Dream-Song.

Cam'st thou not nigh to me
In that one glimpse of thee
When thy lips, tremblingly,
        Said: "My Beloved."
'Twas but a moment's space,
And in that crowded place
I dared not scan thy face
        O! my Beloved.

Yet there may come a time
(Though loving be a crime
Only allowed in rhyme
        To us, Beloved),
When safe 'neath sheltering arm
I may, without alarm,
Hear thy lips, close and warm,
        Murmur: "Beloved!"

Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley

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Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley

Slack Tide.

Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley, Simple Poetry

Soothing.

Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley, Simple Poetry

Weariness.

Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley, Simple Poetry

Rondeau. - It Might Have Been.

Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley, Simple Poetry

English

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Song.

Deep in the green bracken lying,
    Close by the welcoming sea,
Dream I, and let all my dreaming
    Drift as it will, Love, to thee.

Sated with splendid caresses
    Showered by the sun in his pride,
Scorched by his passionate kisses
    Languidly ebbs the tide.

Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley

Incompleteness.

Since first I met thee, Dear, and long before
    I knew myself beloved, save by the sense
    All women have, a shadowy confidence
Half-fear, that feels its bliss nor asks for more,
    I have learned new desires, known Love's distress
    Sounded the deepest depths of loneliness.

I was a child at heart, and lived alone,
    Dreaming my dreams, as children may, at whiles,
    Between their hours of play, and Earth's broad smiles
Allured my heart, and ocean's marvellous tone
    Woke no strange echoes, and the woods' complain
    Made chants sonorous, stirred no thoughts of pain.

And if, sometimes, dear Nature spoke to me
    In tones mysterious, I had learned so much
    Dwelling beside her daily, that her touch
Made me discerning. Though I migh...

Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley

Shadow Song.

The night is long
    And there are no stars, -
        Let me but dream
        That the long fields gleam
With sunlight and song,
Then I shall not long
    For the light of stars.

Let me but dream, -
    For there are no stars, -
        Dream that the ache
        And the wild heart-break
Are but things that seem.
Ah! let me dream
    For there are no stars.

Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley

Parted.

My spirit holds you, Dear,
Though worlds away," -
This to their absent ones
Many can say.

"Thoughts, fancies, hopes, desires,
All must be yours;
Sweetest my memories still
Of our past hours."

I can say more than this
Now, lover mine, -
Here can I feel your kiss
Warmer than wine,

Feel your arms folding me,
Know that quick breath
That aye my soul would stir
Even in death.

'Tis not a memory, Love,
Thoughts of the past,
Fleeting remembrances
Which may not last, -

But, as I shut my eyes
Know I the sign
That you are here, yourself,
Bodily, mine. -

So, Love, I cannot say
"My spirit flies
Over the widening space,
Under dull skies,

To where your spirit is...

Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley

Anticipation.

Let us peer forward through the dusk of years
    And force the silent future to reveal
    Her store of garnered joys; we may not kneel
For ever, and entreat our bliss with tears.
    Somewhere on this drear earth the sunshine lies,
    Somewhere the air breathes Heaven-blown harmonies.

Some day when you and I have fully learned
    Our waiting-lesson, wondering, hand in hand
    We shall gaze out upon an unknown land,
Our thoughts and our desires forever turned
    From our old griefs, as swallows, home warding,
    Sweep ever southward with unwearied wing.

We shall fare forth, comrades for evermore.
    Though the ill-omened bird Time loves to bear
    Has brushed this cheek and left an impress there
I shall be fierce and dauntless as of yore,
 ...

Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley

To-Morrow.

But one short night between my Love and me!
    I watch the soft-shod dusk creep wistfully
    Through the slow-moving curtains, pausing by
And shrouding with its spirit-fingers free
    Each well-known chair. There is a growing grace
    Of tender magic in this little place.

Comes through half-opened windows, soft and cool
    As Spring's young breath, the vagrant evening air,
    My day-worn soul is hushed. I fain would bear
No burdens on my brain to-night, no rule
    Of anxious thought; the world has had my tears,
    My thoughts, my hopes, my aims these many years;

This is Thy hour, and I shall sink to sleep
    With a glad weariness, to know that when
    The new day dawns I shall lay by my pen
Needed no more. If I, perchance, should weep
   ...

Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley