Theodosia Garrison

So quietly I seem to sit apart;
I think she does not know or guess at all,
How dear this certain hour to my old heart,
When in our quiet street the shadows fall.

She leans and listens at the little gate.
I sit so still, not any eye might see
How watchfully before her there I wait
For that one step that brings my world to me.

She does not know that long before they meet
(So eagerly must go a love athirst),
My heart outstrips the flying of her feet,
And meets and greets him first--and greets him first.

The long grief left her old--and then
Came love and made her young again
As though some newer, gentler Spring
Should start dead roses blossoming;
Old roses that have lain full long
In some forgotten book of song,
Brought from their darkness to be one
With lilting winds and rain and sun;
And as they too might bring away
From that dim volume where they lay
Some lyric hint, some song's perfume
To add its beauty to their bloom,
So love awakes her heart that lies
Shrouded in fragrant memories,
And bids it bloom again and wake
Sweeter for that old sorrow's sake.

They brought to the little Princess, from her earliest hour of birth,
The lovely things, the beautiful things, the soft things of earth.

They covered her floor with crimson, they wrapped her in eiderdown;
They hung the windows with cloth of gold, lest her eyes look down;
(Lest the highway show an unlovely thing
And her eyes look down.)

They brought rare toys to her cradle, rich gems to her maidenhood;
All that she saw was beautiful, all that she heard was good.

When tumult rose in the city they bade her minstrels sing;
They drowned with the sound of music a people's clamouring;
(Lest she turn and hark to the highway,
And hear an unlovely thing.)

But there came a day of terror, when a cry too sharp and long
Tore through the streets of the city, through...

He made him a love o' dreams--
He raised for his heart's delight--
(As the heart of June a crescent moon)
A frail, fair spirit of light.

He gave her the gift of joy--
The gift of the dancing feet--
He made her a thing of very Spring--
Virginal--wild and sweet.

But when he would draw her near
To his eager heart's content,
As a sunbeam slips from the finger-tips
She slipped from his hold and went.

Virginal--wild--and sweet--
So she eludes him still--
The love that he made of dawn and shade
Of dominant want and will.

For ever the dream of man
Is more than the dreamer is;
Though he form it whole of his inmost soul,
Yet never 'tis wholly his.

Only is given to him
The right to follow and yearn
The lovelines...

My poplars are like ladies trim,
Each conscious of her own estate;
In costume somewhat over prim,
In manner cordially sedate,
Like two old neighbours met to chat
Beside my garden gate.

My stately old aristocrats--
I fancy still their talk must be
Of rose-conserves and Persian cats,
And lavender and Indian tea;--
I wonder sometimes as I pass
If they approve of me.

I give them greeting night and morn,
I like to think they answer, too,
With that benign assurance born
When youth gives age the reverence due,
And bend their wise heads as I go
As courteous ladies do.

Long may you stand before my door,
Oh, kindly neighbours garbed in green,
And bend with rustling welcome o'er
The many friends who pass between;
And where ...

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.

I come to you grown weary of much laughter,
From jangling mirth that once seemed over-sweet,
From all the mocking ghosts that follow after
A man's returning feet;
Give me no word of welcome or of greeting
Only in silence let me enter in,
Only in silence when our eyes are meeting,
Absolve me of my sin.

I come to you grown weary of much living,
Open your door and lift me of your grace,
I ask for no compassion, no forgiving,
Only your face, your face;
Only in that white peace that is your dwelling
To come again, before your feet to sink,
And of your quiet as of wine compelling
Drink as the thirsting drink.

Be kind to me as sleep is kind that closes
With tender hands men's fever-wearied eyes,
Your arms are as a garden of white roses
Wher...

I said I will go back again where we
Were glad together. But my dear, my dear,
Where are the roses we were wont to see
The songs we used to hear?

I said the hearth-flame that once burned for us
I will renew with all the cheer of old,
Yet here within the circle luminous
Our very hearts are cold.

