A hundred miles between us
Could never part us more
Than that one step you took from me
What time my need was sore.

A hundred years between us
Might hold us less apart
Than that one dragging moment
Wherein I knew your heart.

Now what farewell is needed
To all I held most dear,
So far and far you are from me
I doubt if you could hear.

Grace, Beauty and Caprice
Build this golden portal;
Graceful women, chosen men,
Dazzle every mortal.
Their sweet and lofty countenance
His enchanted food;
He need not go to them, their forms
Beset his solitude.
He looketh seldom in their face,
His eyes explore the ground,--
The green grass is a looking-glass
Whereon their traits are found.
Little and less he says to them,
So dances his heart in his breast;
Their tranquil mien bereaveth him
Of wit, of words, of rest.
Too weak to win, too fond to shun
The tyrants of his doom,
The much deceived Endymion
Slips behind a tomb.

I told her I loved her and begged but a word,
One dear little word, that would be
For me by all odds the most sweet ever heard,
But never a word said she!

I raged at her then, and I said she was cold;
I swore she was nothing to me;
I prayed her the cause of her silence unfold,
But never a word said she!

I covered with kisses her delicate hand,
But she only glanced down where the sea
Low murmured in ripples of love on the sand,
And never a word said she!

I cast her hand from me with rage unsuppressed,
And she turned her blue eyes up to me
And smiled as she laid her fair head on my breast;
“What need of a word?” asked she.

TO MY FRIEND CHARLES BOOTH NETTLETON

I

The young queen Nature, ever sweet and fair,
Once on a time fell upon evil days.
From hearing oft herself discussed with praise,
There grew within her heart the longing rare
To see herself; and every passing air
The warm desire fanned into lusty blaze.
Full oft she sought this end by devious ways,
But sought in vain, so fell she in despair.
For none within her train nor by her side
Could solve the task or give the envied boon.
So day and night, beneath the sun and moon,
She wandered to and fro unsatisfied,
Till Art came by, a blithe inventive elf,
And made a glass wherein she saw herself.


II

Enrapt, the queen gazed on her glorious self,
Then trembling with the thrill of sudden thoug...

O partial MEMORY! Years, that fled too fast,
    From thee in more than pristine beauty rise,
    Forgotten all the transient tears and sighs
    Somewhat that dimm'd their brightness! Thou hast chas'd
Each hovering mist from the soft Suns, that grac'd
    Our fresh, gay morn of Youth; - the Heart's high prize,
    Friendship, - and all that charm'd us in the eyes
    Of yet unutter'd Love. - So pleasures past,
That in thy crystal prism thus glow sublime,
    Beam on the gloom'd and disappointed Mind
    When Youth and Health, in the chill'd grasp of Time,
Shudder and fade; - and cypress buds we find
    Ordain'd Life's blighted roses to supply,
    While but reflected shine the golden lights of Joy.

My fayre, if thou wilt register my loue,
More then worlds volumes shall thereof arise;
Preserue my teares, and thou thy selfe shall proue
A second flood downe rayning from mine eyes.
Note but my sighes, and thine eyes shal behold
The Sun-beames smothered with immortall smoke;
And if by thee, my prayers may be enrold,
They heauen and earth to pitty shall prouoke.
Looke thou into my breast, and thou shall see
Chaste holy vowes for my soules sacrifice:
That soule (sweet Maide) which so hath honoured thee,
Erecting Trophies to thy sacred eyes;
    Those eyes to my heart shining euer bright,
    When darknes hath obscur'd each other light.

I am glad when men of genius
    Array a common thought,
In imperishable beauty
    That it cannot be forgot.

The heart thoughts all bright and burnished
    By high poetic art,
As sweet as the wood-bird's warble
    Touching the very heart.

Have not I, poor workday mortal,
    Some thoughts of living light,
In the spirit's inner chambers,
    Moving with spirit might?

And they come in the fair spring time
    Of heart and life and year,
When sweet Nature's wild rejoicings,
    Draws votaries very near

To the heart of all that's lovely
    On earth and in the sky;
Making audible the music
    Of the inner melody.

Underlying all the sunshine,
    Whispering through every breeze,
As it crests the ruffle...

    The star that rose to cheer our humble life,
    And make a little heaven of our home,
    Shall rise again - yes, surely rise again
    To give us everlasting joy divine.

I

An age hath been when Earth was proud
Of lustre too intense
To be sustained; and Mortals bowed
The front in self-defence.
Who 'then', if Dian's crescent gleamed,
Or Cupid's sparkling arrow streamed
While on the wing the Urchin played,
Could fearlessly approach the shade?
Enough for one soft vernal day,
If I, a bard of ebbing time,
And nurtured in a fickle clime,
May haunt this horned bay;
Whose amorous water multiplies
The flitting halcyon's vivid dyes;
And smooths her liquid breast to show
These swan-like specks of mountain snow,
White as the pair that slid along the plains
Of heaven, when Venus held the reins!

II

In youth we love the darksome lawn
Brushed by the owlet's wing;
Then, Twilight is preferred to Da...

