My Sunshine.

woman looking at ships on the sea

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,The smiles that win, the tints that glow,But tell of days in goodness spent—A mind at peace with all below,A heart whose love is innocent.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent—

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent.

Illustrated LLikea cluster of sunbeams her hair is,As blue as the sky-tints her eye,And I think of the Queen of the FairiesWhenever she passes me by;And if we had faysFlitting round nowadays,I shouldfearshe might fly far awaySome day.Sometimes I am puzzled with wonder,To know why the wings were left out;But I'm pleased that they made such a blunder,When the little one first came about;For if she had wings,And soft feathers and things,I shouldknowshe would fly far awaySome day.

Illustrated L

Likea cluster of sunbeams her hair is,

As blue as the sky-tints her eye,

And I think of the Queen of the Fairies

Whenever she passes me by;

And if we had fays

Flitting round nowadays,

I shouldfearshe might fly far away

Some day.

Sometimes I am puzzled with wonder,To know why the wings were left out;But I'm pleased that they made such a blunder,When the little one first came about;For if she had wings,And soft feathers and things,I shouldknowshe would fly far awaySome day.

Sometimes I am puzzled with wonder,

To know why the wings were left out;

But I'm pleased that they made such a blunder,

When the little one first came about;

For if she had wings,

And soft feathers and things,

I shouldknowshe would fly far away

Some day.

woman on swing

I suspect, after all, she's but human;Yet an angel I couldn't love more.She's a sunshiny, sweet little woman,And her heart is a wide-open door.Oh, may never a sin,Through that door enter in!For I know shewillfly far awaySome day.

I suspect, after all, she's but human;

Yet an angel I couldn't love more.

She's a sunshiny, sweet little woman,

And her heart is a wide-open door.

Oh, may never a sin,

Through that door enter in!

For I know shewillfly far away

Some day.

Illustrated SSleepon, and dream of Heaven awhile!Though shut so close thy laughing eyes,Thy rosy lips still wear a smile,And move and breathe delicious sighs.Ah! now soft blushes tinge her cheeksAnd mantle o'er her neck of snow;Ah! now she murmurs, now she speaks,What most I wish, and fear to know.She starts, she trembles, and she weeps,Her fair hands folded on her breast;And now, how like a saint she sleeps,A seraph in the realms of rest!

Illustrated SSleepon, and dream of Heaven awhile!Though shut so close thy laughing eyes,Thy rosy lips still wear a smile,And move and breathe delicious sighs.

Illustrated S

Sleepon, and dream of Heaven awhile!

Though shut so close thy laughing eyes,

Thy rosy lips still wear a smile,

And move and breathe delicious sighs.

Ah! now soft blushes tinge her cheeksAnd mantle o'er her neck of snow;Ah! now she murmurs, now she speaks,What most I wish, and fear to know.

Ah! now soft blushes tinge her cheeks

And mantle o'er her neck of snow;

Ah! now she murmurs, now she speaks,

What most I wish, and fear to know.

She starts, she trembles, and she weeps,Her fair hands folded on her breast;And now, how like a saint she sleeps,A seraph in the realms of rest!

She starts, she trembles, and she weeps,

Her fair hands folded on her breast;

And now, how like a saint she sleeps,

A seraph in the realms of rest!

woman sleeping in chair next to window

Sleep on secure! Above control,Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee;And may the secret of thy soulRemain within its sanctuary!

Sleep on secure! Above control,

Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee;

And may the secret of thy soul

Remain within its sanctuary!

Illustrated Y"Yes!" I answered you last night;"No!" this morning, sir, I say.Colors seen by candle-lightWill not look the same by day.When the tabors played their best,Lamps above and laughs below,Love mesounded like a jest,Fit foryesor fit forno.Call me false or call me free,—Vow, whatever light may shine,No man on thy face shall seeAny grief for change on mine.Yet the sin is on us both:Time to dance is not to woo;Wooer light makes fickle troth;Scorn of me recoils on you.

Illustrated Y"Yes!" I answered you last night;"No!" this morning, sir, I say.Colors seen by candle-lightWill not look the same by day.

Illustrated Y

"Yes!" I answered you last night;

"No!" this morning, sir, I say.

Colors seen by candle-light

Will not look the same by day.

When the tabors played their best,Lamps above and laughs below,Love mesounded like a jest,Fit foryesor fit forno.

When the tabors played their best,

Lamps above and laughs below,

Love mesounded like a jest,

Fit foryesor fit forno.

Call me false or call me free,—Vow, whatever light may shine,No man on thy face shall seeAny grief for change on mine.

Call me false or call me free,—

Vow, whatever light may shine,

No man on thy face shall see

Any grief for change on mine.

Yet the sin is on us both:Time to dance is not to woo;Wooer light makes fickle troth;Scorn of me recoils on you.

Yet the sin is on us both:

Time to dance is not to woo;

Wooer light makes fickle troth;

Scorn of me recoils on you.

woman sitting on log, man standing behind

Learn to win a lady's faithNobly, as the thing is high;Bravely, as for life and death,—With a loyal gravity.Lead her from the festive boards,Point her to the starry skies,Guard her by your faithful words,Pure from courtship's flatteries.By your truth she shall be true,Ever true, as wives of yore;And her Yes, once said to you,Shall be Yes forevermore.

Learn to win a lady's faithNobly, as the thing is high;Bravely, as for life and death,—With a loyal gravity.

Learn to win a lady's faith

Nobly, as the thing is high;

Bravely, as for life and death,—

With a loyal gravity.

Lead her from the festive boards,Point her to the starry skies,Guard her by your faithful words,Pure from courtship's flatteries.

Lead her from the festive boards,

Point her to the starry skies,

Guard her by your faithful words,

Pure from courtship's flatteries.

By your truth she shall be true,Ever true, as wives of yore;And her Yes, once said to you,Shall be Yes forevermore.

By your truth she shall be true,

Ever true, as wives of yore;

And her Yes, once said to you,

Shall be Yes forevermore.

Illustrated II fillthis cup to one made upOf loveliness alone,—A woman, of her gentle sexThe seeming paragon;To whom the better elementsAnd kindly stars have givenA form so fair, that, like the air,'Tis less of earth than heaven.Her every tone is music's own,Like those of morning birds,And something more than melodyDwells ever in her words;The coinage of her heart are they,And from her lips each flowsAs one may see the burdened beeForth issue from the rose.Affections are as thoughts to her,The measures of her hours;Her feelings have the fragrancy,The freshness of young flowers;And lovely passions, changing oft,So fill her, she appearsThe image of themselves by turns,—The idol of past years!

Illustrated I

I fillthis cup to one made up

Of loveliness alone,—

A woman, of her gentle sex

The seeming paragon;

To whom the better elements

And kindly stars have given

A form so fair, that, like the air,

'Tis less of earth than heaven.

Her every tone is music's own,Like those of morning birds,And something more than melodyDwells ever in her words;The coinage of her heart are they,And from her lips each flowsAs one may see the burdened beeForth issue from the rose.

Her every tone is music's own,

Like those of morning birds,

And something more than melody

Dwells ever in her words;

The coinage of her heart are they,

And from her lips each flows

As one may see the burdened bee

Forth issue from the rose.

Affections are as thoughts to her,The measures of her hours;Her feelings have the fragrancy,The freshness of young flowers;And lovely passions, changing oft,So fill her, she appearsThe image of themselves by turns,—The idol of past years!

Affections are as thoughts to her,

The measures of her hours;

Her feelings have the fragrancy,

The freshness of young flowers;

And lovely passions, changing oft,

So fill her, she appears

The image of themselves by turns,—

The idol of past years!

woman looking at artwork from portfolio

Of her bright face one glance will traceA picture on the brain,And of her voice in echoing heartsA sound must long remain;But memory, such as mine of her,So very much endears,When death is nigh, my latest sighWill not be life's, but hers.I fill this cup to one made upOf loveliness alone,—A woman, of her gentle sexThe seeming paragon:Her health! and would on earth there stoodSome more of such a frame,That life might be all poetry,And weariness a name.

Of her bright face one glance will trace

A picture on the brain,

And of her voice in echoing hearts

A sound must long remain;

But memory, such as mine of her,

So very much endears,

When death is nigh, my latest sigh

Will not be life's, but hers.

I fill this cup to one made upOf loveliness alone,—A woman, of her gentle sexThe seeming paragon:Her health! and would on earth there stoodSome more of such a frame,That life might be all poetry,And weariness a name.

I fill this cup to one made up

Of loveliness alone,—

A woman, of her gentle sex

The seeming paragon:

Her health! and would on earth there stood

Some more of such a frame,

That life might be all poetry,

And weariness a name.

