Poems (Prescott)/The Days of a Story

by Mary Newmarch Prescott

THE DAYS OF A STORY I THE SCENE

Soon the catkin's velvet tassels will be blowing,
 Soon the brimming brooks will call and shout;
And the green grass will be growing, growing,
 And the crocus buds will all look out;

Soon the eager birds will come, with trill and whistle,
 Little wings a-whirring through the air,
Fetching wisp of hay, or down of thistle,
 Such as last year's harvest had to spare.

Soon anemones will show their startled faces,
 Violets will be pushing towards the light,
Soon the leaves will steal into their places,
 And the fairy frost will take its flight.

Soon the dear earth will be set in all her order,
 Evening heavens bloom with tender spheres,
Summer will come blushing o'er the border—
 Swift and meet her, Love and Joy and Tears!

II AT PLAY

Yesterday, upon my word,
 Hunting in the wood for spring,
Suddenly I heard a bird
 Make the drowsy echoes ring.

And he sang out, "Surely surely,
 Lark and thrush are here anon.
I have come along so early
 Just to see how things get on.

"Here and there a green leaf's peeping;
 Far and near the brooks are heard;
Nature is not dead or sleeping,
 Busy she about her word."

Yesterday, upon my honor,
 When I thought the spring was cold,
With her royal robes upon her,
 Came the crocus through the mould.

And she whispered, "Was I dreaming,—
 Some one seemed to call my name;
Was it real? was it seeming?
 I put on my crown and came.

III THE JOY OF LIFE

West wind and sunshine
 Braided together;
What is the one sign
 But pleasant weather?

Birds in the cherry trees,
 Bees in the clover;
Who half so gay as these
 All the world over?

Strawberries in the grass,
 Roses regretting
How soon the summer 'll pass,—
 Next year forgetting.

Buds sighing in their sleep,
 "Summer, pray grant us
Youth, that its bloom may keep
 Fragrance to haunt us!"

Rivers that shine and sing,
 Sunbeams abetting,—
No more remembering
 Their frozen fretting.

Music along the wind,
 Sun in the showers;
What more shall any find
 In summer hours!

IV FLOWER IN HAND

The daisy is fine and fair
 With her golden crown on,
And her tangle of lint white hair
 And her green spring gown on.
And morning and Maytime are stored
 In deep horns of honey—
If the bee steal the clover's hoard
 The days are still sunny.
The buttercup holds out her disk,
 Atop of the grasses,
To catch, at her waxen risk
 The sunbeam that passes.
But the dandelion's so bright,
 One almost might fancy
He was fashioned out of the light
 By some necromancy.
How softly the south wind curled
 As it touched me this minute—
Oh, how sweet is the world,
 How good to be in it!

V THE NEW WISH

Glancing new moon, white new moon,
 What do you bring in your horn?
Silver light to paint black night
 As fair as the early mom?

Shining new moon, sweet new moon,
 Where did you harvest your rays?
In the deeps of dark were you never a spark
 Till the sun shone along your ways?

Sinking new moon, kind new moon,
 Will my wish come true some day,
When you're but a ghost of yourself, at the most,
 And your glory passes away?

VI UNREST

Cherry trees begin to blow,
The crocus blossomed long ago;
But the rose it lingers yet,
With its buds already set.
Rose, will you blossom soon, or no?

Lilacs all their purple show,
Leaves unfold, and grow and grow;
But the rose it stays behind,
Waiting till the winds are kind.
Rose, will you blossom soon, or no?

Violets flutter to and fro
In the greening woods, I know;
Yet a little, little longer
Dreams the rose, till suns grow stronger;
How long does it take a rose to grow

VII OH, HASTEN, YEAR!

Oh, hasten, year, to bring us June,
 Folded within your dreaming heart
Like petals of a rose, that soon
 The wooing winds will kiss apart.

Hasten, sun, across the sky,
 Nor make, I pray, a long delay;
Let the sweet bloom of daylight die,
 And twilight stars forbid to stay;

Till wreathed in blossoms mom appears,
 Wasting her fragrance everywhere,
And echoes of the chiming spheres
 Seem pulsing on the summer air.

VIII FULL JUNE

By soft showers and sunlight fed,
 Nature's art discloses,
Pink and white, and royal red,
 A world of blushing roses.

Wandering at their own sweet will,
 They paint the dullest places,
Or lean across the window-sill
 With love-compelling faces.

Such a grace about them clings,
 Such an odor hovers,
That these wild and wayward things
 Count us all their lovers.

Bloom, O roses! rich and sweet;
 May no worm o'ertake you!
June is only half complete
 Till the sunbeams wake you.

IX THE CHOICE

Swift through the darkness
 The little boat goes;
What is before us,
 Who cares, and who knows?

Low hang the branches
 That border the stream;
Afloat in their shade,
 Do we wake, do we dream?

Could our flight through the twilight
 Continue for aye,
Should we care for the sunlight,
 Or pine for the day?

Should I tire of the language
 Of beautiful eyes,
And weary of melody
 Written in sighs?

If life were but floating
 By one dear one's side,
Should we long for the haven,
 Or turn of the tide?

Still through the shadows
 We grope to the sea:
The world is before us,
 And I, love, choose Thee!

X IN THE DARK, IN THE DEW

In the dark, in the dew
I am smiling back to you,
But you cannot see the smile,
And you're thinking all the while
How I turn my face from you,
In the dark, in the dew.

In the dark, in the dew
All my love goes out to you,
Flutters like a bird in pain,
Dies and comes to life again,
While you whisper, "Sweetest, hark,
Some one's sighing in the dark,
In the dark, in the dew!"

In the dark, in the dew,
All my heart cries out to you,
As I cast it at your feet,
Sweet, indeed, but not too sweet,
Wondering illl you hear it beat,
Beat for you, and bleed for you,
In the dark, in the dew!

XI FOR YOU

If I were a violet, a sweet, white violet,
 Waiting for the sun and for the dew,
 Struggling through the cold springtime,
 Hard beset with cruel rime,
I should surely blow for you.

If I were a rose, love, a great red-hearted rose, love,
 Blushing on my stem, as roses do,
 After tedious, sad delays,
 In the first, warm summer days,
I would sweeten life for you.

If I were a daisy, a golden-hearted daisy,
 Shining in the field a season through,
 With my petals you should spell,
 That I love you, love you well.
With my whole heart only you!

XII STILL FOR YOU

If I were the white and morning star,
Shining where the lesser planets are,
I would light you through your dreams
With my fine and tender beams;
You should hear the song that ran
Through the earth when Peace began.

If I were a shell upon the shore
I would murmur strange and sweet sea-lore
Of fair mermaids that beguile
Poor sailors, mile on mile—
Of the ocean forests dim,
Where strange fishes float and swim.

If I were the new and yellow moon
I would grant your wishes soon, full soon;
I would borrow for your sake
Such splendor as would make
Constellations fade away
Like sad ghosts at break of day.

XIII A KISS

The day has smouldered in the west,
Each bird long since has found its nest;
But as for me, I am so blest
I can not give myself to rest,
Thinking, perforce, of only this—
So slight a thing—his melting kiss.

He paused just here, outside the door;
I thought to see his face no more;
My heart was aching to the core.
"Good-by"—he'd said it once before?
"Through good-bys many a life's undone."
I spoke, "Why give me more than one?"
He paused and turned, and gave me this—
It bums yet on my mouth—his kiss!

My lips are sacred now henceforth,
Perhaps before of little worth;
They have grown precious through long dearth
And waiting for this crown of earth.
What hours I spent, nor dreamed of this,
To find my whole world in a kiss!

XIV SUMMER WEATHER

The corn is in tassel, the grass is high,
 Morning and evening echo with praise,
Robins whistle and thrushes reply,
 Making the most of these holidays.

The silver birches are laughing out,
 An emerald plume lifts the sculptured fern,
While thistle-blossoms begin to pout,
 And the wild red roses begin to bum.

Here they come trooping, now, one and all,
 Larkspur, and bluebell and gay marigold—
Had they been waiting the fairy's call
 To spring from the dusk of the mould?

Look—the brown sparrow longs not to flutter
 With wings like the pansy's purple best,
Nor the velvet pansy yearns to utter
 What the sparrow croons over her nest.

Steeped in the happy summer weather,
 Each content with its fortunate dower,
Life is enough, no matter whether
 One be a girl, a bird, or a flower!

XV THE WHISPER

The birds heard it and straightway trilled it,
 Through meadow and copse, with a will;
Down in the woodland they whistled and shrilled it,
 As if they would never be still.

The brook listened and caught the measure,
 Tinkling, tinkling over its bed,
And kept repeating at its own wild pleasure,
 Sweetest words ever were said.

The winds, themselves, the burden carried,
 Set to the tune of the singing rain,
And the morning stars in their courses, tarried,
 To echo the tender strain.

Brook, bird and wind, and stars a-singing,
 The music of all the spheres,
O, sweeter then your melodious singing,
 Was his whisper in my ears.

XVI TWILIGHT

The twilight gathers fair and fine
 Above the dimpling stream;
The rosy colors shift and shine,
 And all the shadowy world doth seem
 The picture of some happy dream.

Too soon, from darkening tide and shore,
 The vision melts away:
To paint the heavenly spaces o'er
 No amethystine hues delay,
 Nor tender rose nor sapphire stay.

Yet not a tint will ever fade
 From the heaven where once it shone:
Every sweet color there inlaid
 Perpetual has grown
Since, in the trembling light, I made
 You, love, my own my own.

XVII THE MESSAGE

Tell it, O wind, from morning till night,
Whisper it, warble it, sound its delight,
And you, O roses, beneath your blushes,
Breathe it soon to the listening thrushes,
And thrushes, be sure you carol it sweet,
Till the echoes, themselves, are fain to repeat?

Oh, wandering tide, with your silver fret,
Float it wherever your feet are set;
And you, O sea, with your thunder tone,
Pass it onward, from zone to zone,—
And to all the earth the secret tell,
That my lover, he loves me, he loves me well!

Bend down, O stars, in your shining courses,
Lend to my song your eternal forces,
Wherever you shine, o'er what worlds divine,
Proclaim that his love is mine, is mine,
That he loves me a-near, and he loves me apart,
Today, and forever, with all his heart!

XVIII CONTENT

I should not care though spring delayed
 To lure wild flowers from woodland nooks,
Though the rose within its calyx staid,
 And frosts detained the singing brooks,
Though leaf nor rain-fed violet
Showed where their fragrant feet were set,
If you loved me still: should I repine
Though spring-time made no sign?

I should not care though summer came
 With shining showers and balmy dew,
Filling the world with perfumed flame,
 With her lilting bards and fairy crew
Of rosy petals and wingèd seeds,
With all her troop of prankish weeds,
If you loved me not: why should I care
Though heaven and earth were fair?

XIX SPRING AND LOVE

The grasses all were lifeless, sere, and dry;
Barren the boughs, where leaves had lent their shade;
In every empty nest the snow heaped high
And water-courses in their flight were stayed;
And all the dumb and stricken solitude
Was like some undiscovered arctic zone,
Where no flower grew, where no bird reared her brood;
When presently, in silvery monotone,
The frozen streams began to sing their chimes;
As by some bold and swift enchantment wrought,
Such as we read of, in far fairy climes.
The fields and trees with green were overshot;
For Spring had come. So, Love, when you are near,
You change the whole world's frosty atmosphere.

