Add files from ibiblio as of 2025-03-08 01:29:57HEADmain

1 files changed, 1356 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/42330-0.txt b/42330-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3f07509
--- /dev/null
+++ b/42330-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,1356 @@
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42330 ***
+
+    SOME VERSES
+
+
+
+
+    _All rights reserved_
+
+    _Copyrighted in America_
+
+
+
+
+    SOME VERSES
+
+    BY
+
+    HELEN HAY
+
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+
+    LONDON
+    DUCKWORTH AND CO.
+    3 HENRIETTA ST. COVENT GARDEN
+    1898
+
+
+
+
+    _To my Father_
+
+
+
+
+    CONTENTS
+
+
+    SONNETS
+                                                PAGE
+    THE DAYS                                       3
+    THE EVERLASTING SNOWS                          4
+    THRONE AND ALTAR                               5
+    EAST AND WEST                                  6
+    THE BATTLE                                     7
+    WATER AND WINE                                 8
+    PITY ME NOT!                                   9
+    A DREAM IN FEVER                              10
+    A WOMAN'S PRIDE                               11
+    AGE                                           12
+    IN THE MIST                                   13
+    ON THE MOUNTAIN'S SLOPE                       14
+    TO THE BELOVED                                15
+    MY BROOK                                      16
+    BENEATH THE MOON                              17
+    THE RUBY                                      18
+    SPRING AND AUTUMN                             19
+    THE LOST MOMENT                               20
+    THE COMING OF LOVE                            21
+    EVENING AT WASHINGTON                         22
+    LOVE'S KISS                                   23
+    THE SCARLET THREAD                            24
+    AUTUMN                                        25
+    THE TIDE OF THE HEART                         26
+
+
+    POEMS
+                                                PAGE
+    DOES THE PEARL KNOW?                          29
+    IN AUTUMN                                     31
+    WAITING FOR DAY                               33
+    THE ANGEL OF INDIFFERENCE                     34
+    DEAR DEAD WOMEN                               37
+    THE GRAVE OF HOPE                             39
+    TREES OF THE WILDERNESS                       40
+    THE LOVE OF THE ROSE                          42
+    IN THE GREEN YEW                              43
+    THE DEAD NIGHT                                45
+    SONG                                          47
+    SIGH NOT FOR LOVE                             48
+    AMBITION AND LOVE                             49
+    TO B. D.                                      51
+    LITTLE SAD FACE                               52
+    EARTH'S TEARS--AND MAN'S                      54
+    I HAVE SEEN WHAT THE SERAPHS HAVE SEEN        55
+    A LASS FROM THE WOODS                         57
+    WAS THERE ANOTHER SPRING?                     59
+    TO DIANE                                      60
+    BIRD LOVE--ROSE LOVE                          62
+    THE JOY OF LIFE                               64
+    MIST                                          66
+    THE LAST CLOUD                                67
+    SONG                                          68
+    IN THE GRAVE                                  69
+    THE FLOWERS OF PROSERPINE                     71
+
+
+
+
+    SONNETS
+
+
+
+
+    THE DAYS
+
+
+    A long grim corridor--a sullen bar
+      Of light athwart the darkness--where no fleet
+      Pale sunshine spreads for dark his winding sheet
+    A light, not born of noon nor placid star
+    Glows lurid thro' the gloom--while from afar,
+      Beats marching of innumerable feet.
+      Is this the place where tragic armies meet?
+    The throb of terror that presages war?--
+     I strain to see, then softly on my sight
+    There falls the vision, manifold they come--
+     White listless Day chained to her brother Night--
+    Their hands are shackled and their lips are dumb,
+      And as they meet the air where each one dies,
+      They turn and smile at me--with weary eyes.
+
+
+
+
+    THE EVERLASTING SNOWS
+
+
+    And shall it be that these undaunted snows
+      That poise so lightly on the mountains' crest--
+      A lily laid to cheer its lonely breast--
+    Shall their chill smile still face the wind, that blows
+    Across the field whereon no blossom grows,
+      And light the land where no gay life may rest
+      Save glowing hasty fingers of the West,
+    When our two hearts lie cold beneath the rose?
+    These silver flakes of ancient hoary frost,
+      Surviving all our joys' supremest powers,
+    And though the petals of your lips be lost
+    And gone the summer of your golden head,
+      This pale eternal growth of winter's flowers
+    Shall still live on--though our sweet love be dead.
+
+
+
+
+    THRONE AND ALTAR
+
+
+    He had a vision of a golden throne
+      Fronting an altar; both alike were bare,
+      But o'er the purple of the regal chair
+    Blazed the device, "I wait for him alone
+    Who with the world has held his soul his own."
+      He sadly turned, this height he could not dare.
+      But--Stay--the text upon the altar there--
+    "I wait for him who has not made a moan
+    Howe'er his kind have used his heaven-sent dower.
+      Fear not, and burn thine incense, lowly heart."
+        And sudden brightness turns the averted face,
+    To holy sense of majesty and power--
+      And a voice:--"Master--this indeed thou art."
+        Wondrous music trembles thro' the space.
