUcoj 215 For why should I fan, or feed with fuel, A love that showed me but blank despair ? So my hold was firm, and my grasp was cruel — I meant to strangle it then and there ! I thought it was dead. But with no warning It rose from its grave last night, and came And stood by my bed till the early morning, And over and over it spoke your name. Its throat was red where my hands had held it, It burned my brow with its scorching breath ; And I said, the moment my eyes beheld it, " A love like this can know no death." For just one kiss that yuur lips have given In the lost and beautiful past to me, I would gladly barter my hopes of Heaven And all the bliss of F)ternity. F'or never a joy are the angels keeping To lay at my feet in Paradise, Like that of into your strong arms creeping And looking into your love-lit eyes. I know in the way that sins are reckoned, This thought is a sin of the deepest dye ; But I know, too, if an angel beckoned, Standing close b}- the Throne on High, And you adown by the gates infernal, Should open your loving arms and smile, 2i6 TLovc poems I would turn my back on things supernal, To lie on your breast a little while. To know for an hour you were mine completely — Mine in body and soul, my own — I would bear unending tortures sweetly, With not a nmnnur and not a moan. A lighter sin or a lesser error Might change through hope or fear divine ; But there is no fear, and hell has no terror To change or alter a love like mine. THK WAV OK IT. 'T'HIS is the way of it, wide world over, One is beloved and one is the lover, One gives and the other receives. One lav-ishes all in a wild emotion, One offers a smile for a life's devotion, One hopes and the other believes. One lies awake in the night to weep. And the other drifts off in a sweet sound sleep. One soul is aflame with a Godlike passion, One plays with love in an idler's fashion, One speaks and the other hears. One sobs " I love you," and wet eyes show it. And one laughs lightly, and says, " I know it," With smiles for the other's tears. anna C. ipalmer 217 One lives for the other and nothing beside, And the other remembers the world is wade. This is the way of it, sad earth over, The heart that breaks is the heart of the lover, And the other learns to forget. ** For what is the use of endless sorrow, Though the sun goes down, it will rise to-mor- row ; And life is not over yet ? " Oh ! I know this truth, if I know no other, That passionate Love is Tain's own mother. ANNA C. PALMER. (MRS. GEORGE ARCHIBALD.) QUIT YOUR FOOUN'. Girls is queer ! I use' to think Kmmy did n't care for me. For whenever I would try Any loviu' arts, to see How she 'd take 'em — sweet or sour, — Always, saucy-like, says she : " Quit your foolin' ! 2i8 Tiovc pocina Once, agoin* home from church, Just to find if it would work, Round her waist I slipped my arm, — My ! You 'd ought 'o seen her jerk, Spunky ? Well, she acted so — And she snapped me up as perk — " Quit your foolin' ! " Kv'ry time 't wu/ jest the same. Till one night I says, says I, Chokin' some I must admit, Tremblin' some I don't deny, — "Emmy, seein' \s I don't suit, Guess I better say ' good-bye, ' An' quit foolin'." Girls is queer ! She only laughed, — Checks all dimplin' ; "John," says she, " Foolin' men that never gits Real in earnest, ain't for me." Wa' n't that cute ? I took the hint. An' a chair, and staid, an' we Quit our foolin' ! HER COMPANY'. \^IIEN ma died I wuz only jest Fourteen, but older than the rest. 'T wuz New-Year day she went away An' left an achin' in my breast. anna C. ipalmcr 219 It seemed so cheerless like to me Without my mother's company. Says pa : " They 's no one I kin get Kin do as well as you, Janet." So school an' fun fer me wuz done, An' still I managed not to fret. The young ones thrived, an' as fer me, I 'd Jim an' work fer company. Poor Jim wu/, lame, an' that wii/ why I always had him settin' by. His lovin' ways made glad the days, Till all at once he had to die. The neighbors they wuz glad fer me — But how I missed his company I I worked along ; the children dear. They married off froiTi year to year. "An' one cold night at candle-light. Says pa : " It 's purty lonesome here. An' New-Year you shall have," says he, " A nice, new ma, fer company ! " He laughed an' set an' talked awhile. But, as fer me, I could n't smile. An' all night long my tears run down, As I lay rasslin' with my trial. I wisht that I, like Jim, could be In my dead mother's company. Xovc pocnid It 's odd how things turns out ; next day In walked our neighbor, Zenas Gray. My eyes wuz red, an' Zenas said : "Janet been cryin' ? What 's to pay ? '' " Oh, nothiu' much," says I. Says he : ** I reckon you need company." An' after that he ust to come. An' cheer me up if I wuz ghnn- An' when he went I 'd feel content, An' work an' sing or set an' hum. The empty house, it seemed to me, Wuz full of his good company. An' every thought of ma an' Jim, Would somehow make me think of him. It brought relief to bygone grief. An' filled my heart up to the brim, Especial, when he offered me Himself for stiddy company. An' now, with hope in by an' by. As New-Year time is drawin' nigh, The tears I shed fer them that 's dead Ain't sech as when I ust to cry. I only trust that they kin see How I enjoy my company. f?atc TDannab 221 KATK VANNAH. WASTK. I. T^O one he sent his strong man's heart hiid ^ bare, Quiverinj^ with hope and fear, A cruel hand Seemed pressing hard upon a torn, hot nerve, Nothing he kept, not even his fierce jmde, * Unfaithful to another — to her true, Complete surrender of his heart and life. The second letter was indifferent. Save for an old-time name he knew she loved : He snatched a fading flower from his coat, And crushed its purple blood against the words That she might know, for all his city life. He still recalled her love for violets ! III. The one to whom he wrote with lashes wet (His pleading was so strong and passionate) Read with fierce scorn his letter — flung it by — And, later, answered in a mocking tone . . . 222 %ovc poems The other died. Upon her broken heart Was found a locket with his face inside — A tender word cut from his letter — and —a violet. KSTRANGKn. pvO you think, dear Love, if we had known '^ That, ere another year had flown, We should have drifted far apart, We who for years claspt heart to heart. Do you think we had been more tender ? Ati ! to think this is your natal day, And I so near, yet miles away ? Why, I could reach you in one short hour, Yet dare not send you even a flower. Not even forget-me-nots ! And I used to know your heart so well That I could look in your eyes and tell All that was there ; but now, to-day. If we should meet, you would turn away, Not letting me see your eyes. Oh ! If you M look just once again. What should I find there, hate or pain. Love or longing, or coldness, dear. Or — how my heart leaps to dream it — a tear Calling me back again? Banshc ©anDriO^c 223 DANSKR DANDRIDGK. PARTED. /^H that I stood in the presence of God ! In the visible presence of God, And had voice for one cry ! That my body were dead and my soul were alive In the liK^it of that palpable eye. ** God, give me one boon for my life That was painful and long ; For the waiting ; the years — oh, theyeais ! For the yearnings and tears ; For the hurt and the wrong : — God grant me one boon for my life. " Somewhere — oh, Thou knowest the where — In Thy worlds with their heavens and hells, In the limitless spaces of air, He is, and Thou knowest the where ! A. boon, oh, a boon ! Send me there ! " For I bore it, the worst that was sent ; The pitiless ache of the tears; 224 Xovc poems The loss and the fierce discontent, And the horror and fears Of that silence more hard than a wall ; And the fancies, so maddeningly sweet. More criiel than all : — By the love that is deathless, I call, As I fall at thy feet." Would I cry ? Would the floods be unsealed In that Presence, in sight of the Thrones? Would I jar the loud joy of the ])lcst With my strenuous tones ? Or stand with my hand on my mouth, Unable to praise or to pray : }\xs,\. feeling, ** Thou knowest it all, What is there to say? " THREE DAYS. TT was a wild and lonely hill, And in the long grass at my feet You lay ; the breeze was almost still, Poising on airy wings, and sweet With clover-breath of resting cows ; The light fell softly through the boughs ; That light was dear for dear Love's sake 'T was there our hearts began to wake. Carlotta perri? 225 We watched the summer sun arise, Standing together on the lawn : Then turned, and in each other's eyes We gazed to watch another dawn. We felt the radiance of the sun ; Our day of love was just begun ; That day was sweet for sweet Pain's sake : 'T was there our hearts began to ache. They call the old wood Fairyland ; I know we lovers loitered there. 'T was nightfall, we were hand in hand, The distant thunder stirred the air ; Your trembling tones were low and deep ; We smiled, we laughed— lest we should weep Then parted, for dear Honor's sake : For Honor's sake — for Honor's sake, That spot is dear for Honor's sake : 'T was there our hearts began to break. CARLOTTA PERRY THROUGH TIMK AND KTKRNITY. I HAVE done at last with the bitter lie, The lie I have lived so many years. I 've hated myself that I could not die, Body as well as soul. What ! tears? 15 226 TLovc pocnid Tears and kisses on lip and brow : — What use are tears and kisses now ? 'T was not so hard. Just a kerchief wet In the deadly blessing that quiets pain, And backward the tide of suffering set, Peace swept over the blood and brain, — Utter peace, to the finger-tips ; And now these kisses on lids and lips. Sweet caresses for lips all cold. And loud laments for perished breath. For the faded cheek and the hair's wan gold, But not a tear for the sadder death I died that day. How strange the fate That brings your sorrow all too late ! All these years, with my dead, dead heart I 've met the world with smiling eyes : I feigned sweet life with perfect art. And the world has respect for well-told lies ; And I fooled the world, — for no one said, " Behold this woman : she is dead." And no one said, as you passed along, " Behold a murderer." No one knew : You carefully covered the cruel wrong : That the world saw not, was enough for you. You had wisdom and worldly pride. And I had silence, — for I had died. Carlotta pcrrs 227 The world says now I am dead ; but, oh, Lean down and listen. 'T is all in vain Again in my heart bleeds the cruel blow, Again I am mad with the old-time pain. Again the waves of anguish roll, — For I have met with my murdered soul. Oh, never to find the peace I crave, 'T were better to be as I have been. In the place of the fleeting years I have Eternity now to love you in, Eternity now to feel the blow Your dear hands gave in the long ago. THE BOND OF PAIN. V\7HEN the music your soul is filled with Flowed out to the world glad and strong, The heart of the great world was thrilled with The delight of your song. But long ere the world paused to hear it, And yet while the dear lips were dumb, I heard (for my soul was so near it), The music that burdened your spirit, And the songs that should come. WTien your ships have come home heavy laden With treasures repaying your pains, 228 %ovc ipoemg The world, from the sage to the maiden, Has rejoiced in your gains. But when, by the storms overtaken, Your ships, with their treasures, went down ; 'T was then, by the fair winds forsaken, At your side, with courage unshaken, I faced the world's frown. Now far in Fame's uttermost regions, You stand in the light of the sun ; And hear the proud voices of legions Hail the heights you have won : But when, by your cares overv\'eighted, You wept in the valley alone, Or groped on the hillside, belated, My heart with a faith unabated, Clasped hands with your own. You stand in the sunlighted distance And I in the Valley of Tears ; Between us, with wear}* insistance. Lie the merciless years. But I know, should the tempest surround you. For the sound of my voice you would hark ; Disdaining the hands that would wound you. You would reach through the dangers around you For my hand in the dark. Cbarlce (5. 3Blan&cn 229 And so, though the great world may claim you, And hail you w*ith pleasure and pride, And so, though I never may name you, Who should stand at your side. Yet O ! my beloved, forever, The bond 'twixt us two will remain ; All time with its utmost endeavor. Is powerless to break it in twain ; Nor yet can eternity sever This bond of our vSorrow and l*ain. CHARLEvS G. BLANDEN. IN DREAMS AT NIGHT. TN dreams at night, I often see Great proofs of immortality ; — The way I tread is grander far Than any waking journeys are To wealth, to fame, or learning's tree. My soul leaps up, as blissful, free, As ever I could wish to be. And wings its flight from star to star, In dreams at night. 230 Xove poems Oh, long and far, I, happy, flee. Yet still my thoughts turn not from thee ; Thy love — the proof I do unbar. Thine eyes — the stars, dark Corivar, That gleam and glow to beacon me In dreams at night. THE RACE. * \A/E '11 run a race," quoth Thought to ^^ Heart, "To find a just decree, If 't is with you Love makes his home, Or, Kardia dear, with me. " The goal, my sweet, shall be the mouth, The eyes the signal give ; Sir Tongue shall then proclaim the seat Where Love does really live." That moment passed Diana fair ; Thought leapt the journey o'er. Too late, too late ! the throbbing heart Was at the goal before. VAI.ENTINE. T WOULD I were the little flower That springeth in thy path ; Its life is one of happiness, A happy death it hath. laailliam S. XorD 231 You love it, pluck it, to your lips You press the modest eyes, It closes them and falls asleep : That kiss is paradise. O make me, Sweet, thy valentine, Or I that flower shall prove Which rude winds shatter, pitiless. And no lips love. WILLIAM vS. LORD. IN SIGHT. I ONG years, beloved, held us far apart ; A waste of days, the goal beyond her sight, We only knew by our firm faith in right, That somehow, some day, bringing heart to heart, Our ways would meet and never more would part, And we would both be happy, bearing light To make life's journe}- for each other bright, And knowing balm to heal each burning smart But now, oh, joy ! beloved, see the goal ; 332 %ove poem0 Behold the glory of that mountain peak ! Ah, sweet, your eyes are lit with happy tears, A light is in them laying bare your soul. A little while, dear love, and all we seek Will then be ours, to crown the coming years. LOVE IS DEAD. IVyiOAN, ye winds, moan, oh moan, ^^ (Fogo' th' fen and salt o' th' sea) Toss ye the trees till they groan, (Fog o' th' fen and salt o' th' sea) Love is dead. Tears are shed, Hope has fled ; Dole ye a dirge with me. Where have they buried him, wind ; (Fog o' th' fen and salt o' th' sea) Search through the world till ye find, (Fog o' th' fen and salt o' th' sea) Now quick and now slow. Above and below. Away let us go ! Where he is buried lay me. Gone is the sweet o' th' rose, (Fog o' th' fen and salt o' th' sea) Cbarles Xotin tbilOrctb 233 Where it is he only knows, (Fog o' th' fen and salt o' th' sea) The skies are not blue, Nor sparkles the dew, All hearts are untrue — Naught but the salt o' th' sea ! CHARLES IvOTIN HILDRETH. THE FACE OF IvOVE. BUT once beheld by any man, no more ; And then with such wild tumult in his brain He may not recollect the look it wore. Or if 't was pleasure that he felt, or pain, When those strange eyes sent fire to his heart's core. But who can grasp the maze of sad delight That music weaves, its memory dying never? And who can read the face of love aright, With all its mystic meanings, shifting ever, That stir life's deepest springs, yet cheat the sight ? 234 TLoxfc poems A face of godlike glory, such as men Might well misdeem the majesty of heaven, But that there ever comes and goes again — Like clouds across the noonday brilliance driven — A mien that makes it wholly human then. Full-lipped as Orient maidens, there may play The dimpled meaning that has shaken thrones And swept a nation's boundaries away, And then a quiver, as of voiceless groans. And all the face looks tragic, old, and gray. At times a sad, mysterious face, that seems With startled eyes to watch for coming ill ; Yet ever and anon across it gleams A smile, that, passing, leaves it cold and still. Enwrapped in unimaginable dreams. I.OVIC. T OVE was primeval ; from forgotten time Come hints of common lives by love made great, In pastoral song or fragmentary rhyme. While fades the fame of many a warlike state. Love lives forever though we pass away ; Still shall there be hot hearts and longing eyes, TRfcbarO :6Dwin 2)ai2 235 Hyperion youths and maids more fair than they, Loath lips and lingering hands and parting sighs, When we have vanished, and our simple doom Is blended with the themes of old romance, Ay, from our dust young buds and flowers shall bloom, To deck bright tresses in the spring-tide dance, And be the mute, sweet signs of love confessed To Passioned hopes upon a maiden's breast. RICHARD EDWIN DAY. SAPPHIRES. AA Y love has neither gold nor gems Save that she wears in modest wise. Bluer than flash in diadems. Two sapphires like the midnight skies. Afar in their pellucid deeps Are stars that quickly rise and set ; And each a mystic meaning keeps Which no astrology may get. Shy opals not so liquid gleam As the soft sapphires of my love ; 236 Xove pocm0 And oft I fancy that they dream Of what her heart is dreaming of. Before, what mortal ever knew Twin gems that held the wearer's soul, While in and out, amid their hue, Her spirit's sweetest passions stole ? GOLD. CORTUNK, weird dame, shakes the uncanny ^ gold With awkward favor from her jingling horn, Not so the soncy fay w^hose fingers told Out all the wealth of cowslips and of com, And all that wings of yellow finches hold. There is more craft in her light, sunny toil Than in the hands that shape the gold of Ind. They could not hide a jewel in the coil Of budded lilies, rocking in the wind, Or tinge the petals with so dainty foil. But she enriches in more cunning wise The cat-tails keeping in their rough brown nap A glint of gold, and subtler treasure lies In the centre of the dandelion's cap. And in the silken hood the maize unties. Clinton ScoUarD 237 Yet all her lesser work is but despair ; For once she made a woman's locks of brown, And strewed a glittering treasure in her hair, Ah ! wily mesh, and strong beyond renown ! The sunshine and my heart are in the snare. CIvINTON SCOIvIvARD. O I,ADY MINE. r^ IvADY mine, with the sunlit hair, ^-^ The birds are carolling blithe and gay In the bourgeoning boughs that sway the air O'er the grassy aisles of the orchard way. The mock-bird pipes to the busy jay : There 's a gleam of white on the vines that twine Where your casement opes to the golden day, O lady mine ! O lady mine, with the sunlit hair. The rills are glad that the month is May ; The dawns are bright and the eves are fair O'er the grassy aisles of the orchard way. The dales have doffed their robes of gray, The bending buttercups spill their wine, There is joy in the heart of faun and fay, O lady mine ! 238 %ox>c ipoem6 O lady mine, with the sunlit hair, The bees, the ruthless bandits, prey On the blooms that part their lips in prayer. O'er the grassy aisles of the orchard way. From the evening shores where the nereids play. The breezes blow o'er the foamy brine, And I dream I hear them softly say, " O lady mine ? " £nvoy. O lady mine, wilt thou not stray O'er the grassy aisles of the orchard way. And list to Love where the wind-flowers play, O lady mine ! ACROSS THE CRIMSON CIvOVER SEAS. A CROSS the crimson clover seas, I hear the haunting hum of bees, That rifled all the rich perfume From jasmine and magnolia bloom, When, with his pallid, icy hands, Chill winter bound our northern lands ; To spicy, palm-embowered isles, Where never-dying summer smiles, My spirit drifts upon the breeze, Across the crimson clover seas. Clinton ScoUarD 239 And where the gulf-stream softly laves Floridian capes with foamy waves, I see the bearded cypress boughs, lyike hoary hermits, lift their brows Aloft to greet a sky as clear As any placid mountain mere ; And there the merry mocking-birds Seem uttering melodious words ; How soon the golden vision flees Across the crimson clover seas ! The vision fades. Ah ! well it may, For one who makes more bright the day Down greening aisles of tall grass trips, A song upon her lovely lips, As merry as the thrush above, Out-trilling tuneful lays of love ; And all my pulses swifter stir, And all my heart goes out to her. The while she strays in graceful ease Across the crimson clover seas. 240 %ovc ipoems FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN. A MADRIGAL. C WEETHEART, the year is young, And 'neath the heavens blue The fresh wild-flowers have hung Their cups to catch the dew. And love like a bird carols one soft word, Sweetheart, to the sapphire skies ; And floating aloft comes an echo soft '* Sweetheart" — your eyes ! Sweetheart, the year is sweet "With fragrance of the rose That bends before your feet As to the gale that blows. And love like a bird quavers one low word, Sweetheart, to the garden place ; And across the glow comes an echo low "Sweetheart" — your face ! Sweetheart, the year grows old, Upon the meadows brown, And forests, waving gold. The stars look, trembling, down. jfranK 2)emp6ter Sberman 241 And love like a bird whispers one pure word, Sweetheart, to the cooling air ; And the breezes sure waft an echo pure " Sweetheart " — your hair ! Sweetheart, the year wanes fast ; The summer birds have flown From winter's spiteful blast Unto a sun-bound zone. And love like a bird warbles one clear word, Sweetheart, to the balmy south ; And back to my ear comes an echo clear "Sweetheart" — your mouth ! Sweetheart, the year is gone ; Lean closer to my heart ! Time only weighs upon The loves that dwell apart. And love like a bird with his whole soul stirred. Sweetheart, shall carol his glee ; And to you I '11 cling while the echoes ring " Sweetheart " — for me ! AWAKE, AWAKK. A WAKE, awake, O gracious heart — There 's some one knocking at the door : The chilling breezes make him smart ; His little feet are tired and sore. i6 242 %ovc poema Arise, and welcome him before Adown his cheeks the big tears start : Awake, awake, O gracious heart There 's some one knocking at the door. 'T is Cupid come with loving art To honor, worship, and implore ; And lest, uuwelcomed, he depart With all his wise mysterious lore. Awake, awake, O gracious heart, There 's some one knocking at the door. CHARIvES G. D. ROBERTS. DARK. VTOW, for the night is hushed and blind with rain. My soul desires communion, Dear, with thee. But hour by hour my spirit gets not free, — Hour by still hour my longing strives in vain, The thick dark hems me, ev'n to the restless brain. The wind's confusion vague encumbers me, Ev'n passionate memory, growm too faint to see Thy features, stirs not in her straitening chain. Cbarles (5. 2)» IRobcrts 243 And thou, dost thou too feel this strange divorce Of will from power? The spell of night and wind, Baffling desire and dream, dost thou too find ? Not distance parts us. Dear ; but this dim force, Intangible, holds us helpless, hushed with pain, Dumb with the dark, blind with the gusts of rain ! RONDEAU. A^ITHOUT one kiss she 's gone away And stol'n the brightness out of day ; With scornful lips and haughty brow She 's left me melancholy now, In spite of all that I could say. And so, to guess as best I may What angered her, a while I stay Beneath this blown acacia bough Without one kiss ; Yet all my wildered brain can pay My questioning, is but to pray Persuasion may my speech endow, And Love may never more allow My injured sweet to sail away Without one kiss. 244 1^^^ poems ELLA HIGGINSON. ONK KISS. T K we, who never met, should meet, ^ Aiul, after meeting, come to know That if we had but sooner met We might have loved each other so ; If, after meeting many times, The thought should swell into regret That God had not ordained it so, That we in freedom could have met ; If, looking in each other's eyes — The while both knew the same sweet care, And all but passion — conquered — we Should read the same thought written there If, knowing, then, that we must walk Henceforth in ways as far apart As sea to sea, because each saw What trembled in the other's heart ; Then, if for but one single time. Well knowing, too, that it was wrong, Our lips should meet in one last kiss, Replete with passion, tender, long ; ;eila tfiQQimon 245 Would this, I say, be sin so black — Let those all-sinless cast the stone- That a whole blameless after-life Could never for it quite atone ? THE ANGFX IN HEIX. T^IIIC Devil he stood at the ^ates of Hell And yearned for an angel above. And he sighed: — "Come down, sweet siren, and learn The lesson of passion and love ! " The angel she leaned from the gates of gold, (The Devil was fair in her eyes,) And she thought it would be very nice if she Could lift him up to the skies. "My dear Mr. Devil," she softly replied : •' My home is of comfort and ease, y\ud i 'm very well satisfied where I am — And so — if you'll pardon me — please, •* I hardly dare venture to go so far : Do yo'], sir, come up to me, For I am an angel in heaven, while you Are only the Devil, you see." 246 tovc poemg "Too well I know that an angel you are," The Devil with cunning replied : ** And that is the reason I covet you For a safe-guard at my side. "You '11 find the atmosphere balmy and warm, And a heart that is wholly thine, Here are red, red roses, and passionate bliss, And kisses, and maddening wine. *'0, com2 ! angel, come! I'll stretch out my arms, And draw you to infinite rest. And all the delights of this beautiful hell. Asleep, you shall drink on my breast ! " The angel she leaned from the gates of gold And she clasped him with arms of snow : But the while she was striving to draw him up. The lower she seemed to go. "Don't struggle, sweet angel," the Devil h- cried, As he bore her on passion's swell : "When an angel's arms have embraced me but once. She belongs to the Devil — and hell.'' Bnne IRccvce BlDricb 247 ANNB REEVES ALDRICH. THE END. V\0 you recall that little room Close blinded from the searching sun, So dim, my blossoms dreamed of dusk ; And shut their petals one by one ? — And then a certain crimson eve, The death of day upon the tide ; How all its blood spread on the ^vaves, And stained its waters far and wide. Ah, you forget ; But I remember yet. When I awake in middle night, And stretch warm hands to touch your face. There is no chance that I shall find Aught but your chill and empty place. I have no bitter word to say, The Past is worth this anguish sore, — But mouth to mouth, and heart to heart, No more on earth, O God, no more ! For Love is dead, Would 't were I, instead. 248 Xove poems DREAMS. CO still I lay within his arras He dreamed I was asleep, Across my lips I felt his breath Like burning breezes creep. I felt his watchful, searching gaze, Though closed eyes cannot see ; I felt his warm and tender grasp More closely prison me. The waking dream was all too sweet For me to wish to sleep. I was too far beyond Earth's woes To speak, or smile, or weep. How after this, could I endure The troublous times of Age and Tears, To sit and wait for Death to dawn Across the midnight of my years ! Love will not stay, though we entreat ; Death will not come at call. Ah, to return to life and grief! Ah, having risen, to fall ! I felt his mouth bum on my own ; I raised my eyes to his eyes' deep. He thought his kiss had wakened me. He dreamed I was asleep. Bmelic IRives^Cbanler 249 AN AWAKENING. T OVB had forgotten and gone to sleep ; Love had forgotten the present and past. I was so glad when he ceased to weep, "Now he is quiet," I whispered, " at last." What sent you here on that night of all nights, Breaking his slumber, dreamless and deep ? Just as I whispered below my breath : " Love has forgotten and gone to sleep." AMBLIE RIVES-CHANLER. I.OVE: SONG. 'XHE moon shines pale in the Western sky, Like a pearl set over a brow that blushes, There is many a homeward bird in the air, And the hedges thrill with the thrushes. Though my love be further away from me Than the East from the West, or the Day from the Night, I have turned my face to his dwelling-place, And I bid him " Good-night," " good-night." 250 love poems Though he less can feel my hurrying breath Than the tree the bird that lilts on its bough, Yet since the winds Love's messengers be, They will bear him my kisses, I trow ! — O moon ! shine first on my lips and then Go shine on the forehead of him I love ! He will dream perchance that an angel's wing Has quivered his brow above ! — And sing, ye birds, in his ears the song My heart is singing within my breast ; It will thrill his heartstrings with ecstasy, And possess his soul with rest. Ye, too, O fragrance of earth and flower, And voices of night in May ! Watch near him until in the Eastern field Blossom the roses of day. Hut thou, O wind ! lay close on his lips The kisses thou hast in thy flight, And he will stir in his sleep, and wake, And whisper — " My heart — good-night." U EART of me, why do you sigh ? Why droop your eyelids, pale and shy, Like snow-flakes that on violets lie ? — Why do you sigh, my heart ? Bmelie 1Rive6*Cbanlec 251 vSweeting, wherefore do you weep ? — 'Til the flowers that May winds steep, When the day hath sunk to sleep, Seem from beads o' dew to peep ! — Why do you weep, my sweet ? O my love, whence comes this glow, Like the sunset on the snow. Which on your fair face doth show ? — Why do you blush, my queen ? Must I speak your answer, dear ? Listen then, and you will hear Why you sigh and weep and blush, Why e'en now you bid me hush : vSing, O sing, ye birds that be ; Answer, music of the sea ; Spin, old earth, to melody ; — For my one love loveth me — Does she not, my heart ? I.OVK S GHOST. 'T'HK wan moon luiks fu' patiently From oot a scarf o' rainbow licht, Like a woman pale wi' mony a grief Drest oot in colors bricht. The stars are eyes, sad, sad wi' tears, The clouds are faerj- winding-sheets. 252 Xovc poems The trees grim ban's reached up in prayer, An' the wind a ghaist that greets. Anither ghaist gangs at my side, Wi' eyes like stars, sad, sad \vi' tears, His wastit han's reach up in prayer, His sobs torment my ears. Pale ghaist o' luve, gang on, gang on ; Why will ye ever haunt nie sae? Ye are a part o' hours fled, A jiiece o* yesterday. I know ye not Flit, flit awa' ; Your eyes like fires bum in my heart. Wraith o' fause luve, haunt not the leal ;■ In true luve's name, depart. JESvSn^: 1-. O'DONNELL. A VALENTINE. LJ.WIv you counted the tliistle's wandering ^ flakes That the wind scatters lightly round him ? Or the plumes that the gray old dandelion shakes From the feathery wTeath that crowned him ? JC66ic ^. ©*2)onneU 253 Do you know how often the daisies Have tempted the wind to woo ? Or the rose has blushed at his praises ? — Then number my thoughts of you. Can you measure a bluebird's quiverini( flij^ht ? Or the speed of a homesick swallow, When the sunbeams have fled far south in the night, And the birds and the wild bees follow ? Do you think while watching them winging So fast down their pathway blue, That my thoughts as swiftly are swinging World-over to follow you ? Have you looked in the violets' innocent eyes? Have the lilies breathed once o'er you ? Have they opened their fragrant hearts to the skies, And kissed the June breezes before you ? Have you heard the voices of showers Go murmuring all night through A rh^-thm of love to the flowers ? — So sweet are my thoughts of you. Have you watched the blooms by zephyrs be- guiled From the apple-trees gently stealing ? Have you seen o'er the weary eyes of a child The lashes drop slumberous healing ? 254 tove poems Do you know how soft the caresses From lips of the gracious dew That fall on the blossoms he blesses ? — So tender my thoughts of you. You remember how surely violets will greet The first steps of the joyous summer, And you know how the daisies spring round the feet Of the radiant, welcome comer. The ripe fruit brings gold to September, And roses to June are true, And my thoughts, beloved, remember. Are faithful as these to you. SONG FROM "HENDRIK HUDSON." IVA Y beloved ! My beloved ! In my dreams I heard sweet voices Singing, saying, that a stranger Should sail up the mighty river, Sent by INIanitou, the giver ; When the birch in gold rejoices, When the tricksy frost-sprites change her Leaflets green to garments yellow, Steeped in sunshine warm and mellow, My beloved ! My beloved ! My beloved ! My beloved ! Long I waited for thy coming, 3c66ic jf. O'Bonnell 255 As the earth awaits the showers, List'ning ever, thirsty, yearning. For thy footsteps toward me turning : Heard them in the partridge's drumming, Felt thy sweet breath from the flowers, Heard thy voice through woodlands ringing In the bluebird's joyous singing ; My beloved ! My beloved ! My beloved ! My beloved ! As the lilies, snowy, slender. Lift their cups for dewy blessing. So I lift my heart's white flower For thy love's refreshing shower. Clasp me in thy arms so tender. Thrill me with thy lips' caressing, Fervent as the West-Wind woo me, All my soul lies open to thee : My beloved ! IVIy beloved ! INTO THlv DARK. T GAZE into the dark, () Love ! I gaze into the dark. The creeping shadows chill me ; and the Night, With wide-outreachiug arms, holds thee afar. O yearning eyes ! Your love, 'midst wondrous light More fair than falls from moon-ray or from star. Smiles out into the dark. 256 %ove poems I reach into the dark, O Love ! I reach into the dark. I cannot find tlitc ; and my j^oping hands Touch only nieinories and phantom shapes. empty arms ! Be glad of those sweet lands Wherein your love all loneliness escapes, And smiles into the dark. 1 call into the dark, () Love ! I call into the dark. There comes from out th.c hush below, above, No answer but my own quick-fluttered breath. O doubting heart ! Dost thou not know thy love, Across the awful silentness of death. Smiles at thee through the dark ? LIZETTK WOODWORTII RKESR. A THOUGHT OF MAY. A LL that long, mad March day in the dull ^ town, I had a thought of May — alas ! alas ! The dogwood boughs made whiteness up and down : Xi3Ctte lUooDwortb IRcesc 257 The daffodils were burning in the grass : And there were bees astir in lane and street, And scent of lilacs blowing tall and lush ; While hey, the wind, that pitched its voice so sweet, It seemed an angel talked behind each bush ! The west grew very golden, roofs turned black. I saw one star above the gables bare, The door flew open. Love, you had come back. I held my arms ; you found the old way there. In its old place you laid your yellow head. And at your kiss the mad March weather fled. BETRAYED. CHE is false, O Death, she is fair ! Let me hide my head on thy knee. Blind mine eyes, dull mine ears, O Death ! She hath broke my heart for me ! Give me a perfect dream ; Find me a rare, dim place ; But let not her voice come nigh, And keep out her face — her face 1 17 258 Xorc poems L. BLANCHE FEARING. WHERH ART THOU, DARUNG? AX/HERE art thou, darling? Dost thou lean Thy forehead from yon silver star ? While in the ether ocean vast Titanic suns go sweeping past Ivike ships with shrouds of fire ? Dost ween How I do stand and weep afar? Hast thou forgot the mighty love With which I circled thee below ? Do bright-haired angels, folding thee With their white pinions tenderly, Salute thee in thy rest above With deeper love than I could show ? As round a sun pale planets bum lu bright-revolving clusters, so Around thy forehead, precious one, Which was my life, my light, my sun, All hopc^ and purposes did turn. Circle and cluster, change and glow. Where art thou, darling ? I entreat Of sages, and they answer me : X. JGlancbc Jfcarinij 25^ "Beyond the purlieus of all time, In sempiternal spheres sublime Which lie at rest about God's feet, Somewhere he lives eternally." O blind abstraction ! Here I reel, And clutch the air, and strive for breath ! Oh, Somewhere is too near akin To Nowhere for my soul to ^vin A j^leam of hope ^vhicll back nii^ht feel Through the black gallery of death ! Ah, Somewhere out there in the night ! — Matl am T, that I know not where ! — vSoinewhere, vSomewhere ! — O (iod, be just ! Rememljer that I am but dust ! Strengthen mine eyelids for the light Of thy great mysteries laid bare ! Where art thou, darling ? Lo ! I hold My poor face to the dumb gray sky ; The downy pinions of the snow Strike soft against it as they go : Come, darling, on my forehead cold Lay thy soft fmger-tips, and I 2f)o Xovc pocnid Shall be content a little while ; For thoui^h upon my death-numb brow Thy hand fell lij;hter than the snow, My darlinJ,^ I should surely know That it were thine, and I could smile, — A grace I have forgotten now. Where art thou, darling ? Like a l:>ell Ringing most sweetly down the broad Abyss which gaps 'twixt Heaven and Time, I hear thy voice : a sweeter chime It taketh on, a loftier swell ; It whispers, *' Love, Somewhere with God ! " Oh, sweeter than the tuneful wave That creeps up singing from the sea, Sweeter than Hermes' chorded shell, Oh, richer than deep organ swell Through echoing transept, aisle, and nave,— " Somewhi ri- with Cod I wait for thee ! " FROM • JIIMAX I.DVK'S WF.AKNKSS." /^H ! human love doth underrun And overrun all human things ; When it is crushed, life reels and swounds, And gaspeth from a hundred wounds ; Earth staggers ; darkness blinds the sun As with a multitude of wings. %, :flSlancbe jfearing 2fn Love spins her magical cocoon About our souls, — and that 's our world. We think the earth rocks when we shake ; We think the stars clash when we break, On some vStill, stormless night in June, From Love's frail leaf about us curled. MISCELTANEOUS MISCELLANEOUS. WHEN THK PAI.K MOON. "\A7HKN the pale, pale moon arose last night, Its cold light fell on my silent floor, And I thought of a face so pure and white, That vanished in years that will come no more ! O pale, sweet face — sweet face ! I said. Come sit by the window still as of yore, O pale, sweet face, so dear — and dead ! — Come look from the moon on my silent floor. And a voice I heard — oh, sweet and dear ! — That hushed the stir of the rustling bough. From my window in heaven I lean, I hear. The moonlight I see on thy pale, pale brow — O pale, sweet face, — sweet face ! I said, 265 266 Xovc poems Come sit by the window evermore Look clown, dear eyes, so lou;^, long fled, Come look, from the moon on my silent floor. Silent, silent, forevermorc ! yohn Hugh McNaughton, W« TWO. A II, painful sweet ! how can I take it in ! That somewhere in the illimitable blue Of God's pure space, which men call Heaven, we two Again shall find each other, and begin The infinite life of love, a life akin To angels, — only angels never knew The ecstasy of blessedness that drew Us to each other, even in this world of sin. Yea, find each other ! the remotest star Of all the galaxies would hold in vain Our souls apart, that have been heretofore As closely interchangeable as are One mind and spirit. Oh, joy ! that aches to pain. To be together — we two — forevermorc ! Margaret y. Preston. ** Saje l50lm " 267 THREE KISSES OF FAREWELI,. •yHREE, only three, my darling, vSeparate, solemn, slow ; Not like the swift and joyous ones We used to know When we kissed because we loved each other vSimply to taste love's sweet. And lavished our kisses as the summer Lavishes heat. But as they kiss whose hearts are wrung, When hope and fear are spent. And nothing left to give, except A sacrament ! First of the three, my darling, Is sacred unto pain ; We have hurt each other often ; We shall again. When we pine because we miss each other, And do not understand How the written words are so mucn colder Than eye and hand. I kiss thee, dear, for all such pain Which we may give or take ; Buried, forgiven before it comes For our love's sake ! 268 Xovc poeme The second kiss, my tlarlinj^, Is full of joy's sweet thrill ; We have blessed each other always ; We always will. We shall reach until we feel each other, Past all of time and space ; We shall listen till we hear each other In ever}- place ; The earth is full of messengers, Which love sends to and fro ; I kiss thee, darling, for all joy Which we shall know. The last kiss, oh, my darling. My love — I cannot see Through my tears, as I remember What it may be. We may die and never see each other, Die with no time to give Any signs that our hearts are faithful To die as live. Token of what they will not see Who see our parting breath, This one last kiss, my darling, seals The seal of death ! '' Sa.ve Holm." /Bbarg Bsbles ^ownsenD 269 CREED. T BELIEVE if I should die, *^ And you should kiss my eyelids ^vhen I lie Cold, dead and dumb to all this world con- tains, The folded orbs would open at thy breath, And from its exile in the isles of death, Life would come gladly back along my veins. I believe if I were dead. And you upon my lifeless heart should tread, Not knowing what the poor clod chanced to be. It would find sudden pulse l)eneath the touch Of him it ever loved in life so nmch. And throb again, warm, tender, true to thee. I believe if on my grave, Hidden in woody deeps or by the wave, Your eyes should drop some warm tears of regret, From every salty seed of your dear grief Some fair, sweet blossom would leap into leaf, To prove death could not make my love for- get 270 Xorc pocma I believe if I should fade Into those mystic realms where light is made And you should lon.i; once more my face to see I would come forth upon the hills of night And gather stars, like fagots, till thy sight, Led by their beacon-blaze, fell full on me ! I believe my faith in thee, Strong as my life, so nobly placed to be, I would as soon expect to see the sun Fall like a dead king from his height sublime. His glory stricken from the throne of time. As thee unworth the worship thou hast won. I believe who hath not loved. Hath half the sweetness of his life unproved ; Like one, who with the grape within his grasp, Drops it witli all its crimson juice unpressed. And all its luscious sweetness left unguessed, Out from his careless and unheeding clasp. I believe love, pure and true. Is to the soul a sweet, immortal dew That gems life's petals in its hours of dusk — The waiting angels see and recognize The rich crown-jewel, love, of Paradise, When life falls from us like a withered husk, Mary Ashley Townsend. TaaUl liaaUacc f3arneB 271 JIMMY'S WOOING. ITHE wind came blowing out of the West, As Jimmy mowed the hay ; The wind came blowing out of the West ; It stirred the beech tree out of rest, And rocked the bluebird up in his nest, As Jimmy mowed the hay. The swallows skimmed along the ground. As Jimmy mowed the hay ; The swallows skimmed along the ground, And rustling leaves made a ])leasant sound, Like children babbling all around, As Jimmy mowed the hay. Milly came with her bucket by, As Jimmy mowed the hay ; Milly came with her bucket by, With wee light foot so trim and sly, And sunburnt cheek and laughing eye, As Jimmy mowed the hay. A rustic Ruth in linsey gown ; — And Jimmy mowed the hay ; A rustic Ruth in linsey gown, He watched the soft cheeks' changing brown, 272 Xove poema And the long dark lash that trembled down Whenever he looked that way. And Milly's heart was good as gold, As Jimmy mowed the hay ; Oh Milly's heart was good as gold, But Jimmy thought her shy and cold, And more than that he had never told, As Jimmy mowed the hay. The wind came gathering up his bands, As Jimmy mowed the hay ; The win( out, Over the ruined hay ; And when the sun came laughing out, Milly had ceased to pet and pout, And twittering birds began to shout As if for a Wedding Day. IVi/l U \jllace Harney. THF FIjr.HT I'-ROM THH CON'VKNT. T SEE the slar-Hghts quiver Like jewels in the river ; The bank is hid with sedge ; What if I slip the edge ? I thought I knew the way By night as well as day. How soon a lover goes astray ! The place is somewhat lonely — I mean, for just one only, I brought the boat ashore An hour ago, or more. Well, I will sit and wait ; She fixed the hour at eight. Good angels ! bring her not too late ! 18 274 XOVC pOCIIld To-morrow's tongues that name her Will hardly dare to blame her ; A lily still is white Throuj^h all the dark of night ; The morning sun shall show A bride as pure as snow, Whose wedding all the world shall know. O God ! that I should gain lur ! But what can so detain her ? Hist! yelping cur ! that bark Will fright her in the dark. What I striking nine ! that 's fast ! Was some one walking past ? Oho ! .so thou art come at last ! Now, why thy long del.iying? Alack ! thy beads and praying ! If thou, a saint, dost hope To kneel and kiss the Pope, Then I, a sinner, know \VTiere sweeter kisses grow — Nay, now, just once before we go I Nay, twice, and by Saint Peter, The second was the sweeter ! Quickly now, and in the boat, Good-by, old tower and moat ! May mildew from the sky Ulilliam t)cnrg Dcnable 275 Drop blindness on the eye That looks to watch as you ^o by ! O saintly maid ! I told thee No convent walls should hold thee, Look ! yonder conies the moon ! We started not too soon, See how we pass the mill ! What ! is the nij^ht too chill ? Then I must fold thee closer still ! Theodore Tilton. STMMKR I.oVI-:. T KNOW 't is late hut let me sUiy, For nij^ht is tenderer than day ; Sweet love, dear love, I cannot >ve the moon, — 'Twill veil her radiant beauty soon ; 876 Xove pocn\0 And look ! a meteor's drcainy light Streams mystic through the solemn night. Ah, life glides swift, like that still fire, How soon our gleams of joy expire. Who can Ije sure the present kiss Is not the last ? Make all of this. I know 'tis late, dear love, I know, Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so. It cannot l>e the stealthy day That tunis the orient darkness gray ; Heardst thou? I thought or feare- RIDING-HOOD. \A/ONDERING maiden, so puzzled and fair. Why dost thou murmur and ponder aiW staxe? '* \Vliy are thy eyelids so open and wild ? " Only the better to see with, my child ! Only the better and clearer to view Cheeks that arc rosy, and eyes that are blue. jfrancla JGcct "fcartc 279 Dost thou still wonder, and ask why these arms Kill thy soft bosom with tender alarms ? vSwaying so wickedly — are they misplaced, Clasping or shielding some delicate waist ? Hands whose coarse sinews may fdl you with fear Only the better protect you, my dear ! Little Red Riding-IIood, when in the street Why do I press your small hand when we meet? Why when you timidly offered your cheek, Why did I sigh, and why did n't I speak ? Why, well, you see — if the truth must appear — I 'm not your grandmother, Riding-IIood, Dear! Francis; Bnf Jfarft . SONG. I IKIv a fettered boat that pants anil pulls, And struggles to be free. When the wind is up, an' life has grown ! There is no song of bird or bee That for your silence can atone ; And since I go my ways alone, There is no light on land or sea. /BbiU JB. C. IRuDe 28x The fragrant messengers of June — White jessamine and brier- rose — Breathe through the golden afternoon On every wind that comes and goes : I care for no sweet breath that blows, The whole world being out of tune. What is an idle word to make Such shadow where was sun before ? Wlien others sleep, I watch and wake, And restless pace my chamber-floor : Now, that you come to me no more, O love, it seems my heart must break. And these are days ! How shall it be If years must drag the lengthening chain Of sad and bitter memory ? IIow shall we live our lives again, With all its sweetness spent in vain? O love, come back once more to me ! J/ary Elizabeth Blake. SI, DO, KK. SHE 's only a singin' a tune that he taught 'er. Is Evelyn Lee, the poor dairyman's daughter. Who taught 'er? you ask. Why! the singin' school master. tS2 Xcpc pocnw WTio always ;iir, the dairyman's daughter. She goes in her t.Lsk w ith the first |)eep o' day, And whatever her thoughts may Ik*, keeps singin' away — While changin' the milk into cheese, curd, and whey. They say that she 's lonesome ; l>e that as it may, I.,<'t her sing if she wants to! Sol, fa, me, si, do, re ! Where 's the master, I wonder? He 's gone, I SUp|)OSC. He has n't? \Miat keeps liim ? Look, look! there he goes ! And sure as I live, ihirr 's the dairyman's daughter, A simnterin' out for a p.i;i o' I'resh water, /Ibar\2 Bnujc Be Ucrc 283 She sees him, and runs for the house, but he 's caught her Antl kissetl her — and she — well, he that as it may , They '11 be marrietl to-eautiful Ixrquest, Conveyed in voiceless reverence, deep and still, As angels give their thoughts and pravers to God ! Next, I would yield, in service freely matlc, Ail of my days anrl years thy needs to fdl ; To l)ear, or heavy cross, or thoniy ro Clarh 2S5 Shall I sacrifice to Eros my glorious woman's r harms, Ami ])urn life's sweetest incense l>efore his sacretl shrine, With the livin>^ fire that flashes from thine eyes into mine ? I )h, when shall I feel thy kisses rain down upon my face, As a queen of love and beauty, I lie in thine embrace. Melting, melting, melting, as a woman only can When she 's a willing captive in the conquering arms of man, As he towers, a go«l al»ove her?— and to yield is not defeat, '.r love can own no victor if love with love shall meet ! I still have regal splentlor, I still have queenly j>ower, \nd more than all, unfaded is woman's glorious dower. Hut what care I for pleasure ? What '- ^'tuty to me now, ^ince Love no l<»nger places his crown np«.n my brow ? I have tasted its elixir, its fire has through me flashed, Hut when the wine gloweT* ^"^ o"^<^ ^o feci the bliss That thrills throuj^h all my lHri!i>{ whene'er I meet his kiss. The tempest wildly ra>{es, my hair is wet with rain, But it does not still my longing, or cool my Imniin)^' pain. l"or Nature's storms are notliing to the raging of my soul When it hums with jealous fren/.y beyond a queen's control. I fear not p;il'- M.f .vi.- »ii .t h.n.rhfv Koman dame, My lion of the cauty, I fear no ("irecian maid ; The world holds not the woman of whom I am afraid. But I 'm jealous of the rapture I taste*! in his kiss, And I would not that another should share with me that bliss. No joy would I deny hitn, let him cull it where he will, So mistress of his bosom is Cleopatra still, — So that he feels forever, when he Love's nectar sips, 'T was sweeter, sweeter, sweeter, when tasted on my lips ; yftarg JBagarO Clarh 257 So that all other kisses, since he has drawn in mine, Shall })G unto my loved like "water after wine." Awhile let Ciesar fancy Octavia's pallid rluu-ms Can hold Rome's i)rou(lest consul a captive from these arms. Her cold embrace but heightens the memory of mine, And for my warm caresses he in her arms shall pine, 'T was not for love he souj^ht her, but for her princely dower ; She brought him Cicsar's friendship, she brought him kingly power, I should have bid him take lur, had he my counsel sought, — I 've but to smile ujxin him and all her charms are naught ; Tor I would scorn to hold him by but a single hair Save his own longing for me when I 'm no longer there ; And I will sliDW you, Roman, that for one kiss from me, Wife, fame, and even honor, to him shall noth- ing be ! Throw wide the window, Isis, fling perfumes o'er me now. 288 XOPC pOCIH: And bind the lottis-blosM^ins aj»ain upon my brow. The rain has ctasetl its wi-c|)in>4, tht- tlrivinjf stonn is past, And cahn arc Nature's pulseM that lately l)eat so fast. Gone is my jealous frenzy, and Ivros reigns serene. The only j;o. m t\»i\ j.ui.i and ton^ic, With them shall Cleopatra an 1 feel its j^entle languor upon me slowly creep. Oh, let me cheat my senses ^^'ith dreams of future bliss, In fancy feel his presence, in fancy tiiste his kiss, In fancy nestle closely a^^ainst his throbbin>( heart, And throw my arms aroutul him, ut) more, no more to part. Hush ! hush ! his spirit's ])inions are rustlinj^ in my ears ; He comes uikdu tlie temj>est to calm my jealous fears ; He comes upon the tempest, in ;iii->u< r to mv call,— Wife, fame, and even honor, for nu- m- ji.ivi s them all ; And royally I '11 welcome my lover to my side, I have won him, I have won him, from Ciusar and his liride ! Mill V r.av.itJ ( lark. THROUGH TJN-: T KICKS. T !•■ 1 had known whose face I' d see Above the hed^e beside the rose ; If I had known whose voice I 'd hear Make music where the wind flower l>lows, I had not come ; I had not come. 19 290 Xovc pocme If I bad known his deep " I love ** Could make her face so fair to see ; If I had known her shy " And I " Could make hitn stoop so tenderly, — I had not come ; I had not come. But what knew I ? The summer breeze Stopped not to cry " Ik-ware ! beware ! " The vine-wreaths droppinj^ from the trees Cauj^ht not my sleeve with soft ** Take care .' And so I came ; and so I came. The roses that his hands have plucked Are sweet to me, are death to me ; Between them, as throuj^h livinj; flowers I pass, I chitch them, crush them, see! The bloom for lier, the thoni for me. The brooks leap up with many a song — I once could sing, like them could sing ; They fall ; 't is like a sigh among A world of joy and blossoming. — Why all 291 But oh ! 'twixt ine and you bright heaven, Two bendin;^ heads pass darkling by ; And loud above the bird and brook, I hear a low " I love " *• And I," ,\iid hide my face, Ah, God ! why? why? .hina Kathariiw Gnett Rohlfs. THK I'AIR COPYHOLDKR. VON window frames her like a saint Within some old cathedral rare ; Perhaps she is not quite so quaint. And yet I think her fnll as fair ! All day she scans the written lines, Until the last dull proof is ended, Calling the various words and signs By which each error may be mended. An interceding angel, she, 'Twixt j)rinling-press and author's pen — i*erhaps she M find some faults in me ! Say, maiden, can you not read lu.nf I'orgive me, gentle girl, but while You bravely work I 've been reflecting, That somewhere in this world of guile, There 's some one's life needs your correcting. 292 XOVC pOClUB Methinks *t is time you learned this art, Which makes the world's wide page read better ; For love needs provinj;, heart with heart. As well as type with \mtteii letter. Charlts If. Crandall. ALONE. 1 MISS you, my darling, my darling, The embers bum low on the hearth : And still is the stir of the househokl, And hushed is the voice of its mirth ; The rain splashes fast on the terrace, The wind past the lattices moans, The midnight chimes out from the Minster, And I am alone. I want you, my darling, my darling, I 'm tired with care and with fret ; I would nestle in silence beside you, And all but your presence forget, In the hush of the happiness given To those who through trusting have grown To the fulness of love in contentment : But I am alone. 5obn JiSogle O'TRcillg 293 I call you, my darling, my darling ! My voice echoes back on the heart ; I stretch my arms to you iu longing, And lo ! they fall empty apart ; I whisper the sweet words you taught me, The words that we only have known. Till the blank of the dumb air is bitter, For I am alone. I need you, my darling, my darling ! With its yearnings my very heart aches ; The load that divides us weighs harder ; I shrink from the jar that it makes, Old sorrows rise up to beset me ; Old doubts make my spirit their own. Oh, come through the darkness and save me, For I am alone ! Robert y. Burdette. JACQUEMINOTS. I MAY not speak in words, dear, but let my words be flowers, To tell their crimson secret in leaves of crim- son fire ; They plead for smiles and kisses as summer fields for showers, And every purple veinlet thrills with exquisite desire. 294 Xovc pocma O let me see the glance, dear, the glance of soft confession You give my amorous roses for the tciulcr hope they prove ; And press their sweet leaves back, love, to drink their deeper passion, For the sweetest, wildest perfume is the whisper of my love. My roses, tell her, pleading all the fondness and the sighing All the longing of a heart that reaches, thirst- ing for its bliss ; And tell her, tell her, roses, that my lips and eyes are dying I'or the melting of her love-look and the rap- ture of lur kiss /oAn lioyU (TReilly. ATAXANTA. \A/HKN spring grows old and sleepy winds Set from the south with odors sweet, I see my love, in green, cool groves. Speed down dusk aisles with shining feet. She throws a kiss and bids me run. In whispers sweet as roses' breath ; I know I cannot win the race, And at the end, I know, is death. tbclcn Oras Cone 295 But joyfully I bare my limbs, Anoiut me with the tropic breeze, And feel through every sinew run The vigor of Ilippomenes. O race of love ! we all have run Thy happy course through groves of spring, And cared not, when at last we lost. For life or death or any thing ! .Ifauricc I\ Thompson. MY AIN, A IN LASS. I 'M fain f«>r toys o' I'ortune's whyles ; I ha 'e no hate for ranks and styles ; But lairdship o' the braw blue isles I 'd e'en let pass For ane o' her fine treinblin' smiles — ^ly ain, ain lass ! I aiblins dream on days to be, An' feel my heart leap out a wee ; But friendly Fate can grant nae fee Could e'en surpass Her e'en sae dark wi' luve to me — My ain, ain lass ! Whyles, gray and ghaisily, by me stand Auld memories in an eerie band ; 2(/) %ovc pocme But swift as prints on sliding sand Sic phantoms pass ; If sac I hau'l her wann, wann hand — My ain, ain lass ! The past she sweetens through and through, And, fast as heaven, the future too ; For, surely as her dear soul's due. They Ml let nie pass ! Wi 'out me there what wad she do, My ain, ain lass? Iltltft dray Ctmt: KKHRUARY. M KWLY wedded, and liappy (|uite, Careless alike of wind and weather. Two wee lurds from a merry flight, Swing in the tree-top, sing together : Love to them, in the wintry hour, Summer and sunshine, bud and flower : So, l)eloveer nie, Love of long ago ? Yes, we keep the fon«l oath sworn A thousatid years ago ! Charles Godfrey Leland. THI-: i:i.ixiK. /^H brew me a potion strong and gooey, Cbarlottc jfi^he asatc3 303 uncai.kndarf:d. /^XLY a year have thou and I Ijcen friends, If time be counted on our calendar ; Away with that ! what it begins, it ends ; From all eternity, close souls we were, And shall be, so God grant forevermore, I'^or two were never faster bound before. "With God, one day is as a thousand years ; " Oh, Love is mighty, God's most blessed name The more that man his Maker's image bears, The more must months and iL-ons be the same. Ivove knows not time, — it is eternity. And not a year, that I count out with thee ! Charlotte Fiske Bates. TWO. H K loved two women ; one whost* soul wiii clean As any lily growing on its stalk ; And one with glowing eyes and sensuous mien, Who fired him with her beautv and her talk. 304 Xcvc pocniB The pure one lovetl him to the day he died, liut when he die*! his dearest friend she we*!. The wanton from the wiKl world drew ayidc, And no man saw her face till she was dead. yafHt'S litrry HcnseL I Ml ii!.-^uT'8 CAIX. jl Jv ntiis aNN.iy .n r.iriy \\^\\\. * * Amid the tin^HnK frost, And in the mist that sweejw her si>{ht His form is qtiirkly ln*;t. He crosses now iiu- .sm-m stuajii. Now skirls the forest drear, WTiose thickets cast a silver )^leam TroTn Irafa^r thin and ««erxr. I^onvj i.iii^ iiic Mi.Kiitw ill iii> I'.ick, (The mornin)>j springs l>cfore) ; His thoughts fly down the sluulowed track. And liannt hi** rotta^e-iloor. Miles j^oiu . mH.n a hill-top hare He draws a sudden rein : His name, her voice, rinj^s on the nir When all is still a>;ain ! 3amc6 JBcnjanun Ixcnyon 3'j5 She sits at home, she speaks no word, Hut deeply calls her heart ; Ami this il is that he has heanl, Though they are miles apart. Edith M. Thomas. IF IT wi:ki:. I OVE, that tliou lov'st me not, too well I know ; Vet shoulilst thou lcK)k lo-iUKht on my dead face I'or the last tiTiK- <>n i-.nth. in.l tlurr ^houldst trace The silent meant ii>; oi a jum\_\ woi-, WouMst thou not feel a J)an>; that it were so? Would not rejjret within thy heart fnid jilace, That thou didst stay tlje guerdon and the grace Thy lover so Inrsought thee to bestow ? Wouldst thou not feel a want unknown l>cfore? A something gone familiar grown s k.hs u ud Of the stately heatl to ftoim- j i- < r-hy — What life in the f(lance of her velvet eye ! Mark how her iHXiom l>eneath it* Jioft lace Rises and fall* — you can »oc no trace ( >f the icy finj^er that bars the breath. Of the touch of that monster we know as I >eath. And yel in sjjile of that brilliant smile. Of each coquettish anict3 Clt?mcr 307 For there by a dark rock, crouching low, This watchinj^ woman received her death-blow. When her hner passed by vsilh his ardent vow Of love to another ! There they are now ! That captain yonder— the lady 's in blue — Dancing the lanciers ! In life it is true That the world wags on no matter who dies — Victory's drums drown the stricken one's cries. But I tell you, friend, ere this dreamy morn, When that woman died a de\'il was Iwni, And yonder it sits in that velvet chair, To weave for the souls of mankind n snare Out of her rage and her black desjMUr ! J£itu Lie Harden Brook. WHKN I AM DKAD. » \A/nivN I am dead what man will say : •* She used to snnle in such a way ; lUr e>es were dark and strangely bright As are tlie solemn stars of night"? What man will siiy : *' Ilcr voice's tone W;is like the far-off winds that moan Thruuj^h forest trees? O voice and eyes, That brought me dreams of paradise ! " 3oS Xovc pocnie I think no man, when I am dead. Will say these things that thou hast said Unto my living face. And all the bloom and all the grace Will then be buried out of sight. Thought of no more, forgotten quite, As are the Howers of other days, And songs of birds who sang their praise, As are the flowers of other springs. I'pon whose grave the wild bird sings. O flowers and songs of other days ! What sweet new voice will sing your jM.n^r What choir will celebrate the spring When love and I went wandering Between the glades, beneath the trees, Or by the calm, blue summer seius, And thought no thing beneath tin- skiis So lovely as each other's eyes? « When we are dead, when lx)th are gone, Buried in separate graves alone, Perchance the restless salt sea wave Will .sing its dirge al)Ove my grave ; While you, on some far foreign .shore. May hear the distant ocean roar, .\nd long at last your arms to twine About this cold, dead form of mine. XUaltcr XcarncO 309 When we are dead, when both are cold, When love is as a tale that 's told, Will not our lips, so still and mute, Still lonj; for love's untasted fruit ? Though lands and seas hold us apart, Will not my dead heart reach thy heart, And call to thee from farthest space, Until we Ixjth stand face to face ? Ella Pietz Clymer. H /oil TRIOI.KT. 1;R lips were so near That— what else could I do ? You '11 he angry, I fear. Rut her lips were so near — Well, I can't make it rk;ir. Or explain it to y But— her lips were s« That— what else could I c pocni5 The joy of love's sweetness Is lost with completeness, 'T is better to dream than to be. .V. Weir Mitchell. IP 1 HAD KNOWN. CHIC lay with lilies on her pulseless breast, Dim, woodland lilies wet with silver dew. " Dear heart," he Siiid, " in life she loved them best ! Vox her sweet sake the fraj^Tant buds were blown, For her in April-haunted nooks they >;rew — , . . Oh, love, if I had known ! "If I had known, when yesterday we walked, Her hand in mine, along the hedges fair, That even then the while we careless talked, The shadow of a coming loss was there, And death's cold hand was leading us apart — If I had known the bud she would not wear Nor touch, lest she should mar that perfect grace. To-day would press its dewy, golden heart Against her poor, dead face ! *' Last 3'ear, when April woods were all aglow, She said, ' if it be death to fall asleep,' jeiaine OooDalc 3" And, bending, kissed the lilies sweet and wet, ' A dreamless sleep from which none wake to weep ! — When I lie down to that long slumber, dear, And life for you has dark and empty grown, Come to me then, and though I shall not hear, Lay your sad lips to mine, and whisper low : If I had kno7vn ! Oh, loir, if I had ktiown ! That you 7could not forget.' " Adelaide J). Kollston. SYI.VIA AND Tin-: Cm'.STNTT 1*I.()\VKR. DROUD young head so lightly lifted, Crowned with waves of gleaming hair, P^yes that flash with tell-tale mischief, — Fearless eyes to do and dare ; Cheeks that start to sudden flame, Wilful mouth that none can tame. Nodding plumes of cream-while blossom, Crisp-cut leaves from greener shade, Laid against the beating bosom, 'Mid the rippling tresses laid, Lo, in beauty's fullest dower, Sylvia wears the chestnut flower ! Dark against you forest margin Richard found a chestnut tall. 312 %ovc pocni^ Clambered through the leafy branches, Broke the top and crown of all ; This he brought, and, bolder now, Gave to her the blossomed bough. So she took and shyly wears it, — vSweet and stately where she stands ; vSubtle perfume floating round her, Drooping tassels in her hands ; I.ike a I)r\'ad, fair and free Wandering from lur chestiiut-lrtt-. Nay, the human passion enters, — Fateful that for good or ill ! I'or its l)cauty half she wears it, Half for reasons sweeter still ; Flushed with girlhood's conscious ])ower, Sylvia wears the chestnut flower ! Summer goes with startled footsteps, Autumn strews the yellowing leaves, Lengths of bloom lie black and shrivelled, Where the parting robin grieves ; Gone the maiden's careless glee, — Buried 'neath the chestnut tree. Drooping head and cheek grown paler, Wistful mouth and heavy eyes, Still repeat the same old story, — Xouise ImoGen Ouinc^ 313 How the light of Summer dies ; Both are vanished, gift aud giver, — Once a year and once forever. Years have passed with bloom and beauty, — Bloom and love are torn apart ; Still a woman, sad and lonely, Keeps one summer in her heart. When, in boyhood's reckless glee, Richard climbed the chestnut tree. Still through life's unresting fever. Dark with passion, wrung with woe. Dreams a man, in stiller moments, Oi one summer, long ago. When, in girlhood's freshest hour, Sylvia wore the chestnut flower. Klaiuc (hwdale. THK FAI.COX AND TIIK IJLV. IVA Y darling rides across the sand ; The wind is wann, the wind is liland ; It lifts the pony's glossy mane, So light and proud she holds his rein. Not easier bears a leaf the dew Than she her scarf and kirtle blue, And on her wTist in bells and jess The falcon perched for idleness. 314 Xorc pocme That merry bird, O would I were ! In joy with her, in joy with her ! My darling comes not from the bower, The lowered jx^nnou sweeps the tower ; The larches droop iheir tassels low, And IkIIs are marshalled to and fro. My heart, my heart l>eholds her now, The pallid hands, the saintly brow. The lily with chill death oppressed Against the summer of her breast : That lily pale, () would I were ! In peace with her, in peace with her ! Louise Imogen Guiney, SONG FROM "inUN." pvROOP and darken, eyes of blue, Ix)vc hath only tears fc»r you, Love, l)egone, and lightly flee. Since thy smiles are not for me Lips of scarlet, quench your fire. Torches vain of love's desire, Love, begone, and lightly flee. Since thy sweets are not for me. jElicn Cborncv>crott'jfo\vler 315 Sink, ye swelling breasts of snow, Baby fingers ne'er to know, Love, begone, and lightly flee, Since thy fruits are not for me. Harry Lyman Koopman. " FOR HHTTKK FOR WoRSK." QrOTlI he: " Swcttht-arl, thou art young and fair, And thy story has just t>egun ; But I am as old As a tale tliat 's told, And the days of my youth are done." " O'er ruins olden the clinging moss Doth a mantle of velvet spread : vShall the climbing flower He more to the tower Than I to my I^vc ? " she said. yuoth he: "Sweetheart, thou luLst lands and gold, And thou knowest nuiii. " The brooklet nninnurs its sweetest lay« As it makes for the rocks ahead : Shall the streamlet's sonjf He more brave anear." •' The stxirs ne'er spanj^le the sapphire sky Till the bri;^htness of day has fle;ht Thau I to my Love?" she said. Quoth he : '* Sweetheart, who art young and fair. Will thy wonderful love to me Through sorrow or shame Be always the same ? " Jfraiih E. "t)olli&aij 317 " Nay, it rather will grow," said she. Again he cried : "Will it last, Sweetheart, Till thy lover lies cold and dead. And thy latest breath Has been hushed in death? " " Aye, longtr tlian that," she said. Ellvn Th orncycro/t- luni 'I ft: HOW STRANr.K IT WII.I. UK! llOW strange it will Ik-, love — how strange, when we two Shall l)C what all lovers l>cconie : Von frigid and faithless, I cold and uuiruc — Vou thoughtless of nie, and I careless of you — Our pet names grown rusty with nothing to do- Love's bright web unravelled, and rtiit, and worn through. And life's loom left empty— ah, hum ! Ah, me, I low strange it will be! How strange it will l>e when the witchery goes. Which makes me seem lovely to-aK 319 Dear love, if our hearts^*? grow torpid and old, As many others have done ; If we let our love perish with hunger and cold, If we dim all life's diamonds, and tarnish its gold, If we choose to live wretched, and die uncon- soled, T will be strangest c>f all things that ever were told As happening under the sun ! Ah, me. How strange it rivV/ be ! Fran I- /:. Hollidav. UNlDl-NTUn-.n i lTNII)KNTIl«II':i). MY KINt;. yjOV are all that I have l«> live for, * All that I want to love, All that the whole world hoMs for me, Of faith in a world al>ove. You came — and it seemed too mighty I'or my human heart to hold, It seemed in its sacred glory Like a glimpse through the gates of gold, Like a life in the primal Kdeu, Created and fonned anew — This charm of a perfect manhood That I realize in you. « ".(xl created me a woman With a nature just as true As the hlue eternal ocean, As the heavens over you. And you are mine till your Maker calls you, Your soul and your body, Sweet 1 323 324 Xove poc niy Your breath and the whole of your iK'ing, From your kinj'ly head to your feet ; Your eyes anelong to me ! •antDcntificO 325 YOU KISSKD MK. YOU kissed me ! My head ha«l eak I'liLshed iij) in a flame from my heart to my cheek. Your arms held me fiust. C), your .tfuv w. r. «> bold! Heart Ix-at against heart in their ]),issi()ii.iie fold ; Your glances seemed drawing my soul through my eyes As the sun draws the mist from the seas to the skies ; And your lips clung to mine till I prayed in my bliss, They might never unclasp from that rapturous kiss. You kissed me ! My heart and my breath and my will, In delicious joy for the moment stooe again ? SCORNKD. C CORNKD by a man that is weaker than I ! Down at my feet in the dust he shall lie, Down at my feet in the dust he shall pray I'or the love that he values so lightlv to-dav. •dnlDcntifieD 327 He shall turn from the maiden so rosy and fair, He shall tire of the pale golden hue of her hair, He shall turn from the eyes that are sunny and blue To the heart that he deems so forgiving and true. And then he shall learn when he asks for a bride That a true woman's love is outweighed by her pride, And when j)ale with anguish he kneels at my feet. He shall read in my eyes that revenge is most sweet. I will teach him to play with a rattlesnake's tongue, I will teach him the tiger to rob of its young, I will teach him 't were better a man were unborn If the love of a proud-hearted woman he scorn. DO YOU. "PvO you feel sometimes in your dreaming The weight of my head on your breast ? Or the velvety touch of my kisses On your lips in passion impressed ? 328 %ovc pocm6 Do you hold me soinetinies in your dreaming In a rapturous clasp on your heart ? Or cry in the depth of your yearning " 'T is cruel to keep us apart ? " Does my hand with its lingering caresses Touch yours with its magic again, Till starting you wake from the pressure To find that your dreaming was vain ? Though light as the fall of arose leaf, You M feel the sweet weight of my kiss. And starting you 'd waken to kiss me, And taste love's ineffable bliss? Ah ! never again shall I see you. Nor look in your proud, grand face. Ne'er feel the sweet balm of your kisses. Or thrill to your tender embrace. For our lives lie asunder forever. More wide than the cruel sea. But I love you ! I love j'ou ! I love you ! And in dreams I will linger with thee. laniDentlfieD 329 JACK AND I. T WAS SO tired of Jack, poor boy, And Jack was tired of me ; Most longed for sweets will soonest cloy ; Fate had been kind, and we, Two foolish spendthrift hearts, made waste Of life's best gifts with eager haste. Oh ! tired we were. Time seems so long When every thing goes well ! The walls of home rose grim and strong ; Like prisoners in a cell We clanked our marriage chains, and pined For freedom we had left behind. Tired, tired of love and peace were we, Of every day's calm bliss ! We had no goal to win, since he Was mine and I was his ; And so we sighed in mute despair, And wished each other anywhere. But sorrow came one day — the pain Of death's dark, awful fear ; Oh, then our hearts beat warm again ; Then each to each was dear. It seemed that life could nothing lack, While Jack had me and I had Jack ! 330 Xove poema PLATONIC. I KNEW il the first of the summer — I knew it the same at the end — That you and your love were plighted, But could n't you be my friend ? Could n't we sit in the twilij^ht, Could n't we talk on the shore, With only a pleasant friendship To bind us, and nothing more ? There was never a word of nonsense Spoken between us two, Though we lingered oft in the garden Till the roses were wet with dew. We touched on a thousand subjects — The moon, and the stars above, But our talks were tinctured with science, With never a hint of love. " A wholly platouic friendship," You said I had proved to you, " Could bind a man and a woman The whole long season through, With never a hint of folly, Though both are in their youth." What would you have said, my lady, If you had known the truth? •dni^cntificD 331 Had I done what my mad heart prompted — Gone down on my knees to you, And told you my passionate story, There in the dusk and dew ; My burning, burdensome story. Hidden and hushed so long ; My story of hopeless loving — Say, would you have thought it wrong ? But I fought with my heart, and conquered — I hid my wound from sight ; You were going away in the morning, And I said a calm good-night. But now, when I sit in the twilight, Or when I walk by the sea. That friendship, quite " platonic," Comes surging over me. And a passionate longing fills me, For the roses, the dusk, and the dew — For the beautiful summer vanished — For the moonlit talks — and you. HER LAST WORDS. MO ! let me alone — 't is better so, My way and yours are widely far apart. Why should you stop to grieve about my woe ? And why should I not step across your heart? A man's heart is a poor thing at the best, And yours is no whit better than the rest. 332 Xovc pocmo I loved you once ! Ah, yes ! Perhaps, I did. Women are curious things, you know, and strange, And hard to understand, and then besides, The key of her soul's music oft doth change, And so — ah ! do not look at me that way ! I loved you once, but that was yesterday ! Sometimes a careless word doth rankle deep — So deep that it can change a heart like this, And blot out all the long sweet throbbing hours That went before, crowned gold with rai> turous bliss ; So deep that it can blot out hours divine, And make a heart as hard and cold as mine. Nay, do not speak. I never can forget ; So let us say good-by, and go our ways. Mayhap the pansies will start from the dust Of our past days — the slumbrous, happy days When I was trusting, and life knew no grief. But blossomed with my clinging, sweet belief. Good-by ! Good-by ! Part of my life you take. Its fairest part. Nay, do not touch my lips. Once they were yours, but now, oh, my lost love ! I would not have you touch my finger tips, And saying this I feel no chill of pain, I cannot even weep above my slain. TIlniDentifleD 333 If God cares aught for women who have loved And worshipped idols false, I trust he will Keep us so far apart that never more Our paths may cross. Why are you standing still ? Good-by, I say. This is the day's dim close ; Our love is no more worth than last year's rose. 1.0NGINGS. 1 F I could hold your hands to-night, Just for a little while, and know That only I, of all the world. Possessed them so. A slender shape in that old chair, If I could see you here to-night, Between me and the twilight pale — So light and frail. Your cool white dress, its folding lost In one broad sweep of shadow gray ; Your weary head just drooped aside, That sweet old way. Bowed like a flower-cup dashed with rain, The darkness crossing half your face, And just the glimmer of a smile For one to trace. 334 Xove pocme If I could sec your eyes that reach Far out into the farthest sky, AVhere past the trail of dying suns, The old years lie. Or touch your silent lips to-night, And steal the sadness from their smile, And find the last kiss they liave kept This weary while ! If it could be — Oh, all in vain The restless trouble of my soul Sets, as the great tides of the moon, Toward your control ! In vain the longings of the lips. The eye's desire, and the pain ; The hunger of the heart — O love. Is it in vain ? LAST NIGHT. f AST night, within the little curtained room, Wliere the gay music sounded faintly clear. And silver lights came stealing through the gloom, You told the tale that women love to hear ; You told it well, with finn hands clasping mine, And deep eyes glowing with a tender light. Mere acting? But your prayer was half divine Last night, last night. lIlniDcntifleD 335 Ah, you had much to oflfer ; wealth enough To gild the future, and a path of ease For one whose way is somewhat dark and rough ; New friends — life calm as summer seas And something (was it love ?) to keep us true And make us precious in each other's sight. Ah, then, indeed, my heart's resolve I knew, Last night, last night. Let the world go, with all its dross and pelf! Only for one, like Portia, could I say : " I would be trebled twenty times myself" ; Only for one, and he is far away ; His voice came back to me, distinct and dear, And thrilled me with the pain of lost delight ; The present faded, but the past was clear, Last night, last night. If others answered as I answered then, We would hear less, perchance, of blighted lives ; There would be truer women, nobler men, And fewer dreary homes and faithless wives ; Because I could not give you all my best, I gave you nothing. Judge me — was I right? You may thank heaven that I stood the test Last night, last night. 336 Xove poem0 [FK. '\A7E meet and part ; the world is wide " \Ve journey onward side by side A little way, and then aj^ain Our paths diverge ; a little pain, A silent yearning of the heart For what had grown of life a part, A feeling of somewhat bereft, A closer clasp on what is left, A shadow passing o'er the sun. Then gone, and light again has come. We meet and part, and then forget, And life holds blessings for us yet. WHO SHAI.L GO FIRST? AA/HO shall go first to the shadowy land ^^ My love or I? Whose will it be in grief to stand And press the cold, unanswering hand, Wipe from the brow the dew of death, And catch the softly fluttering breath, Breathe the loved name nor hear reply, In anguish watch the glazing eye — His or mine? IHniOcntlfieD 337 Which shall bend over the wounded sod, My love or I ? Commending the precious soul to God, Till the doleful fall of the muffled clod Startles the mind to a consciousness Of its bitter anguish and life-distress. Dropping the pall o'er the love-lit past With a mournful murmur, ** The last, the last " — My love or I ? Which shall return to the desolate home, My love or I ? And list for a step that shall never come, And hark for a voice that nmst still be dumb, While the half-stunned vSenses wander back To the cheerless life and thorny track, Where the silent room and the vacant chair Have memories sweet and hard to bear — My love or I ? Ah, then, perchance, to that mourner there. My love or I ! Wrestling with anguish and deep despair. An angel shall come through the gates of prayer. And the burning eyes shall cease to weep, And the sobs melt down in a sea of sleep, While fancy, freed from the chains of day, Through the shadowy dreamland floats away — My love or I? 338 Xore poems And then, niethinks, on that boundary land, My love and I ! The mourned and the mourner toj^ether shall stand, Or walk by those rivers of shining san' blast at which I cower, Yet smiling still, to know how brief the hour; 342 Xove poems Keeping within thy radiant, love-lit home, Some glad surprise to whisper when I com< 'T is but a breath till I the door shall win And thy dear hands will softly draw me in. THB END. INDEX OF SUBJECTS. Ajbsence. page Absence Vol. i, 200 All Hours Not Spent i. 193 From " Distance " 11. 126 " " The Rightful Heir " . . . . i. 162 " " The Two Gentlemen of Verona " , i. 11 My Nannie 's Awa' i. 52 The Heart's Call 11. 304 "When, Dearest i- 31 Wifie, Come Hame 3- I35 Age and IvOVe. Ah, Sweet i. 241 love's Autumn ir. 85 Ye Needna' Be Courtin' i- I37 Anticipation. Across the Crimson Clover Seas . . . \r. 238 Beloved, My Beloved i- I79 Cleopatra Dying 11. 148 Foreshadowings 11. 74 From " No Love Lost " 11. 116 " " The Phantom " n. 71 Song W. 64 343 344 IFnDcy ot Subjects PAGE Song II. 309 Song from " Hendrik Hudson " . . .11. 254 When She Comes Home Again . . .11. 196 Appeal. Don't II- 177 Give Me More I,ove 1-25 Helpless 11. 65 Hymn to Veuus 1. 23 Prodigal's Plea 11. 62 Beauty and I,ove. From " Hercules Spinning " . . . , 11. 27 " " Pleasures of Hope " . . . . i. 70 What the Stars Are i. 192 Bereavement. But Soon This Inward Strife . . . . i. 194 Hearts i. 208 The King of Denmark's Ride . . . . i. 166 Betrayal. Betrayed 11. 257 Endj-mion i. 328 Estelle 11-94 The Banks of Doon 1-57 The Star and the Water-Lily . . . . 11. 20 Betrothal. Love in May fair i. 298 Won H. 76 Won't You? I- 113 Boundlessness of Love. From " An Ansvper " 11. Si Lines i. 94 Change. A Complaint 1-59 Disenchanted i. 299 Has Summer Come ? i. 272 'T Is Sweet to Think 1-75 "V^Tiere Is Miss Myrtle ? . , . , . i. 30? •ffnDej of Subjects 345 Choice. page From " I^ove in a Cottage " . . . ii. 12 " " Pace Implora " H- i35 O Hell ! to Choose i. 18 Compensation. From " Evangeline " 11. 15 Her Company 11. 218 I,angleyLane i. 257 Refuge II. 114 Complements. A Heart for Every One i. 158 A Match ... I. 252 Among the Multitude 11. 40 Endyniion 11. 16 From " Somewhere or Other " . . . . i. 224 The Mates n. 45 Thou and I li. 144 To Eva II. 8 Two I. 280 CONFESSION. A Confession I- I57 From " Love in a Maze " I. 28 From " Philip Van Artevelde " . . . . i. 306 Told in Confidence 11. 162 To Love I. 112 Conquest. A Transformation i- 329 From " Hannah Amsden " 11. 55 " " The Love-Knot " n. 140 Love Will Cure i. 240 On the Gift ofa Silk Purse i. 104 The Waltz n. 36 Constancy. Bessie and Ruth 11. 7S Come, Rest in This Bosom . . . . i. 74 Constancy i. 31 For Better, for Worse n. 315 346 UnDej of Subjects PAGB From " A Conceit " I. 217 I '11 Never I^ove Thee More . . . . i. 44 Love Me Little, Love Me Long . . . . 1. 46 Love ! You Dare Not I» 233 Sonnet i. 17 Sylvia's Song i. i43 The King's Kiss 11. 140 Two n. 303 Consummation. A Birthday I. 224 A Summer Cloud n. 205 From " For Annie " li. 23 1 Know a Song I. 229 In Sight 11. 231 Love Song I. 337 Supreme Surrender I. 222 Convention. Behave Yoursel' before Folk .... I. 128 Comin' thro' the Rye i. 141 Convention li. 118 Courtship. Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes . . . 1. 21 From " Hearts and Hearths " . . . 11. 42 " " Love in a Kitchen " . . . .11. 157 " " The Deserted Homestead " . . .11. 41 " " When the Kye Comes Hame " . . i. 60 If to Thy Heart I Were as Near . . , i, 134 If You Be a Nun i. 79 Jimmy's Wooing 11. 271 O Tell Me How to Woo Thee ! . , . . i. 121 Quit Your Foolin' 11. 217 That Merry, Merry, May I. 220 The Dairyman's Daughter 11. 281 The Time I 've Lost in Wooing . . . i. 77 What the Wolf Really Said , , , . u. 278 IFnDes of Subjects 347 Cruelty. page A Woman's Death Wound li. 89 Fair Is My Love . . .... I. 8 From " Pan dosto " i- 39 Cupid. Cupid and Campaspe i> 7 Cupid Mistaken i. 100 Cupid's Arrow I. 313 From " Cupid Swallowed " . . . . 1. 78 Rosalind's Madrigal I. 39 Daring of Love. From " The Grateful Servant " . . . . 1. 28 Lochinvar 1. 63 She Loves, but 't Is Not Me .... u. 9 Dawn of Love. Aloe-Blossom 1. 263 Awake ! Awake I 11. 241 From " Leonatus " 11. 68 " " The Puritan's Guest " .... U. 29 Love I. 289 My Soul Was Blind i. 234 Triolet 11. 106 Dead Love. Burial of Love 11. 5 Dead Loves :i. 84 Le Roi Kst Mort i. 287 Love Is Dead 11. 232 Passion Past i. 213 Quits "-133 Withered Roses 11. 115 Death and Love. A Song for the Girl I Love 1. 331 Death's First Lesson II. 207 From " Coronation of Inez de Castro " . . 1. 90 If Death Consort l. 49 Love and Death ' I. 345 348 ITn&ej ot Subjects PAGE lyOve Me, Beloved I. 205 Not Thou, but I I. 278 The Anxious lyover n. i97 The Two Burdens i- 274 When I Am Dead ll. 3°? Who Shall Go First ? li. 336 Deceit. From " A Woman's lyove " . . . . :i. 129 " "A Warning" 1. 208 " " I^ife and Death " 11. iia " " Trust Not lyove " n. g Lying i. 76 Definitions of I,ove. Ask Not of Me 1. 191 From "Britain's Ida " 1-3 " " Galathea " I. 6 " "I/>ve" n. 37 It Is to Be I. 20 Love II. 173 lyove 1-7 Stomelli and Strombotti i. 286 The One Great Purpose 11. 17 True Love Hath No Unworthy Thought . i. 21 What Is a Poet's Love ? li. 19 What Love Is 11. 211 What 't Is to Love i. 107 You Ask What Love Is 11. 14S Desolation. At Dawn i. 298 Light I. 285 Despair. Auld Robin Gray I. 119 Dead and Bom li. 306 Despair 11. 32 Prom " At Home after the Ball " . , . i. 234 IFnDej of Subjects 349 PAGE From " I^efl Behind " ir. 90 Mirage i. 225 Red May i. 286 The Price H- 99 The Turkish Maiden 11. 68 Through the Trees ir. 289 Yesterday and To-Day 11, 184 Dreams. And Dream at Night i. 291 Dreams ir. 248 In Dreams at Night 11. 229 The Day Dream i. 67 EjSTRANGEMENT. E)stranged ir. 222 Kstranged I^ove i. 68 One and Two 11. 163 Eternity of I,ove. A Red, Red Rose i- 53 A Thousand Years Ago 11. 297 Fast Anchored, Eternal 11. 39 From " lyOved Once " i. 178 " " Ode on a Grecian Urn " . . . i. 92 Immortality of Love i. iii Love 11-234 Through Time and Eternity . . . .11. 225 Twelve o'clock . * 11. 165 Fancies. A Fantasy 11. 188 A Madrigal 11. 240 A Wish I. 161 Gold II. 236 Sapphires 11. 235 Secrets 11. 124 The Garden of Love i. 109 The Race 11. 230 350 Ifnbej of Subjecta PAGE The Sunshine of Thine Eyes . . . .11. 301 To Florence ir. 139 Fate. Ay, Me ! for Aught I. 18 Destiny i. 244 Fate II. 208 From " I,ara " i. 80 " " The New I^och invar " . . . . u, 165 Half-Iyives 11. no Reply Ti. 118 The Dark Room 11. 158 Fears. Ode to Nea i. 72 Tattered Hose and Clouted Shoon . . . i. no Twelve Hours Apart 11. 112 FiRGT Sight. First Sight i. 266 From " Hero and Ivcander " . . . . i. 10 " " The Ideal and the Real " . . .11. 136 lyOve at First Sight i. 164 Under His Forming Hands . . . . i. 48 FORGETFULNESS. Ballade of Blind lyove i. 263 Forget Thee i. 115 I/ife II. 336 Recollection 11. 138 The Past 1. 90 Freedom. He May Go—If He Can 11-47 The Elixir 11. 300 Greeting. I^ove Song 11. 249 Song I. 38 Happy I,ove. February ........ 11. 296 ITnbes of Subjects 351 PAGE I^ove in Oyster Bay ii. 152 The I^adyeoflvee i- I45 Hope. Dolcino to Margaret i. 319 Hope I. 104 Impatience. Afloat and Ashore i. 320 Impatience n. 213 In Three Days i. 187 Song II. 279 The Flight from the Convent . . . .11. 273 The Wedding Day 11. 397 Why Art Thou Silent ? i. 58 INCOMPLETION, From "Song of Songs '' 11. 66 Idun'sSong n. 314 So Much— So Uttle I. 288 Song I. 245 Inconstancy. Adieu, lyove i- 45 Can You Forget Me ? i. i55 Cupid's Curse i. 36 From " Faithless Sally Brown " . . •1-95 I^ocksley Hall i. 170 Mirage i. 293 Rubies i. 69 The Forsaken Mistress i. 42 To I^ucasta i- 99 In Praise. Ask Me No More i. 24 From " Bonny l,eslie " !• 5^ " "Song" I. 201 " " The Winter's Tale " . . . . 1. 19 Kitty Bhan i. I54 Kitty Neil I. 148 352 irnDej of Subjects PAC E I^ike a I^ilac n. 200 The Fair Copyholder 11. 291 The Flower o' Dumblane I. 126 The lyOw-Backed Car i. 146 Inseparability. Go from Me i. 180 Hereafter 11. 104 O lyove, Be Sure 1-233 The Bond of Pain n. 227 We Two II. 266 Invitation. Come into the Garden, Maud . . . . i. 175 O I^ady Mine 11. 237 The Passionate Shepherd to His I^ove , .1. 9 Invocation. From"Orgia" n. 114 Hail I/Ove, First IvOve i. 114 Invocation to Love i. 162 I^ove, Gentlest Spirit i. I55 lyOve ! Love ! Old Song i. 229 Jealousy. Oh, Dinna Ask Me i. 136 The Falcon and the Lily 11. 313 The Thorn • . 11. 117 Kisses. A Kiss I. 26 A Kiss 1-255 A Kiss II. 155 From " Coriolanus " i- 19 " "Counterparts" 11. no " " Fairies' Song " i- 34 " " Faustus" 1-9 " "Lovers" 11. 98 Her Lips Were So Near 11. 309 How It Happened 11, 129 1[nC)e$ of Subjects 353 PAGE Jenny Kissed Me i. 78 Kiss Me Good-Night i. 281 Kissing 's No Sin i. 142 One Kiss 11. 244 On Windermere i. 218 The First Kiss i. 70 The Moth's Kiss, First i. 184 Three Kisses of Farewell 11. 263 They I^ooked Up to the Sky . . . . i. 81 ToKlectra i. 27 You Kissed Me 11. 325 Longing. Across the Sea i. 323 Bonnie Wee Thing 1-53 Flushed by the Spirit i. 103 From " The Doubt " 11.116 t,ongings n. 333 Nanny i. 150 Oh ! to I/lve I. 186 O I^assie Ayont the Hill i. 201 On a Girdle i. 5° Platonic II. 330 When Stars Are in the Quiet Skies . -. .1. 165 Man's I,ove and Woman's I,ove. Alas ! the I.ove i. 82 A Woman's Gifts n. 283 He and She ii. 81 How Beautiful ii. 44 In Her First Passion i. 82 Maidens' Hearts Are 11. 5 Man's I^ove Is of Man's lyife . . . . I. 80 Song I, 112 Two Ways to I^ove 11. 121 Marriage. EJpithalamium i« 5 Vol H— 23 354 ITn^ej of Subjects PAGE From " A Mercenary Marriage " . . . i. 211 " " IvOve's Cruelty " i. 29 " " Women, Beware of Wo taen " . . i. 37 lyOve's Philosophies 11. 30 IvOve Was Not Made i. 28 My Ain Wife i. 132 The Dead Nuptial i. 325 Thou Mother of My Babe i. 241 Wooed, an' Married, an' A' . . . . i. 122 Measurement in lyOVE. How Many Times l. 310 How Much I. 85 If It Be I^ove i. i& Who Ever Paused i. 192 Meeting. A Song of Meeting 11. 284 Bare Feet i. 314 How Many Hours i. 292 I Count My Time by Times that I Meet Thee. 11. 160 I Wandered by the Brookside . . . . i. 312 My Nanie, O i. 130 Riding Down 11. 142 Telepathy ' 11. 38 The Welcome i. 151 What My I^over Said 11. 192 Memory. Ballad i. 291 Ballade of Autumn i. 265 Disarmed 11. 132 Do You ? II. 326 From " Constance " n. 185 " " October" 11. 41 " " The House on the Hill " . , .11. 94 " " The One You Ivoved the Best " . . i. 166 " " The Way to Arcady " . . . . 11. 190 1In5c£ ot Subjects 355 I'AGE I Often Rue the Hours i- i93 Janet's Hair ii. 58 I^ove's Ghost 11. 251 Once I Passed through a Populous City . . 11. 40 O Sovereign Power of I,ove . . . . i. 92 Rose Aj'lnier i. 69 The Confessional 11. 12 The End 11-247 Misunderstanding. If H. 181 Rondeau 11. 243 Nature of 1,0 ve. Frenzied Ambition and Despairing lyove . i. 69 From " The Mountain of the I^overs " . .11. 84 " " The Story of Boon " . . . . 11. 87 In lyOve's Defence 11. 150 lyOve I. 219 lyOve I. 231 IvOve, Sin-Touched 11. 78 I5 cents LIST OF VOLUMES COMEDIES: TRAGEDIES: Tempest Troilus and Cressida Two Gentlemen of Verona Coriolanus Merry Wives of Windsor Titus Andronicus Measure for Measure Romeo and Juliet Comedy of Errors Timon of Athens Much Ado About Nothing Julius Caesar Love's Labour 's Lost Macbeth Midsummer Night's Dream Hamlet Merchant of Venice King Lear As You Like It Othello Taming of the Shrew Antony and Cleopatra All 's Well that Ends Well CymbeUne Twelfth Night Winter's Tale HISTORIES: King John Henry VI. First Part Richard n. Henry VI. Second Part Henry IV. First Part Henry VI. Third Part Henry IV. Second Part Richard III. Henry V. Henry VIH. Pericles Poems Sonnets Glossary THE. 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