The Project Gutenberg eBook ofBlue and Purple

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofBlue and PurpleThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Blue and PurpleAuthor: Francis NeilsonRelease date: July 15, 2021 [eBook #65842]Most recently updated: October 18, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLUE AND PURPLE ***

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Blue and PurpleAuthor: Francis NeilsonRelease date: July 15, 2021 [eBook #65842]Most recently updated: October 18, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

Title: Blue and Purple

Author: Francis Neilson

Release date: July 15, 2021 [eBook #65842]Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLUE AND PURPLE ***

BLUE AND PURPLESONGS TO A WIFEBLUE AND PURPLEFAR HORIZONSHEBE’S EYESSWEET FACE, I SEE THEE SHINETWO FLOWERSTHE MUSIC OF MY HEARTTHE TRYSTNATURE’S LOVELINESSYOUTHE LAST LIGHTWHEN YOU WERE BORNFORTUNE, YOU HAVE NAUGHT I NEEDLET US MAKE A GARDENSANCTUARYSTARSREJUVENATIONA SONGHEBESPRINGTHE FAYA SONGTHE GARDENERREVELATIONTHE KEEPER OF THE KISSESMUSIC IN HADESTHE DREAMTHE BOONJACK O’LANTERNOH, TRANQUIL NIGHTDESPAIRTO A PHOTOGRAPHSONGHELLALONEROAMINGSTORMTHE VOIDABSENCEWANDERINGDESTINYEAST WINDLULLABYRESURRECTIONLAUGHTERALCHEMYSURRENDERWHAT IS DAY WITHOUT THE SUN?THE MORNTHE GARDEN MADE FOR METO A REPEATERTHE MUSIC OF A DREAMA FLOWERWHAT WOULD YOU DO?HER SOUL’S SWEET HEARTI LOVE YOU SO!LOVE’S LAST QUESTCONSECRATION

BLUE AND PURPLEFRANCIS NEILSONNEW YORK: B. W. HUEBSCHMCMXX

FRANCIS NEILSONNEW YORK: B. W. HUEBSCHMCMXX

My love is beautiful and sweet; she is like a pale pink rose full of the glory of dew and sun. Sharon’s garden knows not a bloom so fair as she. Persia holds not a fragrance so heavenly in its perfumed bowers. Oh, my wondrous love, pour thy scented charm into the chalice of my longing heart; fill with thy fresh splendour the air I breathe; and give me youth to spend on thee, my well-beloved. I am the gardener, born to tend one flower. My flower is the radiance of a dawn in June. Like a veil of glowing pearls my love spreads her light; she is my morning, my joy of perfect hours. I will sing to her the song fresh roses raise from their delicious petals when night departs and they rejoice, sun-kissed, when all the east is rich in gold. Lovely is my bloom. Her soul is thefirst blossom given by Him who made the loveliness of Spring.

A pearlset in the hollow of a stone,Wrought deftly by an artist of great skill;A sapphire ’twas that bore the pearl so stillWithin its bosom; taking from its toneThose fires of deep delight to Asia known.Blent in an amethyst, the priceless twainEnthronèd were, o’er glowing worlds to reign,In gladness richer than the morn has shown.She, like a regal lily of the field,On which the sunset colours softly lay,Forgot that life was sometime dark and sad;She smiled, and bade all sorrow’s wounds be healed;Then she was lovelier than heav’n’s best day—Ethereal, in blue and purple clad.

A pearlset in the hollow of a stone,Wrought deftly by an artist of great skill;A sapphire ’twas that bore the pearl so stillWithin its bosom; taking from its tone

Those fires of deep delight to Asia known.Blent in an amethyst, the priceless twainEnthronèd were, o’er glowing worlds to reign,In gladness richer than the morn has shown.

She, like a regal lily of the field,On which the sunset colours softly lay,Forgot that life was sometime dark and sad;She smiled, and bade all sorrow’s wounds be healed;Then she was lovelier than heav’n’s best day—Ethereal, in blue and purple clad.