+
+
+
+
+    EAST AND WEST
+
+
+    You have not ceased for me. Though stern-browed Fate
+      Laid our two paths apart; when in the West
+    She gave you over to the seas, and great
+      Wide winds of enterprise, and set your breast
+    Against the suns and shadows of the earth;
+      Then with a gilded largess, led my ways
+    Toward the time-worn East, who paints her dearth
+      With purple vain imaginings; the praise
+    Of all her languid incense and the pride
+      Of ancient mysteries and hopeless creeds
+    Hold for my heart no spell when warm and wide
+    I see across the blue of Isis' veil
+    The thunderous breakers of your ocean pale
+      And glints of prairie sun through river reeds.
+
+
+
+
+    THE BATTLE
+
+
+    The pallid waves caress the paler sand,
+      Falter and tremble, then reluctant wane,
+      Fearing advance, yet venturing again.
+    Grey deep sea waves that never knew the land,
+    Tired with the tumult, stretch a crooked hand
+      To win a precious sweet surcease from pain,
+      But, glancing back upon the mighty main,
+    Perforce return to swell the strong command.
+    So fretful Life sees Death's cold sands and faints
+      To fling thereon the wearing of her wave,
+    Yet, turning ere she finds the gloomy shore,
+      Seeing ahead the idle senseless grave,
+    Behind--the Kings, the Patriots and the Saints,
+    She sighing turns to face the fight once more.
+
+
+
+
+    WATER AND WINE
+
+
+    I asked for water and they brought me wine;
+      Wine in a jewelled chalice, where the gold
+      Gleamed thro' the purple beads, as if unrolled--
+    One saw the sun-rays of a life-time shine.
+    So drinking, I forgot my dream divine
+      Of crystal purity, for in my hold
+      Were wealth and Fame and Passions manifold
+    Which with the draught I fancied might be mine.
+
+    "Ah, Youth," I said, "Ah, Faith and Love!" I said;
+      "These are but broken lances in the strife!
+    What shall remain when all these things are sped?"
+    Then crashed the dream. I clutched the hand of Fate
+      Amid the ruins of my shattered life,
+    And found the Gods had cheated, all too late.
+
+
+
+
+    PITY ME NOT!
+
+
+    Cruel and fair! within thy hollowed hand
+      My heart is lying as a little rose,
+      So faint and faded, scarce could one suppose
+    It might look in thine eyes and understand
+    The song they sing unto a weary land,
+      Making it radiant, yet because I dare,
+      To love thee, being weak, lose not thine air
+    Of passive distance, fateful and most grand.
+
+    Pity me not, nor turn away awhile
+      Till absence's cloud has caught my passion up.
+    Ah, be not kind! for love's sake, be not kind!
+      Grant me the tragic deepness of the cup,
+    And when thine eyes have flashed and made me blind,
+    Kill me beneath the shadow of thy smile.
+
+
+
+
+    A DREAM IN FEVER
+
+
+    A vast screen of unequal downward lines,
+      An orange purple halo 'round the rain,
+      Twists from a space whose very size is pain.
+    Here in this vortex day with night combines;
+    Ruby and Emerald glint their blazing spines;
+      Closing and smothering, wheels a brazen main,
+      A shuddering sea of silence; in its train
+    A Thought--a cry, whose snake--fear trembling twines
+    Around--above--alive yet uttered not;
+      But my heart hears--and shrieking dies of dread,
+        Then soaring breaks its bands and o'er the rim
+    White winged it rends the dark with jagged blot,
+      Glimpsing the iris gateway barred ahead,
+        And, gazing thro', the eyes of cherubim.
+
+
+
+
+    A WOMAN'S PRIDE
+
+
+    I will not look for him--I will not hear
+      My heart's loud beating, as I strain to see
+      Across the rain forlorn and hopelessly,
+    Nor starting, think 'tis he that draws so near.
+    I will forget how tenderly and dear
+      He might in coming hold his arms to me,
+      For I will prove what woman's pride can be
+    When faint love lingers in the darkness drear.
+    I will not--Ah, but should he come to-night
+      I think my life might break thro' very bliss,
+        This little will should so be torn apart
+    That all my soul might fail in golden light
+      And let me die--So do I long for this.
+        Ah, love, thine eyes!--Nay, love--Thy heart, thy heart!
+
+
+
+
+    AGE
+
+
+    I have a dream, that somewhere in the days,
+      Since when a myriad suns have burned and died,
+      There was a time my soul was not for pride
+    Of spendthrift youth, the pensioner who pays
+    Dole for the pain of searching thro' the haze
+      Where joy lies hidden. As the puff balls ride,
+      The wandering wind across the Summer's side--
+    So winged my spirit in a golden blaze
+    Of pure and careless Present--Future naught
+      But a sad dotard's wail--and I was young,
+        Who now am old. Now years like flashes seem,
+    Lambent or grey on the great wall of Thought--
+      This is a song a poet may have sung--
+        No proof remains, I have but dreamed a dream.
+
+
+
+
+    IN THE MIST
+
+
+    Ah love, my love, upon this alien shore
+      I lean and watch the pale uneasy ships
+      Slip thro' the waving mist in strange eclipse,
+    Like spirits of some time and land of yore.
+    I did not think my heart could love thee more,
+      And yet, when lightlier than a swallow dips,
+      The wind lays ghostly kisses on my lips
+    I seem to know of love the eternal core.
+    Here is no throbbing of impassioned breath
+      To beat upon my cheek, no pulsing heart
+    Which might be silenced by the touch of Death,
+    No smile which other smile has softly kissed
+      Or doting gaze which Time must draw apart,
+    But spirit's spirit in the trailing mist.
+
+
+
+
+    ON THE MOUNTAIN'S SLOPE
+
+
+    High on the mountain's slope I pause and turn--
+      Over my head, by the rough crag-points high,
+      Seems rent and torn the tender hovering sky,
+    Till almost--thro'--I see a Heaven-spark burn;
+    Then downward to the sleeping world I yearn
+      Whose eyes so heavy droop they may not try
+      To catch the higher gleam--and live thereby--
+    Youth passes graveward--and they never learn.
+    Then faint with brooding o'er a careless earth
+      I turn to Nature and her broad warm breast,
+    Strive for a friendship with her sun-burnt mirth,
+    Teach my sad soul to catch her cadence deep,
+      Dream that in her absorbed my heart must rest;
+    But Nature smiles, and turns once more in sleep.
+
+
+
+
+    TO THE BELOVED
+
+
+    Beloved, when the tides of life run low
+      As sobbing echoes of a dead refrain,
+      And I may sit and watch the silent rain
+    And muse upon the fulness of my woe,
+    Then is my burden lighter, for I know
+      The roses of my heart shall bloom again
+      The fairer for this plenitude of pain,
+    And Summer shall forget the chilly snow.
+    But when life calls me to its revels gay
+      And I must face the world's wide-gazing eyes
+    Nor find sweet rest by night or peace by day,
+    E'en seems your love, where I would turn for aid,
+      As distant as the blue in sunny skies;
+    Then am I very lonely and afraid.
+
+
+
+
+    MY BROOK
+
+
+    Earth holds no sweeter secret anywhere
+      Than this my brook, that lisps along the green
+      Of mossy channels, where slim birch trees lean
+    Like tall pale ladies whose delicious hair
+    Lures and invites the kiss of wanton air.
+      The smooth soft grasses, delicate between
+      The rougher stalks, by waifs alone are seen,
+    Shy things that live in sweet seclusion there.
+    And is it still the same, and do these eyes
+      Of every silver ripple meet the trees
+    That bend above like guarding emerald skies?
+    I turn--who read the city's beggared book
+      And hear across the moan of many seas
+    The whisper and the laughter of my brook.
+
+
+
+
+    BENEATH THE MOON
+
+
+    Give me thy hand, Beloved! Here where still
+      The night wind hovers 'neath the pallid moon
+      Give me this fleeting moment; all too soon
+    The listless day will break upon the hill;
+    This last sweet night is mine. The tremulous thrill
+      Upon thy lips is all the precious boon
+      I begged of Heaven, the garish sun of noon
+    Is theirs--the rest--mine is this moment's will.
+    Our love could never be the love of day.
+      I have not claimed the welcome of thy lips;
+    No touch save fluttering hand, and for the pay
+    I gave my minstrelsy of sea and sky.
+      Once more thine eyes! Now sun-stained finger tips,
+    Send through the hush of dawn a glad good-bye.
+
+
+
+
+    THE RUBY
+
+
+    Ah--she was fair, this daughter of a queen!
+      Jewels upon her breast's soft fall of snow,
+      Jewels--in golden hair--and fierce aglow,
+    The gem of pride upon her brow serene!
+    Sleeping soft moonstone, emerald's baleful green,
+      A single sapphire, singing soft and low
+      Of wars for beauty's sake in years ago,
+    And flaming opal--wed with tourmaline.
+    Yet was there one great stone she might not wear,
+      And so her eyes were weary, and her mouth
+        Curved in the listless line of vain desire.
+    No diamond pure was hers the right to bear,
+      But--crimson poison petal of the South--
+        The ruby shone in deep unholy fire.
+
+
+
+
+    SPRING AND AUTUMN
+
+
+    The painted World has laid her jewels down,
+      Let fall the pinchbeck hair about her face
+      And croons a love song. In a far-off place
+    Where she was strutting in her silken gown
+    She met the Youth. His face was young and brown.
+      "Good day to you," she cried, the frosty lace
+      About her shoulders trembled. Ah--disgrace!
+    He turned, and left her weeping in the town.
+      She smiles not any more, her heart disdains
+    The wind's rough courting, loud and indiscreet.
+      Her tears dissolve the earth in ceaseless rains
+    And though her searching steps be light and fleet
+      Through frowning city or soft country lanes,
+    Now never more may Spring and Autumn meet.
+
+
+
+
+    THE LOST MOMENT
+
+
+    This moment I so careless threw away,
+      Tossed to the ages, with a spendthrift hand,
+      Little I recked the labour that had planned
+    This flash eternal of a Summer day;
+    Æons of sequent toil had passed to pay
+      Wealth to the freighted instant. Slow and grand
+      Wavers a solemn dirge across the land,
+    One soul, in my lost moment, found a way
+    To throw the mock to Time, and call him slave.
+      And I--a pauper still--gaze wise at last
+        To all the grey horizon line of nought.
+    But from the heart I deemed an empty grave
+      Gleams forth like spark my precious gem of past
+        Shrined in the setting of a deathless thought.
+
+
+
+
+    THE COMING
+    OF LOVE
+
+
+    I dreamed that love came, as the oak trees grow,
+      By the chance dropping of a tiny seed;
+      And then from moon to moon with steady speed,
+    Tho' torn by winds and chilled with heedless snow,
+    The sap of pulsing life would upward flow,
+      'Till in its might the heavens themselves could read
+      Portents of power that they must learn to heed.
+    This was my dream--the waking proved not so--
+    For love came like a flower, and grew apace;
+      I saw it blossom tenderly and frail
+    Till the dear Spring had run its eager race,
+    Then the rough wind tossed wide the petals red;
+      The seeds fell far in soil beyond my pale.
+    I know not, now, if love be lost, or dead.
+
+
+
+
+    EVENING AT
+    WASHINGTON
+
+
+    The purple stretches of the evening sky
+      Lean to the fair white city waiting here,
+      Flecking with gold the marble's lifted tier,
+    Down the blue marsh where crows to Southward fly.
+    Flanked by dim ramparts, where the tide dreams by,
+      High from the city's heart, a lifted spear,
+      In its straight splendour makes the heavens seem near,
+    Symbol of man-made force that shall not die.
+    To the tall crest we gaze in self-command,
+      Assured the world's our own and we may dare
+        To raise our Babel thro' forbidden aisles
+    And hold the skirt of knowledge in our hand,
+      Great in our moment, spurn the world's despair;
+        While Heaven looks down through calm unmeasured miles.
+
+
+
+
+    LOVE'S KISS
+
+
+    Kiss me but once--and in that space supreme
+      My whole dark life shall quiver to an end,
+      Sweet Death shall see my heart and comprehend
+    That life is crowned--and in an endless gleam
+    Will fix the colour of the dying stream
+      That Life and Death may meet as friend with friend
+      An endless immortality to blend;
+    Kiss me but once, and so shall end my dream.
+    And then Love heard me and bestowed his kiss,
+      And straight I cried to Death: I will not die!
+    Earth is so fair when one remembers this;
+    Life is but just begun! Ah, come not yet!
+      The very world smiles up to kiss the sky
+    And in the grave one may forget--forget.
+
+
+
+
+    THE SCARLET THREAD
+
+
+    The sun rose dimly thro' the pallid rain,
+      Dear Heart--and have we strength to face the day?
+      The times and life alike are old and grey,
+    All worn with long monotonies of pain.
+    Lo--we are working out the curse of Cain,
+      Who never felt the fire of passion's sway.
+      Ah--show us crimson in some tragic way
+    That we may live!--Fate laughed in her disdain.
+    A thread of scarlet clashed upon mine eyes
+      Hung for a moment and was swept behind,
+    And blankly I beheld the hopeless skies
+    For day by contrast now is grimmest night--
+      Remembering light as do the newly blind
+    I pray for death to hide the bitter sight.
+
+
+
+
+    AUTUMN
+
+
+    The ruddy banners of the Autumn leaves
+      Toss out a challenge to the waiting snows,
+      Where Winter stalks from o'er the mountain rows;
+    This fiery blaze his onward march receives,
+    A mock defence his coward heart believes,
+      And turns him sulking to his moated close.
+      Now Man the confidence of Nature knows,
+    And feels the mighty heart that loves and grieves.
+    Not as in rude young March or hoyden June,
+      Hard in their beauty, laughing thro' their days;
+    Their fine indifference is out of tune.
+    In the dark paths we tread in hope and fear
+      Look we to Autumn and her gracious ways,
+    The great last swan-song of the dying year.
+
+
+
+
+    THE TIDE OF
+    THE HEART
+
+
+    Love, when you leave me, as with moon-bent tide
+      The glad waves leave the beaches of my heart;
+      Slowly and indolently they depart
+    Ripple by ripple, till the light has died
+    And left the naked sands forlorn to bide
+      The sea's return. No might of human power
+      Can fill the empty waste, nor take one hour
+    From that long durance in Earth's prison wide.
+    But when you come again, and hold your hands
+      Dear hands, outstretched to take me, then, the waves,
+    They turn, full flooded on the fainting sands,
+    And all the dimpled hollows smile again,
+      And brimmed with life, the deep mysterious caves
+    Forget the distant night of lonely pain.
+
+
+
+
+    POEMS
+
+
+
+
+    DOES THE
+    PEARL KNOW?
+
+
+    Does the pearl know, that in its shade and sheen
+    The dreamy rose, and tender wavering green,
+      Are hid the hearts of all the ranging seas--
+      That Beauty weeps for gifts as fair as these?
+    Does it desire aught else when its rare blush
+    Reflects Aurora in the morning's hush,
+      Encircling all perfection can bestow--
+                Does the pearl know?
+
+    Does the bird know, when thro' the waking dawn
+    He soaring sees below the silvered lawn,
+      And weary men who wait to watch the day
+      Steal o'er the heights where he may wheel and stray?
+    Can he conceive his fee divine to share,
+    As a free joyous peer with sun and air,
+      And pity the sad things that creep below--
+                Does the bird know?
+
+    Does the heart know, when filled to utter brim,
+    The least quick throb, a sacrificial hymn
+      To a great god who scorns the frown of Jove
+      That here it finds the awful power of love?
+    Think you the new-born babe in first wise sleep
+    Fathoms the gift the heavens have bade him keep
+      Yet if this be--if all these things are so--
+                Does the heart know?
+
+
+
+
+    IN AUTUMN
+
+
+    The gold-red leaves have burned
+      To their last great glow, and died
+        And underfoot
+        By the strong oak's root
+    They are seized by the angry wind and spurned
+    And into a common grave have turned
+      For Summer--warm and wide.
+
+    A year must a sapling wage
+      Its life with the sun and rain,
+        Then its tender youth
+        Without reck or ruth
+    Is frozen and beaten to harsh old age
+    By a stroke of Nature mother's rage
+      And the sturdy fight seems vain.
+
+    It wails to the oak o'erhead
+      As the coffin-cold wraps round
+        "The end of life
+        Is toil and strife
+      And the secret of being, I have found
+      Is a seed in the wind and a log on the ground.
+    I hope I will soon be dead."
+
+    "Peace little struggler--sleep"--
+      And the great oak croons a song,
+        "Death is but night
+        And a cradle white
+    For one dark space may the shadows creep,
+    Then Spring will rise from her dungeon keep
+      And life wake, wise and strong."
+
+
+
+
+    WAITING
+    FOR DAY
+
+
+    Sweet Lady Night is paling white.
+      Why lags her Lord and Master?
+    She weeping, lays her jewels off--
+      Ah--may he not come faster.
+
+    But hush--the tender rosy blush
+      Her beauty fair adorning
+    Her love steps o'er the mountain's rim,
+      They kiss--and here's the morning.
+
+
+
+
+    THE ANGEL OF
+    INDIFFERENCE
+
+
+    A Man once loved a Woman, in the days of old,
+      Our bond is the strongest in the world, they said--
+        The Angels up above
+        Are jealous of our love,
+      Perhaps they are wishing we were dead, overhead.
+
+    So they loved for a Time and the passing of a Time,
+      And the Angel of Indifference, smiling down, saw their fire,
+        And he covered for a space
+        With his sombre wings his face,
+      That they twain might have of love all desire, without tire.
+
+    But love's perfect joy within them burned at last to a flame
+      Till they longed for a breeze that would gently cool the heart.
+        For absence! cooling snow
+        They sighed apart and low,
+      Tho' they murmured still their love, hand and heart loth to part.
+
+    But at length they prayed together to the calm Angel--pale,
+      Ah--we yearn, scorched and weary, for the peace of thy breast.
+        For that land where love seems
+        But the shadow of dreams,
+      Where all sleep in the silver of the West, give us rest.
+
+    And he heard, and he bore them to the cool grey heights,
+      Where all men may drift and himself alone stands fast,
+        And gave them for their token
+        The peace of dreams unbroken
+      Where their souls, his faithful vassals, rest at last, from
+          the past.
+
+
+
+
+    DEAR DEAD WOMEN
+
+
+    The winds have chilled the loving odorous South,
+      All wan and grey she seeks a place to die,
+    Her tossing hair, her pleading passionate mouth,
+      Pity that things so fair in death must lie;
+      But Winter holds and kills her with a sigh.
+    One kiss he lays upon her lips so proud,
+    Shuts the blue eyes and winds her sombre shroud.
+
+    I walk between the narrow way of yew.
+      The glowing amaranth droops upon its stalk,
+    The shivering birds are timorous and few,
+      And waifs of Summer strew th' untended walk;
+      With vague sweet forms I seem to pass and talk.
+    The ladies of those days in Summer's prime
+    Whose smiles prevailed not for the frown of Time.
+
+    Their little tripping feet reluctant turned
+      Down the dark paths they had not known before;
+    Behind them all the glow of living burned,
+      But they must enter thro' the gloomy door,
+      And leave behind the loves that plead no more,
+    The dear frivolity of wiles and ways
+    They neither need nor know in these grim days.
+
+    Here in their garden's close I spend no tear,
+      No smile--too rare the heights for such display.
+    But on the frosted hedges' lifted spear
+      And with my head a little bowed, I lay
+      A pale camelia, proud and cold as they
+    Who wait beneath their ashen pall of snow--
+    Perhaps the fair dead dames will see and know.
+
+
+
+
+    THE GRAVE OF HOPE
+
+
+    There's a wild little gnome in the wood
+      Who sings as he digs a grave
+    Of Hope that soars and Hope that flies
+    And Hope that singes her wings, and lies
+      In peace where the willows wave.
+
+    And he croons in the pauses of toil,
+      A shivering song of Fears,
+    The lean black shades of Hope so fair
+    Who weave her nets with her golden hair
+      And harry her down the years.
+
+    And he knows she will perish at last,
+      He has carved her name on the stone
+    While the trees draw near and forget to sleep,
+    And the little leaves bend their heads and weep,
+      For Hope that must die alone.
+
+
+
+
+    TREES OF THE
+    WILDERNESS
+
+
+    The great bleak trees stand up against the sky
+      Lifting their naked arms in ceaseless prayer
+    To the unpitying heavens, that they might die,
+      Rather than drag their weary lives out there.
+
+    Thro' starless nights the untold hours wear on,
+      All awful phantom shapes affright the wood--
+    And morning light but brings th' unwinking sun,
+      To torture with its glare their solitude.
+
+    In those grim wilds no sweet-voiced bird will sing,
+      No flowers will bloom within those trackless lands,
+    Nor is there trace of any living thing,
+      Save those gaunt giants, holding up their hands.
+
+    And when they fall, still round the unknown spot
+      Howls the rough wind, till in the common ground
+    They end the life which is--and yet is not,--
+      A riddle where no meaning shall be found.
+
+
+
+
+    THE LOVE OF THE ROSE
+
+
+    Trilled forth the Nightingale
+      In sweetest sleep of day--
+        Unto his love, the rose,
+        Ah golden heart, unclose!
+      For love, my fairest rose, will last for aye.
+
+    So, thro' the waning night
+      She learned to wear her crown;
+        Yielded her heart's sweet strife
+        And found that love was life
+      Set to the time the dear bird lilted down.
+
+    But when the morning came
+      The red sun burned above;
+        Hid are the night birds all,
+        Flower petals fade and fall;
+      The rose is dead--and what became of love!
+
+
+
+
+    IN THE GREEN YEW
+
+
+    The wind is howling in angry pain,
+        Ah me, and I cannot rest;
+        On such a night home is best,
+    Why does she stand in the same old place
+    With the smile of smiles on her cold white face
+        And call me thro' the rain?
+
+    Ah--the Wind has died from the Fear of her smile--
+        And I creep quite still--
+        On over the hill,
+    To where she stands 'mid the scented yew
+    And where I now am standing too,
+        And she sees me all the while.
+
+    A little green snake curls thro' her hair--
+        The scent of the yew is strong and sweet--
+        Her eyes have drawn me to her feet,
+    And I lie along on the drenching ground
+    And worship--and watch the snake curl round,
+        His tongue shoots thro' the air.
+
+    Now--slowly she takes her eyes from me,
+        And I dream and wait,
+        Till in shades of hate
+    My love of her smile has faded quite
+    And I spring to kill her, there in the night--
+        But only the yew I see.
+
+
+
+
+    THE DEAD NIGHT
+
+
+    The strong brave Night is dead. Its endless deeps
+      Of patient tenderness, the moon-bright still
+      When every silver lake and purple hill
+    Hold wise unfathomed converse with the steeps
+    Of starry heaven, are past. All nature weeps
+      And draws the veiling grey of morning mist
+      Upon the lips that Night's last clouds have kist--
+    The Night that watched so well the world who sleeps.
+    The Night is dead--Alas--and pallid Day
+    is but the corpse laid out in cold array,
+    The white sad emblem of the heart we knew.
+    Through half-closed lids the eyes shine palely blue;
+    The gleaming grave clothes cover all the rest.
+    So cruel still lies now the air's sweet breast
+    And trees and hills fold down calm hands and eyes,
+    That none may guess their secret mysteries.
+
+
+
+
+    SONG
+
+
+    Softly sighs the gracious wind--
+      Dash of rose, in deeps of sky,
+    Love is fair and love is kind,--
+      Singing free--I passed him by.
+
+    Shredded clouds are whirled in air,
+      Winter stalks adown the gale
+    Tossing wide Love's golden hair--
+      Cease the singing--Love grows pale.
+
+    Howls the grey sky to the sea--
+      Loose the storm-dogs from their bed.
+    Turned I back--and woe is me--
+      I must die--for Love is dead.
+
+
+
+
+    SIGH NOT FOR LOVE
+
+
+    Sigh not for love, the ways of love are dark!
+      Sweet Child--hold up the hollow of your hand
+        And catch the sparks that flutter from the stars!
+        See how the late sky spreads in flushing bars!
+      They are dead roses from your own dear land
+    Tossed high by kindly breezes: lean, and hark,
+    And you shall know how morning glads her lark!
+      The timid Dawn, herself a little child
+        Casts up shy eyes in loving worship--dear,
+        Is it not yet enough? the Spring is here
+      And would you weep for Winter's tempest wild
+    Sigh not for love, the ways of love are dark!
+
+
+
+
+    AMBITION AND LOVE
+
+
+    Sweet, in the golden morning of my days,
+      With young tempestuous joy I reared my head
+    To gaze adown the splendid sunlit ways
+      Where all the fires of fame burned glory red,
+      I recked not where the sounding arches led,
+    Save at the end I gain my august bays.
+
+    But as of old, when through the patient night,
+      Fair losing or fair gaining, till the morn,
+    Great Israel strove to break the angel's might,
+      Till spent and failing, in his heavenly scorn,
+      Th' immortal wrestler touched the earthly born,
+    Striking him powerless, winning thus the fight.
+
+    So did false Fortune, when I strove and fought,
+      Smiling 'neath half-closed eyelids, when seemed won,
+    For a brief hour, the beckoning goal I sought--
+      Then with frustrating touch dimmed all my sun
+      Blotted the work and faith so brave begun;
+    But what I gained was none too dearly bought.
+
+    I have no wreath to lay before your feet;
+      There shines no future, and the past is dead;
+    But you have heard me, and I love you--Sweet.
+      The low sun crowns with gold your gracious head,
+      The heavy lilies nod upon their bed--
+    I look at you, and find my life complete.
+
+
+
+
+    TO B. D.
+
+
+    Broad browed beneath a cloud of dusky hair
+      Her eyes are midnight seas that never sleep
+    But see beyond the dull world's heavy air
+      The mystery of ages buried deep.
+
+    The faint sweet shadows trembling round her mouth
+      Lighten with youth and love the Sphinx's face.
+    And as she moves, a soft wind from the South
+      Floating, flower-laden seems--so sweet her grace.
+
+    Aloof she stands, from idle mirth and tears
+      And keeps the white sails of her spirit furled,
+    Altho' a girl, pure from the stain of years,
+      An ancient Egypt, smiling at the world.
+
+
+
+
+    LITTLE SAD FACE
+
+
+    Little sad face, come close, so close to mine,
+      See through these eyes the sweetness of the day,
+    Feel how the sunbeams dance in Summer's wine,
+    Hold fast my hands and let our pulse combine
+      And with my steps dance down the happy way;
+      For youth is love and love is light and gay,
+              Little sad face.
+
+    Little sad heart, come close, so close to mine,
+      And know the utmost limits of the will
+    Of all the worlds, till soft thy heart divine
+    A joy which can encompass grief like thine;
+      Hide in my breast, and let faint pulses thrill,
+      For youth is love, and love is great and still,
+              Little sad heart.
+
+    Little sad soul, which ne'er can come to mine,
+      So great in loneliness of grey despair,
+    There is not one whose spirit may entwine
+    With thee--the world looks on without a sign;
+      Go--hide thy face within thy tossing hair,
+      Thyself veil close with smiles, for none will care,
+              Little sad soul.
+
+
+
+
+    EARTH'S TEARS--
+    AND MAN'S
+
+
+    These slanting lines of hoary rain
+      Are as my grizzled hair;
+    The face of earth is old with pain
+      As mine--with dull despair.
+
+    And yet, one sun will gild the air,
+      Earth's tears were not in vain:
+    No smile can ease mine eyes of care
+      Or make me young again!
+
+
+
+
+    I HAVE SEEN
+    WHAT THE SERAPHS
+    HAVE SEEN
+
+
+    I have seen what the seraphs have seen
+      As they gaze thro' the limitless air--
+    Thro' the wind and the clouds to the lean
+      Pale face of the moon, and the bare
+      Bright flame of the sun, unaware,
+    I have seen what the seraphs have seen!
+
+    Thro' the limitless spaces of air
+      The brave mists that waver and wane
+    Are patient and pallid and fair.
+      I have fathomed the pride and the pain
+      Of the snows and compassionate rain
+    Thro' the limitless spaces of air.
+
+    I have known them, the brave mists that wane
+      And the glory and peace of the skies.
+    Where all strife and impatience are vain
+      And ahush are all passionate sighs,
+      For I gazed in the deeps of Love's eyes,
+    And I know what no seraphs shall gain!
+
+
+
+
+    A LASS FROM
+    THE WOODS
+
+
+    A lass from the woods
+    With a leaf in her hair!
+    And the rain of the night
+    And the wind of the morn,
+    They both quivered right;
+    For my spirit forlorn
+    In a garment of white
+    And a laugh newly born
+    Sprang in maddest of moods
+    Like a blossom in air
+    To the kiss of the sun
+    And the curl of the breeze,
+    Caught the cobwebs begun
+    In the hush of the trees
+    All my beatings were one
+    With the swirl of the seas.
+    Dead the creature that broods
+    In a tangle of care;
+    There's a lass from the woods
+    With a leaf in her hair.
+
+
+
+
+    WAS THERE
+    ANOTHER SPRING
+
+
+    Was there another Spring than this?
+      I half remember through the haze
+      Of glimmering nights and golden days,
+        A broken pinioned birdling's note,
+        An angry sky, a sea-wrecked boat,
+      A wandering through rain-beaten ways!
+    Lean closer, love--I have thy kiss!
+    Was there another Spring than this?
+
+
+
+
+    TO DIANE
+
+
+    The ruddy poppies bend and bow
+      Diane! do you remember?
+    The sun you knew shines proudly now
+    The lake still lists the breezes' vow;
+    Your towers are fairer for their stains,
+    Each stone you smiled upon remains.
+      Sing low, where is Diane?
+        Diane do you remember?
+
+    I come to find you through the years--
+      Diane! do you remember?
+    For none may rule my love's soft fears.
+    The ladies now are not your peers,
+    I seek you thro' your tarnished halls,
+    Pale sorrow on my spirit falls
+      High, low--where is Diane?
+        Diane do you remember?
+
+    I crush the poppies where I tread--
+      Diane! do you remember?
+    Your flower of life--so bright, so red--
+    She does not hear--Diane is dead.
+    I pace the sunny bowers alone
+    Where nought of her remains but stone.
+      Sing low--where is Diane?
+        Diane does not remember.
+
+
+
+
+    BIRD LOVE--
+    ROSE LOVE
+
+
+    If you were but a rose--dear love--
+      And I your bird, with dip of wing
+      To tell a promise of the Spring
+        And with a golden swift caress
+        My happy careless love confess,
+      No pain such gentle vows could bring,
+    No tears should stay my flight above,
+    If you were but a rose--dear love.
+
+    Bird-love, rose-love, to last the day
+      Why shall not we whose hearts are light
+      Put by the coming of the night,
+        Catch glints of rapture from the sky,
+        The scents that swing where lilies lie,
+      And ring them to a garland white
+    To ease the pain of life away?
+    Bird-love, rose-love, to last the day!
+
+
+
+
+    THE JOY OF LIFE
+
+
+    Her hair was twined with vine leaves thro' the gold,
+      The leopard skin about her shoulders flung
+    Showed gleams of her as marble--fair and cold;
+      I breathed not--listening to the song she sung.
+
+    Hither and thither thro' the solemn world,
+      Glory of purple, passionate blazing red
+    Glints thro' the gloom, and thro' the grey is swirled--
+      Ah! but the leaves twined sweet about her head.
+
+    "Heedless--men pass me in their search for life,
+      Hunting for altars to their souls' fine fires,
+    Crying the sun or joy of toil and strife
+      And know not that 'tis I--their heart desires.
+
+    They dream not that the sheen on peacock's breast,
+      The haze and perfume of a Summer's day,
+    The silver stealing o'er the twilight West
+      Are joys more rich than all the world's display."
+
+
+
+
+    MIST
+
+
+    Mist on the sea; like a great bird's pendulous wing,
+      Broken and hushed; it trails on the face of the main,
+    Down comes the sun, a red shot from a merciful sling
+      Burning its heart with swift death as an end to the pain.
+
+
+
+
+    THE LAST CLOUD
+
+
+    A red rose cloud upon the evening sky,
+      A gallant cloud which dies in foremost fight,
+      Too proud for prisons of triumphant night.
+    Knowing no pause, no strain of changing years,
+    Its little hour too short for dreams or tears,
+      The faithful sun its first and latest light--
+    Who would not so be glad to fight and die!
+    A red rose cloud upon the evening sky.
+
+
+
+
+    SONG
+
+
+    Love is a broken lily,
+      A pale and crownless rose
+    With golden heart made chilly
+      By traitor touch of snows.
+    So sleep my heart--lie sleeping
+      Nor open weary eyes,
+    For waking is but weeping
+      And Sleep is Paradise.
+
+    Love is a cadence trailing
+      Where broken music falls,
+    A hapless shadow sailing
+      Across deserted walls.
+    So still my heart lie sleeping
+      Till love's hot sun be set,
+    For waking is but weeping.
+      Asleep--sad eyes forget.
+
+
+
+
+    IN THE GRAVE
+
+
+    Dear Love--do you wake in that land where my waking is done?
+    Do you bare your brave head to the winds and the clouds and the sun?
+          And is Summer aflame?
+    Or has the night fallen to sleep on earth's wonderful breast,
+    And with it, all joys, save but you, who are dearest and best,
+          Wakeful--sighing my name?
+
+    Sometimes as I sleep, the sweet rain flickers over my head,
+    And smiling, I dream of the tears that your sorrow has shed;
+          Then I sigh and awake.
+    For the dreams of the grave are the dreams that have died
+       in the morn,
+    And their ghosts alone haunt the cold earth where their maker
+      was born,
+          For a woman's sweet sake.
+
+    Perhaps you are singing--and winding the garlands of May;
+    Not mine be the hand to withhold you the golden to-day,
+          Or give you pause to your song.
+    Perhaps the sweet blossoms may charm the grave's pestilent breath.
+    Ah! life is so short; so forget and be glad, dear--for death
+          Is so terribly long.
+
+
+
+
+    THE FLOWERS OF
+    PROSERPINE
+
+
+    The jewels of the sun are not more rare
+      Than these that lie upon my lurid halls.
+    The perfume kiss upon the drowsy air
+      Is sweet as Spring can hold within her walls.
+      The spell which night may cast upon her thralls
+    Is mine; the length of all this gloomy land
+    Knows no more sun than falls from my white hand.
+
+    My wealth great kings have prayed for--in their pride,
+      Bowing before me. Nay--I hate the place.
+    I am no queen at heart--my laughter died
+      That I might wear my crown with regal grace
+      The very flowers which smile on my sad face
+    I am afraid of. See! they are the worst
+    Of all my fears; so fair--yet black accurst.
+
+    The languid passion-poppy sways and dips
+      To show the black heart bursting into flame.
+    The crimson evil of a satyr's lips
+      A sneering nodding finger-post of shame;
+      A thousand other flowers without a name
+    Huddle all trembling in the dusk behind
+    Like hunted ghosts, whose eyes are white and blind.
+
+    The grass is not the grass that overhead
+      Cooled my bare feet with daisies' purest snows;
+    But thick pale blades, like fingers of the dead
+      Thrust from forgotten graves upon their foes.
+      Ah--horrid soil! for everything that grows
+    In this confine but mocks in wicked scorn
+    The fairness of the land where I was born.
+
+
+
+
+    Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO
+    London & Edinburgh
+
+
+
+
+[Transcriber's Note:
+
+Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained
+except in obvious cases of typographical error:
+
+    "Ehere is not one..." has been changed to "There is not one..."
+
+Italic printed text has been formatted as _text_.]
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Some Verses, by Helen Hay
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42330 ***