Evening Mood

Late, when the sun was smouldering down the west,
She took my arm and laid her cheek to me;
The fainting twilight held her, and I guess'd
All she would tell, but could not let me see--
Wonder and joy, the rising of her breast,
And confidence, and still expectancy.

Maurice Henry Hewlett

Maurice Henry Hewlett was an English historical novelist, poet, and essayist. His works often blended history and romance and he was known for his vivid characterizations and settings. Among his many works, 'The Forest Lovers' and 'Richard Yea-and-Nay' are some of the best known. Hewlett was a contemporary and sometimes critic of modernist trends in literature, favoring more traditional storytelling techniques.

Maurice Henry Hewlett

Gnatho

Maurice Henry Hewlett, Simple Poetry

Oreithyia

Maurice Henry Hewlett, Simple Poetry

Quel Giorno Più ...

Maurice Henry Hewlett, Simple Poetry

Cloister Thoughts

Maurice Henry Hewlett, Simple Poetry

English

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Presence

When she had left us but a little while,
I still could hear the ringing of her voice,
Still see athwart the dusk her shy half-smile
And that sweet trust wherein I most rejoice.

Then in her self-same tones I heard, "Go thou,
Set to that work appointed thee to do,
Remembering I am with thee here and now,
Watchful as ever. See, my eyes shine true!"

I lookt, and saw the concourse of clear stars,
Steadfast, of limpid candour, and could discover
Her soul look on me thro' the prison-bars
Which slunk like sin from such an honest Lover:

And thro' the vigil-pauses of that night
She beam'd on me; and my soul felt her light.

Maurice Henry Hewlett

At Sunset

To-night the west o'er-brims with warmest dyes;
Its chalice overflows
With pools of purple colouring the skies,
Aflood with gold and rose;
And some hot soul seems throbbing close to mine,
As sinks the sun within that world of wine.

I seem to hear a bar of music float
And swoon into the west;
My ear can scarcely catch the whispered note,
But something in my breast
Blends with that strain, till both accord in one,
As cloud and colour blend at set of sun.

And twilight comes with grey and restful eyes,
As ashes follow flame.
But O! I heard a voice from those rich skies
Call tenderly my name;
It was as if some priestly fingers stole
In benedictions o'er my lonely soul.

I know not why, but all my being longed
And leapt at that sweet ...

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Strange Fits Of Passion Have I Known

Strange fits of passion have I known:
And I will dare to tell,
But in the lover's ear alone,
What once to me befell.

When she I loved looked every day
Fresh as a rose in June,
I to her cottage bent my way,
Beneath an evening-moon.

Upon the moon I fixed my eye,
All over the wide lea;
With quickening pace my horse drew nigh
Those paths so dear to me.

And now we reached the orchard-plot;
And, as we climbed the hill,
The sinking moon to Lucy's cot
Came near, and nearer still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature's gentlest boon!
And all the while my eye I kept
On the descending moon.

My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised, and never stopped:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At on...

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Kin Confessed

Long loving, all our love was husbanded
Until one morning on the brown hillside,
One misty Autumn morn when Sun did hide
His radiance, yet was felt. No words we said,
But in one flash transfigured, glorified,
All her heart's tumult beating white and red,
She fell prone on her face and hid her wide
Over-brimmed eyes in dewy fern.
    I prayed,
Then spake, "In us two now is manifest
That throbbing kindred whereof thou art graft
And I the grafted, in this holy place."
She, turning half, with sober shame confest
Discovery, then hid her rosy face.
I read her wilding heart, and my heart laught.

Maurice Henry Hewlett

An Evening In October

Evening has thrown her hushing garment round
This little world; no harsh or jarring sound
Disturbs my reverie. The room is dark,
And kneeling at the window I can mark
Each light and shadow of the scene below.
The placid glistening pools, the streams that flow
Through the red earth, left by the hurrying tide;
The ridge of mountain on the farther side
Shewing more black for many twinkling lights
That come and go about the gathering heights.
Below me lie great wharves, dreary and dim,
And lumber houses crowding close and grim
Like giant shadowed guardians of the port,
With towering chimneys outlined tall and swart
Against the silver pools. Two figures pace
The wharf in ghostly silence, face from face.
O'er the black line of mountain, silver-clear
In faint ro...

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Absence

When she had left us but a little while
Methought I sensed her spirit here and there
About my house: upon the empty stair
Her robe brusht softly; o'er her chamber still
There lay her fragrant presence to beguile
Numb heart, dead heart. I knelt before her chair,
And praying felt her hand laid on my hair,
Felt her sweet breath, and guess'd her wistful smile.

Then thro' my tears I lookt about the room,
But she was gone. I heard my heart beat fast;
The street was silent; I could not see her now.
Sorrow and I took up our load, and past
To where our station was with heads bent low,
And autumn's death-moan shiver'd thro' the gloom.

Maurice Henry Hewlett