Westand upon the barren shore,And look far out to sea,The crooning waves their burden pourOn you and me.Our longing eyes, full of our mind,On far horizons lie—There, where our joy we hope to findBefore we die.How fair the tempting journey seems—Smooth lake of mystery—How frail the craft, our forethought deems,For such a sea!For you and me, my lovely one,And all our mighty hopes;One step, dear love, and we have done,And—cut the ropes?Lashed to the past we stand, and fearTo leave our ties and pain;Though (speaks the soul, if we would hear)Our loss is gain.Fear blurs the vision of our dream,Fear fills our hearts with dread,Soon we shall find upon life’s streamOur souls are dead.We stand upon the shore and mourn;We grieve, despairingly,To leave the fetters we have borne—So patiently.Or, do we grieve that we are weak,Lack courage to be free,And spurn the liberty we seekFor slavery?Doubts lie—like pebbles on this strand—In our sad souls, my mate.Before us lies the promised land,Behind us—fate.Then, let us here together bide,With faces toward the sea,And hope that some fair morning’s tideTake you and me.

Westand upon the barren shore,And look far out to sea,The crooning waves their burden pourOn you and me.

Our longing eyes, full of our mind,On far horizons lie—There, where our joy we hope to findBefore we die.

How fair the tempting journey seems—Smooth lake of mystery—How frail the craft, our forethought deems,For such a sea!

For you and me, my lovely one,And all our mighty hopes;One step, dear love, and we have done,And—cut the ropes?

Lashed to the past we stand, and fearTo leave our ties and pain;Though (speaks the soul, if we would hear)Our loss is gain.

Fear blurs the vision of our dream,Fear fills our hearts with dread,Soon we shall find upon life’s streamOur souls are dead.

We stand upon the shore and mourn;We grieve, despairingly,To leave the fetters we have borne—So patiently.

Or, do we grieve that we are weak,Lack courage to be free,And spurn the liberty we seekFor slavery?

Doubts lie—like pebbles on this strand—In our sad souls, my mate.Before us lies the promised land,Behind us—fate.

Then, let us here together bide,With faces toward the sea,And hope that some fair morning’s tideTake you and me.

Thelight of Hebe’s eyesGives colour to the skies,It makes the azure domeA radiant place,Where love might find a home,Sweet as her face.Ethereal are the huesWhere birds a-wing would loseThemselves in heavenly bliss;As I would do—If I might soar to kissHer eyes so blue!

Thelight of Hebe’s eyesGives colour to the skies,It makes the azure domeA radiant place,Where love might find a home,Sweet as her face.

Ethereal are the huesWhere birds a-wing would loseThemselves in heavenly bliss;As I would do—If I might soar to kissHer eyes so blue!

Sweetface, I see thee shineOut of the bosom of the east at morn;Thy tenderness, divine,Lies mirrored in the pearly dew at dawn.The flower that smiles at me,Holds in its cup the picture of your face;In rivulets I seeThe flowing charm of your abiding grace.The sapling tells me howYour body’s symmetry grows strong and straight;The winds which whisper now,Tell me your love and trust will not abate.The steadfast stars aboveReflect the fervour of your constant mind,Your deep unwav’ring love—The rarest jewel eager man can find!In nature’s soul thou art—I see thee, hear thee, feel thee, ever near;Dear love, thou art the heartOf those eternal joys our souls revere.

Sweetface, I see thee shineOut of the bosom of the east at morn;Thy tenderness, divine,Lies mirrored in the pearly dew at dawn.

The flower that smiles at me,Holds in its cup the picture of your face;In rivulets I seeThe flowing charm of your abiding grace.

The sapling tells me howYour body’s symmetry grows strong and straight;The winds which whisper now,Tell me your love and trust will not abate.

The steadfast stars aboveReflect the fervour of your constant mind,Your deep unwav’ring love—The rarest jewel eager man can find!

In nature’s soul thou art—I see thee, hear thee, feel thee, ever near;Dear love, thou art the heartOf those eternal joys our souls revere.

I sawa bloom,So beautiful,My sad heart lost its gloom,And cares that dullThe senses, soon passed far away—The bloom brought joy into the day.I saw her faceWhen she bent downAnd kissed the bloom. Then graceWas Hebe’s crownOf loveliness, and there! uponHer brow the light of heaven shone!

I sawa bloom,So beautiful,My sad heart lost its gloom,And cares that dullThe senses, soon passed far away—The bloom brought joy into the day.

I saw her faceWhen she bent downAnd kissed the bloom. Then graceWas Hebe’s crownOf loveliness, and there! uponHer brow the light of heaven shone!

Thesoft night, like a silent childBefore some wondrous thing,Withholds its breath, as if beguiledBy songs the fairies sing.It seems to stand and listen, stillAs statue in a grove—Perhaps it hears a fairy trillA strain Titania wove.Ah, no, the night hears not her song,For it would then be glad;And I have listened here so long,I know the night is sad.Now if it be a song that keepThe hour when night should part,Then night must hear from my soul’s deep,The music of my heart.

Thesoft night, like a silent childBefore some wondrous thing,Withholds its breath, as if beguiledBy songs the fairies sing.

It seems to stand and listen, stillAs statue in a grove—Perhaps it hears a fairy trillA strain Titania wove.

Ah, no, the night hears not her song,For it would then be glad;And I have listened here so long,I know the night is sad.

Now if it be a song that keepThe hour when night should part,Then night must hear from my soul’s deep,The music of my heart.

Mylove is coming through green fields to me—Why does she tarry so?She knows I wait on cliffs above the sea,And dare not to her go;For I am prisoned to the spot where loveHas chained my feet, and must not call or move.My love is gath’ring harebells, where the meadIs starred with flowers to kissHer ling’ring feet; there sedges intercede,And whisper runes of bliss—Beseeching her to stay and heed me not—For she can make a heaven of any spot!My love is list’ning to the skylark’s song,Delight is in her ears.She cannot know her lover yearns so long,And drinks his salty tearsTo quench his thirst for all her winsome grace—Her absence makes a desert of the place.My love is drinking in the air which blowsThe perfumes of the sea,The journeying breeze wafts past me—well she knows—Though me she cannot see!Her lovely eyes, the yearning west would woo,Look not on me while blooms in green fields sue.She knows ’tis deathless love that holds me fast,Chained to this rock so grim;That I shall wait for her, until the lastSun sets o’er ocean’s rim.That flowers shall die and green fields fade and sear,Ere I forsake the tryst to greet her here.

My love is gath’ring harebells, where the meadIs starred with flowers to kissHer ling’ring feet; there sedges intercede,And whisper runes of bliss—Beseeching her to stay and heed me not—For she can make a heaven of any spot!

My love is list’ning to the skylark’s song,Delight is in her ears.She cannot know her lover yearns so long,And drinks his salty tearsTo quench his thirst for all her winsome grace—Her absence makes a desert of the place.

My love is drinking in the air which blowsThe perfumes of the sea,The journeying breeze wafts past me—well she knows—Though me she cannot see!

Her lovely eyes, the yearning west would woo,Look not on me while blooms in green fields sue.

She knows ’tis deathless love that holds me fast,Chained to this rock so grim;That I shall wait for her, until the lastSun sets o’er ocean’s rim.That flowers shall die and green fields fade and sear,Ere I forsake the tryst to greet her here.

Yes, everywhere I goI see the constant flowOf nature’s loveliness—But, oh, if I could seeThese scenes, my love, with thee,How bright would be their dress!I can no more rejoiceWithout your gracious voiceExulting in my ear,And nature, too, requiresYour soulful, ardent fires,To beautify the year.The tender blooms turn paleWhen I, alone, through valeAnd gully, searching pass;They seem to say to me,“Where is your mate? for weBloom only for your lass.”My worship in the glenGoes up for naught, dear, whenI stand alone in prayer;The sea, the dunes, the trees,Chide me, and every breezeSings lamentation there.No, nothing in this worldWhere gales and snows have whirledA joyous tempest down—Which spread a carpet fineFor thee to tread, can shineAs your belovèd crown.They do not envy you,They love the sweet, the true—They know you are sincereAs morning’s spark of lightIn dew orbs shining bright,When heaven is blue and clear.They want your merry laugh,Like rain for them to quaff;They want to kiss your feet;They want to see your eyes—Full glory of blue skies—Your smile they yearn to greet.Come to the woods, my own,With every blessing knownTo man, which you can bring;Here is your royal goal,Come, with your joyous soul,And make all nature sing!

Yes, everywhere I goI see the constant flowOf nature’s loveliness—But, oh, if I could seeThese scenes, my love, with thee,How bright would be their dress!

I can no more rejoiceWithout your gracious voiceExulting in my ear,And nature, too, requiresYour soulful, ardent fires,To beautify the year.

The tender blooms turn paleWhen I, alone, through valeAnd gully, searching pass;They seem to say to me,“Where is your mate? for weBloom only for your lass.”

My worship in the glenGoes up for naught, dear, whenI stand alone in prayer;The sea, the dunes, the trees,Chide me, and every breezeSings lamentation there.

No, nothing in this worldWhere gales and snows have whirledA joyous tempest down—Which spread a carpet fineFor thee to tread, can shineAs your belovèd crown.

They do not envy you,They love the sweet, the true—They know you are sincereAs morning’s spark of lightIn dew orbs shining bright,When heaven is blue and clear.

They want your merry laugh,Like rain for them to quaff;They want to kiss your feet;They want to see your eyes—Full glory of blue skies—Your smile they yearn to greet.

Come to the woods, my own,With every blessing knownTo man, which you can bring;Here is your royal goal,Come, with your joyous soul,And make all nature sing!

Whatis this mystery?This subtle wonder—you?Which fills my soul with ecstasy,My eyes with dew?What are you, influence, so mild?As subtle as the air which swaysThe stalwart pine. What childOf nature are you?Soul obeys your slightest motion.Mind is set in deep commotion—By your presence—By your absence—Being thrills beneath your glance!A smile will all my thought enhance.Touch my lips, and every blissSeeks heaven’s glory in a kiss!You! sweet influence, what artGod used in fashioning you apartFrom His renownèd mould,In the marvellous days of old?Why, all the elements combinedIn making youThe dearest mystery refined,The ages through!Yet, what are you? with powerSo great to bind my will,Fast in strong chains each hour;And every action fillWith echoes of one name,Resounding in love’s hall of fame?You! Unlike your kind—An essence of God’s mind.An attribute of His deep joy,When in his toil of loveHe fashioned you without alloy,The masterpiece to prove,With every splendid gift—replete.You—complete!My earth, sky, sea, and air;My fruit, flower, jewel rare;My every need of day and night—Sun, moon, stars, space; my soul’s delight!Your name whose syllables are wingsWhich waft me high,Above the fragrant air which bringsFaint eastern aromatics to the sky.Ever a mystery of art to be,A subtle influence subjecting me.Like, fair Hamadryad, created anew—Ineffable, mystical, wonderful—you!

Thefoothills of Nebraska shineIn a disc of sunset gold;The cornstalks glisten like pale wine—But the wind is bitter cold.Around my love a radiance lies,’Tis the glow of her soul’s sun;’Twill light a vision in my eyes—When the long day’s work is done.

Thefoothills of Nebraska shineIn a disc of sunset gold;The cornstalks glisten like pale wine—But the wind is bitter cold.

Around my love a radiance lies,’Tis the glow of her soul’s sun;’Twill light a vision in my eyes—When the long day’s work is done.

Lovestirred the spheres,The groves rang mirth—There were no tears—At my love’s birth!A dancing starIn revel flashed;Then leaped afar—And earthward dashed.In bliss it showeredA million joys—Sweet wishes floweredIn girls and boys.Then back it went,With soaring dance,And darkness rentIn merry prance.The dawn’s grey spiresCleft night’s blue deep,Then golden firesConsumed dawn’s keep.A lark then flewWith joy on high—With pearly dew—Up to the sky.And gave its kissTo its dear mate,In flutt’ring bliss,At heaven’s gate.So rosy mornSubdued the night,When you were born,My joy’s delight!

