The Song Of The Young Page

All that I know of love I see
In eyes that never look at me;
All that I know of love I guess
But from another's happiness.

A beggar at the window I,
Who, famished, looks on revelry;
A slave who lifts his torch to guide
The happy bridegroom to his bride.

My granddam told me once of one
Whom all her village spat upon,
Seeing the church from out its breast
Had cast him cursed and unconfessed.

An outcast he who dared not take
The wafer that God's vicars break,
But dull-eyed watched his neighbours pass
With shining faces from the Mass.

Oh thou, my brother, take my hand,
More than one God hath blessed and banned
And hidden from man's anguished glance
The glory of his countenance.

All that I know of love I see
In eyes that never look at me;
All that I know of love I guess
But from another's happiness.

Theodosia Garrison

Theodosia Garrison was an American poet known for her lyrical and often melancholic verse. Born on May 26, 1874, her poetry often explored themes of love, loss, and introspection. Throughout her career, Garrison contributed to various literary magazines and became a respected figure in the early 20th-century literary circles. She passed away on August 27, 1944, leaving behind a legacy of poignant and expressive poetry.

Theodosia Garrison

Good-Bye, Pierrette

Theodosia Garrison, Simple Poetry

The Return

Theodosia Garrison, Simple Poetry

The Mother

Theodosia Garrison, Simple Poetry

The Awakening

Theodosia Garrison, Simple Poetry

English

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The Bride

I

Though other eyes were turned to him,
He turned to look in mine;
Though others filled the cup abrim,
He might not taste the wine.

I am so glad my eyes were first
In which his own might sink;
I am so glad he went athirst
Until I bade him drink.


II

The Well-Belovèd took my hand
And led me to his fair abode,
The home that Love and he had planned.
(Strange that so well I knew the road.)

And through the open door we went,
And at our feet the hearth-light fell,
And I--I laughed in all content,
Seeing I knew the place so well.

Ah, to no stranger Love displayed
Its every nook, its every grace,
This was the House of Dreams I made
Long, long before I saw his face.


III

I jest...

Theodosia Garrison

Lovelace Grown Old

I

My life has been like a bee that roves
Through a scented garden close,
And 'tis I who have kept the honey of love,
The hoarded sweetness and scent thereof,
For all I forget the rose.

Oh, exquisite gardens long forgot
That have made my store complete,
Though winter fall upon blossom and bee,
Yet the kisses I garnered remain with me
Forever and ever sweet.


II

The Priest hath had his word and said his say--
A word i' faith more honest than beguiling--
But now he turns upon his gloomy way--
Good soul, he leaves me smiling.

I may not ponder much on future wrath;
Of all those loves of mine, some six or seven,
Surely ere this have climbed that thorny path
That leads at last to Heaven.

My bold, brown beau...

Theodosia Garrison

The Seer Of Hearts

For mocking on men's faces
He only sees instead
The hidden, hundred traces
Of tears their eyes have shed.

Above their lips denying,
Through all their boasting dares,
He hears the anguished crying
Of old unanswered prayers.

And through the will's reliance
He only sees aright
A frightened child's defiance
Left lonely in the night.

Theodosia Garrison

The Return

I lost Young Love so long ago
I had forgot him quite,
Until a little lass and lad
Went by my door to-night.

Ah, hand in hand, but not alone,
They passed my open door,
For with them walked that other one
Who paused here Mays before.

And I, who had forgotten long,
Knew suddenly the grace
Of one who in an empty land
Beholds a kinsman's face.

Oh, Young Love, gone these many years,
'Twas you came back to-night,
And laid your hand on my two eyes
That they might see aright,

And took my listless hand in yours
(Your hands without a stain),
And touched me on my tired heart
That it might beat again.

Theodosia Garrison

The Unknowing

They do not know the awful tears we shed,
The tender treasures that we keep and kiss;
They could not be so still--our quiet dead
In knowing this.

They do not know what time we turn to fill
Love's empty chalice with a cheaper bliss;
They could not be so still--so very still
In knowing this.

Theodosia Garrison

The Grief

The heart of me's an empty thing, that never stirs at all
For Moon-shine or Spring-time, or a far bird's call.
I only know 'tis living by a grief that shakes it so,--
Like an East wind in Autumn, when the old nests blow.

Grey Eyes and Black Hair, 'tis never you I blame.
'Tis long years and easy years since last I spoke your name.
And I'm long past the knife-thrust I got at wake or fair.
Or looking past the lighted door and fancying you there.

Grey Eyes and Black Hair--the grief is never this;
I've long forgot the soft arms--the first, wild kiss.
But, Oh, girl that tore my youth,--'tis this I have to bear,--
If you were kneeling at my feet I'd neither stay nor care.

Theodosia Garrison