Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley

My boat is still in the reedy cove
Where the rushes hinder its onward course,
For I care not now if we rest or move
O'er the slumberous tide to the river's source.

My boat is fast in the tall dank weeds
And I lay my oars in silence by,
And lean, and draw the slippery reeds
Through my listless fingers carelessly.

The babbling froth of the surface foam
Clings close to the side of my moveless boat,
Like endless meshes of honeycomb, -
And I break it off, and send it afloat.

A faint wind stirs, and I drift along
Far down the stream to its utmost bound,
And the thick white foam-flakes gathering strong
Still cling, and follow, and fold around.

Oh! the weary green of the weedy waste,
The thickening scum of the frothy foam,
And the tor...

Where is the waiting-time?
    Where are the fears?
Gone with the winter's rime,
    The bygone years.

O'er life's plain, lone and vast,
    Slow treads the morn,
Night shades have moved and passed,
    Joy's day is born.

Red gleams the mountain ridge,
    Slow the stream creeps
Under the old bent bridge,
    And labor sleeps.

There are no restless birds,
    No leaves that stir,
Dusk her gray mantle girds,
    Night's harbinger.

The storm-soul's change and start
    Pause, lull, and cease;
In my unquiet heart
    Is born a peace.

"Tshirr!" scolds the oriole
    Where the elms stir,
Flaunting her gourd-like nest
On the tree's swaying crest:
"May's here, I cannot rest,
    Go away; tshirr!"

"Tshirr!" scolds the oriole
    Where the leaves blur,
Giving her threads a jerk,
Spying where rivals lurk,
"May's here, and I'm at work.
    Go away, tshirr!"

    If I had known
That when the morrow dawned the roses would be dead
I would have filled my hands with blossoms white and red.
    If I had known!

    If I had known
That I should be to-day deaf to all happy birds
I would have lain for hours to listen to your words.
    If I had known!

    If I had known
That with the morning light you would be gone for aye
I would have been more kind; - sweet Love had won his way
    If I had known.

Joy came in youth as a humming-bird,
    (Sing hey! for the honey and bloom of life!)
And it made a home in my summer bower
With the honeysuckle and the sweet-pea flower.
    (Sing hey! for the blossoms and sweets of life!)

Joy came as a lark when the years had gone,
    (Ah! hush, hush still, for the dream is short!)
And I gazed far up to the melting blue
Where the rare song dropped like a golden dew.
    (Ah! sweet is the song tho' the dream be short!)

Joy hovers now in a far-off mist,
    (The night draws on and the air breathes snow!)
And I reach, sometimes, with a trembling hand
To the red-tipped cloud of the joy-bird's land.
    (Alas! for the days of the storm and the snow!)

Low laughed the Columbine,
Trembled her petals fine
    As the breeze blew;
In her dove-heart there stirred
Murmurs the dull bee heard,
And Love, Life's wild white bird,
    Straightway she knew.

Resting her lilac cheek
Gently, in aspect meek,
    On the gray stone,
The morning-glory, free,
Welcomed the yellow bee,

Heard the near-rolling sea
    Murmur and moan.

Calm lay the tawny sand
Stretching a long wet hand
    To the far wave.
Swift to her warm waiting breast
Longing to be possessed
Leaps 'neath his billowy crest
    Her Lover brave.

I have known a thousand pleasures, -
    Love is best -
Ocean's songs and forest treasures,
    Work and rest,
Jewelled joys of dear existence,
Triumph over Fate's resistance,
But to prove, through Time's wide distance,
    Love is best.

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.

I aimless wandered thro' the woods, and flung
My idle limbs upon a soft brown bank,
Where, thickly strewn, the worn-out russet leaves
Rustled a faint remonstrance at my tread.
The yellow fungi, shewing pallid stems,
The mossy lichen creeping o'er the stones
And making green the whitened hemlock-bark,
The dull wax of the woodland lily-bud,
On these my eye could rest, and I was still.
No sound was there save a low murmured cheep
From an ambitious nestling, and the slow
And oft-recurring plash of myriad waves
That spent their strength against the unheeding shore.
Over and through a spreading undergrowth
I saw the gleaming of the tranquil sea.
The woody scent of mosses and sweet ferns,
Mingled with the fresh brine, and came to me,
Bringing a laudanum to my ce...

There is no God? If one should stand at noon
Where the glow rests, and the warm sunlight plays,
Where earth is gladdened by the cordial rays
And blossoms answering, where the calm lagoon
Gives back the brightness of the heart of June,
And he should say: "There is no sun" - the day's
Fair shew still round him, - should we lose the blaze
And warmth, and weep that day has gone so soon?

Nay, there would be one word, one only thought,
"The man is blind!" and throbs of pitying scorn
    Would rouse the heart, and stir the wondering mind.
We feel, and see, and therefore know, - the morn
With blush of youth ne'er left us till it brought
    Promise of full-grown day. "The man is blind!"

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
   ...

The world may rage without,
Quiet is here;
Statesmen may toil and shout,
Cynics may sneer;
The great world, - let it go, -
June warmth be March's snow,
I care not, - be it so
Since I am here.

Time was when war's alarm
Called for a fear,
When sorrow's seeming harm
Hastened a tear.
Naught care I now what foe
Threatens, for scarce I know
How the year's seasons go
Since I am here.

This is my resting-place
Holy and dear,
Where pain's dejected face
May not appear;
This is the world to me,
Earth's woes I will not see,
But rest contentedly
Since I am here.

Is't your voice chiding, Love,
My mild career,
My meek abiding, Love,
Daily so near? -
"Danger and loss," to me?
Ah, Sweet, I fear t...

The sky, grown dull through many waiting days,
Flashed into crimson with the sunrise charm,
So all my love, aroused to vague alarm,
Flushed into fire and burned with eager blaze.
I saw thee not as suppliant, with still gaze
Of pleading, but as victor, - and thine arm
Gathered me fast into embraces warm,
And I was taught the light of Love's dear ways.

This day of triumph is no longer thine,
Oh conqueror, in calm exclusive power. -
As evermore, through storm, and shade, and shine,
    Your woe my pain, your joy my ecstasy,
We breathe together, - so this blessed hour
    Of self-surrender makes my jubilee!

This April sun has wakened into cheer
    The wintry paths of thought, and tinged with gold
    These threadbare leaves of fancy brown and old.
This is for us the wakening of the year
    And May's sweet breath will draw the waiting soul
    To where in distance lies the longed-for goal.

The summer life will still all questioning,
    The leaves will whisper peace, and calm will be
    The wild, vast, blue, illimitable sea.
And we shall hush our murmurings, and bring
    To Nature, green below and blue above,
    A whole life's worshipping, a whole life's love.

We will not speak of sometime fretting fears,
    We will not think of aught that may arise
    In future hours to cloud our golden skies.
Some souls there are who love their woes and tears,