Lovestirred the spheres,The groves rang mirth—There were no tears—At my love’s birth!

A dancing starIn revel flashed;Then leaped afar—And earthward dashed.

In bliss it showeredA million joys—Sweet wishes floweredIn girls and boys.

Then back it went,With soaring dance,And darkness rentIn merry prance.

The dawn’s grey spiresCleft night’s blue deep,Then golden firesConsumed dawn’s keep.

A lark then flewWith joy on high—With pearly dew—Up to the sky.

And gave its kissTo its dear mate,In flutt’ring bliss,At heaven’s gate.

So rosy mornSubdued the night,When you were born,My joy’s delight!

Fortune, you have naught I need;Fame cannot appease me;Flowery beds grow but a weed;Laughter cannot please me.Lovely roses win no smile,From my drooping spirit;Larks a song may sing the while,I will never hear it.Music rich, on which I throve,Leaves me worn and weary;Softest tunes of vernal groveSeem so trite and dreary.I am hard to please, I know,Nothing wins my pleasure;Let the golden rivers flow,I disdain their treasure.Heaven itself may shine in vain,It will cheer me never,Let it glow, or blow, or rain,Crack, and timbers sever.Let me seek the fallow way,Hating mirth and sorrow,Wanting not this dreary day,Give me bright tomorrow!Day is dark as longest night,Hours are without number;Wakeful night in its slow flight,Rids me of my slumber.Weary, weary world, ah! me,What is that I cry for?Only love to come to me—That is what I sigh for!Only Hebe, lovely one,She of loves the rarest—Give me my beloved sun,Light to me the fairest!

Come, let us make a garden, mate of mine,A patch of rich brown earth the Spring will green;I, with a spade and fork; you, with a lineAnd plan, will set it out for heaven’s bright sheenTo cover, when the warm days come again.Come, now the snows are melting, and the soilIs drinking down the draughts of winter’s pain;Let us dig in our hopes with jocund toil!The smell of fresh-turned loam will give us strength,The work will brace our souls for greater tasks;Our plan will bring us days of happy length,And take from us the tribute summer asks.Come, now the stubborn frost is yielding fast,And bathe our bodies in the softer airs,Which blow from kinder climes now winter’s past,And sleet and hail are gone to their white lairs.With hopes of lovely blooms to gather soon,Come, make a garden, mate of mine, with me,So we may go rejoicing in warm June,And all the glories of God’s bounty see.Come, mate of mine, and make a garden brightIn my sad heart, for snows are melting there,Bring to it all your joys of warmth and light,And bid it bloom, and never more be bare.

Come, let us make a garden, mate of mine,A patch of rich brown earth the Spring will green;I, with a spade and fork; you, with a lineAnd plan, will set it out for heaven’s bright sheen

To cover, when the warm days come again.Come, now the snows are melting, and the soilIs drinking down the draughts of winter’s pain;Let us dig in our hopes with jocund toil!

The smell of fresh-turned loam will give us strength,The work will brace our souls for greater tasks;Our plan will bring us days of happy length,And take from us the tribute summer asks.

Come, now the stubborn frost is yielding fast,And bathe our bodies in the softer airs,Which blow from kinder climes now winter’s past,And sleet and hail are gone to their white lairs.

With hopes of lovely blooms to gather soon,Come, make a garden, mate of mine, with me,So we may go rejoicing in warm June,And all the glories of God’s bounty see.

Come, mate of mine, and make a garden brightIn my sad heart, for snows are melting there,Bring to it all your joys of warmth and light,And bid it bloom, and never more be bare.

Wherethe peace of even lies,And the low’ring purples rest,Under amethystine skies,Is the mystery of the West.In the colour-blending shroudOf the glories of the heat,Where the myriad tones of cloudGlow and fade in their retreat,There the soul of peace lies still,In the secret of the eve,In the shadows of the hill,Where the colours spin and weaveAll the textures for the skies,All the yearnings of the heart,All the gleams in lovely eyes—In the wonder-colour partLies the soul of peace. And thou!Dearest mystery of my life,With thy colours me endow,In the murk and gloom of strife.Radiant! Clothe me in thy soul—Sanctuary of my rest.Let thy mingling colours roll,Deep, around me in thy West.