Ah, little did I think in time that's past,
By summer burnt, or numb'd by winter's blast,
Delving the ditch a livelihood to earn,
Or lumping corn out in a dusty barn;
With aching bones returning home at night,
And sitting down with weary hand to write;
Ah, little did I think, as then unknown,
Those artless rhymes I even blush'd to own
Would be one day applauded and approv'd,
By learning notic'd, and by genius lov'd.
God knows, my hopes were many, but my pain
Damp'd all the prospect which I hop'd to gain;
I hardly dar'd to hope.--Thou corner-chair,
In which I've oft slung back in deep despair,
Hadst thou expression, thou couldst easy tell
The pains and all that I have known too well:
'Twould be but sorrow's tale, yet still 'twould be
A tale of truth, and p...

Though nurtured like the sailing moon
In beauty’s murderous brood,
She walked awhile and blushed awhile
And on my pathway stood
Until I thought her body bore
A heart of flesh and blood.

But since I laid a hand thereon
And found a heart of stone
I have attempted many things
And not a thing is done,
For every hand is lunatic
That travels on the moon.

She smiled and that transfigured me
And left me but a lout,
Maundering here, and maundering there,
Emptier of thought
Than the heavenly circuit of its stars
When the moon sails out.

I have not wept for Edgar, as a mother
    Weeps for the tender lamb she lays to rest;
And yet it cannot be that any other
    Baby like him shall lie upon my breast;
For he was with us but a passing guest,
A birdling that belonged not to the nest.

Looking upon his large dark eyes so tender,
    Filled with the solemn light of Paradise,
I knew that word would soon come to surrender,
    My babe, not mine, but native to the skies;
As the sweet lark that ever upward flies,
He would be taken from my longing eyes.

For from the first he looked to be earth-weary,
    And clung to me with no desire to play;
He never laughed and crowed with spirit cheery
    Like my earth babies; but from day to day
Seemed ever yearning for the far-away,
And well I kn...

O aptly named, Illustrious One!
    Thou art that flower fair
That filled this vast and changeful world
    With mystic perfume rare -
Shedding on all the balmy breath
    Of countless virtues high,
Rising like fragrant odours rich,
    To God's far, beauteous sky.

Mystical Rose! O aptly named!
    For, as 'mid brightest flowers
The lovely Rose unquestioned reigns
    The Queen of Nature's bowers,
So 'mid the daughters fair of Eve
    Art thou the peerless One!
The chosen handmaid of the Lord!
    The Mother of His Son!

Yes, He endowed thee with all gifts
    Which could thy beauty grace;
And ne'er did sin, e'en for one hour,
    Thy spotless soul deface,
For from the first thou had'st the power
    God's fav'ring love to w...

Tune - "Saw ye my father?"



I.

    Where are the joys I have met in the morning,
        That danc'd to the lark's early song?
    Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring,
        At evening the wild woods among?

II.

    No more a-winding the course of yon river,
        And marking sweet flow'rets so fair:
    No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure,
        But sorrow and sad sighing care.

III.

    Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys,
        And grim, surly winter is near?
    No, no, the bees' humming round the gay roses,
        Proclaim it the pride of the year.

IV.

    Fain would I hide, what I fear to discover,
        Yet long, long too well have I known,

And you are the poet, and so you want
Something what is it? a theme, a fancy?
Something or other the Muse won’t grant
To your old poetical necromancy;
Why, one half you poets you can’t deny
Don’t know the Muse when you chance to meet her,
But sit in your attics and mope and sigh
For a faineant goddess to drop from the sky,
When flesh and blood may be standing by
Quite at your service, should you but greet her.

What if I told you my own romance?
Women are poets, if you so take them,
One third poet, the rest what chance
Of man and marriage may choose to make them.
Give me ten minutes before you go,
Here at the window we’ll sit together,
Watching the currents that ebb and flow;
Watching the world as it drifts below
Up the hot Avenue’s dusty glow:<...

Timid and smiling, beautiful and shy,
She drops her head at every passer bye.
Afraid of praise she hurries down the streets
And turns away from every smile she meets.
The forward clown has many things to say
And holds her by the gown to make her stay,
The picture of good health she goes along,
Hale as the morn and happy as her song.
Yet there is one who never feels a fear
To whisper pleasing fancies in her ear;
Yet een from him she shuns a rude embrace,
And stooping holds her hands before her face,--
She even shuns and fears the bolder wind,
And holds her shawl, and often looks behind.

Mild arch of promise! on the evening sky
    Thou shinest fair with many a lovely ray
Each in the other melting. Much mine eye
    Delights to linger on thee; for the day,
Changeful and many-weather'd, seem'd to smile
Flashing brief splendor thro' its clouds awhile,
    That deepen'd dark anon and fell in rain:
But pleasant is it now to pause, and view
Thy various tints of frail and watery hue,
    And think the storm shall not return again.
Such is the smile that Piety bestows
    On the good man's pale cheek, when he in peace
Departing gently from a world of woes,
    Anticipates the realm where sorrows cease.

From the upland hidden,
Where the hill is sunny
Tawny like pure honey
In the August heat,
Memories float unbidden
Where the thicket serries
Fragrant with ripe berries
And the milk-weed sweet.

Like a prayer-mat holy
Are the patterned mosses
Which the twin-flower crosses
With her flowerless vine;
In fragile melancholy
The pallid ghost flowers hover
As if to guard and cover
The shadow of a shrine.

Where the pine-linnet lingered
The pale water searches,
The roots of gleaming birches
Draw silver from the lake;
The ripples, liquid-fingered,
Plucking the root-layers,
Fairy like lute players
Lulling music make.

O to lie here brooding
Where the pine-tree column
Rises dark and solemn
To the airy la...