(JUNE 13, 1899.)


    So still you sleep upon your bed,
    So motionless and slender,
    It cannot be that you are dead,
    My maiden gay and tender!

    You were no creature pale and meek
    That death should hasten after,
    The dimples played within your cheek,
    Your lips were made for laughter.

    To you the great world was a place
    That care might never stay in,
    A playground built by God's good grace
    For glad young folks to play in.

    You made your footpath by life's flowers,
    O happy, care-free maiden!
    The sky was full of shine and showers,
    The wind was perfume laden.

    Your dimpled hands are folded now
    Upon your snowy bosom,
    The dark hair nestles on your brow -<...

I've quench'd my lamp, I struck it in that start
Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall,
The crash blent with my sleep, I saw depart
Its light, even as I woke, on yonder wall;
Over against my bed, there shone a gleam
Strange, faint, and mingling also with my dream.

It sank, and I am wrapt in utter gloom;
How far is night advanced, and when will day
Retinge the dusk and livid air with bloom,
And fill this void with warm, creative ray?
Would I could sleep again till, clear and red,
Morning shall on the mountain-tops be spread!

I'd call my women, but to break their sleep,
Because my own is broken, were unjust;
They've wrought all day, and well-earn'd slumbers steep
Their labours in forgetfulness, I trust;
Let me my feverish watch with patience be...

    A woman with a heart of gold
    I heard her called before I knew
    How noble was that heart and true,
    How full of tenderness untold.

    Her sympathies both broad and sure,
    Her one desire to do the right -
    Clear visioned from the inner light
    God gives to souls unworldly, pure.

    A heart of gold that loves and gives,
    God's almoner from day to day,
    Of her there is but this to say:
    The world is better that she lives.

I reached the cottage. I knew it from the card
He had given me--the low door heavily barred,
Steep roof, and two yews whispering on guard.

Dusk thickened as I came, but I could smell
First red wallflower and an early hyacinth bell,
And see dim primroses. "O, I can tell,"

I thought, "they love the flowers he loved." The rain
Shook from fruit bushes in new showers again
As I brushed past, and gemmed the window pane.

Bare was the window yet, and the lamp bright.
I saw them sitting there, streamed with the light
That overflowed upon the enclosing night.

"Poor things, I wonder why they've lit up so,"
A voice said, passing on the road below.
"Who are they?" asked another. "Don't you know?"

Their voices crept away. I heard no more
As I c...

Henry, Henry, do you love me?
Do I love you, Mary?
Oh, can you mean to liken me
To the aspen tree.
Whose leaves do shake and vary,
From white to green
And back again,
Shifting and contrary?

Henry, Henry, do you love me,
Do you love me truly?
Oh, Mary, must I say again
My love's a pain,
A torment most unruly?
It tosses me
Like a ship at sea
When the storm rages fully.

Henry, Henry, why do you love me?
Mary, dear, have pity!
I swear, of all the girls there are
Both near and far,
In country or in city,
There's none like you,
So kind, so true,
So wise, so brave, so pretty.

JANUARY
Hail, January, that bearest here
On snowbright breasts the babe-faced year
That weeps and trembles to be born.
Hail, maid and mother, strong and bright,
Hooded and cloaked and shod with white,
Whose eyes are stars that match the morn.
Thy forehead braves the storm's bent bow,
Thy feet enkindle stars of snow.

FEBRUARY
Wan February with weeping cheer,
Whose cold hand guides the youngling year
Down misty roads of mire and rime,
Before thy pale and fitful face
The shrill wind shifts the clouds apace
Through skies the morning scarce may climb.
Thine eyes are thick with heavy tears,
But lit with hopes that light the year's.

MARCH
Hail, happy March, whose foot on earth
Rings as the blast of martial mirth
When trumpets fire...

One lovely name adorns my song,
And, dwelling in the heart,
Forever falters at the tongue,
And trembles to depart.

("O vous que votre âge défende")

[IX., February, 1840.]


In youthful spirits wild,
Smile, for all beams on thee;
Sport, sing, be still the child,
The flower, the honey-bee.

Bring not the future near,
For Joy too soon declines -
What is man's mission here?
Toil, where no sunlight shines!

Our lot is hard, we know;
From eyes so gayly beaming,
Whence rays of beauty flow,
Salt tears most oft are streaming.

Free from emotions past,
All joy and hope possessing,
With mind in pureness cast,
Sweet ignorance confessing.

Plant, safe from winds and showers,
Heart with soft visions glowing,
In childhood's happy hours
A mother's rapture showing.

Loved by each anxious friend,
No carking c...

Let all things vanish, if but you remain;
For if you stay, beloved, what is gone?
Yet, should you go, all permanence is vain,
And all the piled abundance is as none.

With you beside me in the desert sand,
Your smile upon me, and on mine your hand,
Oases green arise, and camel-bells;
For in the long adventure of your eyes
Are all the wandering ways to Paradise.

Existence, in your being, comes and goes;
What were the garden, love, without the rose?
In vain were ears to hear,
And eyes in vain,
Lacking your ordered music, sphere to sphere,
Blind, should your beauty blossom not again.

The pulse that shakes the world with rhythmic beat
Is but the passing of your little feet;
And all the singing vast of all the seas,
Down from the pole

The noisy fire,
The drumming wind,
The creaking trees,
And all that hum
Of summer air
And all the long inquietude
Of breaking seas----

Sweet and delightful are
In loneliness.
But more than these
The quiet light
From the morn's sun
And night's astonished moon,
Falling gently upon breaking seas.

Such quietness
Another beauty is--
Ah, and those stars
So gravely still
More than light, than beauty pour
Upon the strangeness
Of the heart's breaking seas.

What pulls at my heart so?

What tells me to roam?
What drags me and lures me

From chamber and home?
How round the cliffs gather

The clouds high in air!
I fain would go thither,

I fain would be there!

The sociable flight

Of the ravens comes back;
I mingle amongst them,

And follow their track.
Round wall and round mountain

Together we fly;
She tarries below there,

I after her spy.

Then onward she wanders,

My flight I wing soon
To the wood fill'd with bushes,

A bird of sweet tune.
She tarries and hearkens,

And smiling, thinks she:
"How sweetly he's singing!

He's singing to me!"

The heights are illum'd

By the fast setting sun...

Tune - "Bonnie Mary."



    Anna, thy charms my bosom fire,
        And waste my soul with care;
    But ah! how bootless to admire,
        When fated to despair!
    Yet in thy presence, lovely fair,
        To hope may be forgiv'n;
    For sure 'twere impious to despair,
        So much in sight of Heav'n.

Excuse is needless when with love sincere
Of occupation, not by fashion led,
Thou turn'st the Wheel that slept with dust o'erspread;
'My' nerves from no such murmur shrink, tho' near,
Soft as the Dorhawk's to a distant ear,
When twilight shades darken the mountain's head.
Even She who toils to spin our vital thread
Might smile on work, O Lady, once so dear
To household virtues. Venerable Art,
Torn from the Poor! yet shall kind Heaven protect
Its own; though Rulers, with undue respect,
Trusting to crowded factory and mart
And proud discoveries of the intellect,
Heed not the pillage of man's ancient heart.

Just in time for the post, dear, and monstrously busy,
    With godly concernments--and worldly ones, too;
Things carnal and spiritual mixt, my dear Lizzy,
In this little brain till, bewildered and dizzy,
    'Twixt heaven and earth, I scarce know what I do.

First, I've been to see all the gay fashions from Town,
Which our favorite Miss Gimp for the spring has had down.
Sleeves still worn (which I think is wise), à la folle,
Charming hats, pou de soie--tho' the shape rather droll.
But you can’t think how nicely the caps of tulle lace,
With the mentonnières look on this poor sinful face;
And I mean, if the Lord in his mercy thinks right,
To wear one at Mrs. Fitz-wigram's to-night.

The silks are quite heavenly:--I'm glad to...

When roads are mired with ice and snow,
And the air of morn is crisp with rime;
When the holly hangs by the mistletoe,
And bells ring in the CHRISTMAS time: -
It's - Saddle, my Heart, and ride away,
To the sweet-faced girl with the eyes of gray!
Who waits with a smile for the gifts you bring -
A man's strong love and a wedding-ring -
    It's - Saddle, my Heart, and ride!

When vanes veer North and storm-winds blow,
And the sun of noon is a blur o'erhead;
When the holly hangs by the mistletoe,
And the CHRISTMAS service is sung and said: -
It's - Come, O my Heart, and wait awhile,
Where the organ peals, in the altar aisle,
For the gifts that the church now gives to you -
A woman's hand and a heart that's true.
    It's - Come, O my Heart, and wait!

Measures of oil for others,
    Oil and red wine,
Lips laugh and drink, but never
    Are the lips mine.

Worlds at the feet of others,
    Power gods have known,
Hearts for the favoured round me
    Mine beats, alone.

Fame offering to others
    Chaplets of bays,
I with no crown of laurels,
    Only grey days.

Sweet human love for others,
    Deep as the sea,
God-sent unto my neighbour -
    But not to me.

Sometime I'll wrest from others
    More than all this,
I shall demand from Heaven
    Far sweeter bliss.

What profit then to others,
    Laughter and wine?
I'll have what most they covet -
    Death, will be mine.

When life looks drear and lonely, love,
    And pleasant fancies flee,
Then will the Muses only, love,
    Bestow a thought on me!
Mine is a harp which Pleasure, love,
    To waken strives in vain;
To Joy's entrancing measure, love,
    It ne'er can thrill again!--
            Why mock me, Bessy Bell?

Oh, do not ask me ever, love,
    For rapture-woven rhymes;
For vain is each endeavor, love,
    To sound Mirth's play-bell chimes!
Yet still believe me, dearest love,
    Though sad my song may be,
This heart still dotes sincerest, love,
    And grateful turns to thee--
            My once fond Bessy Bell!

Those eyes still rest upon me, love!
    I feel their magic spell!
With that same look you won me, love,
    Fair, gentle...

    Across what calm of tropic seas,
            ’Neath alien clusters of the nights,
    Looked, in the past, such eyes as these?
            Long-quenched, relumed, ancestral lights!

    The generations fostered them;
            And steadfast Nature, secretwise-
    Thou seedling child of that old stem-
            Kindled anew thy dark-bright eyes.

    Was it a century or two
            This lovely darkness rose and set,
    Occluded by grey eyes and blue,
            And Nature feigning to forget?

    Some grandam gave a hint of it-
            So cherished was it in thy race,
    So fine a treasure to transmit
            In its perfection to thy face.

    Some father to some mother’s breast
            Entrusted it, unknowi...