That was a barren garden that we found,
This was an empty house we came to meet,
We, who for all our longing, hear no sound
Of Love's returning feet.

I took the love you gave, Ah, carelessly,
Counting it only as a rose to wear
A little moment on my heart no more,
So many roses had I worn before,
So lightly that I scarce believed them there.

But, Lo! this rose between the dusk and dawn
Hath turned to very flame upon my breast,
A flame that burns the day-long and the night,
A flame of very anguish and delight
That not for any moment yields me rest.

And I am troubled with a strange, new fear,
How would it be if even to your door
I came to cry your pitying one day,
And you should lightly laugh and lightly say,
"That was a rose I gave you--nothing more."

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.

The moon to-night is like the sun
Through blossomed branches seen;
Come out with me, dear silent one,
And trip it on the green.

"Nay, Lad, go you within its light,
Nor stay to urge me so--
'Twas on another moonlit night
My heart broke long ago."

Oh loud and high the pipers play
To speed the dancers on;
Come out and be as glad as they,
Oh, little Silent one.

"Nay, Lad, where all your mates are met
Go you the selfsame way,
Another dance I would forget
Wherein I too was gay."

But here you sit long day by day
With those whose joys are done;
What mates these townfolk old and grey
For you dear Silent one.

"Nay, Lad, they're done with joys and fears.
Rare comrades should we prove,
For they are very old with ...

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...

Comin' or goin' still they spread the news,
About America how grand it is,
The wonders that are waitin' you to choose
And gold that common that like sand it is.
"And here you stick," says they. "Like some old tree
Stuck in the bog belaboured by all seasons.
What's ailin' ye?" says they. Well, leave them be,
I have me reasons.

There's Cormac's Hugh come back with all his talk,
Spreadin' and spendin' like a king he is.
The people flockin' down the way he'll walk,
Till in the middle of a ring he is.
But where's that one whose face was like a rose
The day he went, betwixt her tears and teasin's?
Married these five years--gone where no man knows,
Faith, I've me reasons.

"A likely lad," they say. "What's ailin' you,
The gold and riches over there it...

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.

The Angel of the night when night was gone
High upon Heaven's ramparts, cried, "The Dawn!"

And wheeling worlds grew radiant with the one
And undiminished glory of the sun.

And Angel, Seraph, Saint and Cherubim
Raised to the morning their exultant hymn.

All Heaven thrilled anew to look upon
The great recurring miracle of dawn.

And in the little worlds beneath them--men
Rose, yawned and ate and turned to toil again.

The little dream she had forgot
Oh, long and long ago,
Came back across the April fields
And touched her garment so
(As might a wind-blown primrose cling
And one scarce guess or know.)

A little beggared outcast dream
Forgot of Love and men,
And all because a fiddler played
An old song in the glen,
And two Young Lovers hand in hand,
Sent back its tune again.

The little dream she had forgot
Crept near and clung and stayed--
A roving, ragged vagabond
Half daring, half afraid,
And all because young love went by
And one old fiddler played.

She put her wedding-gown away
As tenderly as one might close,
With kissing lips and finger-tips,
The petals of a rose
Still held for the Belovèd's sake--
The loveliest that blows.

She put her wedding-gown away--
The quiet place was all astir
With vague perfume that filled the room,
Cedar and lavender,
Yet sweeter still about it clung
The fragrant thoughts of her.

She put her wedding-gown away--
Yet lingered where its whiteness gleamed
As one above a sleeping Love,
Oh, thus it was she seemed,
Reluctant still to turn and go
And leave him as he dreamed.

White rose-leaves in my hands,
I toss you all away;
The winds shall blow you through the world
To seek my wedding day.
Or East you go, or West you go
And fall on land or sea,
Find the one that I love best
And bring him here to me.
And if he finds me spinning
'Tis short I'll break my thread;
And if he finds me dancing
I'll dance with him instead;
If he finds me at the Mass--
(Ah, let this not be,
Lest I forget my sweetest saint
The while he kneels by me!)