Šrift:Väiksem АаSuurem Aa
Margaret and Dora
Margaret's beauteous, – Grecian arts
Ne'er drew form completer;
Yet why, in my heart of hearts,
Hold I Dora's sweeter?
Dora's eyes of heavenly blue
Pass all painting's reach, —
Ringdoves' notes are discord to
The music of her speech.
Artists! Margaret's smile receive,
And on canvas show it;
But for perfect worship, leave
Dora to her poet.
Out in the Cold
Under a bough without berries or leaves,
Where the keen winter's slave silver webs weaves,
Where the bleak, bitter blast swoops o'er the hill,
Where the swift-flying flake never is still,
Maidens three,
Here are we,
Surely not old.
Pity us,
Succor us,
Out in the cold!
New Year's morn tempted us out in the snow,
Rudely the blast came down, making cheeks glow,
Snatching at wrap and veil, seeking to hurl
Dead leaf and flake at us, tangled each curl.
Company
Maidens three
Are not, 'tis told;
'Tis not fair;
We despair,
Out in the cold.
Shelter we seek in vain here mid the storm,
Waiting most patiently some welcome warm;
'Tis but a secret to you told apart —
The shelter that we would have lies in some heart.
Sad our lot,
Blame us not,
Think us not bold;
Even Eve
Sure would grieve,
Left in the cold.
Who has not told of the tendril-tipped vine,
Breathed of the blossoms in poetry's line,
Vowed that the former needs where it may twine,
And the latter a stay where its petals may shine?
Yet alone
Here we moan
Troubles untold;
Blossoms pale,
Vine a-trail,
Out in the cold.
But hark! there are steps coming over the snow,
To set our hearts beating and make our cheeks glow;
And yet how a-tremble each one falls again,
As longing hearts ponder on flight by the lane!
Yet elate,
'Tis too late;
Eager and bold
Three appear —
Nay, are here,
Out in the cold.
The Annoyer
Love knoweth every form of air,
And every shape of earth,
And comes, unbidden, everywhere,
Like thought's mysterious birth.
The moonlit sea and the sunset sky
Are written with Love's words,
And you hear his voice unceasingly,
Like song, in the time of birds.
He peeps into the warrior's heart,
From the tip of a stooping plume,
And the serried spears, and the many men,
May not deny him room.
He'll come to his tent in the weary night,
And be busy in his dream,
And he'll float to his eye in morning light,
Like a fay on a silver beam.
He hears the sound of the hunter's gun,
And rides on the echo back,
And sighs in his ear like a stirring leaf
And flits in his woodland track.
The shade of the wood and the sheen of the river,
The cloud and the open sky, —
He will haunt them all with his subtle quiver,
Like the light of your very eye.
He blurs the print of the scholar's book,
And intrudes in the maiden's prayer,
And profanes the cell of the holy man
In the shape of a lady fair.
In the darkest night and the bright daylight,
In earth, and sea, and sky,
In every home of human thought,
Will Love be lurking nigh.
Desolate
The day goes down red, darkling,
The moaning waves dash out the light,
And there is not a star of hope sparkling
On the threshold of my night.
Wild winds of Autumn go wailing
Up the valley and over the hill,
Like yearning ghosts round the world sailing,
In search of the old love still.
A fathomless sea is rolling
O'er the wreck of the bravest bark;
And my pain-muffled heart is tolling
Its dumb peal down in the dark.
The waves of a mighty sorrow
Have whelméd the pearl of my life;
And there cometh to me no morrow
Shall solace this desolate strife.
Gone are the last faint flashes,
Set is the sun of my years;
And over a few poor ashes
I sit in my darkness and tears.
Linger, O Gentle Time
Linger, O gentle Time,
Linger, O radiant grace of bright to-day!
Let not the hours' chime
Call thee away,
But linger near me still with fond delay.
Linger, for thou art mine!
What dearer treasures can the Future hold?
What sweeter flowers than thine
Can she unfold?
What secret tell my heart thou hast not told?
Oh, linger in thy flight!
For shadows gather round, and should we part,
A dreary, stirless night
May fill my heart.
Then pause and linger yet ere thou depart.
Linger, I ask no more.
Thou art enough forever – thou alone.
What Future can restore
When thou art flown,
All that I hold for thee and call my own?
Bonnie Bessie
I love Bessie and she loves me —
Bonnie Bessie, who lives by the sea,
Sweet and lovely as lass can be;
White and rosy, with eyes of blue,
Luminous eyes, like globes of dew, —
You see the morning firmament through!
Light and grace in her motion free,
Sweetest lady of all I see,
For I love Bessie and she loves me!
Some have houses, and some have stocks,
And some have treasure in veinéd rocks,
And some heap gold in an iron box;
Cattle and horses and sheep have some;
For another his great ships go and come,
And a hundred mills for his brother hum;
But I, who have only an eye to see
And a heart to bless her, can happier be,
For I love Bessie and she loves me!
One flaunts a title before his name,
And one behind his, – both for the same, —
Baggage checked to the Station of Fame!
Office and honors, ribbons and fees,
Some for those, and others for these,
Wrestle and run in the mire to their knees;
But I, with only a name that she
Makes musical, can happier be,
For I love Bessie and she loves me!
My lady is eight years old to-day,
A stave of music that danced away
In a fairy's form, – a morning ray
Involved in vapors of misty pearl,
That flushed and throbbed in a dainty whirl,
Till it stepped to earth a living girl,
With the sun-steeped mist yet rippling free,
For her golden hair! my bliss to be,
For I love Bessie and she loves me!
I see by the glass that Time has tossed
Over my locks his powdery frost;
But whoot, old man, your labor is lost!
For every day you lessen the way
Between me and my delicate fay,
My bonny, bounding Bessie Grey;
Years may whiten what white may be,
But the heart she lightens is young as she,
For I love Bessie and she loves me!