Illustrated WWinifred, waking in the morning,Locks dishevelled, sighed, "Alas!Broken is the Venice-bodkinThat you gave me—'twas of glass.All my auburn hair, henceforward,Shall be given to the wind."Ere the evening came, another'sNet of pearl her hair confined.Frail as the Venetian baubleI had thrust in Winifred's hair;Lo! the net now snapped asunder,Other hands had fastened there.Ere the moon's wide-blossomed petalsOn the breast of night had died,Net and bodkin both deserted,Winifred's glittering hair flowed wide!

Illustrated W

Winifred, waking in the morning,

Locks dishevelled, sighed, "Alas!

Broken is the Venice-bodkin

That you gave me—'twas of glass.

All my auburn hair, henceforward,

Shall be given to the wind."

Ere the evening came, another's

Net of pearl her hair confined.

Frail as the Venetian baubleI had thrust in Winifred's hair;Lo! the net now snapped asunder,Other hands had fastened there.Ere the moon's wide-blossomed petalsOn the breast of night had died,Net and bodkin both deserted,Winifred's glittering hair flowed wide!

Frail as the Venetian bauble

I had thrust in Winifred's hair;

Lo! the net now snapped asunder,

Other hands had fastened there.

Ere the moon's wide-blossomed petals

On the breast of night had died,

Net and bodkin both deserted,

Winifred's glittering hair flowed wide!

woman standing next to window

Silver comb and silken filletNext in turn the wild hair bound,Till at length the crown of wifehoodClasped its bands that hair around,—Golden crown of Love! displacingGirlhood's vain adornments there.Winifred never more shall alter,Now, the fashion of her hair.

Silver comb and silken fillet

Next in turn the wild hair bound,

Till at length the crown of wifehood

Clasped its bands that hair around,—

Golden crown of Love! displacing

Girlhood's vain adornments there.

Winifred never more shall alter,

Now, the fashion of her hair.

Illustrated TThedead in their ancient graves are still;There they've slept for many a year;The last faint sunbeams glance o'er the hill,Gilding the dry grass, tall and sere,And the foam of the babbling rill.Into the church the ruddy light falls,Through rich stained windows, narrow and high;Pictures it paints on the old gray walls,Scenes from the days that have long gone by,—And hark! 'tis my Rosalie calls!She calls my name,—I have heard it oftJust at the golden sun's decline;I answer the call, so sweet and soft;And, turning, see where her bright eyes shine,High up in the organ loft.I pass the winding and narrow stair;The gallery door stands open wide;I know no shadow of pain or care,While darling Rosalie stands by my side,In the sunset light so fair.

Illustrated T

Thedead in their ancient graves are still;

There they've slept for many a year;

The last faint sunbeams glance o'er the hill,

Gilding the dry grass, tall and sere,

And the foam of the babbling rill.

Into the church the ruddy light falls,Through rich stained windows, narrow and high;Pictures it paints on the old gray walls,Scenes from the days that have long gone by,—And hark! 'tis my Rosalie calls!

Into the church the ruddy light falls,

Through rich stained windows, narrow and high;

Pictures it paints on the old gray walls,

Scenes from the days that have long gone by,—

And hark! 'tis my Rosalie calls!

She calls my name,—I have heard it oftJust at the golden sun's decline;I answer the call, so sweet and soft;And, turning, see where her bright eyes shine,High up in the organ loft.

She calls my name,—I have heard it oft

Just at the golden sun's decline;

I answer the call, so sweet and soft;

And, turning, see where her bright eyes shine,

High up in the organ loft.

I pass the winding and narrow stair;The gallery door stands open wide;I know no shadow of pain or care,While darling Rosalie stands by my side,In the sunset light so fair.

I pass the winding and narrow stair;

The gallery door stands open wide;

I know no shadow of pain or care,

While darling Rosalie stands by my side,

In the sunset light so fair.

woman seated at organ, man leaning on it, back to viewer

What grand old hymns and chants we sang,Grand old chants that I loved so well!And the organ's tones,—how they pealed and rang,Piercing the heart, no tongue can tellWith what a delicious pang!Oh, those hours! what holy lightHovers around when their memories rise!Music, love, and the sunset bright,Tenderest glances from Rosalie's eyes,And a long, sweet kiss, for good-night!

What grand old hymns and chants we sang,Grand old chants that I loved so well!And the organ's tones,—how they pealed and rang,Piercing the heart, no tongue can tellWith what a delicious pang!

What grand old hymns and chants we sang,

Grand old chants that I loved so well!

And the organ's tones,—how they pealed and rang,

Piercing the heart, no tongue can tell

With what a delicious pang!

Oh, those hours! what holy lightHovers around when their memories rise!Music, love, and the sunset bright,Tenderest glances from Rosalie's eyes,And a long, sweet kiss, for good-night!

Oh, those hours! what holy light

Hovers around when their memories rise!

Music, love, and the sunset bright,

Tenderest glances from Rosalie's eyes,

And a long, sweet kiss, for good-night!

Illustrated TThereis a garden in her face,Where roses and white lilies grow;A heavenly paradise is that place,Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;There cherries grow that none may buy,Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.Those cherries fairly do incloseOf orient pearl a double row,Which, when her lively laughter shows,They look like rose-buds filled with snow;Yet these no peer nor prince may buy,Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

Illustrated T

Thereis a garden in her face,

Where roses and white lilies grow;

A heavenly paradise is that place,

Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;

There cherries grow that none may buy,

Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do incloseOf orient pearl a double row,Which, when her lively laughter shows,They look like rose-buds filled with snow;Yet these no peer nor prince may buy,Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do inclose

Of orient pearl a double row,

Which, when her lively laughter shows,

They look like rose-buds filled with snow;

Yet these no peer nor prince may buy,

Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

woman gardening

Her eyes like angels' watch there still,Her brows like bended bows do stand,Threatening with piercing frowns to killAll that approach with eye or hand,Those sacred cherries to come nigh,Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

Her eyes like angels' watch there still,

Her brows like bended bows do stand,

Threatening with piercing frowns to kill

All that approach with eye or hand,

Those sacred cherries to come nigh,

Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

Illustrated WWhenstars are in the quiet skies,Then most I pine for thee.Bend on me then thy tender eyes,As stars look on the sea!For thoughts, like waves that glide by night,Are stillest when they shine;Mine earthly love lies hushed in lightBeneath the heaven of thine.There is an hour when angels keepFamiliar watch o'er men,When coarser souls are wrapped in sleep,—Sweet spirit, meet me then!There is an hour when holy dreamsThrough slumber fairest glide;And in that mystic hour, it seemsThou shouldst be by my side.

Illustrated W

Whenstars are in the quiet skies,

Then most I pine for thee.

Bend on me then thy tender eyes,

As stars look on the sea!

For thoughts, like waves that glide by night,

Are stillest when they shine;

Mine earthly love lies hushed in light

Beneath the heaven of thine.

There is an hour when angels keepFamiliar watch o'er men,When coarser souls are wrapped in sleep,—Sweet spirit, meet me then!There is an hour when holy dreamsThrough slumber fairest glide;And in that mystic hour, it seemsThou shouldst be by my side.

There is an hour when angels keep

Familiar watch o'er men,

When coarser souls are wrapped in sleep,—

Sweet spirit, meet me then!

There is an hour when holy dreams

Through slumber fairest glide;

And in that mystic hour, it seems

Thou shouldst be by my side.

woman looking out of window

My thoughts of thee too sacred areFor daylight's common beam:I can but know thee as my star,My angel, and my dream!When stars are in the quiet skies,Then most I pine for thee.Bend on me then thy tender eyes,As stars look on the sea!

My thoughts of thee too sacred are

For daylight's common beam:

I can but know thee as my star,

My angel, and my dream!

When stars are in the quiet skies,

Then most I pine for thee.

Bend on me then thy tender eyes,

As stars look on the sea!

Illustrated TThetime I've lost in wooingIn watching and pursuingThe light that liesIn Woman's eyes,Has been my heart's undoing.Though Wisdom oft has sought me,I scorned the lore she brought me;My only booksWere Woman's looks,And folly's all they taught me.Her smiles when Beauty granted,I hung with gaze enchanted,Like him, the sprite,Whom maids by nightOft meet in glen that's haunted.Like him, too, Beauty won meBut while her eyes were on me;If once their rayWas turned away,Oh, winds could not outrun me!

Illustrated T

Thetime I've lost in wooing

In watching and pursuing

The light that lies

In Woman's eyes,

Has been my heart's undoing.

Though Wisdom oft has sought me,

I scorned the lore she brought me;

My only books

Were Woman's looks,

And folly's all they taught me.

Her smiles when Beauty granted,I hung with gaze enchanted,Like him, the sprite,Whom maids by nightOft meet in glen that's haunted.Like him, too, Beauty won meBut while her eyes were on me;If once their rayWas turned away,Oh, winds could not outrun me!