XX ECSTASY

What so sweet as summer,
 When the sky is blue,
And the sunbeams' arrows
 Pierce the green earth through?

What so sweet as birds are,
 Putting into trills
The perfume of the wild rose
 The murmur of the rills?

What so sweet as flowers,
 Clovers white and red,
Where the brown bee chemist
 Finds its daily bread?

What so sweet as sim showers,
 When the big cloud passes,
And the fairy rainbow
 Seems to touch the grasses?

What so sweet as winds are,
 Blowing from the woods,
Hinting in their music
 Of dreamy solitudes?

Rain, and song, and flower,
 When the summer's shine
Make the green earth's beauty
 Seem a thing divine.

XXI AN ANSWER

Shall I forget you, when long years have flown
And all the loveliness that is your own
Has into waste and withered wrinkles grown,
And your eye's tremulous magnificence
Is but a memory of the failing sense?
Ah, while your heart is great, and God is good
I cannot, love, forget you, if I would!

Shall I forget you? Oh when that shall be,
I must have lost the light from land or sea,
I must have closed my eyes eternally!
For while my heart beats, or my spirit lives,
'Mid all the hopes that gracious Heaven gives,
To love you still, as here on earth I love,
Oh, this it is, that perfect Heaven to prove!

XXII A TEAR

When the long green grass waves o'er me,
And no summers are before me;
When the bitter wind's increase
In no wise disturbs my peace,
When the spring's sweet thrill, as once,
Wakes in me no quick response,
Will you, dear, in losing me,
Lose the bloom of sky and sea?

When the brown bee's busy hum
Does not reach me, cold and dumb;
When the scent of the wild rose
Breathes the sadness of repose,
Where no tender voice is heard,
Heart-sick sigh or whispered word;
When for me all seasons fail,
Will your love, sweet, still prevail?

Happier far the grave's seclusion,
Where your love may seek intrusion,
Than the summer's wasted sweetness
Barren of that love's completeness,
Mouldering underneath the sod,
Waiting on the will of God,
Heaven itself would yet seem near,
Should you drop there, sweet, a tear!

XXIII SONG I

Waken, birds, for the day is waking,
 And the sky is a sea of light;
Waken, blossom, thy dreams forsaking,
 Now 'tis no longer night.

Waken, heart, and sing to His praise
 Who decrees that thou shouldst guess,
From the sacred blessing love brings always,
 Of heaven's deep blessedness!

XXIV THE OLD STORY

By the pleasant paths we know
All familiar flowers would grow,
 Though we two were gone;
Moon and stars would rise and set,
Dawn the haggard night forget,
 And the world move on.

Spring would carol through the wood,
Life be counted sweet and good,
 While the seasons sped;
Winter storms would prove their might,
Winter frosts make bold to bite,
 Clouds lift overhead.

Still the sunset lights would glow,
Still the heaven-appointed bow
 In its place be hung,
Not one flower the less would bloom,
Though we two had met our doom,
 No song less be sung.

Other lovers through the dew
Would go loitering, two and two,
 When the day was done;
Lips would pass the kiss divine,
Hearts would beat like yours and mine—
 Hearts that beat as one.

 

XXV DREAMS

Where shall we be, love, you and I,
 A hundred years from to-day, to-day?
Blossoming out in the blue-eyed grasses,
Borne on the breeze that loiters and passes,
 On the cloud of gold or gray?
 One, or sundered, forever and aye?
Will you not whisper, love, softly to me
 From out the gloom where your dust reposes?
And shall I not answer with all my heart,
Though our graves be leagues and oceans apart?
Shall I not long for smile or caressing,
For the warm hand's touch and the warm lip's blessing?
 Will our ashes regret when the summer closes,
 Or thrill and stir at the time of roses?
Where are the friends of a century gone—
 Where are they all to-day, to-day?
Singing about the heavenly throne,
Garnering in the love they have sown,
Or a handful of dust by the wild winds blown?
 A hundred years from to-day, to-day,
 Love, we shall be as they!

XXVI REVERIE

Slipping, drifting, with the tide,
 All the summer twilight through,
As in heaven the stars abide
 In my heart do dreams of you.

Echoes following from the shore
 Seem the chorus of our song,
Summer odors, blown before
 Float the tranquil tune along.

Shall we linger till the day
 Paints the earth a thing divine?
Spread the sail and haste away
 Where the distant breakers shine?

Held within their fearful grasp,
 Would they crush us like a shell?
Dying, dearest, in your clasp,
 All would yet be well!

XXVII INCONSTANCY

When the spring-time came, I said,
 "Spring, I love you—love you best."
Columbines were gold and red,
Winds flowers hung each timid head;
By warm rains and sunshine fed
Every root was comforted,
 Every slumbering leaf was guessed
 "Spring," I vowed, "I love you best!

When the summer came, I said,
 "Summer, dear, I love you most."
Butterflies their wide wings spread;
Crowds of starry daisies sped
Where their wandering seeds were led;
Shining planets overhead
Through the heavenly spaces fled.
 Spring was but a lovely ghost—
 "Summer, dear, I love you most!"

 

XXVIII ON THE RIVER

Oh, loose the boat and ply the oar,
 And let us drift forever
Adown this blue enameled floor,
 This happy, flowing river.

The shore unwinds a ribbon green;
 The lulls smoke blue and tender,
And far away tall spires between
 Are touched with flying splendor.

The sweet wind travels just our way,
 Contented to remind us
Of clover-fields and new-mown hay
 Left far enough behind us.

And now and then, so faintly heard,
 Sweet sounds come trembling over,
Of pealing bell and singing bird,
 Of screaming gull or plover.

The sunbeam sees itself below,
 Reflected in the river—
So, dearest, in my heart, you know,
 You are reflected ever!

XXIX CLOUDS

Sometimes there's a flock of sheep
 Traveling landward, where the grass
Grows so green and fresh and deep,
 They might crop it as they pass.

Sometimes there's a school of fish,
 Slowly swimming out to sea,
Perch or mackerel, as you wish,
 Scales as bright as scales can be.

Now a castle rises there,
 Broken casements, turrets rent;
Here a bit of crazy stair,
 Or a ruined battlement.

And anon, a mountain peak
 Shines beneath eternal snows,
Where the venturous might seek
 For the little Alpine rose.

Or, perchance, a face looks out,
 Like a seraph's faint and far,
Just to see what we're about,
 In this distant star!

XXX ONCE A YEAR

Summer is here in all her glory
 Of waving grasses and fragrant shoot
Spelling her swift and beautiful story
 With scarlet lily, with wayside fruit.

Down in green hollows of woody places
 The sunbeams beckon the orchid out,
White thorn blossoms unveil their faces,
 Swelling pods are beginning to pout.

Breezes blow from the gardens of spices
 Bees make murmuring long delays,
The musical laugh of the brook entices
 Lover and lover to follow her ways.

Stay, dear morning, nor yet bereave us!
 Why need your blossoms grow sad and sere?
Linger a little or e'er you leave us,
 Since you come only once a year!

Stay, where the boughs of the bending beeches
 Shadow the stream in a single spot,
And gild me forever these azure reaches,
 Reaches of wild forget-me-not!

XXXI TODAY

Today the sunshine freely showers
 Its benediction where we stand;
There's not a passing cloud that lowers
 Above this pleasant summer-land:
Then let's not waste the sweet today—
   Tomorrow, who can say?

Perhaps tomorrow we may be
 (Alas! alas! the thought is pain!)
As far apart as sky and sea,
 Sundered, to meet no more again:
Then let us clasp thee, sweet today—
   Tomorrow, who can say?

The daylight fades; a purple dream
 Of twilight hovers overhead,
While all the trembling stars do seem
 Like sad tears yet unshed:
Oh, sweet today, so soon away!
   Tomorrow, who can say?

 

XXXII AT PAUSE

The sunbeams fall in a golden shower
 Across the yellowing vines,
The fruit, over-ripe, drops hour by hour,
 And the michaelmas daisy shines.

But where is the meadows' emerald green
 And the wide wild sunflowers' glow
Lost in the lift of the salt sea-sheen
 Where the singing breezes go?

A pensive hush broods like a charm
 Over the land and the sea,
A pause in the full year's choral psalm,
 An unuttered melody.

The thistles have given up the ghost,
 And the forests have turned to gold,
And the summer's eloquent story, at most,
 Is but a tale that is told.

The rose to the wind has given her breath,
 The bird has bequeathed his lay,
And I have given my heart till death,
 And after the judgment-day.

Then what care I though the fields be brown,
 And the violet's eyes be hid,
Summer for me has woven a crown
 To wear and be comforted.

 

XXXIII TWO MOODS

I plucked the harebells as I went
Singing along the river-side;
The skies above were opulent
Of sunshine "Ah, whate'er betide,
The world is sweet, is sweet," I cried,
That morning by the river-side.

The curlews called along the shore;
The boats swept from the sandy beach;
Afar I heard the breakers' roar
Mellowed to silver-sounding speech;
And still I sang it o'er and o'er,
"The world is sweet forevermore!"

Perhaps today some other one,
Loitering along the river-side,
Content beneath the gracious sun,
May sing again, "Whate'er betide,
The world is sweet," I shall not chide,
Although my song is done.

XXXIV LAST YEAR

Last year, when roses were in bloom,
 When flag-flowers dyed the river-banks,
When every gracious thing had room,
 To feel the sun and render thanks;

When winds went blowing out to sea
 Loaded with clover-scented balms,
And in their soaring minstrelsy,
 Seemed echoes of rejoicing psalms;

When wave on wave, the tide returned,—
 A siren singing on the sand;—
I, waiting, with my whole heart yearned
 To hear his boat's keel touch the land;

I, waiting, wasted half the night,
 Faint grew the planets, pale and far;
For him, a fairer morning light,
 Dawned with the tender morning star.

XXXV IN SUN AND SHADE

We walked together on the sand:
 The lazy tide was fretting;
The wind blew sweetly from the land;
 The summer sun was setting.

Lonely and long the white beach lay
 Beneath the sunset's flushing;
The breakers, near and far away,
 All their white tumult hushing.

A cruel wreck upon the shore
 Spoke of the storm's wild doing:
We dreamed no tempest evermore
 Could blight our summer's wooing.

One star was trembling into light,
 In that wide heaven showing;
One thought within our hearts that night
 Exceeding sweet was growing.

We walked, and spoke as lovers will,
 In voices hushed and tender,
Of hopes the future should fulfill,
 Of blessings Heaven would render!

I walk the lonesome beach today:
 The tide is still returning;
The fishing boats at anchor stay;
 The sunset fires are burning.

But tides may ebb and tides may flow,
 And breakers flash and thunder;
Unheeding of them all I know
 He sleeps their tumult under.

He sleeps—nor sin nor aching age
 Shall chill his youth's endeavor:
The years of God his heritage
 Forever and forever.

XXXVI CHANGE

Dim fields, where bloom was lately,
 And a silence in the air.
Save where some bird sedately
 Whistles a note here or there:
As, if, like me, recalling
 A vision of vanished springs,
While the dead leaves floating and falling
 Seem their broken and bruisèd wings.

So lately the fields were growing
 Into their golden green;
So lately the farmer was sowing
 The long brown furrows between;
So lately my heart was singing
 With the birds that began to build,
With jubilant hope was ringing,
 With jubilant love was filled!

Now I cry out in my sorrow,
 And no one answers my moan;
To-morrow will come, and to-morrow
 Find me and leave me alone.
There's never a spring at whose waking
 My pulses will thrill as before;
Shall a heart sing that is breaking?
 Were it blessed, it could scarcely do more!

XXXVII A SONG (2)

'Tis not the murmuring voice of Spring
That stirs my heart and makes me sing;
'Tis not the blue skies, bubbling o'er
With sunshine spilled along earth's floor;
Nor yet the flush of bursting rose,
Nor bloom of any flower that grows.

It is that long, long time ago,
When all the world was blushing so—
It is that then my cheek blushed too,
My heart beat fast for love and you:
There was a music in the air
I fail to find now anywhere.

And so, when Spring comes wandering by,
I lose the thread of misery;
Trusting the promise of her days,
I tune my voice to sing her praise,
And cheat myself with the sweet pain
That in the spring Love blooms again.

XXXVIII ANOTHER SPRING

"I know the orchards are in bloom," she said,
 "That in the meadows all the grass is deep,
That dimpling streams far oceanward are led,
 Though through the pleasant fields they seem to creep,
Among the blue flags and the stately rushes,
While in the alders loudly sing the thrushes.

"I know the daisies drift like winter snow,
 And ragged lilac boughs inherit wealth;
That golden tassels on the barberry grow,
 And violets quicken in the sod by stealth;
I know that white and purple clovers wave
As sweet a flower, though grown upon a grave.

"And yet I have no heart to rise and look,
 However much the sun illuminates
This fairest page of Nature's ample book,
 From which the same sweet meaning radiates
As when before the meadows were a-blush,
And grove and hedge re-echoed to the thrush."

What pleasure can I take in the old lore
 When eyes that read with me are closed and blind,
And mark no more changes on wood or shore,
 Nor care, perchance, for sweet things left behind—
What time the apple boughs are wreathed and bent
With the fair dower of spring grown opulent!"

XXXIX IN DUSKY ALLEYS

In dusky alleys where the rose, the rose is overblown
Whose perfume makes the dewy air its own,
Where, large and white, from dazzling height o'er height
The stars lean down into the silent night,
Like some sad flower that blooms and drops unknown
I wait, unto sweet Love indifferent grown.

If Love had met me when the rose, the rose, was young,
And stairs in morning skies divinely sung,
If Love had met me loitering by the strand,
Or lent across the slippery ford a hand,
Or cried, "Sweetheart, one precious moment stay!"
Should I have had the will to say him nay?

But since the rose, the rose, drops tarnished, overblown,
And every leaf the autumn winds dethrone,
Since Love forgets the way unto my door,
I watch and wait his coming nevermore,—
No beggar lives so hunger-hurt, alone,
As I to whom Love once denied my own.

 

XL LILAC CHAINS

Let us make a necklace of the lilac flower—
The sun will not be setting yet for full an hour;
All that lilacs know of songs and stars and showers
Shall be surely threaded on this chain of ours.

Beads of white and purple—rose and amethyst—
Rains have dripped upon them, happy winds have kissed;
Slipping through our fingers on this silken string,
Sha'n't we catch the magic of the early spring?

Catch the bluebird's whistle and the robin's cheer,
Catch the trick of blooming with the blooming year,
Catch the frolic spirit of the winds that bring
Over miles of country hints of blossoming?

Amber may be fragrant, so is sandal-wood,
But I wouldn't change them, even if I could:
Ah me! am I dreaming? Twenty years have passed
Since I strung a necklace of the lilacs last!

XLI SONG (3)

The very stars will rise and swing,
 More radiant censors in the air,
No shadow fall on anything,
 The red rose paint itself more fair,
 So brief the hours, divine their sum,
When love is come, when love is come.

Beauty will fail from earth and sky,
 Fragrance and song will lose their dower,
The world in dark eclipse will lie,
 And all things wither in that hour
 When still the heart beats on and on,
And love is gone, and love is gone.