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White Pansies
Day and night pass over, rounding,Star and cloud and sun,Things of drift and shadow, emptyOf my dearest one.Soft as slumber was my baby,Beaming bright and sweet;Daintier than bloom or jewelWere his hands and feet.He was mine, mine all, mine only,Mine and his the debt;Earth and Life and Time are changers;I shall not forget.Pansies for my dear one - heartsease -Set them gently so;For his stainless lips and forehead,Pansies white as snow.Would that in the flower-grown littleGrave they dug so deep,I might rest beside him, dreamless,Smile no more, nor weep.
Archibald Lampman
Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter VIII. A Vision.
Letter VIII. A Vision.I. Yes, I will tell thee what, a week ago, I dreamt of thee, and all the joy therein Which I conceiv'd, and all the holy din Of throbbing music, which appear'd to flow From room to room, as if to make me know The power thereof to lead me out of sin.II. Methought I saw thee in a ray of light, This side a grove - a dream within a dream - With eyes of tender pleading, and the gleam Of far-off summers in thy tresses bright; And I did tremble at the gracious sig...
Eric Mackay
Shadows
Shadows! the only shadows that I knowAre happy shadows of the light of you,The radiance immortal shining throughYour sea-deep eyes up from the soul below;Your shadow, like a rose's, on the grassWhere your feet pass.The shadow of the dimple in your chin,The shadow of the lashes of your eyes,As on your cheek, soft as a moth, it lies;And, as a church, I softly enter inThe solemn twilight of your mighty hair,Down falling there.These are Love's shadows, Love knows none but these:Shadows that are the very soul of light,As morning and the morning blossom bright,Or jewelled shadows of moon-haunted seas;The darkest shadows in this world of oursAre made of flowers.
Richard Le Gallienne
To My Daughter
O little one, daughter, my dearest,With your smiles and your beautiful curls,And your laughter, the brightest and clearest,O gravest and gayest of girls;With your hands that are softer than roses,And your lips that are lighter than flowers,And that innocent brow that disclosesA wisdom more lovely than ours;With your locks that encumber, or scatterIn a thousand mercurial gleams,And those feet whose impetuous patterI hear and remember in dreams;With your manner of motherly duty,When you play with your dolls and are wise;With your wonders of speech, and the beautyIn your little imperious eyes;When I hear you so silverly ringingYour welcome from chamber or stair.When you run to me, kissing and clinging,So r...
Song
My Fair, no beauty of thine will last Save in my love's eternity. Thy smiles, that light thee fitfully,Are lost for ever--their moment past-- Except the few thou givest to me.Thy sweet words vanish day by day, As all breath of mortality; Thy laughter, done, must cease to be,And all thy dear tones pass away, Except the few that sing to me.Hide then within my heart, oh, hide All thou art loth should go from thee. Be kinder to thyself and me.My cupful from this river's tide Shall never reach the long sad sea.
Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell
The Last Tryst
The cowbells wander through the woods,'Neath arching boughs a stream slips by,In all the ferny solitudeA chipmunk and a butterflyAre all that is - and you and I.This summer day, with all its flowers,With all its green and gold and blue,Just for a little while is ours,Just for a little - I and you:Till the stars rise and bring the dew.One perfect day to us is given;Tomorrow - all the aching years;This is our last short day in heaven,The last of all our kisses nears -Then life too arid even for tears.Here, as the day ends, we two end,Two that were one, we said, for ever;We had Eternity to spend,And laughed for joy to know that neverTwo so divinely one could sever.A year ago - how rich we seemed!
Too Late
Each on his own strict line we move,And some find death ere they find love.So far apart their lives are thrownFrom the twin soul that halves their own.And sometimes, by still harder fate,The lovers meet, but meet too late.Thy heart is mine! True, true! ah, true!Then, love, thy hand! Ah, no! adieu!
Matthew Arnold
Love And The Sea
Love one day, in childish anger,Tired of his divinity,Sick of rapture, sick of languor,Threw his arrows in the sea.Since then Ocean, like a woman,Variable of nature seems:Smiling; cruel; kind; inhuman;Gloomed with grief and drowned in dreams.
Madison Julius Cawein
Twenty Years Ago
I am growing old and wearyEre yet my locks are gray;Before me lies eternity,Behind me but a day.How fast the years are vanishing!They melt like April snow:It seems to me but yesterdayTwenty years ago.There's the school-house on the hill-side,And the romping scholars all;Where we used to con our daily tasks,And play our games of ball.They rise to me in visionsIn sunny dreams and ho'I sport among the boys and girlsTwenty years ago.We played at ball in summer timeWe boys with hearty will;With merry shouts in winter timeWe coasted on the hill.We would choose our chiefs, divide in bands,And build our forts of snow,And storm those forts right gallantlyTwenty years ago.Last year in June...
Hanford Lennox Gordon
Mountain--Laurel
My bonnie flower, with truest joyThy welcome face I see,The world grows brighter to my eyes,And summer comes with thee.My solitude now finds a friend,And after each hard day,I in my mountain garden walk,To rest, or sing, or pray.All down the rocky slope is spreadThy veil of rosy snow,And in the valley by the brook,Thy deeper blossoms grow.The barren wilderness grows fair,Such beauty dost thou give;And human eyes and Nature's heartRejoice that thou dost live.Each year I wait thy coming, dear,Each year I love thee more,For life grows hard, and much I needThy honey for my store.So, like a hungry bee, I sipSweet lessons from thy cup,And sitting at a flower's feet,My soul learns to look up....