Her smiles when Beauty granted,

I hung with gaze enchanted,

Like him, the sprite,

Whom maids by night

Oft meet in glen that's haunted.

Like him, too, Beauty won me

But while her eyes were on me;

If once their ray

Was turned away,

Oh, winds could not outrun me!

woman and man sitting on rocks at sea shore

And are those follies going?And is my proud heart growingToo cold or wiseFor brilliant eyesAgain to set it glowing?No,—vain, alas! th' endeavorFrom bonds so sweet to sever;Poor Wisdom's chanceAgainst a glanceIs now as weak as ever.

And are those follies going?

And is my proud heart growing

Too cold or wise

For brilliant eyes

Again to set it glowing?

No,—vain, alas! th' endeavor

From bonds so sweet to sever;

Poor Wisdom's chance

Against a glance

Is now as weak as ever.

Illustrated KKitty, sweet and seventeen,Pulls my hair and calls me "Harry";Hints that I am young and green,Wonders if I wish to marry.Only tell me what replyIs the best reply for Kitty?She's but seventeen, andI—I am forty,—more's the pity!Twice at least my Kitty's age(Just a trifle over, maybe),I am sober, I am sage,Kitty nothing but a baby.She is merriment and mirth,I am wise and gravely witty;She's the dearest thing on earth,I am forty,—more 's the pity!

Illustrated K

Kitty, sweet and seventeen,

Pulls my hair and calls me "Harry";

Hints that I am young and green,

Wonders if I wish to marry.

Only tell me what reply

Is the best reply for Kitty?

She's but seventeen, andI—

I am forty,—more's the pity!

Twice at least my Kitty's age(Just a trifle over, maybe),I am sober, I am sage,Kitty nothing but a baby.She is merriment and mirth,I am wise and gravely witty;She's the dearest thing on earth,I am forty,—more 's the pity!

Twice at least my Kitty's age

(Just a trifle over, maybe),

I am sober, I am sage,

Kitty nothing but a baby.

She is merriment and mirth,

I am wise and gravely witty;

She's the dearest thing on earth,

I am forty,—more 's the pity!

woman riding horse

She adores my pretty rhymes,Calls me "poet" when I write them;And she listens oftentimesHalf an hour when I recite them.Let me scribble by the pageSonnet, ode, or lover's ditty;Seventeen is Kitty's age,I am forty,—more's the pity!

She adores my pretty rhymes,

Calls me "poet" when I write them;

And she listens oftentimes

Half an hour when I recite them.

Let me scribble by the page

Sonnet, ode, or lover's ditty;

Seventeen is Kitty's age,

I am forty,—more's the pity!

Illustrated OO sawye the lass wi' the bonny blue een?Her smile is the sweetest that ever was seen;Her cheek like the rose is, but fresher, I ween,She's the loveliest lassie that trips on the green.The home of my love is below in the valley,Where wild-flowers welcome the wandering bee;But the sweetest of flowers in that spot that is seenIs the maid that I love wi' the bonny blue een.When night overshadows her cot in the glen,She'll steal out to meet her loved Donald again;And when the moon shines on the valley so green,I'll welcome the lass wi' the bonny blue een.As the dove that has wandered away from his nestReturns to the mate his fond heart loves the best,I'll fly from the world's false and vanishing scene,To my dear one, the lass wi' the bonny blue een.

Illustrated O

O sawye the lass wi' the bonny blue een?

Her smile is the sweetest that ever was seen;

Her cheek like the rose is, but fresher, I ween,

She's the loveliest lassie that trips on the green.

The home of my love is below in the valley,

Where wild-flowers welcome the wandering bee;

But the sweetest of flowers in that spot that is seen

Is the maid that I love wi' the bonny blue een.

When night overshadows her cot in the glen,She'll steal out to meet her loved Donald again;And when the moon shines on the valley so green,I'll welcome the lass wi' the bonny blue een.As the dove that has wandered away from his nestReturns to the mate his fond heart loves the best,I'll fly from the world's false and vanishing scene,To my dear one, the lass wi' the bonny blue een.

When night overshadows her cot in the glen,

She'll steal out to meet her loved Donald again;

And when the moon shines on the valley so green,

I'll welcome the lass wi' the bonny blue een.

As the dove that has wandered away from his nest

Returns to the mate his fond heart loves the best,

I'll fly from the world's false and vanishing scene,

To my dear one, the lass wi' the bonny blue een.

woman looking at fire

Transcriber's NotesMinor punctuation and printer errors repaired.

Minor punctuation and printer errors repaired.

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