Wherethe peace of even lies,And the low’ring purples rest,Under amethystine skies,Is the mystery of the West.

In the colour-blending shroudOf the glories of the heat,Where the myriad tones of cloudGlow and fade in their retreat,

There the soul of peace lies still,In the secret of the eve,In the shadows of the hill,Where the colours spin and weave

All the textures for the skies,All the yearnings of the heart,All the gleams in lovely eyes—In the wonder-colour part

Lies the soul of peace. And thou!Dearest mystery of my life,With thy colours me endow,In the murk and gloom of strife.

Radiant! Clothe me in thy soul—Sanctuary of my rest.Let thy mingling colours roll,Deep, around me in thy West.

Tenthousand lights were gleaming there,A million stars were bright—But, oh, my darling’s face was fairOn that entrancing night.The world looked up and saw the skies,In lovely colour shine—I looked into my darling’s eyes,And all the world was mine.

Tenthousand lights were gleaming there,A million stars were bright—But, oh, my darling’s face was fairOn that entrancing night.

The world looked up and saw the skies,In lovely colour shine—I looked into my darling’s eyes,And all the world was mine.

Areyou the wondrous joy of Spring,Sent coursing through the woods,With chorals for the birds to sing,And colors for the buds?Or are you some supreme delight,Which morn set free with mirth,To carry gladness in your flightAll o’er the meads of earth?What are you, Hebe, nymph or maid?You start Spring in my heartWith blooms that time can never fade—Rejuvenating art.What witchery, like Spring, is thisYou hold o’er me, sweet one?You set me glowing with a kissWith warmth of summer sun.As winter thaws when spring comes inWith claims to warmth and growth,So you from cold my soul doth win—Pour in it best of both.I rise from dreary hours and smileAt sorrow when you call,And thrill with youthful yearnings whileYour blisses on me fall.’Tis magic! ’Tis the art of joy,Transforming way of Spring;Her methods, Hebe, you employTo make my young heart sing.

Areyou the wondrous joy of Spring,Sent coursing through the woods,With chorals for the birds to sing,And colors for the buds?

Or are you some supreme delight,Which morn set free with mirth,To carry gladness in your flightAll o’er the meads of earth?

What are you, Hebe, nymph or maid?You start Spring in my heartWith blooms that time can never fade—Rejuvenating art.

What witchery, like Spring, is thisYou hold o’er me, sweet one?You set me glowing with a kissWith warmth of summer sun.

As winter thaws when spring comes inWith claims to warmth and growth,So you from cold my soul doth win—Pour in it best of both.

I rise from dreary hours and smileAt sorrow when you call,And thrill with youthful yearnings whileYour blisses on me fall.

’Tis magic! ’Tis the art of joy,Transforming way of Spring;Her methods, Hebe, you employTo make my young heart sing.

I loveher for her tenderness,Her sweet abiding grace,Her gentle spirit’s loveliness,Her earnest, winsome face!I love her for her happy ways,Her body’s wondrous bloom,Her smiles which light the heavy days,And straight dispel my gloom!I love her for her honest speech—Her constant soul’s delight—Her honeyed lips the gods would teachTo kiss their loves aright!I love her for she kept for me,Those lips where perfect blissAwaits in reddening ecstasyHer lover’s eager kiss!

I loveher for her tenderness,Her sweet abiding grace,Her gentle spirit’s loveliness,Her earnest, winsome face!

I love her for her happy ways,Her body’s wondrous bloom,Her smiles which light the heavy days,And straight dispel my gloom!

I love her for her honest speech—Her constant soul’s delight—Her honeyed lips the gods would teachTo kiss their loves aright!

I love her for she kept for me,Those lips where perfect blissAwaits in reddening ecstasyHer lover’s eager kiss!