Louisa May Alcott
The Picture
Above her, pearl and rose the heavens lay:Around her, flowers flattered earth with gold,Or down the path in insolence held swayLike cavaliers who ride the king's highwayScarlet and buff, within a garden old.Beyond the hills, faint-heard through belts of wood,Bells, Sabbath-sweet, swooned from some far-off town:Gamboge and gold, broad sunset colors strewedThe purple west as if, with God imbued,Her mighty palette Nature there laid down.Amid such flowers, underneath such skies,Embodying all life knows of sweet and fair,She stood; love's dreams in girlhood's face and eyes,Fair as a star that comes to emphasizeThe mingled beauty of the earth and air.Behind her, seen through vines and orchard trees,Gray with its twinkling windows like the faceO...
Love's Vain Expense.
Rendete a gli occhi miei.Give back unto mine eyes, ye fount and rill, Those streams, not yours, that are so full and strong, That swell your springs, and roll your waves along With force unwonted in your native hill!And thou, dense air, weighed with my sighs so chill, That hidest heaven's own light thick mists among, Give back those sighs to my sad heart, nor wrong My visual ray with thy dark face of ill!Let earth give back the footprints that I wore, That the bare grass I spoiled may sprout again; And Echo, now grown deaf, my cries return!Loved eyes, unto mine eyes those looks restore, And let me woo another not in vain, Since how to please thee I sh...
Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni
One Flesh
Lying apart now, each in a separate bed,He with a book, keeping the light on late,She like a girl dreaming of childhood,All men elsewhere, it is as if they waitSome new event: the book he holds unread,Her eyes fixed on the shadows overhead.Tossed up like flotsam from a former passion,How cool they lie. They hardly ever touch,Or if they do it is like a confessionOf having little feeling, or too much.Chastity faces them, a destinationFor which their whole lives were a preparation.Strangely apart, yet strangely close together,Silence between them like a thread to holdAnd not wind in. And time itself's a featherTouching them gently. Do they know they're old,These two who are my father and my motherWhose fire from which I came, has...
Elizabeth Jennings
A Song Of Heloise
God send thee peace, Oh, great unhappy heart--A world away, I pray that thou mayst restSoftly as on the Well-Belovèd's breast,Where ever in her wistful dreams thou art.At dawn my prayer is all for thee, at noonMy very heart and, Oh, at night my tearsFor all we walk alone the empty yearsNor meet neath any sun--neath any moon.Yet must my love go with thee--all apartFrom this the life I lend to lesser things;God send to thee this night beneath its wings,A little peace, Oh, great unhappy heart.
Theodosia Garrison
I Have Loved Hours At Sea
I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,The fragile secret of a flower,Music, the making of a poemThat gave me heaven for an hour;First stars above a snowy hill,Voices of people kindly and wise,And the great look of love, long hidden,Found at last in meeting eyes.I have loved much and been loved deeply,Oh when my spirit's fire burns low,Leave me the darkness and the stillness,I shall be tired and glad to go.
Sara Teasdale
To Margaret Jane H----, On Her Birth-Day, 17 June.
Thou art indeed a lovely flower,And I, just like the fleeting hour,Which few will heed on folly's brink,So rarely deigns the world to think.Yet, ere I go, child of my heart--One faithful offering I'll impartTo thee--thy parents' sole delight:To me--an angel, pure as light.Sent on this earth to cheer and bless,Like sunbeam in a wilderness,With fascination's form and face,And all the charms that please and grace.A guileless heart, a lovely mind,A temper ardent, yet refined,And in the early dawn of youth,Taught to love honour, faith, and truth.Ah! these--when all the transient joysOf idle life, when all its toysShall fade like mist before the sun,Yet, ere thy little day is done,Shall give that calm, that true delight,...
Thomas Gent
Reverie: Zahir-u-Din
Alone, I wait, till her twilight gate The Night slips quietly through,With shadow and gloom, and purple bloom, Flung over the Zenith blue.Her stars that tremble, would fain dissemble Light over lovers thrown, -Her hush and mystery know no history Such as day may own.Day has record of pleasure and pain,But things that are done by Night remain For ever and ever unknown.For a thousand years, 'neath a thousand skies, Night has brought men love;Therefore the old, old longings rise As the light grows dim above.Therefore, now that the shadows close, And the mists weird and white,While Time is scented with musk and rose; Magic with silver light.I long for love; will you grant me some?...
Adela Florence Cory Nicolson
Margaret's Remembrance Of Lightfoot.
My beautiful steed,'Tis painful indeedTo think we are parted forever;That on no sunny day,With light spirits and gay,Over hills far away,We shall joyously travel together.Thy soft glossy maneI shall ne'er see again,Nor thy proudly arched neck 'gain behold;Nor admire that in thee,Which so seldom we see,A kind, gentle spirit, yet bold.Thou wert pleasant indeedMy darling grey steed,"In my mind's eye" thou'rt beautiful still;For when thou wert oldThy heart grew not cold,Its warm current time never could chill.Not a stone marks the spotWhere they laid thee, Lightfoot,And no fence to enclose thee around;But what if there's not,Deep engraved on my heartThy loved image may ever b...
Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow