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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19897-8.txt b/19897-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b307a7d --- /dev/null +++ b/19897-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2711 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Riley Love-Lyrics, by James Whitcomb Riley + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Riley Love-Lyrics + +Author: James Whitcomb Riley + +Illustrator: Will Vawter + +Release Date: November 23, 2006 [EBook #19897] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILEY LOVE-LYRICS *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Ted Garvin and the Online +Distributed Proofreaders Europe at http://dp.rastko.net + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + RILEY LOVE-LYRICS + +[Illustration] + + RILEY LOVE-LYRICS + + JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + + + ILLUSTRATED BY WILL VAWTER + + + + INDIANAPOLIS + THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY + PUBLISHERS + + + +Copyright, 1883, 1887, 1888, 1890, 1891, 1892, 1894, 1897, 1898, 1901, +1905 by James Whitcomb Riley. + +Copyright 1921, The Bobbs-Merrill Company + + + _Printed in the United States of America_ + + + PRESS OF + BRAUNWORTH & CO. + BOOK MANUFACTURERS + BROOKLYN, N.Y. + +INSCRIBED + +TO THE ELECT OF LOVE,--OR SIDE-BY-SIDE +IN RAPTEST ECSTASY, OR SUNDERED WIDE +BY SEAS THAT BEAR NO MESSAGE TO OR FRO +BETWEEN THE LOVED AND LOST OF LONG AGO. + + + + _So were I but a minstrel, deft + At weaving, with the trembling strings + Of my glad harp, the warp and weft + Of rondels such as rapture sings,-- + I'd loop my lyre across my breast, + Nor stay me till my knee found rest + In midnight banks of bud and flower + Beneath my lady's lattice-bower. + + And there, drenched with the teary dews, + I'd woo her with such wondrous art + As well might stanch the songs that ooze + Out of the mockbird's breaking heart; + So light, so tender, and so sweet + Should be the words I would repeat, + Her casement, on my gradual sight, + Would blossom as a lily might._ + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + +CONTENTS + +BLOOMS OF MAY 185 +DISCOURAGING MODEL, A 132 +"DREAM" 41 +FARMER WHIFFLE--BACHELOR 161 +HAS SHE FORGOTTEN? 183 +HE AND I 79 +HE CALLED HER IN 45 +HER BEAUTIFUL EYES 56 +HER FACE AND BROW 55 +HER HAIR 129 +HER WAITING FACE 67 +HOME AT NIGHT 122 +HOW IT HAPPENED 93 +IKE WALTON'S PRAYER 107 +ILLILEO 113 +JUDITH 75 +LAST NIGHT AND THIS 130 +LEONAINIE 63 +LET US FORGET 60 +LOST PATH, THE 83 +MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE 87 +MY MARY 117 +NOTHIN' TO SAY 103 +OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG, A' 26 +OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE, AN 17 +OLD YEAR AND THE NEW, THE 68 +OUT-WORN SAPPHO, AN 32 +PASSING OF A HEART, THE 39 +RIVAL, THE 137 +ROSE, THE 177 +SERMON OF THE ROSE, THE 189 +SUSPENSE 136 +THEIR SWEET SORROW 72 +TO HEAR HER SING 149 +TOM VAN ARDEN 138 +TOUCHES OF HER HANDS, THE 159 +VARIATION, A 151 +VERY YOUTHFUL AFFAIR, A 31 +WHEN AGE COMES ON 180 +WHEN LIDE MARRIED _HIM_ 125 +WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE 98 +WHEN SHE COMES HOME 59 +WHERE SHALL WE LAND? 156 +WIFE-BLESSÉD, THE 115 + + + + + RILEY LOVE-LYRICS + +[Illustration] + + + + AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE + + As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, + And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, + So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design, + I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine. + + The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise, + As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes, + And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke + Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke. + + Tis a fragrant retrospection--for the loving thoughts that start + Into being are like perfume from the blossom of the heart; + And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine-- + When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweetheart of mine. + + Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings, + The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings, + I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme + When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream. + + +[Illustration] + + + In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm + To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm-- + For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine + That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine. + + A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace. + Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase; + And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes + As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies. + + I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress + She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caress + With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine + Grew round the stump," she loved me--that old sweetheart of mine. + + And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand, + As we used to talk together of the future we had planned-- + When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do + But write the tender verses that she set the music to: + + When we should live together in a cozy little cot + Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot, + Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine, + And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine: + + When I should be her lover forever and a day, + And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray; + And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb + They would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had come. + + +[Illustration] + + + + AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE + + But, ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair, + And the door is softly opened, and--my wife is standing there; + Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign + To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG + + It's the curiousest thing in creation, + Whenever I hear that old song + "Do They Miss Me at Home," I'm so bothered, + My life seems as short as it's long!-- + Fer ev'rything 'pears like adzackly + It 'peared in the years past and gone,-- + When I started out sparkin', at twenty, + And had my first neckercher on! + + Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayer + Right now than my parents was then, + You strike up that song "Do They Miss Me," + And I'm jest a youngster again!-- + I'm a-standin' back thare in the furries + A-wishin' fer evening to come, + And a-whisperin' over and over + Them words "Do They Miss Me at Home?" + + +[Illustration] + + + You see, _Marthy Ellen she_ sung it + The first time I heerd it; and so, + As she was my very first sweetheart, + It reminds me of her, don't you know;-- + How her face used to look, in the twilight, + As I tuck her to Spellin'; and she + Kep' a-hummin' that song tel I ast her, + Pint-blank, ef she ever missed _me!_ + + I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it, + And hear her low answerin' words; + And then the glad chirp of the crickets, + As clear as the twitter of birds; + And the dust in the road is like velvet, + And the ragweed and fennel and grass + Is as sweet as the scent of the lilies + Of Eden of old, as we pass. + + "_Do They Miss Me at Home_?" Sing it lower-- + And softer--and sweet as the breeze + That powdered our path with the snowy + White bloom of the old locus'-trees! + Let the whipperwills he'p you to sing it, + And the echoes 'way over the hill, + Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus + Of stars, and our voices is still. + + But oh! "They's a chord in the music + That's missed when _her_ voice is away!" + Though I listen from midnight tel morning, + And dawn tel the dusk of the day! + And I grope through the dark, lookin' upwards + And on through the heavenly dome, + With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin' + The words "Do They Miss Me at Home?" + + +[Illustration] + + + + A VERY YOUTHFUL AFFAIR + + I'm bin a-visitun 'bout a week + To my little Cousin's at Nameless Creek, + An' I'm got the hives an' a new straw hat, + An' I'm come back home where my beau lives at. + + +[Illustration] + + + + AN OUT-WORN SAPPHO + + How tired I am! I sink down all alone + Here by the wayside of the Present. Lo, + Even as a child I hide my face and moan-- + A little girl that may no farther go; + The path above me only seems to grow + More rugged, climbing still, and ever briered + With keener thorns of pain than these below; + And O the bleeding feet that falter so + And are so very tired! + + Why, I have journeyed from the far-off Lands + Of Babyhood--where baby-lilies blew + Their trumpets in mine ears, and filled my hands + With treasures of perfume and honey-dew, + And where the orchard shadows ever drew + Their cool arms round me when my cheeks were fired + With too much joy, and lulled mine eyelids to, + And only let the starshine trickle through + In sprays, when I was tired! + + Yet I remember, when the butterfly + Went flickering about me like a flame + That quenched itself in roses suddenly, + How oft I wished that _I_ might blaze the same, + And in some rose-wreath nestle with my name, + While all the world looked on it and admired.-- + Poor moth!--Along my wavering flight toward fame + The winds drive backward, and my wings are lame + And broken, bruised and tired! + + I hardly know the path from those old times; + I know at first it was a smoother one + Than this that hurries past me now, and climbs + So high, its far cliffs even hide the sun + And shroud in gloom my journey scarce begun. + I could not do quite all the world required-- + I could not do quite all I should have done, + And in my eagerness I have outrun + My strength--and I am tired.... + + Just tired! But when of old I had the stay + Of mother-hands, O very sweet indeed + It was to dream that all the weary way + I should but follow where I now must lead-- + For long ago they left me in my need, + And, groping on alone, I tripped and mired + Among rank grasses where the serpents breed + In knotted coils about the feet of speed.-- + There first it was I tired. + + And yet I staggered on, and bore my load + Right gallantly: The sun, in summer-time, + In lazy belts came slipping down the road + To woo me on, with many a glimmering rhyme + Rained from the golden rim of some fair clime, + That, hovering beyond the clouds, inspired + My failing heart with fancies so sublime + I half forgot my path of dust and grime, + Though I was growing tired. + + And there were many voices cheering me: + I listened to sweet praises where the wind + Went laughing o'er my shoulders gleefully + And scattering my love-songs far behind;-- + Until, at last, I thought the world so kind-- + So rich in all my yearning soul desired-- + So generous--so loyally inclined, + I grew to love and trust it.... I was blind-- + Yea, blind as I was tired! + + +[Illustration] + + + And yet one hand held me in creature-touch: + And O, how fair it was, how true and strong, + How it did hold my heart up like a crutch, + Till, in my dreams, I joyed to walk along + The toilsome way, contented with a song-- + 'Twas all of earthly things I had acquired, + And 'twas enough, I feigned, or right or wrong, + Since, binding me to man--a mortal thong-- + It stayed me, growing tired.... + + Yea, I had e'en resigned me to the strait + Of earthly rulership--had bowed my head + Acceptant of the master-mind--the great + One lover--lord of all,--the perfected + Kiss-comrade of my soul;--had stammering said + My prayers to him;--all--all that he desired + I rendered sacredly as we were wed.-- + Nay--nay!--'twas but a myth I worshippéd.-- + And--God of love!--how tired! + + For, O my friends, to lose the latest grasp-- + To feel the last hope slipping from its hold-- + To feel the one fond hand within your clasp + Fall slack, and loosen with a touch so cold + Its pressure may not warm you as of old + Before the light of love had thus expired-- + To know your tears are worthless, though they rolled + Their torrents out in molten drops of gold.-- + God's pity! I am tired! + + And I must rest.--Yet do not say "She _died_," + In speaking of me, sleeping here alone. + I kiss the grassy grave I sink beside, + And close mine eyes in slumber all mine own: + Hereafter I shall neither sob nor moan + Nor murmur one complaint;--all I desired, + And failed in life to find, will now be known-- + So let me dream. Good night! And on the stone + Say simply: She was tired. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + THE PASSING OF A HEART + + O touch me with your hands-- + For pity's sake! + My brow throbs ever on with such an ache + As only your cool touch may take away; + And so, I pray + You, touch me with your hands! + + Touch--touch me with your hands.-- + Smooth back the hair + You once caressed, and kissed, and called so fair + That I did dream its gold would wear alway, + And lo, to-day-- + O touch me with your hands! + + Just touch me with your hands, + And let them press + My weary eyelids with the old caress, + And lull me till I sleep. Then go your way, + That Death may say: + He touched her with his hands. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + "DREAM" + + Because her eyes were far too deep + And holy for a laugh to leap + Across the brink where sorrow tried + To drown within the amber tide; + Because the looks, whose ripples kissed + The trembling lids through tender mist, + Were dazzled with a radiant gleam-- + Because of this I call her "Dream." + + Because the roses growing wild + About her features when she smiled + Were ever dewed with tears that fell + With tenderness ineffable; + Because her lips might spill a kiss + That, dripping in a world like this, + Would tincture death's myrrh-bitter stream + To sweetness--so I called her "Dream." + + Because I could not understand + The magic touches of a hand + That seemed, beneath her strange control, + To smooth the plumage of the soul + And calm it, till, with folded wings, + It half forgot its flutterings, + And, nestled in her palm, did seem + To trill a song that called her "Dream." + + Because I saw her, in a sleep + As dark and desolate and deep + And fleeting as the taunting night + That flings a vision of delight + To some lorn martyr as he lies + In slumber ere the day he dies-- + Because she vanished like a gleam + Of glory, do I call her "Dream." + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + HE CALLED HER IN + + I + + He called her in from me and shut the door. + And she so loved the sunshine and the sky!-- + She loved them even better yet than I + That ne'er knew dearth of them--my mother dead, + Nature had nursed me in her lap instead: + And I had grown a dark and eerie child + That rarely smiled, + Save when, shut all alone in grasses high, + Looking straight up in God's great lonesome sky + And coaxing Mother to smile back on me. + 'Twas lying thus, this fair girl suddenly + Came to me, nestled in the fields beside + A pleasant-seeming home, with doorway wide-- + The sunshine beating in upon the floor + Like golden rain.-- + O sweet, sweet face above me, turn again + And leave me! I had cried, but that an ache + Within my throat so gripped it I could make + No sound but a thick sobbing. Cowering so, + I felt her light hand laid + Upon my hair--a touch that ne'er before + Had tamed me thus, all soothed and unafraid-- + It seemed the touch the children used to know + When Christ was here, so dear it was--so dear,-- + At once I loved her as the leaves love dew + In midmost summer when the days are new. + Barely an hour I knew her, yet a curl + Of silken sunshine did she clip for me + Out of the bright May-morning of her hair, + And bound and gave it to me laughingly, + And caught my hands and called me _"Little girl,"_ + Tiptoeing, as she spoke, to kiss me there! + And I stood dazed and dumb for very stress + Of my great happiness. + She plucked me by the gown, nor saw how mean + The raiment--drew me with her everywhere: + Smothered her face in tufts of grasses green: + Put up her dainty hands and peeped between + + +[Illustration] + + + Her fingers at the blossoms--crooned and talked + To them in strange, glad whispers, as we walked,-- + Said _this_ one was her angel mother--_this_, + Her baby-sister--come back, for a kiss, + Clean from the Good-World!--smiled and kissed them, then + Closed her soft eyes and kissed them o'er again. + And so did she beguile me--so we played,-- + She was the dazzling Shine--I, the dark Shade-- + And we did mingle like to these, and thus, + Together, made + The perfect summer, pure and glorious. + So blent we, till a harsh voice broke upon + Our happiness.--She, startled as a fawn, + Cried, "Oh, 'tis Father!"--all the blossoms gone + From out her cheeks as those from out her grasp.-- + Harsher the voice came:--She could only gasp + Affrightedly, "Good-bye!--good-bye! good-bye!" + And lo, I stood alone, with that harsh cry + Ringing a new and unknown sense of shame + Through soul and frame, + And, with wet eyes, repeating o'er and o'er,-- + "He called her in from me and shut the door!" + + II + + He called her in from me and shut the door! + And I went wandering alone again-- + So lonely--O so very lonely then, + I thought no little sallow star, alone + In all a world of twilight, e'er had known + Such utter loneliness. But that I wore + Above my heart that gleaming tress of hair + To lighten up the night of my despair, + I think I might have groped into my grave + Nor cared to wave + The ferns above it with a breath of prayer. + And how I hungered for the sweet, sweet face + That bent above me in my hiding-place + That day amid the grasses there beside + Her pleasant home!--"Her _pleasant_ home!" I sighed, + Remembering;--then shut my teeth and feigned + The harsh voice calling _me_,--then clinched my nails + So deeply in my palms, the sharp wounds pained, + And tossed my face toward heaven, as one who pales + In splendid martrydom, with soul serene, + As near to God as high the guillotine. + + +[Illustration] + + + And I had _envied_ her? Not that--O no! + But I had longed for some sweet haven so!-- + Wherein the tempest-beaten heart might ride + Sometimes at peaceful anchor, and abide + Where those that loved me touched me with their hands, + And looked upon me with glad eyes, and slipped + Smooth fingers o'er my brow, and lulled the strands + Of my wild tresses, as they backward tipped + My yearning face and kissed it satisfied. + Then bitterly I murmured as before,-- + "He called her in from me and shut the door!" + + + III + + He called her in from me and shut the door! + After long struggling with my pride and pain-- + A weary while it seemed, in which the more + I held myself from her, the greater fain + Was I to look upon her face again;-- + At last--at last--half conscious where my feet + Were faring, I stood waist-deep in the sweet + Green grasses there where she + First came to me.-- + The very blossoms she had plucked that day, + And, at her father's voice, had cast away, + Around me lay, + Still bright and blooming in these eyes of mine; + And as I gathered each one eagerly, + I pressed it to my lips and drank the wine + Her kisses left there for the honey-bee. + Then, after I had laid them with the tress + Of her bright hair with lingering tenderness, + I, turning, crept on to the hedge that bound + Her pleasant-seeming home--but all around + Was never sign of her!--The windows all + Were blinded; and I heard no rippling fall + Of her glad laugh, nor any harsh voice call;-- + But clutching to the tangled grasses, caught + A sound as though a strong man bowed his head + And sobbed alone--unloved--uncomforted!-- + And then straightway before + My tearless eyes, all vividly, was wrought + A vision that is with me evermore:-- + A little girl that lies asleep, nor hears + Nor heeds not any voice nor fall of tears.-- + And I sit singing o'er and o'er and o'er,-- + "God called her in from him and shut the door!" + + +[Illustration] + + + + HER FACE AND BROW + + Ah, help me! but her face and brow + Are lovelier than lilies are + Beneath the light of moon and star + That smile as they are smiling now-- + White lilies in a pallid swoon + Of sweetest white beneath the moon-- + White lilies, in a flood of bright + Pure lucidness of liquid light + Cascading down some plenilune, + When all the azure overhead + Blooms like a dazzling daisy-bed.-- + So luminous her face and brow, + The luster of their glory, shed + In memory, even, blinds me now. + + + HER BEAUTIFUL EYES + + O her beautiful eyes! they are blue as the dew + On the violet's bloom when the morning is new, + And the light of their love is the gleam of the sun + O'er the meadows of Spring where the quick shadows run + As the morn shifts the mists and the clouds from the skies + So I stand in the dawn of her beautiful eyes. + + And her beautiful eyes are as mid-day to me, + When the lily-bell bends with the weight of the bee, + And the throat of the thrush is a-pulse in the heat, + And the senses are drugged with the subtle and sweet + And delirious breaths of the air's lullabies-- + So I swoon in the noon of her beautiful eyes. + + O her beautiful eyes! they have smitten mine own + As a glory glanced down from the glare of the Throne; + And I reel, and I falter and fall, as afar + Fell the shepherds that looked on the mystical Star, + And yet dazed in the tidings that bade them arise-- + So I groped through the night of her beautiful eyes. + + +[Illustration] + + + + WHEN SHE COMES HOME + + When she comes home again! A thousand ways + I fashion, to myself, the tenderness + Of my glad welcome: I shall tremble--yes; + And touch her, as when first in the old days + I touched her girlish hand, nor dared upraise + Mine eyes, such was my faint heart's sweet distress. + Then silence: And the perfume of her dress: + The room will sway a little, and a haze + Cloy eyesight--soulsight, even--for a space: + And tears--yes; and the ache here in the throat, + To know that I so ill deserve the place + Her arms make for me; and the sobbing note + I stay with kisses, ere the tearful face + Again is hidden in the old embrace. + + +[Illustration] + + + + LET US FORGET + + Let us forget. What matters it that we + Once reigned o'er happy realms of long-ago, + And talked of love, and let our voices low, + And ruled for some brief sessions royally? + What if we sung, or laughed, or wept maybe? + It has availed not anything, and so + Let it go by that we may better know + How poor a thing is lost to you and me. + But yesterday I kissed your lips, and yet + Did thrill you not enough to shake the dew + From your drenched lids--and missed, with no regret, + Your kiss shot back, with sharp breaths failing you: + And so, to-day, while our worn eyes are wet + With all this waste of tears, let us forget! + + +[Illustration] + + + + LEONAINIE + + Leonainie--Angels named her; + And they took the light + Of the laughing stars and framed her + In a smile of white; + And they made her hair of gloomy + Midnight, and her eyes of bloomy + Moonshine, and they brought her to me + In the solemn night.-- + + In a solemn night of summer, + When my heart of gloom + Blossomed up to greet the comer + Like a rose in bloom; + All forebodings that distressed me + I forgot as Joy caressed me, + (_Lying_ Joy! that caught and pressed me + In the arms of doom!) + + Only spake the little lisper + In the Angel-tongue; + Yet I, listening, heard her whisper-- + "Songs are only sung + Here below that they may grieve you, + Tales but told you to deceive you,-- + So must Leonainie leave you + While her love is young," + + Then God smiled and it was morning + Matchless and supreme + Heaven's glory seemed adorning + Earth with its esteem: + Every heart but mine seemed gifted + With the voice of prayer, and lifted + Where my Leonainie drifted + From me like a dream. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + HER WAITING FACE + + In some strange place + Of long-lost lands he finds her waiting face-- + Comes marveling upon it, unaware, + Set moonwise in the midnight of her hair. + + +[Illustration] + + + + + THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW + + I + + As one in sorrow looks upon + The dead face of a loyal friend, + By the dim light of New Year's dawn + I saw the Old Year end. + + Upon the pallid features lay + The dear old smile--so warm and bright + Ere thus its cheer had died away + In ashes of delight. + + The hands that I had learned to love + With strength of passion half divine, + Were folded now, all heedless of + The emptiness of mine. + + +[Illustration] + + + The eyes that once had shed their bright + Sweet looks like sunshine, now were dull, + And ever lidded from the light + That made them beautiful. + + + II + + The chimes of bells were in the air, + And sounds of mirth in hall and street, + With pealing laughter everywhere + And throb of dancing feet: + + The mirth and the convivial din + Of revelers in wanton glee, + With tunes of harp and violin + In tangled harmony. + + But with a sense of nameless dread, + I turned me, from the merry face + Of this newcomer, to my dead; + And, kneeling there a space, + + I sobbed aloud, all tearfully:-- + By this dear face so fixed and cold, + O Lord, let not this New Year be + As happy as the old! + + + THEIR SWEET SORROW + + They meet to say farewell: Their way + Of saying this is hard to say.-- + He holds her hand an instant, wholly + Distressed--and she unclasps it slowly. + + He bends _his_ gaze evasively + Over the printed page that she + Recurs to, with a new-moon shoulder + Glimpsed from the lace-mists that enfold her. + + The clock, beneath its crystal cup, + Discreetly clicks--_"Quick! Act! Speak up!"_ + A tension circles both her slender + Wrists--and her raised eyes flash in splendor, + + Even as he feels his dazzled own.-- + Then, blindingly, round either thrown, + They feel a stress of arms that ever + Strain tremblingly--and "_Never! Never!_" + + Is whispered brokenly, with half + A sob, like a belated laugh,-- + While cloyingly their blurred kiss closes, + Sweet as the dew's lip to the rose's. + + +[Illustration] + + + + JUDITH + + O Her eyes are amber-fine-- + Dark and deep as wells of wine, + While her smile is like the noon + Splendor of a day of June, + If she sorrow--lo! her face + It is like a flowery space + In bright meadows, overlaid + With light clouds and lulled with shade. + If she laugh--it is the trill + Of the wayward whippoorwill + Over upland pastures, heard + Echoed by the mocking-bird + In dim thickets dense with bloom + And blurred cloyings of perfume. + If she sigh--- a zephyr swells + Over odorous asphodels + And wall lilies in lush plots + Of moon-drown'd forget-me-nots. + Then, the soft touch of her hand-- + Takes all breath to understand + What to liken it thereto!-- + Never roseleaf rinsed with dew + Might slip soother-suave than slips + Her slow palm, the while her lips + Swoon through mine, with kiss on kiss + Sweet as heated honey is. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + HE AND I + + Just drifting on together-- + He and I-- + As through the balmy weather + Of July + Drift two thistle-tufts imbedded + Each in each--by zephyrs wedded-- + Touring upward, giddy-headed, + For the sky. + + And, veering up and onward, + Do we seem + Forever drifting dawnward + In a dream, + Where we meet song-birds that know us, + And the winds their kisses blow us, + While the years flow far below us + Like a stream. + + And we are happy--very-- + He and I-- + Aye, even glad and merry + Though on high + The heavens are sometimes shrouded + By the midnight storm, and clouded + Till the pallid moon is crowded + From the sky. + + My spirit ne'er expresses + Any choice + But to clothe him with caresses + And rejoice; + And as he laughs, it is in + Such a tone the moonbeams glisten + And the stars come out to listen + To his voice. + + And so, whate'er the weather, + He and I,-- + With our lives linked thus together, + Float and fly + As two thistle-tufts imbedded + Each in each--by zephyrs wedded-- + Touring upward, giddy-headed, + For the sky. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + THE LOST PATH + + Alone they walked--their fingers knit together, + And swaying listlessly as might a swing + Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather + Of some sun-flooded afternoon of Spring. + + Within the clover-fields the tickled cricket + Laughed lightly as they loitered down the lane, + And from the covert of the hazel-thicket + The squirrel peeped and laughed at them again. + + The bumble-bee that tipped the lily-vases + Along the road-side in the shadows dim, + Went following the blossoms of their faces + As though their sweets must needs be shared with + him. + + Between the pasture bars the wondering cattle + Stared wistfully, and from their mellow bells + Shook out a welcoming whose dreamy rattle + Fell swooningly away in faint farewells. + + And though at last the gloom of night fell o'er them + And folded all the landscape from their eyes, + They only knew the dusky path before them + Was leading safely on to Paradise. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE + + O soul of mine, look out and see + My bride, my bride that is to be! + Reach out with mad, impatient hands, + And draw aside futurity + As one might draw a veil aside-- + And so unveil her where she stands + Madonna-like and glorified-- + The queen of undiscovered lands + Of love, to where she beckons me-- + My bride--my bride that is to be. + + The shadow of a willow-tree + That wavers on a garden-wall + In summertime may never fall + In attitude as gracefully + As my fair bride that is to be;-- + Nor ever Autumn's leaves of brown + As lightly flutter to the lawn + As fall her fairy-feet upon + The path of love she loiters down.-- + O'er drops of dew she walks, and yet + Not one may stain her sandal wet-- + Aye, she might _dance_ upon the way + Nor crush a single drop to spray, + So airy-like she seems to me,-- + My bride, my bride that is to be. + + I know not if her eyes are light + As summer skies or dark as night,-- + I only know that they are dim + With mystery: In vain I peer + To make their hidden meaning clear, + While o'er their surface, like a tear + That ripples to the silken brim, + A look of longing seems to swim + + +[Illustration] + + + All worn and wearylike to me; + And then, as suddenly, my sight + Is blinded with a smile so bright, + Through folded lids I still may see + My bride, my bride that is to be. + + Her face is like a night of June + Upon whose brow the crescent-moon + Hangs pendant in a diadem + Of stars, with envy lighting them.-- + And, like a wild cascade, her hair + Floods neck and shoulder, arm and wrist, + Till only through a gleaming mist + I seem to see a siren there, + With lips of love and melody + And open arms and heaving breast + Wherein I fling myself to rest, + The while my heart cries hopelessly + For my fair bride that is to be... + + Nay, foolish heart and blinded eyes! + My bride hath need of no disguise.-- + But, rather, let her come to me + In such a form as bent above + My pillow when in infancy + I knew not anything but love.-- + O let her come from out the lands + Of Womanhood--not fairy isles,-- + And let her come with Woman's hands + And Woman's eyes of tears and smiles,-- + With Woman's hopefulness and grace + Of patience lighting up her face: + And let her diadem be wrought + Of kindly deed and prayerful thought, + That ever over all distress + May beam the light of cheerfulness.-- + And let her feet be brave to fare + The labyrinths of doubt and care, + That, following, my own may find + The path to Heaven God designed.-- + O let her come like this to me-- + My bride--my bride that is to be. + + + HOW IT HAPPENED + + I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone-- + And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John + A-livin' all alone there in that lonesome sort o' way, + And him a blame' old bachelor, confirm'der ev'ry day! + I'd knowed 'em all from childern, and their daddy from the time + He settled in the neighberhood, and hadn't airy a dime + Er dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin' on!-- + So I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone! + + I got to thinkin' of her; and a-wundern what she done + That all her sisters kep' a-gittin' married, one by one, + And her without no chances--and the best girl of the pack-- + An old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back! + And Mother, too, afore she died, she ust to jes' take on, + When none of 'em was left, you know, but Evaline and John, + And jes' declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline + To not see what a wife they'd git if they got Evaline! + + I got to thinkin' of her; in my great affliction she + Was sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neighberly,-- + She'd come, and leave her housework, fer to he'p out little Jane, + And talk of _her own_ mother 'at she'd never see again-- + Maybe sometimes cry together--though, fer the most part she + Would have the child so riconciled and happy-like 'at we + Felt lonesomer 'n ever when she'd put her bonnet on + And say she'd railly haf to be a-gittin' back to John! + + +[Illustration] + + + I got to thinkin' of her, as I say,--and more and more + I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,-- + Her parents both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone + And married off, and her a-livin' there alone with John-- + You might say jes' a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life + Fer a man 'at hadn't pride enough to git hisse'f a wife-- + 'Less some one married _Evaline_ and packed her off some day!-- + So I got to thinkin' of her--and it happened that-away. + + +[Illustration] + + + WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE + + I + + When my dreams come true--when my dreams come true-- + Shall I lean from out my casement, in the starlight and the dew, + + +[Illustration] + + + To listen--smile and listen to the tinkle of the strings + Of the sweet guitar my lover's fingers fondle, as he sings? + And the nude moon slowly, slowly shoulders into view, + Shall I vanish from his vision--when my dreams come true? + + When my dreams come true--shall the simple gown I wear + Be changed to softest satin, and my maiden-braided hair + Be raveled into flossy mists of rarest, fairest gold, + To be minted into kisses, more than any heart can hold?-- + Or "the summer of my tresses" shall my lover liken to + "The fervor of his passion"--when my dreams come true? + + + II + + When my dreams come true--I shall bide among the sheaves + Of happy harvest meadows; and the grasses and the leaves + Shall lift and lean between me and the splendor of the sun, + Till the moon swoons into twilight, and the gleaners' work is done-- + Save that yet an arm shall bind me, even as the reapers do + The meanest sheaf of harvest--when my dreams come true. + + When my dreams come true! when my dreams come true! + True love in all simplicity is fresh and pure as dew; + The blossom in the blackest mold is kindlier to the eye + Than any lily born of pride that looms against the sky: + And so it is I know my heart will gladly welcome you, + My lowliest of lovers, when my dreams come true. + + +[Illustration] + + + + NOTHIN' TO SAY + + Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say! + Gyrls that's in love, I've noticed, ginerly has their way! + Yer mother did afore you, when her folks objected to me-- + Yit here I am, and here you air; and yer mother--where is she? + + You look lots like yer mother: Purty much same in size; + And about the same complected; and favor about the eyes: + Like her, too, about _livin'_ here,--because _she_ couldn't stay: + It'll 'most seem like you was dead--like her!--But I hain't got + nothin' to say! + + She left you her little Bible--writ yer name acrost the page-- + And left her ear bobs fer you, ef ever you come of age. + I've allus kep'em and gyuarded 'em, but ef yer goin' away-- + Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say! + + You don't rikollect her, I reckon? No; you wasn't a year old then! + And now yer--how old _air_ you? W'y, child, not _"twenty!"_ When? + And yer nex' birthday's in Aprile? and you want to git married that + day? + I wisht yer mother was livin'!--But--I hain't got nothin' to say! + + Twenty year! and as good a gyrl as parent ever found! + There's a straw ketched onto yer dress there--I'll bresh it + off--turn around. + (Her mother was jes' twenty when us two run away!) + Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say! + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + IKE WALTON'S PRAYER + + I crave, dear Lord, + No boundless hoard + Of gold and gear, + Nor jewels fine, + Nor lands, nor kine, + Nor treasure-heaps of anything.-- + Let but a little hut be mine + Where at the hearthstone I may hear + The cricket sing, + And have the shine + Of one glad woman's eyes to make, + For my poor sake, + Our simple home a place divine;-- + Just the wee cot--the cricket's chirr-- + Love, and the smiling face of her. + + I pray not for + Great riches, nor + For vast estates, and castle-halls,-- + Give me to hear the bare footfalls + Of children o'er + An oaken floor, + New-rinsed with sunshine, or bespread + With but the tiny coverlet + And pillow for the baby's head; + And pray Thou, may + The door stand open and the day + Send ever in a gentle breeze, + With fragrance from the locust-trees, + And drowsy moan of doves, and blur + Of robin-chirps, and drone of bees, + + +[Illustration] + + + With afterhushes of the stir + Of intermingling sounds, and then + The good-wife and the smile of her + Filling the silences again-- + The cricket's call, + And the wee cot, + Dear Lord of all, + Deny me not! + + I pray not that + Men tremble at + My power of place + And lordly sway,-- + I only pray for simple grace + To look my neighbor in the face + Full honestly from day to day-- + Yield me his horny palm to hold, + And I'll not pray + For gold;-- + The tanned face, garlanded with mirth, + It hath the kingliest smile on earth-- + The swart brow, diamonded with sweat, + Hath never need of coronet. + And so I reach, + Dear Lord, to Thee, + And do beseech + Thou givest me + The wee cot, and the cricket's chirr, + Love, and the glad sweet face of her. + + +[Illustration] + + + + ILLILEO + + Illileo, the moonlight seemed lost across the vales-- + The stars but strewed the azure as an armor's scattered scales; + The airs of night were quiet as the breath of silken sails; + And all your words were sweeter than the notes of nightingales. + + Illileo Legardi, in the garden there alone, + With your figure carved of fervor, as the Psyche carved of stone, + There came to me no murmur of the fountain's undertone + So mystically, musically mellow as your own. + + You whispered low, Illileo--so low the leaves were mute, + And the echoes faltered breathless in your voice's vain pursuit; + And there died the distant dalliance of the serenader's lute: + And I held you in my bosom as the husk may hold the fruit. + Illileo, I listened. I believed you. In my bliss, + What were all the worlds above me since I found you thus in this?-- + Let them reeling reach to win me--- even Heaven I would miss, + Grasping earthward!--I would cling here, though I clung by just a + kiss! + + And blossoms should grow odorless--and lilies all aghast-- + And I said the stars should slacken in their paces through the vast, + Ere yet my loyalty should fail enduring to the last.-- + So vowed I. It is written. It is changeless as the past. + + Illileo Legardi, in the shade your palace throws + Like a cowl about the singer at your gilded porticos, + A moan goes with the music that may vex the high repose + Of a heart that fades and crumbles as the crimson of a rose. + + +[Illustration] + + + + THE WIFE-BLESSÉD + + In youth he wrought, with eyes ablur + Lorn-faced and long of hair-- + In youth--in youth he painted her + A sister of the air-- + Could clasp her not, but felt the stir + Of pinions everywhere. + + + II + + She lured his gaze, in braver days, + And tranced him sirenwise; + And he did paint her, through a haze + Of sullen paradise, + With scars of kisses on her face + And embers in her eyes. + + + III + + And now--nor dream nor wild conceit-- + Though faltering, as before-- + Through tears he paints her, as is meet, + Tracing the dear face o'er + With lilied patience meek and sweet + As Mother Mary wore. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + MY MARY + + My Mary, O my Mary! + The simmer-skies are blue; + The dawnin' brings the dazzle, + An' the gloamin' brings the dew?-- + The mirk o' nicht the glory + O' the moon, an' kindles, too, + The stars that shift aboon the lift.--- + But nae thing brings me you! + + Where is it, O my Mary, + Ye are biding a' the while? + I ha' wended by your window-- + I ha' waited by the stile, + An' up an' down the river + I ha' won for mony a mile, + Yet never found, adrift or drown'd, + Your lang-belated smile. + + Is it forgot, my Mary, + How glad we used to be?-- + The simmer-time when bonny bloomed + The auld trysting-tree,-- + How there I carved the name for you, + An' you the name for me; + An' the gloamin' kenned it only + When we kissed sae tenderly. + + Speek ance to me, my Mary!--- + But whisper in my ear + As light as ony sleeper's breath, + An' a' my soul will hear; + My heart shall stap its beating + An' the soughing atmosphere + Be hushed the while I leaning smile + An' listen to you, dear! + + My Mary, O my Mary! + The blossoms bring the bees; + The sunshine brings the blossoms, + An' the leaves on a' the trees; + The simmer brings the sunshine + An' the fragrance o' the breeze,-- + But O wi'out you, Mary, + I care nae thing for these! + + +[Illustration] + + + We were sae happy, Mary! + O think how ance we said-- + Wad ane o' us gae fickle, + Or are o' us lie dead,-- + To feel anither's kisses + We wad feign the auld instead, + And ken the ither's footsteps + In the green grass owerhead. + + My Mary, O my Mary! + Are ye daughter o' the air, + That ye vanish aye before me + As I follow everywhere?-- + Or is it ye are only + But a mortal, wan wi' care?-- + Syne I search through a' the kirkyird + An' I dinna find ye there! + + +[Illustration] + + + + HOME AT NIGHT + + When chirping crickets fainter cry, + And pale stars blossom in the sky, + And twilight's gloom has dimmed the bloom + And blurred the butterfly: + + When locust-blossoms fleck the walk, + And up the tiger-lily stalk + The glow-worm crawls and clings and falls + And glimmers down the garden-walls: + + When buzzing things, with double wings + Of crisp and raspish flutterings, + Go whizzing by so very nigh + One thinks of fangs and stings:-- + + O then, within, is stilled the din + Of crib she rocks the baby in, + And heart and gate and latch's weight + Are lifted--- and the lips of Kate, + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + WHEN LIDE MARRIED _HIM_ + + When Lide married _him_--w'y, she had to jes dee-fy + The whole poppilation!--But she never bat' an eye! + Her parents begged, and _threatened_--she must give him up--that _he_ + Wuz jes "a common drunkard!"--And he _wuz_, appearantly.-- + Swore they'd chase him off the place + Ef he ever showed his face-- + Long after she'd _eloped_ with him and _married_ him fer shore!-- + When Lide married _him_, it wuz _"Katy, bar the door!"_ + + When Lide married _him_--Well! she had to go and be + A _hired girl_ in town somewheres--while he tromped round to see + What _he_ could git that _he_ could do,--you might say, jes sawed + wood + From door to door!--that's what he done--'cause that wuz best he + could! + And the strangest thing, i jing! + Wuz, he didn't _drink_ a thing,-- + But jes got down to bizness, like he someway _wanted_ to, + When Lide married _him_, like they warned her _not_ to do! + + When Lide married _him_--er, ruther, _had_ ben married + A little up'ards of a year--some feller come and carried + That _hired girl_ away with him--a ruther _stylish_ feller + In a bran-new green spring-wagon, with the wheels striped red and + yeller: + And he whispered, as they driv + Tords the country, _"Now we'll live!"_-- + And _somepin' else_ she _laughed_ to hear, though both her eyes wuz + dim, + 'Bout _"trustin' Love and Heav'n above_, sence Lide married _him!"_ + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + HER HAIR + + The beauty of her hair bewilders me-- + Pouring adown the brow, its cloven tide + Swirling about the ears on either side + And storming around the neck tumultuously: + Or like the lights of old antiquity + Through mullioned windows, in cathedrals wide, + Spilled moltenly o'er figures deified + In chastest marble, nude of drapery. + And so I love it.--Either unconfined; + Or plaited in close braidings manifold; + Or smoothly drawn; or indolently twined + In careless knots whose coilings come unrolled + At any lightest kiss; or by the wind + Whipped out in flossy ravelings of gold. + + + LAST NIGHT--AND THIS + + Last night--how deep the darkness was! + And well I knew its depths, because + I waded it from shore to shore, + Thinking to reach the light no more. + + She would not even touch my hand.-- + The winds rose and the cedars fanned + The moon out, and the stars fled back + In heaven and hid--and all was black! + + But ah! To-night a summons came, + Signed with a teardrop for a name,-- + For as I wondering kissed it, lo, + A line beneath it told me so. + + And _now_ the moon hangs over me + A disk of dazzling brilliancy, + And every star-tip stabs my sight + With splintered glitterings of light! + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + A DISCOURAGING MODEL + + + Just the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing, + With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing, + Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air, + And a knot of red roses sown in under there + Where the shadows are lost in her hair. + + +[Illustration] + + + Then a cameo face, carven in on a ground + Of that shadowy hair where the roses are wound; + And the gleam of a smile O as fair and as faint + And as sweet as the masters of old used to paint + Round the lips of their favorite saint! + + And that lace at her throat--and the fluttering hands + Snowing there, with a grace that no art understands + The flakes of their touches--first fluttering at + The bow--then the roses--the hair--and then that + Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat. + + What artist on earth, with a model like this, + Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss, + Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair, + Nor the gold of her smile--O what artist could dare + To expect a result so fair? + + +[Illustration] + + + + SUSPENSE + + A woman's figure, on a ground of night + Inlaid with sallow stars that dimly stare + Down in the lonesome eyes, uplifted there + As in vague hope some alien lance of light + Might pierce their woe. The tears that blind her sight-- + The salt and bitter blood of her despair-- + Her hands toss back through torrents of her hair + And grip toward God with anguish infinite. + And O the carven mouth, with all its great + Intensity of longing frozen fast + In such a smile as well may designate + The slowly murdered heart, that, to the last + Conceals each newer wound, and back at Fate + Throbs Love's eternal lie--"Lo, I can wait!" + + +[Illustration] + + + + THE RIVAL + + + I so loved once, When Death came by I hid + Away my face, + And all my sweetheart's tresses she undid + To make my hiding-place. + + The dread shade passed me thus unheeding; and + I turned me then + To calm my love--kiss down her shielding hand + And comfort her again. + + And lo! she answered not: And she did sit + All fixedly, + With her fair face and the sweet smile of it, + In love with Death, not me. + + +[Illustration] + + + + TOM VAN ARDEN + + Tom van Arden, my old friend, + Our warm fellowship is one + Far too old to comprehend + Where its bond was first begun: + Mirage-like before my gaze + Gleams a land of other days, + Where two truant boys, astray, + Dream their lazy lives away. + + +[Illustration] + + + There's a vision, in the guise + Of Midsummer, where the Past + Like a weary beggar lies + In the shadow Time has cast; + And as blends the bloom of trees + With the drowsy hum of bees, + Fragrant thoughts and murmurs blend, + Tom Van Arden, my old friend. + + Tom Van Arden, my old friend, + All the pleasures we have known + Thrill me now as I extend + This old hand and grasp your own-- + Feeling, in the rude caress, + All affection's tenderness; + Feeling, though the touch be rough, + Our old souls are soft enough. + + So we'll make a mellow hour; + Fill your pipe, and taste the wine-- + Warp your face, if it be sour, + I can spare a smile from mine; + If it sharpen up your wit, + Let me feel the edge of it-- + I have eager ears to lend, + Tom Van Arden, my old friend. + + Tom Van Arden, my old friend, + Are we "lucky dogs," indeed? + Are we all that we pretend + In the jolly life we lead?-- + Bachelors, we must confess + Boast of "single blessedness" + To the world, but not alone-- + Man's best sorrow is his own. + + And the saddest truth is this,-- + Life to us has never proved + What we tasted in the kiss + Of the women we have loved: + Vainly we congratulate + Our escape from such a fate + As their lying lips could send, + Tom Van Arden, my old friend! + + Tom Van Arden, my old friend, + Hearts, like fruit upon the stem, + Ripen sweetest, I contend, + As the frost falls over them: + + +[Illustration] + + + Your regard for me to-day + Makes November taste of May, + And through every vein of rhyme + Pours the blood of summertime. + + When our souls are cramped with youth + Happiness seems far away + In the future, while, in truth, + We look back on it to-day + Through our tears, nor dare to boast,-- + "Better to have loved and lost!" + Broken hearts are hard to mend, + Tom Van Arden, my old friend. + + Tom Van Arden, my old friend, + I grow prosy, and you tire; + Fill the glasses while I bend + To prod up the failing fire.... + You are restless:--I presume + There's a dampness in the room.-- + Much of warmth our nature begs, + With rheumatics in our legs!... + + Humph! the legs we used to fling + Limber-jointed in the dance, + When we heard the fiddle ring + Up the curtain of Romance, + And in crowded public halls + Played with hearts like jugglers'-balls.-- + _Feats of mountebanks, depend!_-- + Tom Van Arden, my old friend. + + Tom Van Arden, my old friend, + Pardon, then, this theme of mine: + While the fire-light leaps to lend + Higher color to the wine,-- + I propose a health to those + Who have _homes_, and home's repose, + Wife and child-love without end! + Tom Van Arden, my old friend. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + TO HEAR HER SING + + To hear her sing--to hear her sing-- + It is to hear the birds of Spring + In dewy groves on blooming sprays + Pour out their blithest roundelays. + + It is to hear the robin trill + At morning, or the whippoorwill + At dusk, when stars are blossoming + To hear her sing--to hear her sing! + + To hear her sing--it is to hear + The laugh of childhood ringing clear + In woody path or grassy lane + Our feet may never fare again. + + Faint, far away as Memory dwells, + It is to hear the village bells + At twilight, as the truant hears + Them, hastening home, with smiles and tears. + + Such joy it is to hear her sing, + We fall in love with everything-- + The simple things of every day + Grow lovelier than words can say. + + The idle brooks that purl across + The gleaming pebbles and the moss, + We love no less than classic streams-- + The Rhines and Arnos of our dreams. + + To hear her sing--with folded eyes, + It is, beneath Venetian skies, + To hear the gondoliers' refrain, + Or troubadours of sunny Spain.-- + + To hear the bulbul's voice that shook + The throat that trilled for Lalla Rookh: + What wonder we in homage bring + Our hearts to her--to hear her sing! + + +[Illustration] + + + + A VARIATION + + I am tired of this! + Nothing else but loving! + Nothing else but kiss and kiss, + Coo, and turtle-doving! + Can't you change the order some? + Hate me just a little--come! + + Lay aside your "dears," + "Darlings", "kings" and "princes!"-- + Call me knave, and dry your tears-- + Nothing in me winces,-- + Call me something low and base-- + Something that will suit the case! + + Wish I had your eyes + And their drooping lashes! + I would dry their teary lies + Up with lightning-flashes-- + Make your sobbing lips unsheathe + All the glitter of your teeth! + + Can't you lift one word-- + With some pang of laughter-- + Louder than the drowsy bird + Crooning 'neath the rafter? + Just one bitter word, to shriek + Madly at me as I speak! + + How I hate the fair + Beauty of your forehead! + + +[Illustration] + + + How I hate your fragrant hair! + How I hate the torrid + Touches of your splendid lips, + And the kiss that drips and drips! + + Ah, you pale at last! + And your face is lifted + Like a white sail to the blast, + And your hands are shifted + Into fists: and, towering thus, + You are simply glorious! + + Now before me looms + Something more than human; + Something more than beauty blooms + In the wrath of Woman-- + Something to bow down before + Reverently and adore. + + +[Illustration] + + + + WHERE SHALL WE LAND? + + "Where shall we land you, sweet?"--Swinburne. + + All listlessly we float + Out seaward in the boat + That beareth Love. + Our sails of purest snow + Bend to the blue below + And to the blue above. + Where shall be land? + + We drift upon a tide + Shoreless on every side, + Save where the eye + Of Fancy sweeps far lands + Shelved slopingly with sands + Of gold and porphyry. + Where shall we land? + + The fairy isles we see, + Loom up so mistily-- + So vaguely fair, + We do not care to break + Fresh bubbles in our wake + To bend our course for there. + Where shall we land? + + The warm winds of the deep + Have lulled our sails to sleep, + And so we glide + Careless of wave or wind, + Or change of any kind, + Or turn of any tide. + Where shall we land? + + We droop our dreamy eyes + Where our reflection lies + Steeped in the sea, + And, in an endless fit + Of languor, smile on it + And its sweet mimicry. + Where shall we land? + + "Where shall we land?" God's grace! + I know not any place + So fair as this-- + Swung here between the blue + Of sea and sky, with you + To ask me, with a kiss, + "Where shall we land?" + + + THE TOUCHES OF HER HANDS + + The touches of her hands are like the fall + Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down + The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall; + The flossy fondling of the thistle-wisp + Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown + The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp. + + Soft as the falling of the dusk at night, + The touches of her hands, and the delight-- + The touches of her hands! + The touches of her hands are like the dew + That falls so softly down no one e'er knew + The touch thereof save lovers like to one + Astray in lights where ranged Endymion. + + O rarely soft, the touches of her hands, + As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands; + Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs; + Or--in between the midnight and the dawn, + When long unrest and tears and fears are gone-- + Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes. + + +[Illustration] + + + + FARMER WHIPPLE--BACHELOR + + It's a mystery to see me--a man o' fifty-four, + Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year and more-- + A-lookin' glad and smilin'! And they's none o' you can say + That you can guess the reason why I feel so good + to-day! + + I must tell you all about it! But I'll have to deviate + A little in beginning, so's to set the matter straight + As to how it comes to happen that I never took a wife-- + Kind o' "crawfish" from the Present to the Springtime of my life! + + I was brought up in the country: Of a family of five-- + Three brothers and a sister--I'm the only one alive,-- + Fer they all died little babies; and 'twas one o' Mother's ways, + You know, to want a daughter; so she took a girl to raise. + + The sweetest little thing she was, with rosy cheeks, and fat-- + We was little chunks o' shavers then about as high as that! + But someway we sort o' _suited_-like! and Mother she'd declare + She never laid her eyes on a more lovin' pair + + +[Illustration] + + + Than _we_ was! So we growed up side by side fer thirteen year', + And every hour of it she growed to me more dear!-- + W'y, even Father's dyin', as he did, I do believe + Warn't more affectin' to me than it was to see her grieve! + + I was then a lad o' twenty; and I felt a flash o' pride + In thinkin' all depended on _me_ now to pervide + Fer Mother and fer Mary; and I went about the place + With sleeves rolled up--and working with a mighty smilin' face.-- + + Fer _sompin' else_ was workin'! but not a word I said + Of a certain sort o' notion that was runnin' through my head,-- + "Someday I'd mayby marry, and _a brother's_ love was one + Thing--_a lover's_ was another!" was the way the notion run! + + I remember one't in harvest, when the "cradle-in'" was done-- + When the harvest of my summers mounted up to twenty-one + I was ridin' home with Mary at the closin' o' the day-- + A-chawin' straws and thinkin', in a lover's lazy way! + + And Mary's cheeks was burin' like the sunset down the lane: + I noticed she was thinkin', too, and ast her to explain. + Well--when she turned and _kissed_ me, _with her arms around me--law!_ + I'd a bigger load o' heaven than I had a load o' straw! + + I don't p'tend to learnin', but I'll tell you what's a fact, + They's a mighty truthful sayin' somers in a' almanack-- + Er _somers-_--'bout "puore happiness"--- perhaps some folks'll laugh + At the idy--"only lastin' jest two seconds and a half."-- + + But it's jest as true as preachin'!--fer that was _a sister's_ kiss, + And a sister's lovin' confidence a-tellin' to me this:-- + _"She_ was happy, _bein' promised to the son o' farmer Brown."_-- + And my feelin's struck a pardnership with sunset and went down! + + +[Illustration] + + + I don't know _how_ I acted--I don't know _what_ I said, + Fer my heart seemed jest a-turnin' to an ice-cold lump o' lead; + And the hosses kindo' glimmered before me in the road. + And the lines fell from my fingers--and that was all I knowed-- + + Fer--well, I don't know _how_ long--They's a dim rememberence + Of a sound o' snortin' hosses, and a stake-and-ridered fence + A-whizzin' past, and wheat-sheaves a-dancin' in the air, + And Mary screamin' "Murder!" and a-runnin' up to where + + _I_ was layin' by the road-side, and the wagon upside down + A-leanin' on the gate-post, with the wheels a whirlin' round! + And I tried to raise and meet her, but I couldn't, with a vague + Sorto' notion comin' to me that I had a broken leg. + + Well, the women nussed me through it; but many a time I'd sigh + As I'd keep a-gittin' better instid o' goin' to die, + And wonder what was left _me_ worth livin' fer below, + When the girl I loved was married to another, don't you know! + + And my thoughts was as rebellious as the folks was good and kind + When Brown and Mary married--Railly must a-been my _mind_ + Was kindo' out o' kilter!--fer I hated Brown, you see, + Worse'n _pizen_--and the feller whittled crutches out fer _me_-- + + And done a thousand little ac's o' kindness and respect-- + And me a-wishin' all the time that I could break his neck! + My relief was like a mourner's when the funeral is done + When they moved to Illinois in the Fall o' Forty-one. + + +[Illustration] + + + + Then I went to work in airnest--I had nothin' much in view + But to drownd out rickollections--and it kep' me busy, too! + But I slowly thrived and prospered, tel Mother used to say + She expected yit to see me a wealthy man some day. + + Then I'd think how little _money_ was, compared to happiness-- + And who'd be left to use it when I died I couldn't guess! + But I've still kep' speculatin' and a-gainin' year by year, + Tel I'm payin' half the taxes in the county, mighty near! + + Well!--A year ago er better, a letter comes to hand + Astin' how I'd like to dicker fer some Illinois land-- + "The feller that had owned it," it went ahead to state, + "Had jest deceased, insolvent, leavin' chance to speculate,"-- + + And then it closed by sayin' that I'd "better come and see."-- + I'd never been West, anyhow--a most too wild fer _me_ + I'd allus had a notion; but a lawyer here in town + Said I'd find myself mistakened when I come to look around. + + So I bids good-bye to Mother, and I jumps aboard the train, + A-thinkin' what I'd bring her when I come back home again-- + And ef she'd had an idy what the present was to be, + I think it's more'n likely she'd a-went along with me! + + Cars is awful tejus ridin', fer all they go so fast! + But finally they called out my stoppin'-place at last; + And that night, at the tavern, I dreamp' _I_ was a train + O' cars, and _skeered_ at sompin', runnin' down a country lane! + + Well, in the mornin' airly--after huntin' up the man-- + The lawyer who was wantin' to swap the piece o' land-- + We started fer the country; and I ast the history + Of the farm--its former owner--and so-forth, etcetery! + + And--well--it was inte_rest_in'--I su'prised him, I suppose, + By the loud and frequent manner in which I blowed my nose!-- + But his surprise was greater, and it made him wonder more, + When I kissed and hugged the widder when she met us at the door!-- + + _It was Mary:_ They's a feelin' a-hidin' down in here-- + Of course I can't explain it, ner ever make it clear.-- + It was with us in that meetin', I don't want you to fergit! + And it makes me kind o' nervous when I think about it yit! + + I _bought_ that farm, and _deeded_ it, afore I left the town, + With "title clear to mansions in the skies," to Mary Brown! + And fu'thermore, I took her and _the childern_--fer, you see, + They'd never seed their Grandma--and I fetched 'em home with me. + + So _now_ you've got an idy why a man o' fifty-four, + Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and more, + Is a-lookin' glad and smilin'!--And I've jest come into town + To git a pair o' license fer to _marry_ Mary Brown. + + +[Illustration] + + + + THE ROSE + + It tossed its head at the wooing breeze; + And the sun, like a bashful swain, + Beamed on it through the waving trees + With a passion all in vain,-- + For my rose laughed in a crimson glee, + And hid in the leaves in wait for me. + + The honey-bee came there to sing + His love through the languid hours, + And vaunt of his hives, as a proud old king + Might boast of his palace-towers: + But my rose bowed in a mockery, + And hid in the leaves in wait for me. + + The humming-bird, like a courtier gay, + Dipped down with a dalliant song, + And twanged his wings through the roundelay + Of love the whole day long: + Yet my rose returned from his minstrelsy + And hid in the leaves in wait for me. + + The firefly came in the twilight dim + My red, red rose to woo-- + Till quenched was the flame of love in him + And the light of his lantern too, + As my rose wept with dewdrops three + And hid in the leaves in wait for me. + + And I said: I will cull my own sweet rose-- + Some day I will claim as mine + The priceless worth of the flower that knows + No change, but a bloom divine-- + The bloom of a fadeless constancy + That hides in the leaves in wait for me! + + But time passed by in a strange disguise, + And I marked it not, but lay + In a lazy dream, with drowsy eyes, + Till the summer slipped away, + And a chill wind sang in a minor key: + "Where is the rose that waits for thee?" + + * * * * * + + I dream to-day, o'er a purple stain + Of bloom on a withered stalk, + Pelted down by the autumn rain + In the dust of the garden-walk, + That an Angel-rose in the world to be + Will hide in the leaves in wait for me. + + + WHEN AGE COMES ON + + When Age comes on!-- + The deepening dusk is where the dawn + Once glittered splendid, and the dew + In honey-drips, from red rose-lips + Was kissed away by me and you.-- + And now across the frosty lawn + Black foot-prints trail, and Age comes on-- + And Age comes on! + And biting wild-winds whistle through + Our tattered hopes--and Age comes on! + + When Age comes on!-- + O tide of raptures, long withdrawn, + Flow back in summer-floods, and fling + Here at our feet our childhood sweet, + And all the songs we used to sing!... + Old loves, old friends--all dead and gone-- + Our old faith lost--and Age comes on-- + And Age comes on! + Poor hearts! have we not anything + But longings left when Age comes on! + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + HAS SHE FORGOTTEN? + + + Has she forgotten? On this very May + We were to meet here, with the birds and bees, + As on that Sabbath, underneath the trees + We strayed among the tombs, and stripped away + The vines from these old granites, cold and gray-- + And yet indeed not grim enough were they + To stay our kisses, smiles and ecstasies, + Or closer voice-lost vows and rhapsodies. + Has she forgotten--that the May has won + Its promise?--that the bird-songs from the tree + Are sprayed above the grasses as the sun + Might jar the dazzling dew down showeringly? + Has she forgotten life--love--everyone-- + Has she forgotten me--forgotten me? + + + II + + Low, low down in the violets I press + My lips and whisper to her. Does she hear, + And yet hold silence, though I call her dear, + Just as of old, save for the tearfulness + Of the clenched eyes, and the soul's vast distress? + Has she forgotten thus the old caress + That made our breath a quickened atmosphere + That failed nigh unto swooning with the sheer + Delight? Mine arms clutch now this earthen heap + Sodden with tears that flow on ceaselessly + As autumn rains the long, long, long nights weep + In memory of days that used to be,-- + Has she forgotten these? And in her sleep, + Has she forgotten me--forgotten me? + + + III + + To-night, against my pillow, with shut eyes, + I mean to weld our faces--through the dense + Incalculable darkness make pretense + That she has risen from her reveries + To mate her dreams with mine in marriages + Of mellow palms, smooth faces, and tense ease + Of every longing nerve of indolence,-- + Lift from the grave her quiet lips, and stun + My senses with her kisses--drawl the glee + Of her glad mouth, full blithe and tenderly, + Across mine own, forgetful if is done + The old love's awful dawn-time when said we, + "To-day is ours!"... Ah, Heaven! can it be + She has forgotten me--forgotten me! + + + +[Illustration] + + + + BLOOMS OF MAY + + But yesterday!... + O blooms of May, + And summer roses--Where-away? + O stars above, + And lips of love + And all the honeyed sweets thereof! + + O lad and lass + And orchard-pass + And briered lane, and daisied grass! + O gleam and gloom, + And woodland bloom, + And breezy breaths of all perfume!-- + + No more for me + Or mine shall be + Thy raptures--save in memory,-- + No more--no more-- + Till through the Door + Of Glory gleam the days of yore. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + THE SERMON OF THE ROSE + + Wilful we are in our infirmity + Of childish questioning and discontent. + Whate'er befalls us is divinely meant-- + Thou Truth the clearer for thy mystery! + Make us to meet what is or is to be + With fervid welcome, knowing it is sent + To serve us in some way full excellent, + Though we discern it all belatedly. + The rose buds, and the rose blooms and the rose + Bows in the dews, and in its fulness, lo, + Is in the lover's hand,--then on the breast + Of her he loves,--and there dies.--And who knows + Which fate of all a rose may undergo + Is fairest, dearest, sweetest, loveliest? + + Nay, we are children: we will not mature. + A blessed gift must seem a theft; and tears + Must storm our eyes when but a joy appears + In drear disguise of sorrow; and how poor + We seem when we are richest,--most secure + Against all poverty the lifelong years + We yet must waste in childish doubts and fears + That, in despite of reason, still endure! + Alas! the sermon of the rose we will + Not wisely ponder; nor the sobs of grief + Lulled into sighs of rapture; nor the cry + Of fierce defiance that again is still. + Be patient--patient with our frail belief, + And stay it yet a little ere we die. + + O opulent life of ours, though dispossessed + Of treasure after treasure! Youth most fair + Went first, but left its priceless coil of hair-- + Moaned over sleepless nights, kissed and caressed + Through drip and blur of tears the tenderest. + And next went Love--the ripe rose glowing there + Her very sister!... It is here; but where + Is she, of all the world the first and best? + And yet how sweet the sweet earth after rain-- + How sweet the sunlight on the garden wall + Across the roses--and how sweetly flows + The limpid yodel of the brook again! + And yet--and yet how sweeter after all, + The smouldering sweetness of a dead red rose! + + +[Illustration] + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Riley Love-Lyrics, by James Whitcomb Riley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILEY LOVE-LYRICS *** + +***** This file should be named 19897-8.txt or 19897-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/8/9/19897/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Ted Garvin and the Online +Distributed Proofreaders Europe at http://dp.rastko.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Riley Love-Lyrics + +Author: James Whitcomb Riley + +Illustrator: Will Vawter + +Release Date: November 23, 2006 [EBook #19897] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILEY LOVE-LYRICS *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Ted Garvin and the Online +Distributed Proofreaders Europe at http://dp.rastko.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>RILEY LOVE-LYRICS</h1> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-001.png" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-004.png" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0188-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>RILEY LOVE-LYRICS</h2> + +<h3>JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY</h3> + +<h4>ILLUSTRATED BY WILL VAWTER</h4> + +<p class="center">INDIANAPOLIS<br /> + +THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY<br /> + +PUBLISHERS</p> + +<p>Copyright, 1883, 1887, 1888, 1890, 1891, 1892, 1894, 1897, 1898, 1901, +1905, by James Whitcomb Riley</p> + +<p>Copyright 1921, The Bobbs-Merrill Company</p> + +<h5>All rights reserved</h5> + +<h4><i>Printed in the United States of America</i></h4> + + +<p class="center">PRESS OF<br /> + +BRAUNWORTH & CO.<br /> + +BOOK MANUFACTURERS<br /> + +BROOKLYN, N.Y.<br /><br /><br /></p> + + + +<p class="center"><b>INSCRIBED</b></p> + +<p class="center">TO THE ELECT OF LOVE,—OR SIDE-BY-SIDE<br /> +IN RAPTEST ECSTASY, OR SUNDERED WIDE<br /> +BY SEAS THAT BEAR NO MESSAGE TO OR FRO<br /> +BETWEEN THE LOVED AND LOST OF LONG AGO.</p> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-005.png" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>So were I but a minstrel, deft</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>At weaving, with the trembling strings</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of my glad harp, the warp and weft</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Of rondels such as rapture sings,—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>I'd loop my lyre across my breast,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Nor stay me till my knee found rest</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>In midnight banks of bud and flower</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Beneath my lady's lattice-bower.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And there, drenched with the teary dews,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>I'd woo her with such wondrous art</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>As well might stanch the songs that ooze</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Out of the mockbird's breaking heart;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>So light, so tender, and so sweet</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Should be the words I would repeat,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Her casement, on my gradual sight,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Would blossom as a lily might.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-005.png" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-007.png" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> + +<h2>RILEY LOVE-LYRICS</h2> + +<hr /> +<a href="#blooms"><b>BLOOMS OF MAY</b></a><br /> +<a href="#discourage"><b>DISCOURAGING MODEL, A</b></a><br /> +<a href="#dream"><b>"DREAM" </b></a><br /> +<a href="#whiffle"><b>FARMER WHIFFLE—BACHELOR</b></a><br /> +<a href="#forgotten"><b>HAS SHE FORGOTTEN?</b></a><br /> +<a href="#he_and_i"><b>HE AND I</b></a><br /> +<a href="#called"><b>HE CALLED HER IN</b></a><br /> +<a href="#beautiful"><b>HER BEAUTIFUL EYES</b></a><br /> +<a href="#face_brow"><b>HER FACE AND BROW</b></a><br /> +<a href="#hair"><b>HER HAIR</b></a><br /> +<a href="#waiting_face"><b>HER WAITING FACE</b></a><br /> +<a href="#home_night"><b>HOME AT NIGHT</b></a><br /> +<a href="#happened"><b>HOW IT HAPPENED</b></a><br /> +<a href="#ike_walton"><b>IKE WALTON'S PRAYER</b></a><br /> +<a href="#illileo"><b>ILLILEO</b></a><br /> +<a href="#judith"><b>JUDITH</b></a><br /> +<a href="#last_night"><b>LAST NIGHT AND THIS</b></a><br /> +<a href="#leonainie"><b>LEONAINIE</b></a><br /> +<a href="#forget"><b>LET US FORGET</b></a><br /> +<a href="#lost_path"><b>LOST PATH, THE</b></a><br /> +<a href="#bride"><b>MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE</b></a><br /> +<a href="#mary"><b>MY MARY</b></a><br /> +<a href="#nothin"><b>NOTHIN' TO SAY</b></a><br /> +<a href="#played-out"><b>OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG, A'</b></a><br /> +<a href="#old_sweetheart"><b>OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE, AN</b></a><br /> +<a href="#old_year_new"><b>OLD YEAR AND THE NEW, THE</b></a><br /> +<a href="#sappho"><b>OUT-WORN SAPPHO, AN</b></a><br /> +<a href="#passing"><b>PASSING OF A HEART, THE</b></a><br /> +<a href="#rival"><b>RIVAL, THE</b></a><br /> +<a href="#rose"><b>ROSE, THE</b></a><br /> +<a href="#sermon"><b>SERMON OF THE ROSE, THE</b></a><br /> +<a href="#suspense"><b>SUSPENSE</b></a><br /> +<a href="#sorrow"><b>THEIR SWEET SORROW</b></a><br /> +<a href="#sing"><b>TO HEAR HER SING</b></a><br /> +<a href="#arden"><b>TOM VAN ARDEN</b></a><br /> +<a href="#touches"><b>TOUCHES OF HER HANDS, THE</b></a><br /> +<a href="#variation"><b>VARIATION, A</b></a><br /> +<a href="#affair"><b>VERY YOUTHFUL AFFAIR, A</b></a><br /> +<a href="#age_comes"><b>WHEN AGE COMES ON</b></a><br /> +<a href="#lide"><b>WHEN LIDE MARRIED <i>HIM</i></b></a><br /> +<a href="#dreams_true"><b>WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE</b></a><br /> +<a href="#comes_home"><b>WHEN SHE COMES HOME</b></a><br /> +<a href="#land"><b>WHERE SHALL WE LAND?</b></a><br /> +<a href="#bless"><b>WIFE-BLESSÉD, THE</b></a><br /> + +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0281-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>RILEY LOVE-LYRICS</h2> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0189-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<a name="old_sweetheart" id="old_sweetheart"></a><h2> +AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE<br /></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tis a fragrant retrospection—for the loving thoughts that start<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into being are like perfume from the blossom of the heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweetheart of mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0190-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grew round the stump," she loved me—that old sweetheart of mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As we used to talk together of the future we had planned—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But write the tender verses that she set the music to:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When we should live together in a cozy little cot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I should be her lover forever and a day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had come.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0191-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">But, ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the door is softly opened, and—my wife is standing there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0192-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0193-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div><a name="played-out" id="played-out"></a> +<h2>A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG<br /></h2> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">It's the curiousest thing in creation,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whenever I hear that old song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Do They Miss Me at Home," I'm so bothered,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My life seems as short as it's long!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer ev'rything 'pears like adzackly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It 'peared in the years past and gone,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I started out sparkin', at twenty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And had my first neckercher on!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Right now than my parents was then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You strike up that song "Do They Miss Me,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I'm jest a youngster again!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm a-standin' back thare in the furries<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A-wishin' fer evening to come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-whisperin' over and over<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Them words "Do They Miss Me at Home?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You see, <i>Marthy Ellen she</i> sung it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The first time I heerd it; and so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As she was my very first sweetheart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It reminds me of her, don't you know;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How her face used to look, in the twilight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As I tuck her to Spellin'; and she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kep' a-hummin' that song tel I ast her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pint-blank, ef she ever missed <i>me!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hear her low answerin' words;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then the glad chirp of the crickets,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As clear as the twitter of birds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dust in the road is like velvet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the ragweed and fennel and grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is as sweet as the scent of the lilies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Eden of old, as we pass.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0279-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer1.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Do They Miss Me at Home</i>?" Sing it lower—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And softer—and sweet as the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That powdered our path with the snowy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">White bloom of the old locus'-trees!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let the whipperwills he'p you to sing it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the echoes 'way over the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of stars, and our voices is still.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But oh! "They's a chord in the music<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That's missed when <i>her</i> voice is away!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I listen from midnight tel morning,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dawn tel the dusk of the day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I grope through the dark, lookin' upwards<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And on through the heavenly dome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The words "Do They Miss Me at Home?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0196-1.jpg" width="100" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="affair" id="affair"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">A VERY YOUTHFUL AFFAIR<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm bin a-visitun 'bout a week<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To my little Cousin's at Nameless Creek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' I'm got the hives an' a new straw hat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' I'm come back home where my beau lives at.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0197-1.jpg" width="100" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="sappho" id="sappho"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">AN OUT-WORN SAPPHO<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How tired I am! I sink down all alone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here by the wayside of the Present. Lo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even as a child I hide my face and moan—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A little girl that may no farther go;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The path above me only seems to grow<br /></span> +<span class="i4">More rugged, climbing still, and ever briered<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With keener thorns of pain than these below;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And O the bleeding feet that falter so<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And are so very tired!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why, I have journeyed from the far-off Lands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Babyhood—where baby-lilies blew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their trumpets in mine ears, and filled my hands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With treasures of perfume and honey-dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And where the orchard shadows ever drew<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Their cool arms round me when my cheeks were fired<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With too much joy, and lulled mine eyelids to,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And only let the starshine trickle through<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In sprays, when I was tired!<br /></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet I remember, when the butterfly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Went flickering about me like a flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That quenched itself in roses suddenly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How oft I wished that <i>I</i> might blaze the same,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in some rose-wreath nestle with my name,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">While all the world looked on it and admired.—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Poor moth!—Along my wavering flight toward fame<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The winds drive backward, and my wings are lame<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And broken, bruised and tired!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I hardly know the path from those old times;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I know at first it was a smoother one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than this that hurries past me now, and climbs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So high, its far cliffs even hide the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shroud in gloom my journey scarce begun.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I could not do quite all the world required—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I could not do quite all I should have done,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in my eagerness I have outrun<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My strength—and I am tired....<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Just tired! But when of old I had the stay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of mother-hands, O very sweet indeed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was to dream that all the weary way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I should but follow where I now must lead—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For long ago they left me in my need,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And, groping on alone, I tripped and mired<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Among rank grasses where the serpents breed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In knotted coils about the feet of speed.—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">There first it was I tired.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And yet I staggered on, and bore my load<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Right gallantly: The sun, in summer-time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In lazy belts came slipping down the road<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To woo me on, with many a glimmering rhyme<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rained from the golden rim of some fair clime,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That, hovering beyond the clouds, inspired<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My failing heart with fancies so sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I half forgot my path of dust and grime,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Though I was growing tired.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And there were many voices cheering me:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I listened to sweet praises where the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went laughing o'er my shoulders gleefully<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And scattering my love-songs far behind;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until, at last, I thought the world so kind—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So rich in all my yearning soul desired—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So generous—so loyally inclined,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I grew to love and trust it.... I was blind—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yea, blind as I was tired!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0198-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And yet one hand held me in creature-touch:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And O, how fair it was, how true and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How it did hold my heart up like a crutch,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till, in my dreams, I joyed to walk along<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The toilsome way, contented with a song—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">'Twas all of earthly things I had acquired,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And 'twas enough, I feigned, or right or wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since, binding me to man—a mortal thong—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">It stayed me, growing tired....<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yea, I had e'en resigned me to the strait<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of earthly rulership—had bowed my head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Acceptant of the master-mind—the great<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One lover—lord of all,—the perfected<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kiss-comrade of my soul;—had stammering said<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My prayers to him;—all—all that he desired<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I rendered sacredly as we were wed.—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nay—nay!—'twas but a myth I worshippéd.—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And—God of love!—how tired!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For, O my friends, to lose the latest grasp—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To feel the last hope slipping from its hold—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To feel the one fond hand within your clasp<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fall slack, and loosen with a touch so cold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its pressure may not warm you as of old<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Before the light of love had thus expired—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To know your tears are worthless, though they rolled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their torrents out in molten drops of gold.—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">God's pity! I am tired!<br /></span> + + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I must rest.—Yet do not say "She <i>died</i>,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In speaking of me, sleeping here alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kiss the grassy grave I sink beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And close mine eyes in slumber all mine own:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hereafter I shall neither sob nor moan<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor murmur one complaint;—all I desired,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And failed in life to find, will now be known—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So let me dream. Good night! And on the stone<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Say simply: She was tired.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0200-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="passing" id="passing"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">THE PASSING OF A HEART<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O touch me with your hands—<br /></span> +<span class="i10">For pity's sake!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My brow throbs ever on with such an ache<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As only your cool touch may take away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so, I pray<br /></span> +<span class="i4">You, touch me with your hands!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i100">Touch—touch me with your hands.—<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Smooth back the hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You once caressed, and kissed, and called so fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I did dream its gold would wear alway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo, to-day—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">O touch me with your hands!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Just touch me with your hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">And let them press<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My weary eyelids with the old caress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lull me till I sleep. Then go your way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Death may say:<br /></span> +<span class="i6">He touched her with his hands.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0201-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0202-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<h2><a name="dream" id="dream"></a> +"DREAM"</h2><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Because her eyes were far too deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And holy for a laugh to leap<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the brink where sorrow tried<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To drown within the amber tide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because the looks, whose ripples kissed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The trembling lids through tender mist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were dazzled with a radiant gleam—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because of this I call her "Dream."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Because the roses growing wild<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About her features when she smiled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were ever dewed with tears that fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tenderness ineffable;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because her lips might spill a kiss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, dripping in a world like this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would tincture death's myrrh-bitter stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sweetness—so I called her "Dream."<br /></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Because I could not understand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The magic touches of a hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That seemed, beneath her strange control,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To smooth the plumage of the soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And calm it, till, with folded wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It half forgot its flutterings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, nestled in her palm, did seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To trill a song that called her "Dream."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Because I saw her, in a sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As dark and desolate and deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fleeting as the taunting night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That flings a vision of delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To some lorn martyr as he lies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In slumber ere the day he dies—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because she vanished like a gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of glory, do I call her "Dream."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0203-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div><div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0204-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0205-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<a name="called" id="called"></a> +<h2> +<span class="i0">HE CALLED HER IN<br /></span> +</h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He called her in from me and shut the door.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she so loved the sunshine and the sky!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She loved them even better yet than I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ne'er knew dearth of them—my mother dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nature had nursed me in her lap instead:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I had grown a dark and eerie child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rarely smiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save when, shut all alone in grasses high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looking straight up in God's great lonesome sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And coaxing Mother to smile back on me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas lying thus, this fair girl suddenly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came to me, nestled in the fields beside<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pleasant-seeming home, with doorway wide—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunshine beating in upon the floor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like golden rain.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O sweet, sweet face above me, turn again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leave me! I had cried, but that an ache<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within my throat so gripped it I could make<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No sound but a thick sobbing. Cowering so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I felt her light hand laid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon my hair—a touch that ne'er before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had tamed me thus, all soothed and unafraid—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seemed the touch the children used to know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Christ was here, so dear it was—so dear,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At once I loved her as the leaves love dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In midmost summer when the days are new.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Barely an hour I knew her, yet a curl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of silken sunshine did she clip for me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of the bright May-morning of her hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bound and gave it to me laughingly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And caught my hands and called me <i>"Little girl,"</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tiptoeing, as she spoke, to kiss me there!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I stood dazed and dumb for very stress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of my great happiness.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She plucked me by the gown, nor saw how mean<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The raiment—drew me with her everywhere:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smothered her face in tufts of grasses green:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Put up her dainty hands and peeped between<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0206-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her fingers at the blossoms—crooned and talked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To them in strange, glad whispers, as we walked,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said <i>this</i> one was her angel mother—<i>this</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her baby-sister—come back, for a kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clean from the Good-World!—smiled and kissed them, then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Closed her soft eyes and kissed them o'er again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so did she beguile me—so we played,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was the dazzling Shine—I, the dark Shade—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we did mingle like to these, and thus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Together, made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The perfect summer, pure and glorious.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So blent we, till a harsh voice broke upon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our happiness.—She, startled as a fawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cried, "Oh, 'tis Father!"—all the blossoms gone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From out her cheeks as those from out her grasp.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harsher the voice came:—She could only gasp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Affrightedly, "Good-bye!—good-bye! good-bye!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo, I stood alone, with that harsh cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ringing a new and unknown sense of shame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through soul and frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with wet eyes, repeating o'er and o'er,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"He called her in from me and shut the door!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">II<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0207-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He called her in from me and shut the door!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I went wandering alone again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So lonely—O so very lonely then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thought no little sallow star, alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all a world of twilight, e'er had known<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such utter loneliness. But that I wore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above my heart that gleaming tress of hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lighten up the night of my despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think I might have groped into my grave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor cared to wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ferns above it with a breath of prayer.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how I hungered for the sweet, sweet face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bent above me in my hiding-place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That day amid the grasses there beside<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her pleasant home!—"Her <i>pleasant</i> home!" I sighed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembering;—then shut my teeth and feigned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The harsh voice calling <i>me</i>,—then clinched my nails<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So deeply in my palms, the sharp wounds pained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tossed my face toward heaven, as one who pales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In splendid martrydom, with soul serene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As near to God as high the guillotine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I had <i>envied</i> her? Not that—O no!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I had longed for some sweet haven so!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein the tempest-beaten heart might ride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes at peaceful anchor, and abide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where those that loved me touched me with their hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And looked upon me with glad eyes, and slipped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smooth fingers o'er my brow, and lulled the strands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of my wild tresses, as they backward tipped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My yearning face and kissed it satisfied.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then bitterly I murmured as before,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"He called her in from me and shut the door!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">III<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He called her in from me and shut the door!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After long struggling with my pride and pain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A weary while it seemed, in which the more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I held myself from her, the greater fain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was I to look upon her face again;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last—at last—half conscious where my feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were faring, I stood waist-deep in the sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Green grasses there where she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First came to me.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The very blossoms she had plucked that day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, at her father's voice, had cast away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around me lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still bright and blooming in these eyes of mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as I gathered each one eagerly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pressed it to my lips and drank the wine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her kisses left there for the honey-bee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, after I had laid them with the tress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her bright hair with lingering tenderness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I, turning, crept on to the hedge that bound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her pleasant-seeming home—but all around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was never sign of her!—The windows all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were blinded; and I heard no rippling fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her glad laugh, nor any harsh voice call;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But clutching to the tangled grasses, caught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sound as though a strong man bowed his head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sobbed alone—unloved—uncomforted!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then straightway before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My tearless eyes, all vividly, was wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A vision that is with me evermore:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little girl that lies asleep, nor hears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor heeds not any voice nor fall of tears.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I sit singing o'er and o'er and o'er,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"God called her in from him and shut the door!"<br /></span> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +</div></div> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0208-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<a name="face_brow" id="face_brow"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">HER FACE AND BROW<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, help me! but her face and brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are lovelier than lilies are<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the light of moon and star<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That smile as they are smiling now—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White lilies in a pallid swoon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sweetest white beneath the moon—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White lilies, in a flood of bright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pure lucidness of liquid light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cascading down some plenilune,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all the azure overhead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blooms like a dazzling daisy-bed.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So luminous her face and brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The luster of their glory, shed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In memory, even, blinds me now.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<a name="beautiful" id="beautiful"></a> +<h2> +<span class="i0">HER BEAUTIFUL EYES<br /></span> +</h2></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O her beautiful eyes! they are blue as the dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the violet's bloom when the morning is new,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the light of their love is the gleam of the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the meadows of Spring where the quick shadows run<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the morn shifts the mists and the clouds from the skies-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I stand in the dawn of her beautiful eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And her beautiful eyes are as mid-day to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the lily-bell bends with the weight of the bee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the throat of the thrush is a-pulse in the heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the senses are drugged with the subtle and sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And delirious breaths of the air's lullabies—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I swoon in the noon of her beautiful eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O her beautiful eyes! they have smitten mine own<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a glory glanced down from the glare of the Throne;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I reel, and I falter and fall, as afar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell the shepherds that looked on the mystical Star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet dazed in the tidings that bade them arise—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I groped through the night of her beautiful eyes.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0210-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="comes_home" id="comes_home"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">WHEN SHE COMES HOME<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When she comes home again! A thousand ways<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I fashion, to myself, the tenderness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of my glad welcome: I shall tremble—yes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And touch her, as when first in the old days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I touched her girlish hand, nor dared upraise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mine eyes, such was my faint heart's sweet distress.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then silence: And the perfume of her dress:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The room will sway a little, and a haze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cloy eyesight—soulsight, even—for a space:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tears—yes; and the ache here in the throat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To know that I so ill deserve the place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her arms make for me; and the sobbing note<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I stay with kisses, ere the tearful face<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Again is hidden in the old embrace.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0211-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<a name="forget" id="forget"></a><h2><span class="i0">LET US FORGET<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let us forget. What matters it that we<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Once reigned o'er happy realms of long-ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And talked of love, and let our voices low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ruled for some brief sessions royally?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What if we sung, or laughed, or wept maybe?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It has availed not anything, and so<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let it go by that we may better know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How poor a thing is lost to you and me.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But yesterday I kissed your lips, and yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did thrill you not enough to shake the dew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From your drenched lids—and missed, with no regret,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your kiss shot back, with sharp breaths failing you:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so, to-day, while our worn eyes are wet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With all this waste of tears, let us forget!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0212-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0213-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="leonainie" id="leonainie"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">LEONAINIE<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Leonainie—Angels named her;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they took the light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the laughing stars and framed her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a smile of white;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And they made her hair of gloomy<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Midnight, and her eyes of bloomy<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Moonshine, and they brought her to me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the solemn night.—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In a solemn night of summer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When my heart of gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blossomed up to greet the comer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a rose in bloom;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">All forebodings that distressed me<br /></span> +<span class="i6">I forgot as Joy caressed me-<br /></span> +<span class="i6">(<i>Lying</i> Joy! that caught and pressed me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the arms of doom!)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Only spake the little lisper<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the Angel-tongue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet I, listening, heard her whisper—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Songs are only sung<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Here below that they may grieve you-<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Tales but told you to deceive you,—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">So must Leonainie leave you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While her love is young,"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then God smiled and it was morning<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Matchless and supreme<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaven's glory seemed adorning<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Earth with its esteem:<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Every heart but mine seemed gifted<br /></span> +<span class="i6">With the voice of prayer, and lifted<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Where my Leonainie drifted<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From me like a dream.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0214-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0215-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="waiting_face" id="waiting_face"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">HER WAITING FACE<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">In some strange place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of long-lost lands he finds her waiting face—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes marveling upon it, unaware,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set moonwise in the midnight of her hair.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0216-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="old_year_new" id="old_year_new"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As one in sorrow looks upon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dead face of a loyal friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the dim light of New Year's dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I saw the Old Year end.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Upon the pallid features lay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dear old smile—so warm and bright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere thus its cheer had died away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In ashes of delight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hands that I had learned to love<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With strength of passion half divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were folded now, all heedless of<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The emptiness of mine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0217-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The eyes that once had shed their bright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet looks like sunshine, now were dull,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ever lidded from the light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That made them beautiful.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">II<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The chimes of bells were in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sounds of mirth in hall and street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With pealing laughter everywhere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And throb of dancing feet:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The mirth and the convivial din<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of revelers in wanton glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tunes of harp and violin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In tangled harmony.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But with a sense of nameless dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I turned me, from the merry face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of this newcomer, to my dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, kneeling there a space,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I sobbed aloud, all tearfully:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By this dear face so fixed and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Lord, let not this New Year be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As happy as the old!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="sorrow" id="sorrow"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">THEIR SWEET SORROW<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They meet to say farewell: Their way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of saying this is hard to say.—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He holds her hand an instant, wholly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Distressed—and she unclasps it slowly.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He bends <i>his</i> gaze evasively<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the printed page that she<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Recurs to, with a new-moon shoulder<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Glimpsed from the lace-mists that enfold her.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The clock, beneath its crystal cup,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Discreetly clicks—<i>"Quick! Act! Speak up!"</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">A tension circles both her slender<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wrists—and her raised eyes flash in splendor,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Even as he feels his dazzled own.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, blindingly, round either thrown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They feel a stress of arms that ever<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strain tremblingly—and "<i>Never! Never!</i>"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is whispered brokenly, with half<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sob, like a belated laugh,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While cloyingly their blurred kiss closes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet as the dew's lip to the rose's.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0218-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0219-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="judith" id="judith"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">JUDITH<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Her eyes are amber-fine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark and deep as wells of wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While her smile is like the noon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Splendor of a day of June,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If she sorrow—lo! her face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is like a flowery space<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In bright meadows, overlaid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With light clouds and lulled with shade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If she laugh—it is the trill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the wayward whippoorwill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over upland pastures, heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echoed by the mocking-bird<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In dim thickets dense with bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blurred cloyings of perfume.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If she sigh—- a zephyr swells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over odorous asphodels<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wall lilies in lush plots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of moon-drown'd forget-me-nots.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, the soft touch of her hand—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Takes all breath to understand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What to liken it thereto!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never roseleaf rinsed with dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might slip soother-suave than slips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her slow palm, the while her lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swoon through mine, with kiss on kiss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet as heated honey is.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0220-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0221-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<a name="he_and_i" id="he_and_i"></a> +<h2> +<span class="i0">HE AND I<br /></span> +</h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Just drifting on together—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">He and I—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As through the balmy weather<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Of July<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Drift two thistle-tufts imbedded<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each in each—by zephyrs wedded—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Touring upward, giddy-headed,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">For the sky.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, veering up and onward,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Do we seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forever drifting dawnward<br /></span> + +<span class="i6">In a dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where we meet song-birds that know us,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the winds their kisses blow us,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While the years flow far below us<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Like a stream.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And we are happy—very—<br /></span> +<span class="i8">He and I—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aye, even glad and merry<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Though on high<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The heavens are sometimes shrouded<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the midnight storm, and clouded<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till the pallid moon is crowded<br /></span> +<span class="i8">From the sky.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My spirit ne'er expresses<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Any choice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But to clothe him with caresses<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And rejoice;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And as he laughs, it is in<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such a tone the moonbeams glisten<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the stars come out to listen<br /></span> +<span class="i8">To his voice.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so, whate'er the weather,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">He and I,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With our lives linked thus together,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Float and fly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As two thistle-tufts imbedded<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each in each—by zephyrs wedded—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Touring upward, giddy-headed,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">For the sky.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0222-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" +alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0223-1.jpg" width="120" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="lost_path" id="lost_path"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">THE LOST PATH<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alone they walked—their fingers knit together,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And swaying listlessly as might a swing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of some sun-flooded afternoon of Spring.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within the clover-fields the tickled cricket<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Laughed lightly as they loitered down the lane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the covert of the hazel-thicket<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The squirrel peeped and laughed at them again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The bumble-bee that tipped the lily-vases<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Along the road-side in the shadows dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went following the blossoms of their faces<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As though their sweets must needs be shared with him<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Between the pasture bars the wondering cattle<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stared wistfully, and from their mellow bells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shook out a welcoming whose dreamy rattle<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fell swooningly away in faint farewells.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And though at last the gloom of night fell o'er them<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And folded all the landscape from their eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They only knew the dusky path before them<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was leading safely on to Paradise.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0225-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0226-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="bride" id="bride"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O soul of mine, look out and see<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My bride, my bride that is to be!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reach out with mad, impatient hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And draw aside futurity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As one might draw a veil aside—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so unveil her where she stands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Madonna-like and glorified—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The queen of undiscovered lands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of love, to where she beckons me—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My bride—my bride that is to be.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The shadow of a willow-tree<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That wavers on a garden-wall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In summertime may never fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In attitude as gracefully<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As my fair bride that is to be;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor ever Autumn's leaves of brown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As lightly flutter to the lawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As fall her fairy-feet upon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The path of love she loiters down.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er drops of dew she walks, and yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not one may stain her sandal wet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aye, she might <i>dance</i> upon the way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor crush a single drop to spray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So airy-like she seems to me,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My bride, my bride that is to be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I know not if her eyes are light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As summer skies or dark as night,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only know that they are dim<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With mystery: In vain I peer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To make their hidden meaning clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While o'er their surface, like a tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ripples to the silken brim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A look of longing seems to swim<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0227-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">All worn and wearylike to me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then, as suddenly, my sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is blinded with a smile so bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through folded lids I still may see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My bride, my bride that is to be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her face is like a night of June<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon whose brow the crescent-moon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs pendant in a diadem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of stars, with envy lighting them.—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, like a wild cascade, her hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Floods neck and shoulder, arm and wrist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till only through a gleaming mist<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I seem to see a siren there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lips of love and melody<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And open arms and heaving breast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wherein I fling myself to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The while my heart cries hopelessly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For my fair bride that is to be ...<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, foolish heart and blinded eyes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My bride hath need of no disguise.—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But, rather, let her come to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In such a form as bent above<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My pillow when in infancy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knew not anything but love.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O let her come from out the lands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Womanhood—not fairy isles,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let her come with Woman's hands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Woman's eyes of tears and smiles,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Woman's hopefulness and grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of patience lighting up her face:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let her diadem be wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of kindly deed and prayerful thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ever over all distress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May beam the light of cheerfulness.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let her feet be brave to fare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The labyrinths of doubt and care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, following, my own may find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The path to Heaven God designed.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O let her come like this to me—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My bride—my bride that is to be.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<a name="happened" id="happened"></a> +<h2>HOW IT HAPPENED</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I got to thinkin' of her—both her parents dead and gone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-livin' all alone there in that lonesome sort o' way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And him a blame' old bachelor, confirm'der ev'ry day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd knowed 'em all from childern, and their daddy from the time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He settled in the neighberhood, and hadn't airy a dime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin' on!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I got to thinkin' of her—both her parents dead and gone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I got to thinkin' of her; and a-wundern what she done<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That all her sisters kep' a-gittin' married, one by one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her without no chances—and the best girl of the pack—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Mother, too, afore she died, she ust to jes' take on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When none of 'em was left, you know, but Evaline and John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And jes' declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To not see what a wife they'd git if they got Evaline!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I got to thinkin' of her; in my great affliction she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neighberly,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She'd come, and leave her housework, fer to he'p out little Jane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And talk of <i>her own</i> mother 'at she'd never see again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maybe sometimes cry together—though, fer the most part she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would have the child so riconciled and happy-like 'at we<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Felt lonesomer 'n ever when she'd put her bonnet on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And say she'd railly haf to be a-gittin' back to John!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0228-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I got to thinkin' of her, as I say,—and more and more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her parents both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And married off, and her a-livin' there alone with John—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You might say jes' a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer a man 'at hadn't pride enough to git hisse'f a wife—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Less some one married <i>Evaline</i> and packed her off some day!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I got to thinkin' of her—and it happened that-away.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0229-1.jpg" width="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0230-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="dreams_true" id="dreams_true"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When my dreams come true—when my dreams come true—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall I lean from out my casement, in the starlight and the dew,<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0231-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To listen—smile and listen to the tinkle of the strings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sweet guitar my lover's fingers fondle, as he sings?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the nude moon slowly, slowly shoulders into view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall I vanish from his vision—when my dreams come true?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When my dreams come true—shall the simple gown I wear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be changed to softest satin, and my maiden-braided hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be raveled into flossy mists of rarest, fairest gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be minted into kisses, more than any heart can hold?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or "the summer of my tresses" shall my lover liken to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The fervor of his passion"—when my dreams come true?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">II<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When my dreams come true—I shall bide among the sheaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of happy harvest meadows; and the grasses and the leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall lift and lean between me and the splendor of the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the moon swoons into twilight, and the gleaners' work is done—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save that yet an arm shall bind me, even as the reapers do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The meanest sheaf of harvest—when my dreams come true.<br /></span> + + +<span class="i0">When my dreams come true! when my dreams come true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True love in all simplicity is fresh and pure as dew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blossom in the blackest mold is kindlier to the eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than any lily born of pride that looms against the sky:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so it is I know my heart will gladly welcome you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My lowliest of lovers, when my dreams come true.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0232-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="nothin" id="nothin"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">NOTHIN' TO SAY<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gyrls that's in love, I've noticed, ginerly has their way!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yer mother did afore you, when her folks objected to me—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit here I am, and here you air; and yer mother—where is she?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You look lots like yer mother: Purty much same in size;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And about the same complected; and favor about the eyes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like her, too, about <i>livin'</i> here,—because <i>she</i> couldn't stay:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It'll 'most seem like you was dead—like her!—But I hain't got nothin' to say!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She left you her little Bible—writ yer name acrost the page—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And left her ear bobs fer you, ef ever you come of age.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've allus kep' 'em and gyuarded 'em, but ef yer goin' away—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You don't rikollect her, I reckon? No; you wasn't a year old then!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now yer—how old <i>air</i> you? W'y, child, not <i>"twenty!"</i> When?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yer nex' birthday's in Aprile? and you want to git married that day?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">... I wisht yer mother was livin'!—But—I hain't got nothin' to say!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Twenty year! and as good a gyrl as parent ever found!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's a straw ketched onto yer dress there—I'll bresh it off—turn around.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Her mother was jes' twenty when us two run away!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0233-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0234-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="ike_walton" id="ike_walton"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">IKE WALTON'S PRAYER<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I crave, dear Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No boundless hoard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of gold and gear,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor jewels fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor lands, nor kine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor treasure-heaps of anything.—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let but a little hut be mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where at the hearthstone I may hear<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The cricket sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And have the shine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of one glad woman's eyes to make,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For my poor sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Our simple home a place divine;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just the wee cot—the cricket's chirr—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love, and the smiling face of her.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"><div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0235-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<span class="i0">I pray not for<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great riches, nor<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For vast estates, and castle-halls,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Give me to hear the bare footfalls<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of children o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i4">An oaken floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">New-rinsed with sunshine, or bespread<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With but the tiny coverlet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And pillow for the baby's head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pray Thou, may<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The door stand open and the day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Send ever in a gentle breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With fragrance from the locust-trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And drowsy moan of doves, and blur<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of robin-chirps, and drone of bees,<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">With afterhushes of the stir<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of intermingling sounds, and then<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The good-wife and the smile of her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filling the silences again—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The cricket's call,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And the wee cot,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dear Lord of all,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Deny me not!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I pray not that<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men tremble at<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My power of place<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And lordly sway,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only pray for simple grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To look my neighbor in the face<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Full honestly from day to day—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yield me his horny palm to hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And I'll not pray<br /></span> +<span class="i6">For gold;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tanned face, garlanded with mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It hath the kingliest smile on earth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The swart brow, diamonded with sweat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath never need of coronet.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And so I reach,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Dear Lord, to Thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And do beseech<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Thou givest me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wee cot, and the cricket's chirr,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love, and the glad sweet face of her.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0236-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0237-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="illileo" id="illileo"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">ILLILEO<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Illileo, the moonlight seemed lost across the vales—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stars but strewed the azure as an armor's scattered scales;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The airs of night were quiet as the breath of silken sails;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all your words were sweeter than the notes of nightingales.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Illileo Legardi, in the garden there alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With your figure carved of fervor, as the Psyche carved of stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There came to me no murmur of the fountain's undertone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So mystically, musically mellow as your own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You whispered low, Illileo—so low the leaves were mute,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the echoes faltered breathless in your voice's vain pursuit;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there died the distant dalliance of the serenader's lute:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I held you in my bosom as the husk may hold the fruit.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Illileo, I listened. I believed you. In my bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What were all the worlds above me since I found you thus in this?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let them reeling reach to win me—- even Heaven I would miss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grasping earthward!—I would cling here, though I clung by just a kiss!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + + +<span class="i0">And blossoms should grow odorless—and lilies all aghast—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I said the stars should slacken in their paces through the vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere yet my loyalty should fail enduring to the last.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So vowed I. It is written. It is changeless as the past.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Illileo Legardi, in the shade your palace throws<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a cowl about the singer at your gilded porticos,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moan goes with the music that may vex the high repose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a heart that fades and crumbles as the crimson of a rose.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0238-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="bless" id="bless"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">THE WIFE-BLESSÉD<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In youth he wrought, with eyes ablur<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lorn-faced and long of hair—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In youth—in youth he painted her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A sister of the air—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could clasp her not, but felt the stir<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of pinions everywhere.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">II<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She lured his gaze, in braver days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tranced him sirenwise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he did paint her, through a haze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of sullen paradise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With scars of kisses on her face<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And embers in her eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">III<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now—nor dream nor wild conceit—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though faltering, as before—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through tears he paints her, as is meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tracing the dear face o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lilied patience meek and sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As Mother Mary wore.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0239-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0240-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="mary" id="mary"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">MY MARY<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My Mary, O my Mary!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The simmer-skies are blue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dawnin' brings the dazzle,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' the gloamin' brings the dew?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mirk o' nicht the glory<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O' the moon, an' kindles, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stars that shift aboon the lift.—-<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But nae thing brings me you!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where is it, O my Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ye are biding a' the while?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I ha' wended by your window—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I ha' waited by the stile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' up an' down the river<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I ha' won for mony a mile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet never found, adrift or drown'd,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your lang-belated smile.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is it forgot, my Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How glad we used to be?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The simmer-time when bonny bloomed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The auld trysting-tree,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How there I carved the name for you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' you the name for me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' the gloamin' kenned it only<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When we kissed sae tenderly.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0241-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<span class="i0">Speek ance to me, my Mary!—-<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But whisper in my ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As light as ony sleeper's breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' a' my soul will hear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart shall stap its beating<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' the soughing atmosphere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be hushed the while I leaning smile<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' listen to you, dear!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My Mary, O my Mary!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The blossoms bring the bees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunshine brings the blossoms,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' the leaves on a' the trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The simmer brings the sunshine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' the fragrance o' the breeze,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But O wi'out you, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I care nae thing for these!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We were sae happy, Mary!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O think how ance we said—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wad ane o' us gae fickle,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or are o' us lie dead,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To feel anither's kisses<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We wad feign the auld instead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ken the ither's footsteps<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the green grass owerhead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My Mary, O my Mary!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are ye daughter o' the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ye vanish aye before me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As I follow everywhere?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or is it ye are only<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But a mortal, wan wi' care?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Syne I search through a' the kirkyird<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' I dinna find ye there!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0242-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0243-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="home_night" id="home_night"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">HOME AT NIGHT<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When chirping crickets fainter cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pale stars blossom in the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And twilight's gloom has dimmed the bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blurred the butterfly:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When locust-blossoms fleck the walk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And up the tiger-lily stalk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glow-worm crawls and clings and falls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glimmers down the garden-walls:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When buzzing things, with double wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of crisp and raspish flutterings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go whizzing by so very nigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One thinks of fangs and stings:—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O then, within, is stilled the din<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of crib she rocks the baby in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heart and gate and latch's weight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are lifted—- and the lips of Kate,<br /></span></div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0244-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0245-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="lide" id="lide"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">WHEN LIDE MARRIED <i>HIM</i><br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Lide married <i>him</i>—w'y, she had to jes dee-fy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whole poppilation!—But she never bat' an eye!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her parents begged, and <i>threatened</i>—she must give him up—that <i>he</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wuz jes "a common drunkard!"—And he <i>wuz</i>, appearantly.—<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Swore they'd chase him off the place<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Ef he ever showed his face—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long after she'd <i>eloped</i> with him and <i>married</i> him fer shore!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Lide married <i>him</i>, it wuz <i>"Katy, bar the door!"</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Lide married <i>him</i>—Well! she had to go and be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A <i>hired girl</i> in town somewheres—while he tromped round to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What <i>he</i> could git that <i>he</i> could do,—you might say, jes sawed wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From door to door!—that's what he done—'cause that wuz best he could!<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And the strangest thing, i jing!<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Wuz, he didn't <i>drink</i> a thing,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But jes got down to bizness, like he someway <i>wanted</i> to,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Lide married <i>him</i>, like they warned her <i>not</i> to do!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Lide married <i>him</i>—er, ruther, <i>had</i> ben married<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little up'ards of a year—some feller come and carried<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That <i>hired girl</i> away with him—a ruther <i>stylish</i> feller<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a bran-new green spring-wagon, with the wheels striped red and yeller:<br /></span> +<span class="i9">And he whispered, as they driv<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Tords the country, <i>"Now we'll live!"</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>somepin' else</i> she <i>laughed</i> to hear, though both her eyes wuz dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Bout <i>"trustin' Love and Heav'n above</i>, sence Lide married <i>him!"</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0246-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0247-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="hair" id="hair"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">HER HAIR<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The beauty of her hair bewilders me—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pouring adown the brow, its cloven tide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swirling about the ears on either side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And storming around the neck tumultuously:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the lights of old antiquity<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through mullioned windows, in cathedrals wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spilled moltenly o'er figures deified<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In chastest marble, nude of drapery.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so I love it.—Either unconfined;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or plaited in close braidings manifold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or smoothly drawn; or indolently twined<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In careless knots whose coilings come unrolled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At any lightest kiss; or by the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whipped out in flossy ravelings of gold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0248-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<a name="last_night" id="last_night"></a><h2><span class="i0">LAST NIGHT—AND THIS<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Last night—how deep the darkness was!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And well I knew its depths, because<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I waded it from shore to shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thinking to reach the light no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She would not even touch my hand.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The winds rose and the cedars fanned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moon out, and the stars fled back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In heaven and hid—and all was black!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But ah! To-night a summons came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Signed with a teardrop for a name,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For as I wondering kissed it, lo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A line beneath it told me so.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And <i>now</i> the moon hangs over me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A disk of dazzling brilliancy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every star-tip stabs my sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With splintered glitterings of light!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0249-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0250-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<h2><a name="discourage" id="discourage"></a> +A DISCOURAGING MODEL</h2><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">Just the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a knot of red roses sown in under there<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where the shadows are lost in her hair.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0251-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then a cameo face, carven in on a ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that shadowy hair where the roses are wound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the gleam of a smile O as fair and as faint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as sweet as the masters of old used to paint<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Round the lips of their favorite saint!<br /></span> +</div> + +<span class="i0">And that lace at her throat—and the fluttering hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snowing there, with a grace that no art understands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flakes of their touches—first fluttering at<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bow—then the roses—the hair—and then that<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What artist on earth, with a model like this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor the gold of her smile—O what artist could dare<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To expect a result so fair?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0252-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0253-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="suspense" id="suspense"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">SUSPENSE<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A woman's figure, on a ground of night<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Inlaid with sallow stars that dimly stare<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down in the lonesome eyes, uplifted there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in vague hope some alien lance of light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might pierce their woe. The tears that blind her sight—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The salt and bitter blood of her despair—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her hands toss back through torrents of her hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grip toward God with anguish infinite.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And O the carven mouth, with all its great<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Intensity of longing frozen fast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In such a smile as well may designate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slowly murdered heart, that, to the last<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Conceals each newer wound, and back at Fate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throbs Love's eternal lie—"Lo, I can wait!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0254-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="rival" id="rival"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">THE RIVAL<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">I so loved once, When Death came by I hid<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Away my face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all my sweetheart's tresses she undid<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To make my hiding-place.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dread shade passed me thus unheeding; and<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I turned me then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To calm my love—kiss down her shielding hand<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And comfort her again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And lo! she answered not: And she did sit<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All fixedly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her fair face and the sweet smile of it,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In love with Death, not me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0255-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="arden" id="arden"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">TOM VAN ARDEN<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tom van Arden, my old friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Our warm fellowship is one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far too old to comprehend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where its bond was first begun:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Mirage-like before my gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Gleams a land of other days,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where two truant boys, astray,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dream their lazy lives away.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0256-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's a vision, in the guise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Midsummer, where the Past<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a weary beggar lies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the shadow Time has cast;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And as blends the bloom of trees<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With the drowsy hum of bees,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fragrant thoughts and murmurs blend,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tom Van Arden, my old friend.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tom Van Arden, my old friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All the pleasures we have known<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrill me now as I extend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This old hand and grasp your own—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Feeling, in the rude caress,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">All affection's tenderness;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Feeling, though the touch be rough,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Our old souls are soft enough.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So we'll make a mellow hour;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fill your pipe, and taste the wine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warp your face, if it be sour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I can spare a smile from mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">If it sharpen up your wit,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Let me feel the edge of it—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I have eager ears to lend,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tom Van Arden, my old friend.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tom Van Arden, my old friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are we "lucky dogs," indeed?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are we all that we pretend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the jolly life we lead?—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bachelors, we must confess<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Boast of "single blessedness"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To the world, but not alone—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Man's best sorrow is his own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the saddest truth is this,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Life to us has never proved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What we tasted in the kiss<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the women we have loved:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Vainly we congratulate<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Our escape from such a fate<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As their lying lips could send,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tom Van Arden, my old friend!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tom Van Arden, my old friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hearts, like fruit upon the stem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ripen sweetest, I contend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the frost falls over them:<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0257-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Your regard for me to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Makes November taste of May,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And through every vein of rhyme<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Pours the blood of summertime.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When our souls are cramped with youth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Happiness seems far away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the future, while, in truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We look back on it to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Through our tears, nor dare to boast,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Better to have loved and lost!"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Broken hearts are hard to mend,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tom Van Arden, my old friend.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tom Van Arden, my old friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I grow prosy, and you tire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fill the glasses while I bend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To prod up the failing fire....<br /></span> +<span class="i4">You are restless:—I presume<br /></span> +<span class="i4">There's a dampness in the room.—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Much of warmth our nature begs,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With rheumatics in our legs!...<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Humph! the legs we used to fling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Limber-jointed in the dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we heard the fiddle ring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Up the curtain of Romance,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And in crowded public halls<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Played with hearts like jugglers'-balls.—<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Feats of mountebanks, depend!</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tom Van Arden, my old friend.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tom Van Arden, my old friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pardon, then, this theme of mine:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the fire-light leaps to lend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Higher color to the wine,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I propose a health to those<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who have <i>homes</i>, and home's repose,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Wife and child-love without end!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">... Tom Van Arden, my old friend.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0258-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0259-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0260-1.jpg" width="200" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="sing" id="sing"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">TO HEAR HER SING<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To hear her sing—to hear her sing—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is to hear the birds of Spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In dewy groves on blooming sprays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pour out their blithest roundelays.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is to hear the robin trill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At morning, or the whippoorwill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At dusk, when stars are blossoming<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hear her sing—to hear her sing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To hear her sing—it is to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The laugh of childhood ringing clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In woody path or grassy lane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our feet may never fare again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Faint, far away as Memory dwells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is to hear the village bells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At twilight, as the truant hears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Them, hastening home, with smiles and tears.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Such joy it is to hear her sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We fall in love with everything—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The simple things of every day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grow lovelier than words can say.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The idle brooks that purl across<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gleaming pebbles and the moss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We love no less than classic streams—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Rhines and Arnos of our dreams.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To hear her sing—with folded eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is, beneath Venetian skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hear the gondoliers' refrain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or troubadours of sunny Spain.—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To hear the bulbul's voice that shook<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The throat that trilled for Lalla Rookh:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What wonder we in homage bring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our hearts to her—to hear her sing!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0261-1.jpg" width="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="variation" id="variation"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">A VARIATION<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I am tired of this!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nothing else but loving!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing else but kiss and kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Coo, and turtle-doving!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Can't you change the order some?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hate me just a little—come!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lay aside your "dears,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Darlings," "kings," and "princes!"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Call me knave, and dry your tears—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nothing in me winces,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Call me something low and base—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Something that will suit the case!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wish I had your eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And their drooping lashes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would dry their teary lies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Up with lightning-flashes—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Make your sobbing lips unsheathe<br /></span> +<span class="i4">All the glitter of your teeth!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Can't you lift one word—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With some pang of laughter—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Louder than the drowsy bird<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Crooning 'neath the rafter?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Just one bitter word, to shriek<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Madly at me as I speak!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How I hate the fair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beauty of your forehead!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0262-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How I hate your fragrant hair!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How I hate the torrid<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Touches of your splendid lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the kiss that drips and drips!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, you pale at last!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And your face is lifted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a white sail to the blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And your hands are shifted<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Into fists: and, towering thus,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">You are simply glorious!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now before me looms<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Something more than human;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Something more than beauty blooms<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the wrath of Woman—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Something to bow down before<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Reverently and adore.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0263-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0264-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="land" id="land"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">WHERE SHALL WE LAND?<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Where shall we land you, sweet?"—Swinburne.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All listlessly we float<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out seaward in the boat<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That beareth Love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our sails of purest snow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bend to the blue below<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And to the blue above.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where shall be land?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We drift upon a tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shoreless on every side,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Save where the eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Fancy sweeps far lands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shelved slopingly with sands<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of gold and porphyry.<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Where shall we land?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The fairy isles we see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loom up so mistily—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So vaguely fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We do not care to break<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh bubbles in our wake<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To bend our course for there.<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Where shall we land?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The warm winds of the deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have lulled our sails to sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And so we glide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Careless of wave or wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or change of any kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or turn of any tide.<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Where shall we land?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We droop our dreamy eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where our reflection lies<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Steeped in the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, in an endless fit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of languor, smile on it<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And its sweet mimicry.<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Where shall we land?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Where shall we land?" God's grace!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know not any place<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So fair as this—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swung here between the blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sea and sky, with you<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To ask me, with a kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">"Where shall we land?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0265-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0266-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<a name="touches" id="touches"></a><h2><span class="i0">THE TOUCHES OF HER HANDS<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The touches of her hands are like the fall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flossy fondling of the thistle-wisp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Soft as the falling of the dusk at night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The touches of her hands, and the delight—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The touches of her hands!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The touches of her hands are like the dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That falls so softly down no one e'er knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The touch thereof save lovers like to one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Astray in lights where ranged Endymion.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O rarely soft, the touches of her hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or—in between the midnight and the dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When long unrest and tears and fears are gone—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0267-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0268-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<a name="whiffle" id="whiffle"></a> +<h2> +<span class="i0">FARMER WHIPPLE—BACHELOR<br /></span> +</h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's a mystery to see me—a man o' fifty-four,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year and more—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-lookin' glad and smilin'! And they's none o' you can say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That you can guess the reason why I feel so good<br /></span> +<span class="i4">to-day!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I must tell you all about it! But I'll have to deviate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little in beginning, so's to set the matter straight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As to how it comes to happen that I never took a wife—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kind o' "crawfish" from the Present to the Springtime of my life!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I was brought up in the country: Of a family of five—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three brothers and a sister—I'm the only one alive,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer they all died little babies; and 'twas one o' Mother's ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You know, to want a daughter; so she took a girl to raise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sweetest little thing she was, with rosy cheeks, and fat—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We was little chunks o' shavers then about as high as that!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But someway we sort o' <i>suited</i>-like! and Mother she'd declare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She never laid her eyes on a more lovin' pair<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0269-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Than <i>we</i> was! So we growed up side by side fer thirteen year',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every hour of it she growed to me more dear!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">W'y, even Father's dyin', as he did, I do believe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warn't more affectin' to me than it was to see her grieve!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I was then a lad o' twenty; and I felt a flash o' pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thinkin' all depended on <i>me</i> now to pervide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer Mother and fer Mary; and I went about the place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sleeves rolled up—and working with a mighty smilin' face.—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fer <i>sompin' else</i> was workin'! but not a word I said<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a certain sort o' notion that was runnin' through my head,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Someday I'd mayby marry, and <i>a brother's</i> love was one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thing—<i>a lover's</i> was another!" was the way the notion run!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I remember one't in harvest, when the "cradle-in'" was done—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the harvest of my summers mounted up to twenty-one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was ridin' home with Mary at the closin' o' the day—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-chawin' straws and thinkin', in a lover's lazy way!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Mary's cheeks was burnin' like the sunset down the lane:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I noticed she was thinkin', too, and ast her to explain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well—when she turned and <i>kissed</i> me, <i>with her arms around me—law!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd a bigger load o' heaven than I had a load o' straw!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I don't p'tend to learnin', but I'll tell you what's a fact,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They's a mighty truthful sayin' somers in a' almanack—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er <i>somers-</i>—'bout "puore happiness"—- perhaps some folks'll laugh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the idy—"only lastin' jest two seconds and a half."—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But it's jest as true as preachin'!—fer that was <i>a sister's</i> kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a sister's lovin' confidence a-tellin' to me this:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>"She</i> was happy, <i>bein' promised to the son o' farmer Brown."</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my feelin's struck a pardnership with sunset and went down!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0270-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I don't know <i>how</i> I acted—I don't know <i>what</i> I said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer my heart seemed jest a-turnin' to an ice-cold lump o' lead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the hosses kindo' glimmered before me in the road.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the lines fell from my fingers—and that was all I knowed—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fer—well, I don't know <i>how</i> long—They's a dim rememberence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a sound o' snortin' hosses, and a stake-and-ridered fence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-whizzin' past, and wheat-sheaves a-dancin' in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Mary screamin' "Murder!" and a-runnin' up to where<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>I</i> was layin' by the roadside, and the wagon upside down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-leanin' on the gate-post, with the wheels a whirlin' round!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I tried to raise and meet her, but I couldn't, with a vague<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sorto' notion comin' to me that I had a broken leg.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well, the women nussed me through it; but many a time I'd sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I'd keep a-gittin' better instid o' goin' to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wonder what was left <i>me</i> worth livin' fer below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the girl I loved was married to another, don't you know!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And my thoughts was as rebellious as the folks was good and kind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Brown and Mary married—Railly must a-been my <i>mind</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was kindo' out o' kilter!—fer I hated Brown, you see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worse'n <i>pizen</i>—and the feller whittled crutches out fer <i>me</i>—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And done a thousand little ac's o' kindness and respect—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And me a-wishin' all the time that I could break his neck!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My relief was like a mourner's when the funeral is done<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they moved to Illinois in the Fall o' Forty-one.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0271-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then I went to work in airnest—I had nothin' much in view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But to drownd out rickollections—and it kep' me busy, too!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I slowly thrived and prospered, tel Mother used to say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She expected yit to see me a wealthy man some day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then I'd think how little <i>money</i> was, compared to happiness—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who'd be left to use it when I died I couldn't guess!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I've still kep' speculatin' and a-gainin' year by year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel I'm payin' half the taxes in the county, mighty near!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well!—A year ago er better, a letter comes to hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Astin' how I'd like to dicker fer some Illinois land—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The feller that had owned it," it went ahead to state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Had jest deceased, insolvent, leavin' chance to speculate,"—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then it closed by sayin' that I'd "better come and see."—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd never been West, anyhow—a most too wild fer <i>me</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd allus had a notion; but a lawyer here in town<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said I'd find myself mistakened when I come to look around.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So I bids good-bye to Mother, and I jumps aboard the train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-thinkin' what I'd bring her when I come back home again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ef she'd had an idy what the present was to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think it's more'n likely she'd a-went along with me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cars is awful tejus ridin', fer all they go so fast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But finally they called out my stoppin'-place at last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that night, at the tavern, I dreamp' <i>I</i> was a train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O' cars, and <i>skeered</i> at sompin', runnin' down a country lane!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well, in the mornin' airly—after huntin' up the man—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lawyer who was wantin' to swap the piece o' land—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We started fer the country; and I ast the history<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the farm—its former owner—and so-forth, etcetery!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And—well—it was inte<i>rest</i>in'—I su'prised him, I suppose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the loud and frequent manner in which I blowed my nose!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But his surprise was greater, and it made him wonder more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I kissed and hugged the widder when she met us at the door!—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>It was Mary:</i> They's a feelin' a-hidin' down in here—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of course I can't explain it, ner ever make it clear.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was with us in that meetin', I don't want you to fergit!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it makes me kind o' nervous when I think about it yit!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I <i>bought</i> that farm, and <i>deeded</i> it, afore I left the town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With "title clear to mansions in the skies," to Mary Brown!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fu'thermore, I took her and <i>the childern</i>—fer, you see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'd never seed their Grandma—and I fetched 'em home with me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So <i>now</i> you've got an idy why a man o' fifty-four,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is a-lookin' glad and smilin'!—And I've jest come into town<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To git a pair o' license fer to <i>marry</i> Mary Brown.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0272-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0273-1.jpg" width="200" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="rose" id="rose"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">THE ROSE<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It tossed its head at the wooing breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the sun, like a bashful swain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beamed on it through the waving trees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a passion all in vain,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For my rose laughed in a crimson glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hid in the leaves in wait for me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The honey-bee came there to sing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His love through the languid hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vaunt of his hives, as a proud old king<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Might boast of his palace-towers:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But my rose bowed in a mockery,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hid in the leaves in wait for me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The humming-bird, like a courtier gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dipped down with a dalliant song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And twanged his wings through the roundelay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of love the whole day long:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet my rose returned from his minstrelsy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hid in the leaves in wait for me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The firefly came in the twilight dim<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My red, red rose to woo—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till quenched was the flame of love in him<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the light of his lantern too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As my rose wept with dewdrops three<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hid in the leaves in wait for me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I said: I will cull my own sweet rose—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some day I will claim as mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The priceless worth of the flower that knows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No change, but a bloom divine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bloom of a fadeless constancy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hides in the leaves in wait for me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But time passed by in a strange disguise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I marked it not, but lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a lazy dream, with drowsy eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till the summer slipped away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a chill wind sang in a minor key:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Where is the rose that waits for thee?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I dream to-day, o'er a purple stain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of bloom on a withered stalk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pelted down by the autumn rain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the dust of the garden-walk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That an Angel-rose in the world to be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will hide in the leaves in wait for me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<a name="age_comes" id="age_comes"></a><h2><span class="i0">WHEN AGE COMES ON<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Age comes on!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deepening dusk is where the dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Once glittered splendid, and the dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In honey-drips, from red rose-lips<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was kissed away by me and you.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now across the frosty lawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Black foot-prints trail, and Age comes on—<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And Age comes on!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And biting wild-winds whistle through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our tattered hopes—and Age comes on!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Age comes on!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O tide of raptures, long withdrawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flow back in summer-floods, and fling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here at our feet our childhood sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all the songs we used to sing!...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old loves, old friends—all dead and gone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our old faith lost—and Age comes on—<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And Age comes on!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Poor hearts! have we not anything<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But longings left when Age comes on!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0275-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0276-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0277-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<a name="forgotten" id="forgotten"></a> +<h2> +<span class="i0">HAS SHE FORGOTTEN?<br /></span> +</h2></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Has she forgotten? On this very May<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We were to meet here, with the birds and bees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As on that Sabbath, underneath the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We strayed among the tombs, and stripped away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vines from these old granites, cold and gray—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet indeed not grim enough were they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To stay our kisses, smiles and ecstasies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or closer voice-lost vows and rhapsodies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has she forgotten—that the May has won<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its promise?—that the bird-songs from the tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are sprayed above the grasses as the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might jar the dazzling dew down showeringly?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has she forgotten life—love—everyone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has she forgotten me—forgotten me?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">II<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Low, low down in the violets I press<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My lips and whisper to her. Does she hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet hold silence, though I call her dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just as of old, save for the tearfulness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the clenched eyes, and the soul's vast distress?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has she forgotten thus the old caress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That made our breath a quickened atmosphere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That failed nigh unto swooning with the sheer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delight? Mine arms clutch now this earthen heap<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sodden with tears that flow on ceaselessly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As autumn rains the long, long, long nights weep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In memory of days that used to be,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has she forgotten these? And in her sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has she forgotten me—forgotten me?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">III<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To-night, against my pillow, with shut eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mean to weld our faces—through the dense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Incalculable darkness make pretense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That she has risen from her reveries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mate her dreams with mine in marriages<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of mellow palms, smooth faces, and tense ease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of every longing nerve of indolence,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lift from the grave her quiet lips, and stun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My senses with her kisses—drawl the glee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her glad mouth, full blithe and tenderly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across mine own, forgetful if is done<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old love's awful dawn-time when said we,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"To-day is ours!" ... Ah, Heaven! can it be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She has forgotten me—forgotten me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0278-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<h2><a name="blooms" id="blooms"></a>BLOOMS OF MAY</h2><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> + + + +<span class="i0">But yesterday!...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O blooms of May,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And summer roses—Where-away?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O stars above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lips of love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the honeyed sweets thereof!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O lad and lass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And orchard-pass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And briered lane, and daisied grass!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O gleam and gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And woodland bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And breezy breaths of all perfume!—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No more for me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or mine shall be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy raptures—save in memory,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more—no more—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till through the Door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Glory gleam the days of yore.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0279-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0280-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/spacer2.gif" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0281-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="sermon" id="sermon"></a><h2> +<span class="i0">THE SERMON OF THE ROSE<br /></span></h2> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wilful we are in our infirmity<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of childish questioning and discontent.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whate'er befalls us is divinely meant—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou Truth the clearer for thy mystery!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make us to meet what is or is to be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With fervid welcome, knowing it is sent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To serve us in some way full excellent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though we discern it all belatedly.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rose buds, and the rose blooms and the rose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bows in the dews, and in its fulness, lo,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is in the lover's hand,—then on the breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her he loves,—and there dies.—And who knows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which fate of all a rose may undergo<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is fairest, dearest, sweetest, loveliest?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, we are children: we will not mature.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A blessed gift must seem a theft; and tears<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must storm our eyes when but a joy appears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In drear disguise of sorrow; and how poor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We seem when we are richest,—most secure<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Against all poverty the lifelong years<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We yet must waste in childish doubts and fears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, in despite of reason, still endure!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! the sermon of the rose we will<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not wisely ponder; nor the sobs of grief<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lulled into sighs of rapture; nor the cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fierce defiance that again is still.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be patient—patient with our frail belief,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And stay it yet a little ere we die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O opulent life of ours, though dispossessed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of treasure after treasure! Youth most fair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Went first, but left its priceless coil of hair—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moaned over sleepless nights, kissed and caressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through drip and blur of tears the tenderest.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And next went Love—the ripe rose glowing there<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her very sister!... It is here; but where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is she, of all the world the first and best?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet how sweet the sweet earth after rain—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How sweet the sunlight on the garden wall<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Across the roses—and how sweetly flows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The limpid yodel of the brook again!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet—and yet how sweeter after all,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The smouldering sweetness of a dead red rose!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="riley-images/Illus-0282-1.jpg" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Riley Love-Lyrics, by James Whitcomb Riley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILEY LOVE-LYRICS *** + +***** This file should be named 19897-h.htm or 19897-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/8/9/19897/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Ted Garvin and the Online +Distributed Proofreaders Europe at http://dp.rastko.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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100644 index 0000000..b7cfb5e --- /dev/null +++ b/19897-h/riley-images/spacer2.gif diff --git a/19897.txt b/19897.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8e4290d --- /dev/null +++ b/19897.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2711 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Riley Love-Lyrics, by James Whitcomb Riley + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Riley Love-Lyrics + +Author: James Whitcomb Riley + +Illustrator: Will Vawter + +Release Date: November 23, 2006 [EBook #19897] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILEY LOVE-LYRICS *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Ted Garvin and the Online +Distributed Proofreaders Europe at http://dp.rastko.net + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + RILEY LOVE-LYRICS + +[Illustration] + + RILEY LOVE-LYRICS + + JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + + + ILLUSTRATED BY WILL VAWTER + + + + INDIANAPOLIS + THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY + PUBLISHERS + + + +Copyright, 1883, 1887, 1888, 1890, 1891, 1892, 1894, 1897, 1898, 1901, +1905 by James Whitcomb Riley. + +Copyright 1921, The Bobbs-Merrill Company + + + _Printed in the United States of America_ + + + PRESS OF + BRAUNWORTH & CO. + BOOK MANUFACTURERS + BROOKLYN, N.Y. + +INSCRIBED + +TO THE ELECT OF LOVE,--OR SIDE-BY-SIDE +IN RAPTEST ECSTASY, OR SUNDERED WIDE +BY SEAS THAT BEAR NO MESSAGE TO OR FRO +BETWEEN THE LOVED AND LOST OF LONG AGO. + + + + _So were I but a minstrel, deft + At weaving, with the trembling strings + Of my glad harp, the warp and weft + Of rondels such as rapture sings,-- + I'd loop my lyre across my breast, + Nor stay me till my knee found rest + In midnight banks of bud and flower + Beneath my lady's lattice-bower. + + And there, drenched with the teary dews, + I'd woo her with such wondrous art + As well might stanch the songs that ooze + Out of the mockbird's breaking heart; + So light, so tender, and so sweet + Should be the words I would repeat, + Her casement, on my gradual sight, + Would blossom as a lily might._ + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + +CONTENTS + +BLOOMS OF MAY 185 +DISCOURAGING MODEL, A 132 +"DREAM" 41 +FARMER WHIFFLE--BACHELOR 161 +HAS SHE FORGOTTEN? 183 +HE AND I 79 +HE CALLED HER IN 45 +HER BEAUTIFUL EYES 56 +HER FACE AND BROW 55 +HER HAIR 129 +HER WAITING FACE 67 +HOME AT NIGHT 122 +HOW IT HAPPENED 93 +IKE WALTON'S PRAYER 107 +ILLILEO 113 +JUDITH 75 +LAST NIGHT AND THIS 130 +LEONAINIE 63 +LET US FORGET 60 +LOST PATH, THE 83 +MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE 87 +MY MARY 117 +NOTHIN' TO SAY 103 +OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG, A' 26 +OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE, AN 17 +OLD YEAR AND THE NEW, THE 68 +OUT-WORN SAPPHO, AN 32 +PASSING OF A HEART, THE 39 +RIVAL, THE 137 +ROSE, THE 177 +SERMON OF THE ROSE, THE 189 +SUSPENSE 136 +THEIR SWEET SORROW 72 +TO HEAR HER SING 149 +TOM VAN ARDEN 138 +TOUCHES OF HER HANDS, THE 159 +VARIATION, A 151 +VERY YOUTHFUL AFFAIR, A 31 +WHEN AGE COMES ON 180 +WHEN LIDE MARRIED _HIM_ 125 +WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE 98 +WHEN SHE COMES HOME 59 +WHERE SHALL WE LAND? 156 +WIFE-BLESSED, THE 115 + + + + + RILEY LOVE-LYRICS + +[Illustration] + + + + AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE + + As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, + And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, + So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design, + I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine. + + The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise, + As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes, + And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke + Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke. + + Tis a fragrant retrospection--for the loving thoughts that start + Into being are like perfume from the blossom of the heart; + And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine-- + When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweetheart of mine. + + Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings, + The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings, + I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme + When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream. + + +[Illustration] + + + In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm + To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm-- + For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine + That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine. + + A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace. + Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase; + And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes + As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies. + + I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress + She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caress + With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine + Grew round the stump," she loved me--that old sweetheart of mine. + + And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand, + As we used to talk together of the future we had planned-- + When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do + But write the tender verses that she set the music to: + + When we should live together in a cozy little cot + Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot, + Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine, + And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine: + + When I should be her lover forever and a day, + And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray; + And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb + They would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had come. + + +[Illustration] + + + + AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE + + But, ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair, + And the door is softly opened, and--my wife is standing there; + Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign + To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + A' OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG + + It's the curiousest thing in creation, + Whenever I hear that old song + "Do They Miss Me at Home," I'm so bothered, + My life seems as short as it's long!-- + Fer ev'rything 'pears like adzackly + It 'peared in the years past and gone,-- + When I started out sparkin', at twenty, + And had my first neckercher on! + + Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayer + Right now than my parents was then, + You strike up that song "Do They Miss Me," + And I'm jest a youngster again!-- + I'm a-standin' back thare in the furries + A-wishin' fer evening to come, + And a-whisperin' over and over + Them words "Do They Miss Me at Home?" + + +[Illustration] + + + You see, _Marthy Ellen she_ sung it + The first time I heerd it; and so, + As she was my very first sweetheart, + It reminds me of her, don't you know;-- + How her face used to look, in the twilight, + As I tuck her to Spellin'; and she + Kep' a-hummin' that song tel I ast her, + Pint-blank, ef she ever missed _me!_ + + I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it, + And hear her low answerin' words; + And then the glad chirp of the crickets, + As clear as the twitter of birds; + And the dust in the road is like velvet, + And the ragweed and fennel and grass + Is as sweet as the scent of the lilies + Of Eden of old, as we pass. + + "_Do They Miss Me at Home_?" Sing it lower-- + And softer--and sweet as the breeze + That powdered our path with the snowy + White bloom of the old locus'-trees! + Let the whipperwills he'p you to sing it, + And the echoes 'way over the hill, + Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus + Of stars, and our voices is still. + + But oh! "They's a chord in the music + That's missed when _her_ voice is away!" + Though I listen from midnight tel morning, + And dawn tel the dusk of the day! + And I grope through the dark, lookin' upwards + And on through the heavenly dome, + With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin' + The words "Do They Miss Me at Home?" + + +[Illustration] + + + + A VERY YOUTHFUL AFFAIR + + I'm bin a-visitun 'bout a week + To my little Cousin's at Nameless Creek, + An' I'm got the hives an' a new straw hat, + An' I'm come back home where my beau lives at. + + +[Illustration] + + + + AN OUT-WORN SAPPHO + + How tired I am! I sink down all alone + Here by the wayside of the Present. Lo, + Even as a child I hide my face and moan-- + A little girl that may no farther go; + The path above me only seems to grow + More rugged, climbing still, and ever briered + With keener thorns of pain than these below; + And O the bleeding feet that falter so + And are so very tired! + + Why, I have journeyed from the far-off Lands + Of Babyhood--where baby-lilies blew + Their trumpets in mine ears, and filled my hands + With treasures of perfume and honey-dew, + And where the orchard shadows ever drew + Their cool arms round me when my cheeks were fired + With too much joy, and lulled mine eyelids to, + And only let the starshine trickle through + In sprays, when I was tired! + + Yet I remember, when the butterfly + Went flickering about me like a flame + That quenched itself in roses suddenly, + How oft I wished that _I_ might blaze the same, + And in some rose-wreath nestle with my name, + While all the world looked on it and admired.-- + Poor moth!--Along my wavering flight toward fame + The winds drive backward, and my wings are lame + And broken, bruised and tired! + + I hardly know the path from those old times; + I know at first it was a smoother one + Than this that hurries past me now, and climbs + So high, its far cliffs even hide the sun + And shroud in gloom my journey scarce begun. + I could not do quite all the world required-- + I could not do quite all I should have done, + And in my eagerness I have outrun + My strength--and I am tired.... + + Just tired! But when of old I had the stay + Of mother-hands, O very sweet indeed + It was to dream that all the weary way + I should but follow where I now must lead-- + For long ago they left me in my need, + And, groping on alone, I tripped and mired + Among rank grasses where the serpents breed + In knotted coils about the feet of speed.-- + There first it was I tired. + + And yet I staggered on, and bore my load + Right gallantly: The sun, in summer-time, + In lazy belts came slipping down the road + To woo me on, with many a glimmering rhyme + Rained from the golden rim of some fair clime, + That, hovering beyond the clouds, inspired + My failing heart with fancies so sublime + I half forgot my path of dust and grime, + Though I was growing tired. + + And there were many voices cheering me: + I listened to sweet praises where the wind + Went laughing o'er my shoulders gleefully + And scattering my love-songs far behind;-- + Until, at last, I thought the world so kind-- + So rich in all my yearning soul desired-- + So generous--so loyally inclined, + I grew to love and trust it.... I was blind-- + Yea, blind as I was tired! + + +[Illustration] + + + And yet one hand held me in creature-touch: + And O, how fair it was, how true and strong, + How it did hold my heart up like a crutch, + Till, in my dreams, I joyed to walk along + The toilsome way, contented with a song-- + 'Twas all of earthly things I had acquired, + And 'twas enough, I feigned, or right or wrong, + Since, binding me to man--a mortal thong-- + It stayed me, growing tired.... + + Yea, I had e'en resigned me to the strait + Of earthly rulership--had bowed my head + Acceptant of the master-mind--the great + One lover--lord of all,--the perfected + Kiss-comrade of my soul;--had stammering said + My prayers to him;--all--all that he desired + I rendered sacredly as we were wed.-- + Nay--nay!--'twas but a myth I worshipped.-- + And--God of love!--how tired! + + For, O my friends, to lose the latest grasp-- + To feel the last hope slipping from its hold-- + To feel the one fond hand within your clasp + Fall slack, and loosen with a touch so cold + Its pressure may not warm you as of old + Before the light of love had thus expired-- + To know your tears are worthless, though they rolled + Their torrents out in molten drops of gold.-- + God's pity! I am tired! + + And I must rest.--Yet do not say "She _died_," + In speaking of me, sleeping here alone. + I kiss the grassy grave I sink beside, + And close mine eyes in slumber all mine own: + Hereafter I shall neither sob nor moan + Nor murmur one complaint;--all I desired, + And failed in life to find, will now be known-- + So let me dream. Good night! And on the stone + Say simply: She was tired. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + THE PASSING OF A HEART + + O touch me with your hands-- + For pity's sake! + My brow throbs ever on with such an ache + As only your cool touch may take away; + And so, I pray + You, touch me with your hands! + + Touch--touch me with your hands.-- + Smooth back the hair + You once caressed, and kissed, and called so fair + That I did dream its gold would wear alway, + And lo, to-day-- + O touch me with your hands! + + Just touch me with your hands, + And let them press + My weary eyelids with the old caress, + And lull me till I sleep. Then go your way, + That Death may say: + He touched her with his hands. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + "DREAM" + + Because her eyes were far too deep + And holy for a laugh to leap + Across the brink where sorrow tried + To drown within the amber tide; + Because the looks, whose ripples kissed + The trembling lids through tender mist, + Were dazzled with a radiant gleam-- + Because of this I call her "Dream." + + Because the roses growing wild + About her features when she smiled + Were ever dewed with tears that fell + With tenderness ineffable; + Because her lips might spill a kiss + That, dripping in a world like this, + Would tincture death's myrrh-bitter stream + To sweetness--so I called her "Dream." + + Because I could not understand + The magic touches of a hand + That seemed, beneath her strange control, + To smooth the plumage of the soul + And calm it, till, with folded wings, + It half forgot its flutterings, + And, nestled in her palm, did seem + To trill a song that called her "Dream." + + Because I saw her, in a sleep + As dark and desolate and deep + And fleeting as the taunting night + That flings a vision of delight + To some lorn martyr as he lies + In slumber ere the day he dies-- + Because she vanished like a gleam + Of glory, do I call her "Dream." + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + HE CALLED HER IN + + I + + He called her in from me and shut the door. + And she so loved the sunshine and the sky!-- + She loved them even better yet than I + That ne'er knew dearth of them--my mother dead, + Nature had nursed me in her lap instead: + And I had grown a dark and eerie child + That rarely smiled, + Save when, shut all alone in grasses high, + Looking straight up in God's great lonesome sky + And coaxing Mother to smile back on me. + 'Twas lying thus, this fair girl suddenly + Came to me, nestled in the fields beside + A pleasant-seeming home, with doorway wide-- + The sunshine beating in upon the floor + Like golden rain.-- + O sweet, sweet face above me, turn again + And leave me! I had cried, but that an ache + Within my throat so gripped it I could make + No sound but a thick sobbing. Cowering so, + I felt her light hand laid + Upon my hair--a touch that ne'er before + Had tamed me thus, all soothed and unafraid-- + It seemed the touch the children used to know + When Christ was here, so dear it was--so dear,-- + At once I loved her as the leaves love dew + In midmost summer when the days are new. + Barely an hour I knew her, yet a curl + Of silken sunshine did she clip for me + Out of the bright May-morning of her hair, + And bound and gave it to me laughingly, + And caught my hands and called me _"Little girl,"_ + Tiptoeing, as she spoke, to kiss me there! + And I stood dazed and dumb for very stress + Of my great happiness. + She plucked me by the gown, nor saw how mean + The raiment--drew me with her everywhere: + Smothered her face in tufts of grasses green: + Put up her dainty hands and peeped between + + +[Illustration] + + + Her fingers at the blossoms--crooned and talked + To them in strange, glad whispers, as we walked,-- + Said _this_ one was her angel mother--_this_, + Her baby-sister--come back, for a kiss, + Clean from the Good-World!--smiled and kissed them, then + Closed her soft eyes and kissed them o'er again. + And so did she beguile me--so we played,-- + She was the dazzling Shine--I, the dark Shade-- + And we did mingle like to these, and thus, + Together, made + The perfect summer, pure and glorious. + So blent we, till a harsh voice broke upon + Our happiness.--She, startled as a fawn, + Cried, "Oh, 'tis Father!"--all the blossoms gone + From out her cheeks as those from out her grasp.-- + Harsher the voice came:--She could only gasp + Affrightedly, "Good-bye!--good-bye! good-bye!" + And lo, I stood alone, with that harsh cry + Ringing a new and unknown sense of shame + Through soul and frame, + And, with wet eyes, repeating o'er and o'er,-- + "He called her in from me and shut the door!" + + II + + He called her in from me and shut the door! + And I went wandering alone again-- + So lonely--O so very lonely then, + I thought no little sallow star, alone + In all a world of twilight, e'er had known + Such utter loneliness. But that I wore + Above my heart that gleaming tress of hair + To lighten up the night of my despair, + I think I might have groped into my grave + Nor cared to wave + The ferns above it with a breath of prayer. + And how I hungered for the sweet, sweet face + That bent above me in my hiding-place + That day amid the grasses there beside + Her pleasant home!--"Her _pleasant_ home!" I sighed, + Remembering;--then shut my teeth and feigned + The harsh voice calling _me_,--then clinched my nails + So deeply in my palms, the sharp wounds pained, + And tossed my face toward heaven, as one who pales + In splendid martrydom, with soul serene, + As near to God as high the guillotine. + + +[Illustration] + + + And I had _envied_ her? Not that--O no! + But I had longed for some sweet haven so!-- + Wherein the tempest-beaten heart might ride + Sometimes at peaceful anchor, and abide + Where those that loved me touched me with their hands, + And looked upon me with glad eyes, and slipped + Smooth fingers o'er my brow, and lulled the strands + Of my wild tresses, as they backward tipped + My yearning face and kissed it satisfied. + Then bitterly I murmured as before,-- + "He called her in from me and shut the door!" + + + III + + He called her in from me and shut the door! + After long struggling with my pride and pain-- + A weary while it seemed, in which the more + I held myself from her, the greater fain + Was I to look upon her face again;-- + At last--at last--half conscious where my feet + Were faring, I stood waist-deep in the sweet + Green grasses there where she + First came to me.-- + The very blossoms she had plucked that day, + And, at her father's voice, had cast away, + Around me lay, + Still bright and blooming in these eyes of mine; + And as I gathered each one eagerly, + I pressed it to my lips and drank the wine + Her kisses left there for the honey-bee. + Then, after I had laid them with the tress + Of her bright hair with lingering tenderness, + I, turning, crept on to the hedge that bound + Her pleasant-seeming home--but all around + Was never sign of her!--The windows all + Were blinded; and I heard no rippling fall + Of her glad laugh, nor any harsh voice call;-- + But clutching to the tangled grasses, caught + A sound as though a strong man bowed his head + And sobbed alone--unloved--uncomforted!-- + And then straightway before + My tearless eyes, all vividly, was wrought + A vision that is with me evermore:-- + A little girl that lies asleep, nor hears + Nor heeds not any voice nor fall of tears.-- + And I sit singing o'er and o'er and o'er,-- + "God called her in from him and shut the door!" + + +[Illustration] + + + + HER FACE AND BROW + + Ah, help me! but her face and brow + Are lovelier than lilies are + Beneath the light of moon and star + That smile as they are smiling now-- + White lilies in a pallid swoon + Of sweetest white beneath the moon-- + White lilies, in a flood of bright + Pure lucidness of liquid light + Cascading down some plenilune, + When all the azure overhead + Blooms like a dazzling daisy-bed.-- + So luminous her face and brow, + The luster of their glory, shed + In memory, even, blinds me now. + + + HER BEAUTIFUL EYES + + O her beautiful eyes! they are blue as the dew + On the violet's bloom when the morning is new, + And the light of their love is the gleam of the sun + O'er the meadows of Spring where the quick shadows run + As the morn shifts the mists and the clouds from the skies + So I stand in the dawn of her beautiful eyes. + + And her beautiful eyes are as mid-day to me, + When the lily-bell bends with the weight of the bee, + And the throat of the thrush is a-pulse in the heat, + And the senses are drugged with the subtle and sweet + And delirious breaths of the air's lullabies-- + So I swoon in the noon of her beautiful eyes. + + O her beautiful eyes! they have smitten mine own + As a glory glanced down from the glare of the Throne; + And I reel, and I falter and fall, as afar + Fell the shepherds that looked on the mystical Star, + And yet dazed in the tidings that bade them arise-- + So I groped through the night of her beautiful eyes. + + +[Illustration] + + + + WHEN SHE COMES HOME + + When she comes home again! A thousand ways + I fashion, to myself, the tenderness + Of my glad welcome: I shall tremble--yes; + And touch her, as when first in the old days + I touched her girlish hand, nor dared upraise + Mine eyes, such was my faint heart's sweet distress. + Then silence: And the perfume of her dress: + The room will sway a little, and a haze + Cloy eyesight--soulsight, even--for a space: + And tears--yes; and the ache here in the throat, + To know that I so ill deserve the place + Her arms make for me; and the sobbing note + I stay with kisses, ere the tearful face + Again is hidden in the old embrace. + + +[Illustration] + + + + LET US FORGET + + Let us forget. What matters it that we + Once reigned o'er happy realms of long-ago, + And talked of love, and let our voices low, + And ruled for some brief sessions royally? + What if we sung, or laughed, or wept maybe? + It has availed not anything, and so + Let it go by that we may better know + How poor a thing is lost to you and me. + But yesterday I kissed your lips, and yet + Did thrill you not enough to shake the dew + From your drenched lids--and missed, with no regret, + Your kiss shot back, with sharp breaths failing you: + And so, to-day, while our worn eyes are wet + With all this waste of tears, let us forget! + + +[Illustration] + + + + LEONAINIE + + Leonainie--Angels named her; + And they took the light + Of the laughing stars and framed her + In a smile of white; + And they made her hair of gloomy + Midnight, and her eyes of bloomy + Moonshine, and they brought her to me + In the solemn night.-- + + In a solemn night of summer, + When my heart of gloom + Blossomed up to greet the comer + Like a rose in bloom; + All forebodings that distressed me + I forgot as Joy caressed me, + (_Lying_ Joy! that caught and pressed me + In the arms of doom!) + + Only spake the little lisper + In the Angel-tongue; + Yet I, listening, heard her whisper-- + "Songs are only sung + Here below that they may grieve you, + Tales but told you to deceive you,-- + So must Leonainie leave you + While her love is young," + + Then God smiled and it was morning + Matchless and supreme + Heaven's glory seemed adorning + Earth with its esteem: + Every heart but mine seemed gifted + With the voice of prayer, and lifted + Where my Leonainie drifted + From me like a dream. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + HER WAITING FACE + + In some strange place + Of long-lost lands he finds her waiting face-- + Comes marveling upon it, unaware, + Set moonwise in the midnight of her hair. + + +[Illustration] + + + + + THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW + + I + + As one in sorrow looks upon + The dead face of a loyal friend, + By the dim light of New Year's dawn + I saw the Old Year end. + + Upon the pallid features lay + The dear old smile--so warm and bright + Ere thus its cheer had died away + In ashes of delight. + + The hands that I had learned to love + With strength of passion half divine, + Were folded now, all heedless of + The emptiness of mine. + + +[Illustration] + + + The eyes that once had shed their bright + Sweet looks like sunshine, now were dull, + And ever lidded from the light + That made them beautiful. + + + II + + The chimes of bells were in the air, + And sounds of mirth in hall and street, + With pealing laughter everywhere + And throb of dancing feet: + + The mirth and the convivial din + Of revelers in wanton glee, + With tunes of harp and violin + In tangled harmony. + + But with a sense of nameless dread, + I turned me, from the merry face + Of this newcomer, to my dead; + And, kneeling there a space, + + I sobbed aloud, all tearfully:-- + By this dear face so fixed and cold, + O Lord, let not this New Year be + As happy as the old! + + + THEIR SWEET SORROW + + They meet to say farewell: Their way + Of saying this is hard to say.-- + He holds her hand an instant, wholly + Distressed--and she unclasps it slowly. + + He bends _his_ gaze evasively + Over the printed page that she + Recurs to, with a new-moon shoulder + Glimpsed from the lace-mists that enfold her. + + The clock, beneath its crystal cup, + Discreetly clicks--_"Quick! Act! Speak up!"_ + A tension circles both her slender + Wrists--and her raised eyes flash in splendor, + + Even as he feels his dazzled own.-- + Then, blindingly, round either thrown, + They feel a stress of arms that ever + Strain tremblingly--and "_Never! Never!_" + + Is whispered brokenly, with half + A sob, like a belated laugh,-- + While cloyingly their blurred kiss closes, + Sweet as the dew's lip to the rose's. + + +[Illustration] + + + + JUDITH + + O Her eyes are amber-fine-- + Dark and deep as wells of wine, + While her smile is like the noon + Splendor of a day of June, + If she sorrow--lo! her face + It is like a flowery space + In bright meadows, overlaid + With light clouds and lulled with shade. + If she laugh--it is the trill + Of the wayward whippoorwill + Over upland pastures, heard + Echoed by the mocking-bird + In dim thickets dense with bloom + And blurred cloyings of perfume. + If she sigh--- a zephyr swells + Over odorous asphodels + And wall lilies in lush plots + Of moon-drown'd forget-me-nots. + Then, the soft touch of her hand-- + Takes all breath to understand + What to liken it thereto!-- + Never roseleaf rinsed with dew + Might slip soother-suave than slips + Her slow palm, the while her lips + Swoon through mine, with kiss on kiss + Sweet as heated honey is. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + HE AND I + + Just drifting on together-- + He and I-- + As through the balmy weather + Of July + Drift two thistle-tufts imbedded + Each in each--by zephyrs wedded-- + Touring upward, giddy-headed, + For the sky. + + And, veering up and onward, + Do we seem + Forever drifting dawnward + In a dream, + Where we meet song-birds that know us, + And the winds their kisses blow us, + While the years flow far below us + Like a stream. + + And we are happy--very-- + He and I-- + Aye, even glad and merry + Though on high + The heavens are sometimes shrouded + By the midnight storm, and clouded + Till the pallid moon is crowded + From the sky. + + My spirit ne'er expresses + Any choice + But to clothe him with caresses + And rejoice; + And as he laughs, it is in + Such a tone the moonbeams glisten + And the stars come out to listen + To his voice. + + And so, whate'er the weather, + He and I,-- + With our lives linked thus together, + Float and fly + As two thistle-tufts imbedded + Each in each--by zephyrs wedded-- + Touring upward, giddy-headed, + For the sky. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + THE LOST PATH + + Alone they walked--their fingers knit together, + And swaying listlessly as might a swing + Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather + Of some sun-flooded afternoon of Spring. + + Within the clover-fields the tickled cricket + Laughed lightly as they loitered down the lane, + And from the covert of the hazel-thicket + The squirrel peeped and laughed at them again. + + The bumble-bee that tipped the lily-vases + Along the road-side in the shadows dim, + Went following the blossoms of their faces + As though their sweets must needs be shared with + him. + + Between the pasture bars the wondering cattle + Stared wistfully, and from their mellow bells + Shook out a welcoming whose dreamy rattle + Fell swooningly away in faint farewells. + + And though at last the gloom of night fell o'er them + And folded all the landscape from their eyes, + They only knew the dusky path before them + Was leading safely on to Paradise. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE + + O soul of mine, look out and see + My bride, my bride that is to be! + Reach out with mad, impatient hands, + And draw aside futurity + As one might draw a veil aside-- + And so unveil her where she stands + Madonna-like and glorified-- + The queen of undiscovered lands + Of love, to where she beckons me-- + My bride--my bride that is to be. + + The shadow of a willow-tree + That wavers on a garden-wall + In summertime may never fall + In attitude as gracefully + As my fair bride that is to be;-- + Nor ever Autumn's leaves of brown + As lightly flutter to the lawn + As fall her fairy-feet upon + The path of love she loiters down.-- + O'er drops of dew she walks, and yet + Not one may stain her sandal wet-- + Aye, she might _dance_ upon the way + Nor crush a single drop to spray, + So airy-like she seems to me,-- + My bride, my bride that is to be. + + I know not if her eyes are light + As summer skies or dark as night,-- + I only know that they are dim + With mystery: In vain I peer + To make their hidden meaning clear, + While o'er their surface, like a tear + That ripples to the silken brim, + A look of longing seems to swim + + +[Illustration] + + + All worn and wearylike to me; + And then, as suddenly, my sight + Is blinded with a smile so bright, + Through folded lids I still may see + My bride, my bride that is to be. + + Her face is like a night of June + Upon whose brow the crescent-moon + Hangs pendant in a diadem + Of stars, with envy lighting them.-- + And, like a wild cascade, her hair + Floods neck and shoulder, arm and wrist, + Till only through a gleaming mist + I seem to see a siren there, + With lips of love and melody + And open arms and heaving breast + Wherein I fling myself to rest, + The while my heart cries hopelessly + For my fair bride that is to be... + + Nay, foolish heart and blinded eyes! + My bride hath need of no disguise.-- + But, rather, let her come to me + In such a form as bent above + My pillow when in infancy + I knew not anything but love.-- + O let her come from out the lands + Of Womanhood--not fairy isles,-- + And let her come with Woman's hands + And Woman's eyes of tears and smiles,-- + With Woman's hopefulness and grace + Of patience lighting up her face: + And let her diadem be wrought + Of kindly deed and prayerful thought, + That ever over all distress + May beam the light of cheerfulness.-- + And let her feet be brave to fare + The labyrinths of doubt and care, + That, following, my own may find + The path to Heaven God designed.-- + O let her come like this to me-- + My bride--my bride that is to be. + + + HOW IT HAPPENED + + I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone-- + And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John + A-livin' all alone there in that lonesome sort o' way, + And him a blame' old bachelor, confirm'der ev'ry day! + I'd knowed 'em all from childern, and their daddy from the time + He settled in the neighberhood, and hadn't airy a dime + Er dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin' on!-- + So I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone! + + I got to thinkin' of her; and a-wundern what she done + That all her sisters kep' a-gittin' married, one by one, + And her without no chances--and the best girl of the pack-- + An old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back! + And Mother, too, afore she died, she ust to jes' take on, + When none of 'em was left, you know, but Evaline and John, + And jes' declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline + To not see what a wife they'd git if they got Evaline! + + I got to thinkin' of her; in my great affliction she + Was sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neighberly,-- + She'd come, and leave her housework, fer to he'p out little Jane, + And talk of _her own_ mother 'at she'd never see again-- + Maybe sometimes cry together--though, fer the most part she + Would have the child so riconciled and happy-like 'at we + Felt lonesomer 'n ever when she'd put her bonnet on + And say she'd railly haf to be a-gittin' back to John! + + +[Illustration] + + + I got to thinkin' of her, as I say,--and more and more + I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,-- + Her parents both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone + And married off, and her a-livin' there alone with John-- + You might say jes' a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life + Fer a man 'at hadn't pride enough to git hisse'f a wife-- + 'Less some one married _Evaline_ and packed her off some day!-- + So I got to thinkin' of her--and it happened that-away. + + +[Illustration] + + + WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE + + I + + When my dreams come true--when my dreams come true-- + Shall I lean from out my casement, in the starlight and the dew, + + +[Illustration] + + + To listen--smile and listen to the tinkle of the strings + Of the sweet guitar my lover's fingers fondle, as he sings? + And the nude moon slowly, slowly shoulders into view, + Shall I vanish from his vision--when my dreams come true? + + When my dreams come true--shall the simple gown I wear + Be changed to softest satin, and my maiden-braided hair + Be raveled into flossy mists of rarest, fairest gold, + To be minted into kisses, more than any heart can hold?-- + Or "the summer of my tresses" shall my lover liken to + "The fervor of his passion"--when my dreams come true? + + + II + + When my dreams come true--I shall bide among the sheaves + Of happy harvest meadows; and the grasses and the leaves + Shall lift and lean between me and the splendor of the sun, + Till the moon swoons into twilight, and the gleaners' work is done-- + Save that yet an arm shall bind me, even as the reapers do + The meanest sheaf of harvest--when my dreams come true. + + When my dreams come true! when my dreams come true! + True love in all simplicity is fresh and pure as dew; + The blossom in the blackest mold is kindlier to the eye + Than any lily born of pride that looms against the sky: + And so it is I know my heart will gladly welcome you, + My lowliest of lovers, when my dreams come true. + + +[Illustration] + + + + NOTHIN' TO SAY + + Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say! + Gyrls that's in love, I've noticed, ginerly has their way! + Yer mother did afore you, when her folks objected to me-- + Yit here I am, and here you air; and yer mother--where is she? + + You look lots like yer mother: Purty much same in size; + And about the same complected; and favor about the eyes: + Like her, too, about _livin'_ here,--because _she_ couldn't stay: + It'll 'most seem like you was dead--like her!--But I hain't got + nothin' to say! + + She left you her little Bible--writ yer name acrost the page-- + And left her ear bobs fer you, ef ever you come of age. + I've allus kep'em and gyuarded 'em, but ef yer goin' away-- + Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say! + + You don't rikollect her, I reckon? No; you wasn't a year old then! + And now yer--how old _air_ you? W'y, child, not _"twenty!"_ When? + And yer nex' birthday's in Aprile? and you want to git married that + day? + I wisht yer mother was livin'!--But--I hain't got nothin' to say! + + Twenty year! and as good a gyrl as parent ever found! + There's a straw ketched onto yer dress there--I'll bresh it + off--turn around. + (Her mother was jes' twenty when us two run away!) + Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say! + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + IKE WALTON'S PRAYER + + I crave, dear Lord, + No boundless hoard + Of gold and gear, + Nor jewels fine, + Nor lands, nor kine, + Nor treasure-heaps of anything.-- + Let but a little hut be mine + Where at the hearthstone I may hear + The cricket sing, + And have the shine + Of one glad woman's eyes to make, + For my poor sake, + Our simple home a place divine;-- + Just the wee cot--the cricket's chirr-- + Love, and the smiling face of her. + + I pray not for + Great riches, nor + For vast estates, and castle-halls,-- + Give me to hear the bare footfalls + Of children o'er + An oaken floor, + New-rinsed with sunshine, or bespread + With but the tiny coverlet + And pillow for the baby's head; + And pray Thou, may + The door stand open and the day + Send ever in a gentle breeze, + With fragrance from the locust-trees, + And drowsy moan of doves, and blur + Of robin-chirps, and drone of bees, + + +[Illustration] + + + With afterhushes of the stir + Of intermingling sounds, and then + The good-wife and the smile of her + Filling the silences again-- + The cricket's call, + And the wee cot, + Dear Lord of all, + Deny me not! + + I pray not that + Men tremble at + My power of place + And lordly sway,-- + I only pray for simple grace + To look my neighbor in the face + Full honestly from day to day-- + Yield me his horny palm to hold, + And I'll not pray + For gold;-- + The tanned face, garlanded with mirth, + It hath the kingliest smile on earth-- + The swart brow, diamonded with sweat, + Hath never need of coronet. + And so I reach, + Dear Lord, to Thee, + And do beseech + Thou givest me + The wee cot, and the cricket's chirr, + Love, and the glad sweet face of her. + + +[Illustration] + + + + ILLILEO + + Illileo, the moonlight seemed lost across the vales-- + The stars but strewed the azure as an armor's scattered scales; + The airs of night were quiet as the breath of silken sails; + And all your words were sweeter than the notes of nightingales. + + Illileo Legardi, in the garden there alone, + With your figure carved of fervor, as the Psyche carved of stone, + There came to me no murmur of the fountain's undertone + So mystically, musically mellow as your own. + + You whispered low, Illileo--so low the leaves were mute, + And the echoes faltered breathless in your voice's vain pursuit; + And there died the distant dalliance of the serenader's lute: + And I held you in my bosom as the husk may hold the fruit. + Illileo, I listened. I believed you. In my bliss, + What were all the worlds above me since I found you thus in this?-- + Let them reeling reach to win me--- even Heaven I would miss, + Grasping earthward!--I would cling here, though I clung by just a + kiss! + + And blossoms should grow odorless--and lilies all aghast-- + And I said the stars should slacken in their paces through the vast, + Ere yet my loyalty should fail enduring to the last.-- + So vowed I. It is written. It is changeless as the past. + + Illileo Legardi, in the shade your palace throws + Like a cowl about the singer at your gilded porticos, + A moan goes with the music that may vex the high repose + Of a heart that fades and crumbles as the crimson of a rose. + + +[Illustration] + + + + THE WIFE-BLESSED + + In youth he wrought, with eyes ablur + Lorn-faced and long of hair-- + In youth--in youth he painted her + A sister of the air-- + Could clasp her not, but felt the stir + Of pinions everywhere. + + + II + + She lured his gaze, in braver days, + And tranced him sirenwise; + And he did paint her, through a haze + Of sullen paradise, + With scars of kisses on her face + And embers in her eyes. + + + III + + And now--nor dream nor wild conceit-- + Though faltering, as before-- + Through tears he paints her, as is meet, + Tracing the dear face o'er + With lilied patience meek and sweet + As Mother Mary wore. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + MY MARY + + My Mary, O my Mary! + The simmer-skies are blue; + The dawnin' brings the dazzle, + An' the gloamin' brings the dew?-- + The mirk o' nicht the glory + O' the moon, an' kindles, too, + The stars that shift aboon the lift.--- + But nae thing brings me you! + + Where is it, O my Mary, + Ye are biding a' the while? + I ha' wended by your window-- + I ha' waited by the stile, + An' up an' down the river + I ha' won for mony a mile, + Yet never found, adrift or drown'd, + Your lang-belated smile. + + Is it forgot, my Mary, + How glad we used to be?-- + The simmer-time when bonny bloomed + The auld trysting-tree,-- + How there I carved the name for you, + An' you the name for me; + An' the gloamin' kenned it only + When we kissed sae tenderly. + + Speek ance to me, my Mary!--- + But whisper in my ear + As light as ony sleeper's breath, + An' a' my soul will hear; + My heart shall stap its beating + An' the soughing atmosphere + Be hushed the while I leaning smile + An' listen to you, dear! + + My Mary, O my Mary! + The blossoms bring the bees; + The sunshine brings the blossoms, + An' the leaves on a' the trees; + The simmer brings the sunshine + An' the fragrance o' the breeze,-- + But O wi'out you, Mary, + I care nae thing for these! + + +[Illustration] + + + We were sae happy, Mary! + O think how ance we said-- + Wad ane o' us gae fickle, + Or are o' us lie dead,-- + To feel anither's kisses + We wad feign the auld instead, + And ken the ither's footsteps + In the green grass owerhead. + + My Mary, O my Mary! + Are ye daughter o' the air, + That ye vanish aye before me + As I follow everywhere?-- + Or is it ye are only + But a mortal, wan wi' care?-- + Syne I search through a' the kirkyird + An' I dinna find ye there! + + +[Illustration] + + + + HOME AT NIGHT + + When chirping crickets fainter cry, + And pale stars blossom in the sky, + And twilight's gloom has dimmed the bloom + And blurred the butterfly: + + When locust-blossoms fleck the walk, + And up the tiger-lily stalk + The glow-worm crawls and clings and falls + And glimmers down the garden-walls: + + When buzzing things, with double wings + Of crisp and raspish flutterings, + Go whizzing by so very nigh + One thinks of fangs and stings:-- + + O then, within, is stilled the din + Of crib she rocks the baby in, + And heart and gate and latch's weight + Are lifted--- and the lips of Kate, + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + WHEN LIDE MARRIED _HIM_ + + When Lide married _him_--w'y, she had to jes dee-fy + The whole poppilation!--But she never bat' an eye! + Her parents begged, and _threatened_--she must give him up--that _he_ + Wuz jes "a common drunkard!"--And he _wuz_, appearantly.-- + Swore they'd chase him off the place + Ef he ever showed his face-- + Long after she'd _eloped_ with him and _married_ him fer shore!-- + When Lide married _him_, it wuz _"Katy, bar the door!"_ + + When Lide married _him_--Well! she had to go and be + A _hired girl_ in town somewheres--while he tromped round to see + What _he_ could git that _he_ could do,--you might say, jes sawed + wood + From door to door!--that's what he done--'cause that wuz best he + could! + And the strangest thing, i jing! + Wuz, he didn't _drink_ a thing,-- + But jes got down to bizness, like he someway _wanted_ to, + When Lide married _him_, like they warned her _not_ to do! + + When Lide married _him_--er, ruther, _had_ ben married + A little up'ards of a year--some feller come and carried + That _hired girl_ away with him--a ruther _stylish_ feller + In a bran-new green spring-wagon, with the wheels striped red and + yeller: + And he whispered, as they driv + Tords the country, _"Now we'll live!"_-- + And _somepin' else_ she _laughed_ to hear, though both her eyes wuz + dim, + 'Bout _"trustin' Love and Heav'n above_, sence Lide married _him!"_ + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + HER HAIR + + The beauty of her hair bewilders me-- + Pouring adown the brow, its cloven tide + Swirling about the ears on either side + And storming around the neck tumultuously: + Or like the lights of old antiquity + Through mullioned windows, in cathedrals wide, + Spilled moltenly o'er figures deified + In chastest marble, nude of drapery. + And so I love it.--Either unconfined; + Or plaited in close braidings manifold; + Or smoothly drawn; or indolently twined + In careless knots whose coilings come unrolled + At any lightest kiss; or by the wind + Whipped out in flossy ravelings of gold. + + + LAST NIGHT--AND THIS + + Last night--how deep the darkness was! + And well I knew its depths, because + I waded it from shore to shore, + Thinking to reach the light no more. + + She would not even touch my hand.-- + The winds rose and the cedars fanned + The moon out, and the stars fled back + In heaven and hid--and all was black! + + But ah! To-night a summons came, + Signed with a teardrop for a name,-- + For as I wondering kissed it, lo, + A line beneath it told me so. + + And _now_ the moon hangs over me + A disk of dazzling brilliancy, + And every star-tip stabs my sight + With splintered glitterings of light! + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + A DISCOURAGING MODEL + + + Just the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing, + With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing, + Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air, + And a knot of red roses sown in under there + Where the shadows are lost in her hair. + + +[Illustration] + + + Then a cameo face, carven in on a ground + Of that shadowy hair where the roses are wound; + And the gleam of a smile O as fair and as faint + And as sweet as the masters of old used to paint + Round the lips of their favorite saint! + + And that lace at her throat--and the fluttering hands + Snowing there, with a grace that no art understands + The flakes of their touches--first fluttering at + The bow--then the roses--the hair--and then that + Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat. + + What artist on earth, with a model like this, + Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss, + Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair, + Nor the gold of her smile--O what artist could dare + To expect a result so fair? + + +[Illustration] + + + + SUSPENSE + + A woman's figure, on a ground of night + Inlaid with sallow stars that dimly stare + Down in the lonesome eyes, uplifted there + As in vague hope some alien lance of light + Might pierce their woe. The tears that blind her sight-- + The salt and bitter blood of her despair-- + Her hands toss back through torrents of her hair + And grip toward God with anguish infinite. + And O the carven mouth, with all its great + Intensity of longing frozen fast + In such a smile as well may designate + The slowly murdered heart, that, to the last + Conceals each newer wound, and back at Fate + Throbs Love's eternal lie--"Lo, I can wait!" + + +[Illustration] + + + + THE RIVAL + + + I so loved once, When Death came by I hid + Away my face, + And all my sweetheart's tresses she undid + To make my hiding-place. + + The dread shade passed me thus unheeding; and + I turned me then + To calm my love--kiss down her shielding hand + And comfort her again. + + And lo! she answered not: And she did sit + All fixedly, + With her fair face and the sweet smile of it, + In love with Death, not me. + + +[Illustration] + + + + TOM VAN ARDEN + + Tom van Arden, my old friend, + Our warm fellowship is one + Far too old to comprehend + Where its bond was first begun: + Mirage-like before my gaze + Gleams a land of other days, + Where two truant boys, astray, + Dream their lazy lives away. + + +[Illustration] + + + There's a vision, in the guise + Of Midsummer, where the Past + Like a weary beggar lies + In the shadow Time has cast; + And as blends the bloom of trees + With the drowsy hum of bees, + Fragrant thoughts and murmurs blend, + Tom Van Arden, my old friend. + + Tom Van Arden, my old friend, + All the pleasures we have known + Thrill me now as I extend + This old hand and grasp your own-- + Feeling, in the rude caress, + All affection's tenderness; + Feeling, though the touch be rough, + Our old souls are soft enough. + + So we'll make a mellow hour; + Fill your pipe, and taste the wine-- + Warp your face, if it be sour, + I can spare a smile from mine; + If it sharpen up your wit, + Let me feel the edge of it-- + I have eager ears to lend, + Tom Van Arden, my old friend. + + Tom Van Arden, my old friend, + Are we "lucky dogs," indeed? + Are we all that we pretend + In the jolly life we lead?-- + Bachelors, we must confess + Boast of "single blessedness" + To the world, but not alone-- + Man's best sorrow is his own. + + And the saddest truth is this,-- + Life to us has never proved + What we tasted in the kiss + Of the women we have loved: + Vainly we congratulate + Our escape from such a fate + As their lying lips could send, + Tom Van Arden, my old friend! + + Tom Van Arden, my old friend, + Hearts, like fruit upon the stem, + Ripen sweetest, I contend, + As the frost falls over them: + + +[Illustration] + + + Your regard for me to-day + Makes November taste of May, + And through every vein of rhyme + Pours the blood of summertime. + + When our souls are cramped with youth + Happiness seems far away + In the future, while, in truth, + We look back on it to-day + Through our tears, nor dare to boast,-- + "Better to have loved and lost!" + Broken hearts are hard to mend, + Tom Van Arden, my old friend. + + Tom Van Arden, my old friend, + I grow prosy, and you tire; + Fill the glasses while I bend + To prod up the failing fire.... + You are restless:--I presume + There's a dampness in the room.-- + Much of warmth our nature begs, + With rheumatics in our legs!... + + Humph! the legs we used to fling + Limber-jointed in the dance, + When we heard the fiddle ring + Up the curtain of Romance, + And in crowded public halls + Played with hearts like jugglers'-balls.-- + _Feats of mountebanks, depend!_-- + Tom Van Arden, my old friend. + + Tom Van Arden, my old friend, + Pardon, then, this theme of mine: + While the fire-light leaps to lend + Higher color to the wine,-- + I propose a health to those + Who have _homes_, and home's repose, + Wife and child-love without end! + Tom Van Arden, my old friend. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + TO HEAR HER SING + + To hear her sing--to hear her sing-- + It is to hear the birds of Spring + In dewy groves on blooming sprays + Pour out their blithest roundelays. + + It is to hear the robin trill + At morning, or the whippoorwill + At dusk, when stars are blossoming + To hear her sing--to hear her sing! + + To hear her sing--it is to hear + The laugh of childhood ringing clear + In woody path or grassy lane + Our feet may never fare again. + + Faint, far away as Memory dwells, + It is to hear the village bells + At twilight, as the truant hears + Them, hastening home, with smiles and tears. + + Such joy it is to hear her sing, + We fall in love with everything-- + The simple things of every day + Grow lovelier than words can say. + + The idle brooks that purl across + The gleaming pebbles and the moss, + We love no less than classic streams-- + The Rhines and Arnos of our dreams. + + To hear her sing--with folded eyes, + It is, beneath Venetian skies, + To hear the gondoliers' refrain, + Or troubadours of sunny Spain.-- + + To hear the bulbul's voice that shook + The throat that trilled for Lalla Rookh: + What wonder we in homage bring + Our hearts to her--to hear her sing! + + +[Illustration] + + + + A VARIATION + + I am tired of this! + Nothing else but loving! + Nothing else but kiss and kiss, + Coo, and turtle-doving! + Can't you change the order some? + Hate me just a little--come! + + Lay aside your "dears," + "Darlings", "kings" and "princes!"-- + Call me knave, and dry your tears-- + Nothing in me winces,-- + Call me something low and base-- + Something that will suit the case! + + Wish I had your eyes + And their drooping lashes! + I would dry their teary lies + Up with lightning-flashes-- + Make your sobbing lips unsheathe + All the glitter of your teeth! + + Can't you lift one word-- + With some pang of laughter-- + Louder than the drowsy bird + Crooning 'neath the rafter? + Just one bitter word, to shriek + Madly at me as I speak! + + How I hate the fair + Beauty of your forehead! + + +[Illustration] + + + How I hate your fragrant hair! + How I hate the torrid + Touches of your splendid lips, + And the kiss that drips and drips! + + Ah, you pale at last! + And your face is lifted + Like a white sail to the blast, + And your hands are shifted + Into fists: and, towering thus, + You are simply glorious! + + Now before me looms + Something more than human; + Something more than beauty blooms + In the wrath of Woman-- + Something to bow down before + Reverently and adore. + + +[Illustration] + + + + WHERE SHALL WE LAND? + + "Where shall we land you, sweet?"--Swinburne. + + All listlessly we float + Out seaward in the boat + That beareth Love. + Our sails of purest snow + Bend to the blue below + And to the blue above. + Where shall be land? + + We drift upon a tide + Shoreless on every side, + Save where the eye + Of Fancy sweeps far lands + Shelved slopingly with sands + Of gold and porphyry. + Where shall we land? + + The fairy isles we see, + Loom up so mistily-- + So vaguely fair, + We do not care to break + Fresh bubbles in our wake + To bend our course for there. + Where shall we land? + + The warm winds of the deep + Have lulled our sails to sleep, + And so we glide + Careless of wave or wind, + Or change of any kind, + Or turn of any tide. + Where shall we land? + + We droop our dreamy eyes + Where our reflection lies + Steeped in the sea, + And, in an endless fit + Of languor, smile on it + And its sweet mimicry. + Where shall we land? + + "Where shall we land?" God's grace! + I know not any place + So fair as this-- + Swung here between the blue + Of sea and sky, with you + To ask me, with a kiss, + "Where shall we land?" + + + THE TOUCHES OF HER HANDS + + The touches of her hands are like the fall + Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down + The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall; + The flossy fondling of the thistle-wisp + Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown + The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp. + + Soft as the falling of the dusk at night, + The touches of her hands, and the delight-- + The touches of her hands! + The touches of her hands are like the dew + That falls so softly down no one e'er knew + The touch thereof save lovers like to one + Astray in lights where ranged Endymion. + + O rarely soft, the touches of her hands, + As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands; + Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs; + Or--in between the midnight and the dawn, + When long unrest and tears and fears are gone-- + Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes. + + +[Illustration] + + + + FARMER WHIPPLE--BACHELOR + + It's a mystery to see me--a man o' fifty-four, + Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year and more-- + A-lookin' glad and smilin'! And they's none o' you can say + That you can guess the reason why I feel so good + to-day! + + I must tell you all about it! But I'll have to deviate + A little in beginning, so's to set the matter straight + As to how it comes to happen that I never took a wife-- + Kind o' "crawfish" from the Present to the Springtime of my life! + + I was brought up in the country: Of a family of five-- + Three brothers and a sister--I'm the only one alive,-- + Fer they all died little babies; and 'twas one o' Mother's ways, + You know, to want a daughter; so she took a girl to raise. + + The sweetest little thing she was, with rosy cheeks, and fat-- + We was little chunks o' shavers then about as high as that! + But someway we sort o' _suited_-like! and Mother she'd declare + She never laid her eyes on a more lovin' pair + + +[Illustration] + + + Than _we_ was! So we growed up side by side fer thirteen year', + And every hour of it she growed to me more dear!-- + W'y, even Father's dyin', as he did, I do believe + Warn't more affectin' to me than it was to see her grieve! + + I was then a lad o' twenty; and I felt a flash o' pride + In thinkin' all depended on _me_ now to pervide + Fer Mother and fer Mary; and I went about the place + With sleeves rolled up--and working with a mighty smilin' face.-- + + Fer _sompin' else_ was workin'! but not a word I said + Of a certain sort o' notion that was runnin' through my head,-- + "Someday I'd mayby marry, and _a brother's_ love was one + Thing--_a lover's_ was another!" was the way the notion run! + + I remember one't in harvest, when the "cradle-in'" was done-- + When the harvest of my summers mounted up to twenty-one + I was ridin' home with Mary at the closin' o' the day-- + A-chawin' straws and thinkin', in a lover's lazy way! + + And Mary's cheeks was burin' like the sunset down the lane: + I noticed she was thinkin', too, and ast her to explain. + Well--when she turned and _kissed_ me, _with her arms around me--law!_ + I'd a bigger load o' heaven than I had a load o' straw! + + I don't p'tend to learnin', but I'll tell you what's a fact, + They's a mighty truthful sayin' somers in a' almanack-- + Er _somers-_--'bout "puore happiness"--- perhaps some folks'll laugh + At the idy--"only lastin' jest two seconds and a half."-- + + But it's jest as true as preachin'!--fer that was _a sister's_ kiss, + And a sister's lovin' confidence a-tellin' to me this:-- + _"She_ was happy, _bein' promised to the son o' farmer Brown."_-- + And my feelin's struck a pardnership with sunset and went down! + + +[Illustration] + + + I don't know _how_ I acted--I don't know _what_ I said, + Fer my heart seemed jest a-turnin' to an ice-cold lump o' lead; + And the hosses kindo' glimmered before me in the road. + And the lines fell from my fingers--and that was all I knowed-- + + Fer--well, I don't know _how_ long--They's a dim rememberence + Of a sound o' snortin' hosses, and a stake-and-ridered fence + A-whizzin' past, and wheat-sheaves a-dancin' in the air, + And Mary screamin' "Murder!" and a-runnin' up to where + + _I_ was layin' by the road-side, and the wagon upside down + A-leanin' on the gate-post, with the wheels a whirlin' round! + And I tried to raise and meet her, but I couldn't, with a vague + Sorto' notion comin' to me that I had a broken leg. + + Well, the women nussed me through it; but many a time I'd sigh + As I'd keep a-gittin' better instid o' goin' to die, + And wonder what was left _me_ worth livin' fer below, + When the girl I loved was married to another, don't you know! + + And my thoughts was as rebellious as the folks was good and kind + When Brown and Mary married--Railly must a-been my _mind_ + Was kindo' out o' kilter!--fer I hated Brown, you see, + Worse'n _pizen_--and the feller whittled crutches out fer _me_-- + + And done a thousand little ac's o' kindness and respect-- + And me a-wishin' all the time that I could break his neck! + My relief was like a mourner's when the funeral is done + When they moved to Illinois in the Fall o' Forty-one. + + +[Illustration] + + + + Then I went to work in airnest--I had nothin' much in view + But to drownd out rickollections--and it kep' me busy, too! + But I slowly thrived and prospered, tel Mother used to say + She expected yit to see me a wealthy man some day. + + Then I'd think how little _money_ was, compared to happiness-- + And who'd be left to use it when I died I couldn't guess! + But I've still kep' speculatin' and a-gainin' year by year, + Tel I'm payin' half the taxes in the county, mighty near! + + Well!--A year ago er better, a letter comes to hand + Astin' how I'd like to dicker fer some Illinois land-- + "The feller that had owned it," it went ahead to state, + "Had jest deceased, insolvent, leavin' chance to speculate,"-- + + And then it closed by sayin' that I'd "better come and see."-- + I'd never been West, anyhow--a most too wild fer _me_ + I'd allus had a notion; but a lawyer here in town + Said I'd find myself mistakened when I come to look around. + + So I bids good-bye to Mother, and I jumps aboard the train, + A-thinkin' what I'd bring her when I come back home again-- + And ef she'd had an idy what the present was to be, + I think it's more'n likely she'd a-went along with me! + + Cars is awful tejus ridin', fer all they go so fast! + But finally they called out my stoppin'-place at last; + And that night, at the tavern, I dreamp' _I_ was a train + O' cars, and _skeered_ at sompin', runnin' down a country lane! + + Well, in the mornin' airly--after huntin' up the man-- + The lawyer who was wantin' to swap the piece o' land-- + We started fer the country; and I ast the history + Of the farm--its former owner--and so-forth, etcetery! + + And--well--it was inte_rest_in'--I su'prised him, I suppose, + By the loud and frequent manner in which I blowed my nose!-- + But his surprise was greater, and it made him wonder more, + When I kissed and hugged the widder when she met us at the door!-- + + _It was Mary:_ They's a feelin' a-hidin' down in here-- + Of course I can't explain it, ner ever make it clear.-- + It was with us in that meetin', I don't want you to fergit! + And it makes me kind o' nervous when I think about it yit! + + I _bought_ that farm, and _deeded_ it, afore I left the town, + With "title clear to mansions in the skies," to Mary Brown! + And fu'thermore, I took her and _the childern_--fer, you see, + They'd never seed their Grandma--and I fetched 'em home with me. + + So _now_ you've got an idy why a man o' fifty-four, + Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and more, + Is a-lookin' glad and smilin'!--And I've jest come into town + To git a pair o' license fer to _marry_ Mary Brown. + + +[Illustration] + + + + THE ROSE + + It tossed its head at the wooing breeze; + And the sun, like a bashful swain, + Beamed on it through the waving trees + With a passion all in vain,-- + For my rose laughed in a crimson glee, + And hid in the leaves in wait for me. + + The honey-bee came there to sing + His love through the languid hours, + And vaunt of his hives, as a proud old king + Might boast of his palace-towers: + But my rose bowed in a mockery, + And hid in the leaves in wait for me. + + The humming-bird, like a courtier gay, + Dipped down with a dalliant song, + And twanged his wings through the roundelay + Of love the whole day long: + Yet my rose returned from his minstrelsy + And hid in the leaves in wait for me. + + The firefly came in the twilight dim + My red, red rose to woo-- + Till quenched was the flame of love in him + And the light of his lantern too, + As my rose wept with dewdrops three + And hid in the leaves in wait for me. + + And I said: I will cull my own sweet rose-- + Some day I will claim as mine + The priceless worth of the flower that knows + No change, but a bloom divine-- + The bloom of a fadeless constancy + That hides in the leaves in wait for me! + + But time passed by in a strange disguise, + And I marked it not, but lay + In a lazy dream, with drowsy eyes, + Till the summer slipped away, + And a chill wind sang in a minor key: + "Where is the rose that waits for thee?" + + * * * * * + + I dream to-day, o'er a purple stain + Of bloom on a withered stalk, + Pelted down by the autumn rain + In the dust of the garden-walk, + That an Angel-rose in the world to be + Will hide in the leaves in wait for me. + + + WHEN AGE COMES ON + + When Age comes on!-- + The deepening dusk is where the dawn + Once glittered splendid, and the dew + In honey-drips, from red rose-lips + Was kissed away by me and you.-- + And now across the frosty lawn + Black foot-prints trail, and Age comes on-- + And Age comes on! + And biting wild-winds whistle through + Our tattered hopes--and Age comes on! + + When Age comes on!-- + O tide of raptures, long withdrawn, + Flow back in summer-floods, and fling + Here at our feet our childhood sweet, + And all the songs we used to sing!... + Old loves, old friends--all dead and gone-- + Our old faith lost--and Age comes on-- + And Age comes on! + Poor hearts! have we not anything + But longings left when Age comes on! + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + HAS SHE FORGOTTEN? + + + Has she forgotten? On this very May + We were to meet here, with the birds and bees, + As on that Sabbath, underneath the trees + We strayed among the tombs, and stripped away + The vines from these old granites, cold and gray-- + And yet indeed not grim enough were they + To stay our kisses, smiles and ecstasies, + Or closer voice-lost vows and rhapsodies. + Has she forgotten--that the May has won + Its promise?--that the bird-songs from the tree + Are sprayed above the grasses as the sun + Might jar the dazzling dew down showeringly? + Has she forgotten life--love--everyone-- + Has she forgotten me--forgotten me? + + + II + + Low, low down in the violets I press + My lips and whisper to her. Does she hear, + And yet hold silence, though I call her dear, + Just as of old, save for the tearfulness + Of the clenched eyes, and the soul's vast distress? + Has she forgotten thus the old caress + That made our breath a quickened atmosphere + That failed nigh unto swooning with the sheer + Delight? Mine arms clutch now this earthen heap + Sodden with tears that flow on ceaselessly + As autumn rains the long, long, long nights weep + In memory of days that used to be,-- + Has she forgotten these? And in her sleep, + Has she forgotten me--forgotten me? + + + III + + To-night, against my pillow, with shut eyes, + I mean to weld our faces--through the dense + Incalculable darkness make pretense + That she has risen from her reveries + To mate her dreams with mine in marriages + Of mellow palms, smooth faces, and tense ease + Of every longing nerve of indolence,-- + Lift from the grave her quiet lips, and stun + My senses with her kisses--drawl the glee + Of her glad mouth, full blithe and tenderly, + Across mine own, forgetful if is done + The old love's awful dawn-time when said we, + "To-day is ours!"... Ah, Heaven! can it be + She has forgotten me--forgotten me! + + + +[Illustration] + + + + BLOOMS OF MAY + + But yesterday!... + O blooms of May, + And summer roses--Where-away? + O stars above, + And lips of love + And all the honeyed sweets thereof! + + O lad and lass + And orchard-pass + And briered lane, and daisied grass! + O gleam and gloom, + And woodland bloom, + And breezy breaths of all perfume!-- + + No more for me + Or mine shall be + Thy raptures--save in memory,-- + No more--no more-- + Till through the Door + Of Glory gleam the days of yore. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + THE SERMON OF THE ROSE + + Wilful we are in our infirmity + Of childish questioning and discontent. + Whate'er befalls us is divinely meant-- + Thou Truth the clearer for thy mystery! + Make us to meet what is or is to be + With fervid welcome, knowing it is sent + To serve us in some way full excellent, + Though we discern it all belatedly. + The rose buds, and the rose blooms and the rose + Bows in the dews, and in its fulness, lo, + Is in the lover's hand,--then on the breast + Of her he loves,--and there dies.--And who knows + Which fate of all a rose may undergo + Is fairest, dearest, sweetest, loveliest? + + Nay, we are children: we will not mature. + A blessed gift must seem a theft; and tears + Must storm our eyes when but a joy appears + In drear disguise of sorrow; and how poor + We seem when we are richest,--most secure + Against all poverty the lifelong years + We yet must waste in childish doubts and fears + That, in despite of reason, still endure! + Alas! the sermon of the rose we will + Not wisely ponder; nor the sobs of grief + Lulled into sighs of rapture; nor the cry + Of fierce defiance that again is still. + Be patient--patient with our frail belief, + And stay it yet a little ere we die. + + O opulent life of ours, though dispossessed + Of treasure after treasure! Youth most fair + Went first, but left its priceless coil of hair-- + Moaned over sleepless nights, kissed and caressed + Through drip and blur of tears the tenderest. + And next went Love--the ripe rose glowing there + Her very sister!... It is here; but where + Is she, of all the world the first and best? + And yet how sweet the sweet earth after rain-- + How sweet the sunlight on the garden wall + Across the roses--and how sweetly flows + The limpid yodel of the brook again! + And yet--and yet how sweeter after all, + The smouldering sweetness of a dead red rose! + + +[Illustration] + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Riley Love-Lyrics, by James Whitcomb Riley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILEY LOVE-LYRICS *** + +***** This file should be named 19897.txt or 19897.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/8/9/19897/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Ted Garvin and the Online +Distributed Proofreaders Europe at http://dp.rastko.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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