Hebeis a mystery,Moving in a woman’s guise,Through a silent sacristy—Holy as her lovely eyes.Hebe is a magnet strong,Drawing strength from strength each day,She is like a glorious song,Growing sweeter in its sway;Melting mind and heart at first,Thrilling all the senses whole,’Til in its melodic burst,Leaps triumphant o’er the soul.Hebe is enchanting whenAll the world seems most awry;She smiles brightly o’er me, thenEarth is gone and heaven is nigh.Hebe is both pro and con—She is understanding’s own.Was there ever paragonSuch as she to scholars known?She is younger than her youth,She is older than her race,She is clearer than the truth,Tender as her winsome face.Nature’s contradiction she,Turning science upside down;She is Love’s own mystery,From her heel up to her crown.Hebe is all things of joy:She is joy—joy was forgot’Til she came, here to employLover’s arts the Greeks knew not.She is supple, strong, and sweet;She is full of gentle mirth—Happy are her splendid feet,They are worthy of the earth.She is sportive as a child,She is wise as she is kind,With a temper firm yet mild,She controls her earnest mind.Tears may fall as drenching rain,She will make each tear a pearl,And the heart when full of pain,She can set in joyful whirl.Who records this maid of bliss?I, who love her every act.Greater myst’ry yet is this:Hebe is a splendid fact.

Hebeis a mystery,Moving in a woman’s guise,Through a silent sacristy—Holy as her lovely eyes.

Hebe is a magnet strong,Drawing strength from strength each day,She is like a glorious song,Growing sweeter in its sway;

Melting mind and heart at first,Thrilling all the senses whole,’Til in its melodic burst,Leaps triumphant o’er the soul.

Hebe is enchanting whenAll the world seems most awry;She smiles brightly o’er me, thenEarth is gone and heaven is nigh.

Hebe is both pro and con—She is understanding’s own.Was there ever paragonSuch as she to scholars known?

She is younger than her youth,She is older than her race,She is clearer than the truth,Tender as her winsome face.

Nature’s contradiction she,Turning science upside down;She is Love’s own mystery,From her heel up to her crown.

Hebe is all things of joy:She is joy—joy was forgot’Til she came, here to employLover’s arts the Greeks knew not.

She is supple, strong, and sweet;She is full of gentle mirth—Happy are her splendid feet,They are worthy of the earth.

She is sportive as a child,She is wise as she is kind,With a temper firm yet mild,She controls her earnest mind.

Tears may fall as drenching rain,She will make each tear a pearl,And the heart when full of pain,She can set in joyful whirl.

Who records this maid of bliss?I, who love her every act.Greater myst’ry yet is this:Hebe is a splendid fact.

Letus goWhile Spring’s delicious breezes blow,And see the dunes and sedges growGreen, white, and red—Now Winter’s sped—And all the moorland is aglow.Let us feelThe magic breath of springtime stealOn us, and everywhere revealThe joyous strifeOf bursting life,And hear the bells of heaven peal.Let us seeThe busy songsters’ ecstasy,And hear them pipe their songs of glee—For all the dayThey seem to say,The soul is happy that is free!Love, divine,Art thou not Spring, and give me wineTo quaff? For in this heart of mineA new life grows,And yields a roseFor thee—the fragrance of it thine!Hebe, dear,The message of this Spring day hear;See, love, the glory of the year:The Spring is free,So Summer beThe season in which joy is clear!

Letus goWhile Spring’s delicious breezes blow,And see the dunes and sedges growGreen, white, and red—Now Winter’s sped—And all the moorland is aglow.

Let us feelThe magic breath of springtime stealOn us, and everywhere revealThe joyous strifeOf bursting life,And hear the bells of heaven peal.

Let us seeThe busy songsters’ ecstasy,And hear them pipe their songs of glee—For all the dayThey seem to say,The soul is happy that is free!

Love, divine,Art thou not Spring, and give me wineTo quaff? For in this heart of mineA new life grows,And yields a roseFor thee—the fragrance of it thine!

Hebe, dear,The message of this Spring day hear;See, love, the glory of the year:The Spring is free,So Summer beThe season in which joy is clear!

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