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diff --git a/old/song210.txt b/old/song210.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2efcba6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/song210.txt @@ -0,0 +1,981 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs of Two, by Arthur Sherburne Hardy + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Songs of Two + +Author: Arthur Sherburne Hardy + +Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9465] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 3, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF TWO *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +SONGS OF TWO + +BY ARTHUR SHERBURNE HARDY + + + +1900 + + + + +SONGS OF TWO + +I + + Last night I dreamed this dream: That I was dead; + And as I slept, forgot of man and God, + That other dreamless sleep of rest, + I heard a footstep on the sod, + As of one passing overhead,-- + And lo, thou, Dear, didst touch me on the breast, + Saying: "What shall I write against thy name + That men should see?" + Then quick the answer came, + "I was beloved of thee." + + +II + + Dear Giver of Thyself when at thy side, + I see the path beyond divide, + Where we must walk alone a little space, + I say: "Now am I strong indeed + To wait with only memory awhile, + Content, until I see thy face,--" + Yet turn, as one in sorest need, + To ask once more thy giving grace, + So, at the last + Of all our partings, when the night + Has hidden from my failing sight + The comfort of thy smile, + My hand shall seek thine own to hold it fast; + Nor wilt thou think for this the heart ingrate, + Less glad for all its past, + Less strong to bear the utmost of its fate. + + +III + + As once through forest shade I went, + I heard a flower call, and bent-- + Then strove to go. Should love not spare? + "Nay, Dearest, this is love's sweet share + Of selfishness. For which is best, + To die alone or on thy breast? + If thou hast heard my call, + Take fearlessly, thou art my guest-- + To give is all" + Hush! O Love, thou casuist! + + +IV + + Ask me not why,--I only _know_, + It were thy loss if I could show + Thee cause as for a lesser thing. + Remember how we searched the spring, + But found no source,--so clear the sky + Within its earth bound depths did lie, + Give to thy joy its wings, + And to thy heart its song, nor try + With questionings + The throbbing throat that sings. + + +V + + For in thy clear and steadfast eyes + Thine own self wonder deepest lies, + Nor any words that lips can teach + Are sweeter than their wonder speech. + And when thou givest them to me, + Through dawns of tenderness I see,-- + As in the water-sky, + The sun of certainly appear. + So, _ask_ me why, + For then thou knowest, Dear. + + +VI + + To give is more than to receive, men say. + But thou hast made them one! What if, some day, + Men bade me render back the gifts I cannot pay,-- + Since all were undeserved! should I obey? + Lo, all these years of giving, when we try + To own our thanks, we hear the giver cry; + "Nay, it was thou who givest, Dear, not I." + If Wisdom smile, let Wisdom go! + All things above + This is the truest; that we know because we love, + Not love because we know. + + +VII + + Let it not grieve thee, Dear, that Love is sad, + Who, changeless, loveth so the things that change,-- + The morning in thine eyes, the dusk within thy hair, + Were it not strange + If he were glad + Who cannot keep thy heart from care, + Or shelter from the whip of pain + The bosom where his head hath lain? + Poor sentinel, that may not guard + The door that love itself unbarred! + Who in the sweetness + Of his service knows its incompleteness, + And while he sings + Of life eternal, feels the coldness of Death's wings. + + +VIII + + Stoop with me, Dearest, to the grass + One little moment ere we pass + From out these parched and thirsty lands, + See! all these tiny blades are hands + Stretched supplicating to the sky, + And listen, Dearest, patiently,-- + Dost thou not hear them move? + The myriad roots that search, and cry + As hearts do, Love, + "Feed us, or let us die!" + + +IX + + Beloved, when far up the mountain side + We found, almost at eventide, + Our spring, how far we did fear + Lest it should dare the trackless wood + And disappear! + And lost all heart when on the crest we stood + And saw it spent in mist below! + Yet ever surer was its flow, + And, ever gathering to its own + New springs of which we had not known, + To fairer meadows + Swept exultant from the woodland shadows; + And when at last upon the baffling plain + We thought it scattered like a ravelled skein,-- + Lo, tranquil, free, + Its longed-for home, the wide unfathomable sea! + + +X + + Thy names are like sweet flowers that grow + Within a garden where I go, + Sometimes at dawn, to see each one + Life its head proudly in the sun; + Sometimes at night, + When only by the fragrant air, + I know them there. + And none are grieved or think I slight + Their worth, if closest to my breast, + This one I take which holds within its own + Each single fragrance of the rest,-- + My friend, my friend! + And as I loved it first alone, + So shall I love it to the end, + For none were half so dear were it not best. + + +XI + + My every purpose fashioned by some thought of thee, + Though as a feather's weight that shapes the arrow's flight it be; + No single joy complete in which thou bust, no fee, + Though thy share be the star and mine its shadow in the sea; + Thy very pulse my pulse, thy every prayer my prayer. + Thy love my blue o'erreaching sky that bounds me everywhere,-- + Yet free, Beloved, free! for this encircling air + I cannot leave behind, doth but love's boundlessness declare. + + +XII + + Last night the angel of remembrance brought + Me while I slept--think, Dear! of all his store + Just that one memory I thought + Banished forever from our door! + Thy sob of pain when once I hurt thee sure. + Then in my dream I suddenly was ware + Of God above me saying: "Reach + Thy hand to Me in prayer, + And I will give thee pardon yet." + Thou? Nay, she hath forgiven, teach + Her to forget. + + +XIII + + Love me not, Dearest, for the smile, + The tender greeting, or the wile + By which, unconscious of its road, + My soul seeks thine in its abode; + Nor say "I love thee of thine eyes,--" + For when Death shuts them, where thy skies? + But love me for my love, + Then am I safe from all surprise, + And thou above + The loss of all that dies. + + +XIV + + Dear hands, forgiving hands, + There is no speech so sure as thing. + Lips falter with so much + To tell, eyes fill with thoughts I scarce divine, + But thy least touch + Soul understands. + Dear giving, taking hands, + There are no gifts so free as thine. + One last gem from the heart of the mine, + One last cup from the veins of the vine, + From the rose to the wind one last sweet breath, + Then poverty, and death! + But thy dear palms + Are richest empty, asking alms. + + +XV + + A little moment at the end + Of day, left over in the candle light + On the shore of dreams, on the edge of sleep, + Too small to throw away, + Too poor to keep! + But it holds two words for thee, dear Friend,-- + Good-night, Good night! + And so this remnant of the day, + Left over in the candle-light + On the shore of dreams, on the edge of sleep, + Becomes too great to throw away, + Too dear to keep! + + +XVI + + Beloved, when I read some fine conceit, + Wherein are wrought as in glass + The features love hath made so sweet, + I marvel at so bold an art; + Seeing thou art too dear to praise + Upon the highway where men pass. + For when I seek + To tell the ways + God's hand of tenderness + Hath touched thine earthly part, + Again I hear + Thy first own cry of happiness, + And, sweetest of God's sounds, the dear + Remonstrance of thy giving heart,-- + And cannot speak! + + +XVII + + Across the plain of Time + I saw them marching all night long,-- + The endless throng + Of all who ever dared to fight with wrong. + All the blood their hearts, the prime + And crown of their fleeting years, + All the toil of their hands, the tears + Of their eyes, the thought of their brain, + For a word from the lips of Truth, + For a glimpse of the scroll of Fate, + Ere love and youth + Were spent in vain, + And even truth too late! + Oh, when the Silence speaks, and the scroll + Unrolls to the eye of the soul, + What will it be that shall pay the cost + Of the pain gone waste and the labor lost! + And then, Dear, waking, I saw you--- + And knew. + + +XVIII + + We thought when Love at last should come, + The rose would lose its thorn, + And every lip but Joy's be dumb + When Love, sweet Love, was born; + That never tears should start to rise, + No night o'ertake our morn, + Nor any guest of grief surprise, + When Love sweet Love, was born. + + And when he came, O Heart of mine! + And stood within our door, + No joy our dreaming could divine + Was missing from his store. + The thorns shall wound our hearts again, + But not the fear of yore, + for all the guests of grief and pain + Shall serve him evermore. + + +XIX + + Dost thou remember, Dear, the day + We met in those bare woods of May? + Each had a secret unconfessed, + Each sound a promise, in each nest. + Young wings a-tremble for the air,-- + How we joined hands?--not knowing where + The springs that touch set free + Should find their sea. + Speechless--so sure we were to share + The unknown good to be. + + +XX + + The woods are bare again. There are + No secrets now, the bud's a scar; + No promises,--this is the end! + Ah, Dearest, I have seen thee bend + Above thy flowers as one who knew + The dying wood should bloom anew. + Come, let us sleep, Perchance + God's countenance, + Like thine above thy flowers, smiles through + The night upon us two. + + + + +VERSES MY FRIEND + + I have a friend who came,--I know not how, + Nor he. Among the crowd, apart, + I feel the pressure of his hand, and hear + In very truth the beating of his heart. + + My soul had shut the door of abode, + So poor it seemed for any guest + To tarry there a night,--until he came, + Asking, not entertainment, only rest. + + Our hands were empty,-his and mine alike, + He says--until they joined. I see + The gifts he brought; but where were mine + That he should say "I too have need of thee?" + + Without the threshold of his heart I wait + Abashed, afraid to enter where + So radiant a company do meet, + Yet enter boldly, knowing I am there. + Whether his hand shall press my latch to-night, + To-morrow, matters not. He came + Unsummoned, he will come again; and I, + Though dead, shall answer to my name. + + And yet, dear friend, in whom I rest content, + Speak to me _now_--lest when we meet + Where tears and hunger have no grace, + A little word of friendship be less sweet. + + + + +ON NE BADINE PAS AVEC LA MORT + + 1 + + The dew was full of sun that morn + _(Oh I heard the doves in the ladyricks coop!)_ + As he crossed the meadows beyond the corn, + Watching his falcon in the blue. + How could he hear my song so far,-- + The song of the blood where the pulses are! + Straight through the fields he came to me, + _(Oh I saw his soul as I saw the dew!)_ + But I hid my joy that he might not see, + I hid it deep within my breast, + As the starling hides in the maize her nest. + + + 2 + + Back through the corn he turned again, + _(Oh little he cared where his falcon flew!)_ + And my heart lay still in the hand of pain, + As in winter's hand the rivers do. + How could he hear its secret cry, + The cry of the dove when the cummers die! + Thrice in the maize he turned to me, + _(Oh I saw his soul as I saw the dew!)_ + But I hid my pain that he might not see-- + I hid it deep as the grave is made, + Where the heart that can ache no more is laid. + + + 3 + + Last night, where grows the river grass, + _(Oh the stream was dark though the moon was new!)_ + I saw white Death with my lover pass, + Side by side as the troopers so. + "Give me," said Death, "thy purse well-filled, + And thy mantle-clasp which the moonbeams gild; + Save the heart which beats for thy dear sake," + _(Oh I saw my heart as I saw the dew!)_ + "All life hath given is Death's to take." + Dear God! how can I love thy day + If thou takest the heart that loves away! + + + + +ITER SUPREMUM + + Oh, what a night for a soul to go! + The wind a hawk, and the fields in snow; + No screening cover of leaves in the wood, + Nor a star abroad the way to show. + + Do they part in peace, soul with its clay? + Tenant and landlord, what do they say? + Was it sigh of sorrow or of release + I heard just now as the face turned gray? + + What if, aghast on the shoreless main + Of Eternity, it sought again + The shelter and rest of the Isle of Time, + And knocked at the door of its house of pain! + + On the tavern hearth the embers glow, + The laugh is deep and the flagons low; + But without, the wind and the trackless sky, + And night at the gates where a soul would go! + + + + +ON THE FLY-LEAF OF THE RUBAIYAT + + Deem not this book a creed, 't is but the cry + Of one who fears not death, yet would not die; + Who at the table feigns with sorry jest. + To love the wine the Master's hand has pressed, + The while he loves the absent Master best,-- + The bitter cry of Love for love's reply! + + + + +IN AN ALBUM + + Like the south-flying swallow the summer has flown, + Like a fast-falling star, from unknown to unknown + Life flashes and falters and fails from our sight,-- + Good-night, friends, good-night. + + Like home-coming swallows that seek the old eaves, + Like the buds that wait patient beneath the dead leaves, + Love shall sleep in our hearts till our hands meet again, + Till then, friends, till then! + + + + +WITH APRIL ARBUTUS, TO A FRIEND + + Fairer than we the woods of May, + Yet sweeter blossoms do not grow + Than these we send you from our snow, + Cramped are their stems by winter's cold, + And stained their leaves with last year's mould; + For these are flowers which fought their way + Through ice and cold in sun and air, + With all a soul might do and dare, + Hope, that outlives a world's decay, + Enduring faith that will not die, + And love that gives, not knowing why, + Therefore we send them unto you; + And if they are not all your due, + Once they have looked into your face + Your graciousness will give them place. + You know they were not born to bloom + Like roses in a crowded room; + For though courageous they are shy, + Loving but one sweet hand and eye. + Ah, should you take them to the rest, + The warmth, the shelter of your breast, + Since on the bleak + And frozen bosom of our snows + They dared to smile, on yours who knows + But that they might not dare to speak! + + + + +IMMORTALITY + + My window is the open sky, + The flower in farthest wood is mine; + I am the heir to all gone by, + The eldest son of all the line. + + And when the robbers Time and Death + Athwart my path conspiring stand, + I cheat them with a clod, a breath, + And pass the sword from hand to hand! + J. E. B. + + + Not all the pageant of the setting sun + Should yield the tired eyes of man delight, + No sweet beguiling power had stars at night + To soothe his fainting heart when day is done, + Nor any secret voice of benison + Might nature own, were not each sound and sight + The sign and symbol of the infinite, + The prophecy of things not yet begun. + So had these lips, so early sealed with sleep, + No fruitful word, life no power to move + Our deeper reverence, did we not see + How more than all he said, he was,--how, deep + Below this broken life, he ever wove + The finer substance of a life to be. + + + + +BY A GRAVE + + Oft have I stood within the carven door + Of some cathedral at the close of the day, + And seen its softened splendors fade away + From lucent pane and tessellated floor, + As if a parting guest who comes no more,-- + Till over all silence and blackness lay, + Then rose sweet murmurings of them that pray, + And shone the altar lamps unseen before, + So, Dear, as here I stand with thee alone, + The voices of the world sound faint and far, + The glare and glory of the moon grow dim, + And in the stillness, what I had not known, + I know,--a light, pure shining as a star, + A song, uprising like a holy hymn. + + + + +DUALITY + + Within me are two souls that pity each + The other for the ends they seek, yet smile + Forgiveness, as two friends that love the while + The folly against which each feigns to preach. + + And while one barters in the market-place, + Or drains the cup before the tavern fire, + The other, winged with a divine desire, + searches the solitary wastes of space. + + And if o'ercome with pleasure this one sleeps, + The other steals away to lay its ear + Upon some lip just cold, perchance to hear + Those wondrous secrets which it knows--and keeps! + + + + +LULLABY + + O Mary, Mother, if the day we trod + In converse sweet the lily-fields of God, + From earth afar arose a cry of pain, + Would we not weep again? + (_Sings_) Hush, hush, O baby mine, + Mothers twain are surely thine, + One of earth and One divine. + + O Mary, Mother, if the day the air + Was sweet with songs celestial, came a prayer + From earth afar and mingled with the strain, + Would we not pray again? + (_Sings_) Sleep, sleep, my baby dear, + Mothers twain are surely near, + One to pray and one to hear. + + O Mary, Mother, if, as yesternight + A bird sought shelter at my casement light, + A wounded soul should flutter to thy breast, + Wouldst thou refuse it rest? + (_Sings_) Sleep, darling, peacefully, + Mary, Mother, comforts me; + Christ, her son, hath died for thee. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs of Two, by Arthur Sherburne Hardy + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF TWO *** + +This file should be named song210.txt or song210.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, song211.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, song210a.txt + +Produced by Ted Garvin and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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