The Project Gutenberg eBook ofPoems of loveThis 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: Poems of loveAuthor: Ella Wheeler WilcoxRelease date: December 23, 2024 [eBook #74968]Language: EnglishOriginal publication: Chicago: M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY, 1905Credits: Debra Ella LaVergne*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF LOVE ***
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: Poems of loveAuthor: Ella Wheeler WilcoxRelease date: December 23, 2024 [eBook #74968]Language: EnglishOriginal publication: Chicago: M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY, 1905Credits: Debra Ella LaVergne
Title: Poems of love
Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Release date: December 23, 2024 [eBook #74968]
Language: English
Original publication: Chicago: M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY, 1905
Credits: Debra Ella LaVergne
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF LOVE ***
of
BY
CHICAGOM. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY427-429 Dearborn Street
Copyright 1905.M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY
"SWEET DANGER"
A FATAL IMPRESS
LOVE
I WILL BE TRUE
THE FAREWELL
THE KINGDOM OF LOVE
LOVE WILL WANE
THREE-FOLD
A MAIDEN'S SECRET
LINES FROM "MAURINE"
ART AND LOVE
ONE WOMAN'S HISTORY
WHY THE SPRING IS LATE
RIVER AND SEA
LOVE
IN THE GARDEN
WHEN YOU GO AWAY
LINES ON H--'S FOOT
A BABY IN THE HOUSE
RESIGNED
IN FAITH
I TOLD YOU
LOST
ONLY A SAD MISTAKE
SONG OF THE WHEELMAN
"THE OLD MOON IN THE NEW MOON'S ARMS"
THE SOUL'S FAREWELL TO THE BODY
LONG AGO
TAKE MY HAND
THE WILD BLUE-BELLS
A WAIF
A FACE AT THE WINDOW
SEARCHING
OUR BLESSINGS
GOING AWAY
BE NOT WEARY
GROWING OLD
THE SUMMONS
CONVERSION
ONE WOMAN'S PLEA
IF
A PLEA FOR FAME
A MOTHER'S WAIL
"THE SAME OLD STRAIN"
LIMITLESS
DENIED
WARNED
RICH AND POOR
OVER THE ALLEY
AT THE WINDOW
ONLY A KISS
MY SHIP
FINIS
LINES
OVER THE WATER
FLOWERS FOR THE BRAVE
THE PEOPLE'S FAVORITE
AN ARMY REUNION
THE CAMPFIRE
INDEPENDENCE ODE
The danger of war, with its havoc of life,The danger of ocean, when storms are rife,The danger of jungles, where wild beasts hide,The danger that lies in the mountain slide,--Why, what are they but all mere child's play,Or the idle sport of a summer day,Beside These battles that stir and vexThe world forever, of sex with sex?
The warrior returns from the captured fort,The mariner sails to a peaceful port;The wild beast quails 'neath the strong man's eye,The avalanche passes the traveler by--But who can rescue from passion's pyreThe hearts that were offered to feed its fire?Ah! he who emerges from that fierce flameIs scarred with sorrow or blackened with shame.
Battle and billow, and beast of prey,They only threaten the mortal clay;The soul unfettered can take to wing;But the danger of love is another thing.Once under the tyrant Passion's control,He crushes body, and heart, and soul.An hour of rapture, an age of despair,Ah! these are the trophies of love's warfare.
And yet forever, since time began,Has man dared woman and woman lured manTo that sweet danger that lurks and liesIn the bloodless battle of eyes with eyes;That reckless danger, as vast as sweet,Whose bitter ending is joy's defeat.Ah! thus forever, while time shall last,On passion's altar must hearts be cast!
A little leaf just in the forest's edge,All summer long, had listened to the wooingOf amorous birds that flew across the hedge,Singing their blithe sweet songs for her undoing.So many were the flattering things they told her,The parent tree seemed quite too small to hold her.
At last one lonesome day she saw them flyAcross the fields behind the coquette summer,They passed her with a laughing light good-by,When from the north, there strode a strange new comer;Bold was his mien, as he gazed on her, crying,"How comes it, then, that Thou art left here sighing!
"Now by my faith thou art a lovely leaf--May I not kiss that cheek so fair and tender?"Her slighted heart welled full of bitter grief,The rudeness of his words did not offend her,She felt so sad, so desolate, so deserted,Oh, if her lonely fate might be averted.
"One little kiss," he sighed, "I ask no more--"His face was cold, his lips too pale for passion.She smiled assent; and then bold Frost leaned lower,And clasped her close, and kissed in lover's fashion.Her smooth cheek flushed to sudden guilty splendor,Another kiss, and then complete surrender.
Just for a day she was a beauteous sight,The world looked on to pity and admireThis modest little leaf, that in a nightHad seemed to set the forest all on fire.And then--this victim of a broken trust,A withered thing, was trodden in the dust.
The day is drawing near, my dear,When you and I must sever;Yet whether near or far we are,Our hearts will love forever,Our hearts will love forever.
O sweet, I will be true, and youMust never fail or falter;I hold a love like mine divine,And yours--it must not alter,O, swear it will not alter.
I will be true. Mad stars forsake their courses,And, led by reckless meteors, turn awayFrom paths appointed by Eternal Forces.But my fixed heart shall never go astray.Like those calm worlds, whose sun-directed motionIs undisturbed by strife of wind or sea,So shall my swerveless and serene devotionSweep on forever, loyal unto thee.
I will be true. Light barks may be belated,Or turned aside by every breeze at play;While sturdy ships, well manned, and richly freighted,With broad sails flying, anchor safe in bay.Like some firm rock, that, steadfast and unshaken,Stands all unmoved, while ebbing billows flee,So would my heart stand, faithful if forsaken.I will be true, though thou art false to me.
'Tis not the untried soldier new to dangerWho fears to enter into active strife.Amidst the roll of drums, the cannon's rattle,He craves adventure, and thinks not of life.
But the scarred veteran knows the price of glory,He does not court the conflict or the fray.He has no longing to rehearse that goryAnd most dramatic act, of war's dark play.
He who to love has always been a strangerAll unafraid may linger in your spell.My heart has known the warfare, and its danger.It craves no repetition--so farewell.
In the dawn of the day, when the sea and the earthReflected the sunrise above,I set forth, with a heart full of courage and mirth,To seek for the Kingdom of Love.I asked of a Poet I met on the way,Which cross-road would lead me aright.And he said: "Follow me, and ere long you will seeIts glistening turrets of Light."
And soon in the distance a city shone fair;"Look yonder," he said, "there it gleams!"But alas! for the hopes that were doomed to despair,It was only the Kingdom of Dreams.Then the next man I asked was a gay cavalier,And he said: "Follow me, follow me,"And with laughter and song we went speeding alongBy the shores of life's beautiful sea.
Till we came to a valley more tropical far,Than the wonderful Vale of Cashmere.And I saw from a bower a face like a flower,Smile out on the gay cavalier.And he said: "We have come to humanity's goal--Here love and delight are intense."But alas! and alas! for the hope of my soul--It was only the kingdom of Sense--
As I journeyed more slowly, I met on the roadA coach with retainers behind,And they said: "Follow us, for our lady's abodeBelongs in the realm you would find."'Twas a grand dame of fashion, a newly-wed bride;I followed, encouraged and bold.But my hope died away, like the last gleams of day,For we came to the Kingdom of Gold.
At the door of a cottage I asked a fair maid."I have heard of that Realm," she replied,"But my feet never roam from the Kingdom of Home,So I know not the way," and she sighed.I looked on the cottage, how restful it seemed!And the maid was as fair as a dove.Great light glorified my soul as I cried,"Why, home is the Kingdom of Love!"
When your love begins to wane,Spare me from the cruel painOf all speech that tells me so--Spare me words, for I shall know,
By the half-averted eyes,By the breast that no more sighs,By the rapture I shall missFrom your strangely-altered kiss;
By the arms that still enfoldBut have lost their clinging hold,And, too willing, let me go,I shall know, love, I shall know.
Bitter will the knowledge be,Bitterer than death to me.Yet, 'twill come to me some day,For it is the sad world's way.
Make no vows--vows cannot bindChanging hearts or wayward mind.Men grow weary of a blissPassionate and fond as this.
Love will wane. But I shall know,If you do not tell me so.Know it, tho' you smile and sayThat you love me more each day.
Know it by the inner sightThat forever sees aright.Words could but increase my woe,And without them, I shall know.
Somewhere I've read a thoughtful mind's reflection:"All perfect things are three-fold"; and I knowOur love has this rare symbol of perfection;The brain's response, the warm blood's rapturous glow,The soul's sweet language, silent and unspoken.All these unite us with a deathless tie.For when our frail, clay tenement is broken,Our spirits will be lovers still, on high.
My dearest wish, you speak before I word it.You understand the workings of my heart.My soul's thought, breathed where only God has heard it,You fathom with your strange divining art.And like a fire, that cheers, and lights, and blesses,And floods a mansion full of happy heat,So does the subtle warmth of your caresses,Pervade me with rapture, keen as sweet.
And so sometimes, as you and I togetherExult in all dear love's three-fold delights,I cannot help but vaguely wonder whetherWhen our freed souls attain their spirit heights,E'en if we reach that upper realm where God is,And find the tales of heavenly glory true,I wonder if we shall not miss our bodies,And long, at times, for hours on earth we knew.
As now, we sometimes pray to leave our prisonAnd soar beyond all physical demands,So may we not sigh, when we have arisen,For just one old-time touch of lips and hands?I know, dear heart, a thought like this seems daringConcerning God's vast Government above,Yet, even _There_, I shrink from wholly sparingOne element, from this, our Three-fold Love.
I have written this day down in my heartAs the sweetest day in the season;From all of the others I've set it apart--But I will not tell you the reason.That is my secret--I must not tell;But the skies are soft and tender,And never before, I know full well,Was the earth so full of splendor.
I sing at my labor the whole day long,And my heart is as light as a feather;And there is a reason for my glad songBesides the beautiful weather.But I will not tell it to you; and thoughThat thrush in the maple heard it,And would shout it aloud if he could, I knowHe hasn't the power to word it.
Up, where I was sewing, this morn came oneWho told me the sweetest stories,He said I had stolen my hair from the sun,And my eyes from the morning glories.Grandmother says that I must not believeA word men say, for they flatter;But I'm sure he would never try to deceiveFor he told me--but there--no matter!
Last night I was sad, and the world to meSeemed a lonely and dreary dwelling,But some one then had not asked me to be--There now! I am almost telling.Not another word shall my two lips say,I will shut them fast together,And never a mortal shall know to-dayWhy my heart is as light as a feather.
It was a way of Helen's not to singThe songs that other people sang; she tookSometimes an extract from an olden book--Again some floating, fragmentary thing,And these she fitted to old melodies,Or else composed the music. One of theseShe sang that night; and Vivian caught the strain.And joined her in the chorus or refrain:
O thou, mine other stronger part,Whom yet I cannot hear or see,Come thou and take this loving heart,That longs to yield its all to thee.I call mine own, O come to me--Love, answer back, "I come to thee,I come to thee!"
This hungry heart, so warm, so largeIs far too great a care for me.I have grown weary of the chargeI keep so sacredly for thee.Come, then, and take my heart from me--Love, answer back, "I come to thee,I come to thee."
I am a'weary waiting hereFor one who tarries long from me.O, art thou far, or art thou near,And must I still be sad for thee?Love, answer, "I am near to thee,I am come to thee!"
For many long uninterrupted yearsShe was the friend and confidant of Art;They walked together, heart communed with heartIn that sweet comradeship that so endears.Her fondest hopes, her sorrows and her fearsShe told her mate; who would in turn impartImportant truths and secrets. But a dart,Shot by that unskilled, mischievous boy, who peersFrom ambush on us, struck one day her breast,And Love sprang forth to kiss away her tears.She thought his brow shone with a wondrous grace;But, when she turned to introduce her guestTo Art, behold, she found an empty place,The goddess fled, with sad, averted face.
"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.
"Where lay the shallows of the maidNo plummet line the wife can sound;Where round the sunny islands playedThe pulses of the great profoundLies low the treacherous everglade.
"A wife is like an unknown sea,Least known to him who thinks he knowsWhere all the shores of Promise be,And where the islands of Repose--And where the rocks that he must flee."
To Miss Eva Russell.
The spring time is deaf to our pleading,The meadows are brown as can be.The hilltops are bleak and unlovely,No thrush sits and sings on the tree.I hear many practical peopleExplain why the spring loiters so,But, dear one, they all are mistaken:The true reason I alone know.
The South-wind, Spring's hand-maiden, told meHer mistress declared, o'er and o'er,That, till you were here to give greeting,She'd visit our prairies no more.And all her vast household stand by her!The thrush says he cannot come hereAnd sing the old songs that you loved so,Unless you are lingering near.
The wild pinks that rival your blushes,The violets blue as the sky,Declare it no pleasure to blossomUnseen by your beautiful eye.Oh darling! I'm loath to upbraid you,So come without further delay.Each moment you linger, rememberYou are keeping the spring time away.Then come! we are waiting to welcomeThe birds and the flowers, 'tis true;But warmer than all is the welcome,Fair girl, that is waiting for you.
Under the light of the silver moon,We two sat, when our hearts were young;The night was warm with the breath of June,And loud from the meadow the cricket sung,And darker and deeper, oh love, than the sea,Were your dear eyes, as they beamed on me.
The moon hung clear, and the night was still;The waters reflected the glittering skies;The nightingale sang on the distant hill;But sweeter than all was the light in your eyes--Your dear, dark eyes, your eyes like the sea--And up from the depths shone love for me.
My heart, like a river, was mad and wild--And a river is not deep, like the sea;But I said your love was the love of a child,Compared with the love that was felt by me;A river leaps noisily, kissing the land,But the sea is fathomless, deep and grand.
I vowed to love you, for ever and ever;I called you cold, on that night in June,But my fierce love, like a reckless riverDashed oh, and away, and was spent too soon;While yours--ah, yours was deep like the sea;I cheated you, love, but you died for me!
In all earth's music, grand, or sweet, or strong,To hear one name, as if 'twere set in song.
In all my poems, written 'neath the sun,To find the praises, o'er and o'er, in one.
To feel thyself a lesser part of whatHadst thou not found, the earth would be as naught.
To think all beauty, perfectness and grace,As but the shadow of one worshiped face.
With that face's coming, to bask in warmth and lightAnd with its going to grope, as in the night.
To rather feel a dear hand's stinging blowThan any caress another might bestow.
To rather sit in gloom, and hear one voiceThan, missing that, on mountain tops rejoice.
To lose all individual hope and aim,And have no wish, but for another's fame.
To count grief naught, though great, if one is glad.To feel no joy if that dear one is sad.
Do thy heart strings, responsive, answer this?Then thou hast known true love in all its bliss.
One moment alone in the garden,Under the August skies;The moon had gone but the stars shone on,--Shone like your beautiful eyes.Away from the glitter and gaslight,Alone in the garden there,While the mirth of the throng, in laugh and song,Floated out on the air.
You looked down through the starlight,And I looked up at you;And a feeling came that I could not name,--Something strange and new.Friends of a few weeks only,--Why should it give me painTo know you would go on the morrow,And would not come again?
Formal friends of a season,What matter that we must part?But under the skies, with a swift surprise,Each read the other's heart.We did not speak, but your breath on my cheekWas like a breeze of the south;And your dark hair brushed my foreheadAnd your kiss fell on my mouth.
Some one was searching for me,--Some one to say good-night;And we went in from the garden,Out of the sweet starlight,Back to the glitter and music,And we said "Good-bye" in the hall,When a dozen heard and echoed the word,And then--well, that was all.
The river that rolls between usCan never be crossed, I know,For the waters are deep and the shores are steep,And a maelstrom whirls below;But I think we shall always remember,Though we both may strive to forget,How you looked in my eyes, 'neath the August skies,After the moon had set;--
How you kissed my lips in the garden,And we stood in a trance of bliss,And our hearts seemed speaking togetherIn that one thrilling kiss.
When you go away, my friend,When we say our last good-bye,Then the summer time will end,And the winter will be nigh.
Though the green grass decks the heather,And the birds sing all the day,There will be no summer weather,After you have gone away.
When I look into your eyes,I shall thrill with sharpest pain;Thinking that beneath the skies,I may never look again.
You will feel a moment's sorrow--I shall feel a lasting grief;You forgetting on the morrow--I, to mourn with no relief
When we say the last, sad words,And you are no longer near,All the winds, and all the birds,Can not keep the summer here.
Life will lose its full completeness,Lose it, not for you, but me;All the beauty and the sweetnessEarth can hold, I shall not see.
It may be you've seen her eyes,Dark and deep like midnight skies;You mayhap have seen them flashUnderneath the drooping lash,And been dazzled by the lightOf those orbs, so dark and bright;But-have you seen her foot,In its little gaiter boot?
You have noticed, maybe, howThe lily spreads from chin to brow.You have thought her cheek more fairThan if roses lingered there;(Roses would seem out of placeOn her pale patrician face)But--again I question you,Have you seen her tiny shoe?
You have thought her mouth, no doubt,Like a blush-rose half blown out;Small and sweet, withal, beside,Touched with scorn and curved with pride;(Innate pride-not meant to chill)--You have seen it there, and still--Answer one more question, pray--Have you seen her boot? I say.
Such a tiny, tiny thing,Is that foot of which I sing;No. 3 would hide it soIt could not be found, I know.No. 2 must stand asideAll too long and large and wide,No. 1 _must_ be the bootFor this maiden's little foot.
You may envy, sir, the clerkIn the shoe-store, hard at work,Who tries the gaiter bootOn this cunning little foot.On his knee, supporting it,Saying, "It's a perfect fit,"Buttoning on the No. 1,Looking sorry, when it's done.
You have seen her, slight and neat,As she tripped along the street,You have _heard_ the pit-pat-fallOf that foot so very small.That she's fair, and pure, and good,Bright, and sweet is understood,But--have you seen that foot--In its dainty gaiter boot?
I knew that a baby was hid in that house,Though I saw no cradle, and heard no cry,But the husband went tip-toeing 'round like a mouse,And the good wife was humming a soft lullaby;And there was a look on the face of that motherThat I knew could mean only one thing, and no other.
The mother, I said to myself; for I knewThat the woman before me was certainly that,For there lay in the corner a tiny cloth shoe,And I saw on a stand such a wee little hat;And the beard of the husband said plain as could be,"Two fat, chubby hands have been tugging at me."
And he took from his pocket a gay picture book,And a dog that would bark if you pulled on a string;And the wife laid them up with such a pleased look;And I said to myself, "There is no other thingBut a babe that could bring about all this, and soThat one is in hiding here somewhere, I know."
I stayed but a moment, and saw nothing more,And heard not a sound, yet I know I was right;What else could the shoe mean that lay on the floor--The book and the toy, and the faces so bright?And what made the husband as still as a mouse?I am sure, very sure, there's a babe in that house.
My babe was moaning in its sleep,I leaned and kissed it where it lay,My pain was such I could not weep,Oh, would God take my child away?He had so many round his throne--If He took mine--I stood alone!
I took my child upon my knee;It looked up with its father's eyes,Who, ere the infant came to me,Had journeyed homeward to the skies,But through These eyes, so sad and mild,I found my husband, in my child.
It was such comfort, night and day,To watch its slumber,--feel its breath--And slow--so slow--it pined away,I heard not the approach of DeathUntil he stood close at my side,And then my soul within me died.
I clasped my babe with sudden moan,I cried, "My sweet, thou shalt not goTo join the children round the Throne,For I have need of thee below.If God takes thee, I am bereft--No hope or joy or comfort left."
My babe looked pleading in my face,It seemed my husband's eyes instead,And his voice sounded in the place,"I want my child in heaven," it said.The infant raised its little hands,And seemed to reach toward heavenly lands.
The tears that had refused to flowCame welling upward from my heart,I sobbed, "My child, then thou may'st go,Thy angel father bids us part.I know in all that heavenly placeHe ne'er looked on so sweet a face.
"He journeyed on, before thou came--And all these months, he's longed for thee,How could I so forget his claim--And strive to keep thee at my knee.Go, child--my child--and give him this--In one the wife's and mother's kiss."
My baby smiled, and seeming slept,Its hand grew cold within my own.Not wholly sad the tears I weptFor though I was indeed aloneMy babe I knew was safe at rest.Upon its angel father's breast.
When the soft sweet wind o' the south went by,I dwelt in the light of a dark brown eye;And out where the robin sang his song,We lived and loved, while the days were long.
In the sweet, sweet eves, when the moon swung high,We wandered under the starry sky;Or sat in the porch, and the moon looked throughThe latticed wall, where the roses grew.
My lips, that had known no lover's kiss,You taught the art, till they thrilled in bliss;And the moon, and the stars, and the roses knewThat the heart you won was pure and true.
But true hearts weary men, maybe,For you grew weary of love, and me.Over the porch the dead vines hang,And a mourning dove sobs where the robin sang.
In a warmer clime does another sighUnder the light of your dark brown eye?Did you follow the soft sweet wind o' the southAnd are you kissing a redder mouth?
Lips may be redder, and eyes more bright;The face may be fairer you see to-night;But never, love, while the stars shall shine;Will you find a heart that is truer than mine.
Sometime, perhaps, when south winds blow,You will think of a love you used to know;Sometime, perhaps, when a robin sings,Your heart will go back to olden things.
Sometime you will weary of this world's arts,Of deceit and change and hollow hearts,And, wearying, sigh for the "used to be,"And your feet will turn to the porch, and me.
I shall watch for you here when days grow long;I shall list for your step through the robin's song;I shall sit in the porch where the moon looks through,And a vacant chair will wait--for you.
You may stray, and forget, and rove afar,But my changeless love, like the polar star,Will draw you at length o'er land and sea--And I know you will yet come back to me.
The years may come, and the years may go,But sometime again, when south winds blow,When roses bloom, and the moon swings high,I shall live in the light of your dark brown eye.
I told you the winter would go, love,I told you the winter would go.That he'd flee in shame when the south wind came,And you smiled when I told you so.You said the blustering fellowWould never yield to a breeze,That his cold, icy breath had frozen to deathThe flowers, and birds, and trees.
And I told you the snow would melt, love,In the passionate glance o' the sun;And the leaves o' the trees, and the flowers and bees,Would come back again, one by one.That the great, gray clouds would vanishAnd the sky turn tender and blueAnd the sweet birds would sing, and talk of the spring,And, love, it has all come true.
I told you that sorrow would fade loveAnd you would forget half your pain;That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long,And sing in your bosom again;That hope would creep out of the shadows,And back to its nest in your heart,And gladness would come, and find its old home,And that sorrow at length would depart.
I told you that grief seldom killed, love,Though the heart might seem dead for awhile.But the world is so bright, and so full of warm lightThat 'twould waken at length, in its smile.Ah, love! was I not a true prophet?There's a sweet happy smile on your face;Your sadness has flown--the snow-drift is gone,And the buttercups bloom in its place.
You left me with the autumn time;When winter stripped the forest bare,Then dressed it in his spotless rime;When frosts were lurking in the airYou left me here and went away.The winds were cold; you could not stay.
You sought a warmer clime, untilThe south wind, artful maid, should breakThe winter's trumpets, and should fillThe air with songs of birds; and wakeThe sleeping blossoms on the plainAnd make the brooks to flow again.
I thought the winter desolate,And all times felt a sense of loss.I taught my longing heart to wait,And said, "When spring shall come acrossThe hills, with blossoms in her track,Then she, our loved one, will come back."
And now the hills with grass and mossThe spring with cunning hands has spread,And yet I feel my grievous loss.My heart will not be comforted,But crieth daily, "Where is sheYou promised should come back to me?"
Oh, love! where are you! day by day;I seek to find you, but in vain.Men point me to a grave, and say:"There is her bed upon the plain."But though I see no trace of you,I cannot think their words are true.
You were too sweet to wholly passAway from earth, and leave no trace;You were too fair to let the grassGrow rank and tall above your face.Your voice, that mocked the robin's trill,I cannot think is hushed and still.
I thought I saw your golden hair,One day, and reached to touch a strand;I found but yellow sunbeams there--The bright rays fell aslant my handAnd seemed to mock, with lights and shades,The silken meshes of your braids.
Again, I thought I saw your handWave, as if beckoning to me;I found 'twas but a lily, fannedBy the cool zephyrs from the sea.Oh, love! I find no trace of you--I wonder if their words were true?
One day I heard a singing voice;A burst of music, trill on trill.It made my very soul rejoice;My heart gave an exultant thrill.I cried, "Oh heart, we've found her--hush!"But no--'twas the silver-throated thrush.
And once I thought I saw your face,And wild with joy I ran to you;But found, when I had reached the place,'Twas but a blush rose, bathed in dew.Ah, love! I think you must be dead;And I believe the words they said.
Only a blunder--a sad mistake;All my own fault and mine alone.The saddest error a heart can make;I was so young, or I would have known.
Only his rare, sweet, tender smile;Only a lingering touch of his hand.I think I was dreaming all the while,The reason I did not understand.
Yet, somewhere, I've read men woo this way;That eyes speak, sometimes, before the tongue.And I was sure he would speak some day;Pardon the folly--I was so young.
Was I, say--for now I am old!So old, it seems like a hundred yearsSince I felt my heart growing hard and coldWith a pain too bitter and deep for tears.
I saw him lean over the stranger's chair,With a warm, new light in his beautiful eyes;And I woke from my dreaming, then and there,And went out of my self-made Paradise.
He never loved me--I know, I see!Such sad, sad blunders as young hearts make.She did not win him away from me,For he was not mine. It was my mistake.
A woman should wait for a man to speakBefore she dreams of his love, I own;But I was a girl--girls' hearts are weak;And the pain, like the fault, is mine alone.
Over my desk in a dark office bending,Dim seems the sunlight and dull seems the day;But when the afternoon draws toward an ending,Here waits my steel steed--I mount, and away!Like cobwebs of silver I see in the distanceThe glint of bright wheels, I must follow and find.What life in the air now! what zest in existence,As faster and faster I race with the wind.
Down the smooth pavements, and out toward the heather--Ho! fellows, ho! I am coming you see!
Breast to breast, now let us speed on together--Who dares try mounting that hillside with me?Over the bridge I go--past the green meadows,Au revoir, boys, I will ride on alone!For in yon cottage half hid in the shadows,Waiting for me, is my sweetheart--my own.
She watches my wheel as it glitters and glistensDown the steep crest of the daisy-starred hill.Fair is her cheek as she waits there and listensFor the sure signal blown tenderly shrill.Sweetheart, my sweetheart, I'm coming, I'm coming.Here, sturdy steed, you may stand by the wall.
A bird to her mate has flown swift thro' the gloaming,Love, youth and summer, thank God for them all.
The beautiful and slender young New Moon,In trailing robes of pink and palest blue,Swept close to Venus, and breathed low: "A boonA precious boon, I ask, dear friend, of you.
"O queen of light and beauty, you have knownThe pangs of love--its passions and alarms;Then grant me this one favor, let my own--My lost Old Moon be once more in my arms."
Swift thro' the vapors and the golden mist--The Full Moon's shadowy shape shone on the night,The New Moon reached out clasping arms and kissedHer phantom lover in the whole world's sight.
So we must part forever. And althoughI long have beat my wings and cried to goFree from your narrow limits and control,Forth into space, the true home of the soul;
Yet now, yet now that hour is drawing near,I paused reluctant, finding you so dear.All joys await me in the realm of God;Must you, my comrade, moulder in the sod?
I was your captive, yet you were my slave;Your prisoner, yet obedience you gaveTo all my earnest wishes and commands.Now to the worm I leave these willing hands
That toiled for me, or held the book I read.These feet that trod where 'er I bade them tread,These arms that clasped my dear ones, and the breastOn which one loved and loving heart found rest.
These lips thro' which my prayers to God have risen,These eyes that were the windows of my prison.From these, all these, Death's angel bids me sever,Dear Comrade Body, fare you well forever.
I go to my inheritance; and goWith joy that only the freed soul can know;Yet, in my spirit journeyings I trustI may sometimes pause near your sacred dust.
I loved a maiden, long ago,She held within her hand my fate;And in the ruddy sunset glowWe lingered at the garden gate.
The splendor of the western skiesLay in a halo on her hair.I gazed with worship in her eyes,And deemed her true and knew her fair.
"Good night," I said, and turned away;She held me with her subtle smile.I saw her red lips whisper "stay,"And so I lingered yet awhile.
"I love you, love you, sweet!" I said,She laughed, and whispered, "I love you."I kissed her small mouth, ripe and red,And knew her fair, and deemed her true.
'Twas very, very long ago,And I was young, and so was she;My faith as love was strong, for oh!The maid was all the world to me.
But as the sunset died awayAnd left the heavens cold and blue,So died my dream of love one day.The maid was only fair, not true.
Strengthen me for every contest,Let my prayers be not in vain,I would bless Thee, in my sorrow;I would glory in my pain;Make my spirit white-for heaven;Let my soul be purifiedIn the blood that flowed so freely,From the wound in Jesus' side.
Gird my soul, oh! God! for battle,I am weak, O! make me strong;Do not let my courage falter,Though the strife be fierce and long;And upon thy hand, my Father,Let me keep a clinging hold,Till my feet have landed safely,In the city built of gold.
Came a bouquet from the city,Fragrant, rich and debonair--Sweet carnation and geranium,Heliotrope and roses rare.
Down beside the crystal river,Where the moss-grown rocks are high,And the ferns, from niche and crevice,Stretch to greet the azure sky;
In the chaste October sunlight,High above the path below,Grew a tuft of lovely blue-bells,Softly wind-swung to and fro.
Reached a dainty hand to grasp them,Bore them home with loving care,Tenderly and proudly placed them'Mid the flowers so sweet and fair.
But my timid little blue-bellsChildren of the leafy wild,Dazzled by their city sisters,Turned away and, tearful, smiled.
When, alone, I bent to kiss them,Pleadingly they sighed to me,"Take us, when we die, we pray thee,Back beneath the dear old tree.
"We would sleep where first the sunshineKissed us in the dewy morn;Where, while soft, warm zephyrs fanned us,Leaf and bud and flower were born."
So I bore them, when they faded,Back to where love sighed for them;Laid them near the ferns and mosses'Neath the dear old parent stem;--
Deeply grieved that all things lovelyMust so soon forever die,--That upon the gentle blue-bellsWinter's cold, deep snows must lie.
And I half arraigned the goodnessThat made Death king everywhere--Stretching forth his cruel sceptre--Lord of sea, and earth, and air.
Summer came, and all the hillsidesWore a shim'ring robe of green;And with rifts of sky and cloudletFlashed the river's golden sheen.
I was walking the old pathway,When a tiny shout I heard;Harken! was it elfin fairy,Or some truant mocking bird?
No! a family of blue-bellsWaved their slender arms on high,Clapped their tiny arms in triumph,Crying, "See! we did not die.
"Never more distrust the Master,Love and Truth His ways attend;Death is but a darkened portalOf a life that ne'er shall end.
"Loved ones, parted from in anguish,Your glad eyes again shall see,--Brighter than the hopes you cherishedShall the glad fruition be."
My soul is like a poor caged bird to-night,Beating its wings against the prison bars,Longing to reach the outer world of light,And, all untrammeled, soar among the stars.Wild, mighty thoughts struggle within my soulFor utterance. Great waves of passion rollThrough all my being. As the lightnings playThrough thunder clouds, so beams of blinding lightFlash for a moment on my darkened brain--Quick, sudden, glaring beams, that fade awayAnd leave me in a darker, deeper night.
Oh, poet souls! that struggle all in vainTo live in peace and harmony with earth,It cannot be! They must endure the painOf conscience and of unacknowledged worth,Moving and dwelling with the common herd,Whose highest thought has never strayed as far,Or never strayed beyond the horizon's bar;Whose narrow hearts and souls are never stirredWith keenest pleasures, or with sharpest pain;Who rise and eat and sleep, and rise again,Nor question why or wherefore. Men whose mindsAre never shaken by wild passion winds;Women whose broadest, deepest realm of thoughtThe bridal veil will cover.Who see notGod's mighty work lying undone to-day,--Work that a woman's hands can do as wellOh, soul of mine; better to live alwayIn this tumultuous inward pain and strife,Doing the work that in thy reach doth fall,Weeping because thou canst not do it all;Oh, better, my soul, in this unrest to dwell,Than grovel as _they_ grovel on through life:
Once as I wandered down the streetI saw at the window a face so sweet;The tiny face of a baby girlWith a soft clear eye, and a silken curl.And I looked o'er my shoulder again to see,The sweet, sweet face that smiled on me,With a look in the eyes that seemed to say"I have come from heaven but not to stay."
Adown the street as I walked againI looked for the sweet, sweet face at the pane,But the blind was closed, and I heard it saidAs I passed along that the child was dead.And a lonely longing came over meFor the face that had smiled in its baby gleeOn me for a moment, before it was hidUnder the cruel coffin lid.
O happy baby, O cherub girl!Borne up out of the din and whirl,Out of the sorrow and saddened strifeThat burdens ever the brightest life.Out of the darkness and out of the gloomA bud, in the garden of God to bloom;Safe from danger, and death and cold,Sheltered forever within the fold.
What have you missed, O dainty dove,By flying so soon to the realms above 7Missed earth's sorrows, and missed earth's fears;A woman's pains, and a woman's tears;The aching head, and the weary feet;The bitter lees of a cup too sweet;Danger and sickness, and death and loss--And all the pleasures that are but dross.
Sweet, sweet face, with the soulful eyes,Look from the windows of God's fair skies,Look with these beauteous orbs of thineAnd draw me nearer the things divine.Walking along life's troubled way,Let me look up, as I looked that day,And know that a fair and cherub faceSmiles upon me through leagues of space.
Help me to keep from the snares, my sweet,That lie unnumbered about my feet.Smile when I stumble, that I may riseCheered by the light of thy lovely eyes.Plead with the Father to make me strong,To keep my steps from the path of wrong,And when my journey of life is doneMay I see thy face, O cherub one.
These quiet Autumn days,My soul, like Noah's dove, on airy wingsGoes out and searches for the hidden thingsBeyond the hills of haze.
With mournful, pleading cries,Above the waters of the voiceless seaThat laps the shore of broad Eternity,Day after day, it flies,
Searching, but all in vain,For some stray leaf that it may light upon,And read the future, as the days agone--Its pleasures, and its pain.
Listening patientlyFor some voice speaking from the mighty deep,Revealing all the things that it doth keepIn secret there for me.
Come back and wait, my soul!Day after day thy search has been in vain.Voiceless and silent o'er the future's plainIts mystic waters roll.
God, seeing, knoweth best,And in His time the waters shall subside,And thou shalt know what lies beneath the tide.Then wait, my soul, and rest.
Sitting to-day in the sunshine,That touched me with fingers of love,I thought of the manifold blessingsGod scatters on earth, from above;And they seemed, as I numbered them overFar more than we merit or needAnd all that we lack is the angelsTo make earth a heaven indeed.
The winter brings long, pleasant evenings,The spring brings a promise of flowersThat summer breathes into fruition,And autumn brings glad, golden hours.The woodlands re-echo with music,The moonbeams ensilver the sea;There is sunlight and beauty about us,And the world is as fair as can be.
But mortals are always complaining.Each one thinks his own a sad lot;And forgetting the good things about him,Goes mourning for those he has not.Instead of the star-spangled heavens,We look on the dust at our feet;We drain out the cup that is bitter,Forgetting the one that is sweet.
We mourn o'er the thorn in the flower,Forgetting its odor and bloom;We pass by a garden of blossoms,To weep o'er the dust of the tomb.There are blessings unnumbered about us,--Like the leaves of the forest they grow;And the fault is our own--not the Giver's--That we have not an Eden below.