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Sonnet - Thoughts In Separation
We never meet; yet we meet day by day Upon those hills of life, dim and immense: The good we love, and sleep-our innocence.O hills of life, high hills! And higher than they,Our guardian spirits meet at prayer and play. Beyond pain, joy, and hope, and long suspense, Above the summits of our souls, far hence,An angel meets an angel on the way.Beyond all good I ever believed of thee Or thou of me, these always love and live.And though I fail of thy ideal of me,My angel falls not short. They greet each other. Who knows, they may exchange the kiss we give,Thou to thy crucifix, I to my mother.
Alice Meynell
Guilo.
Yes, yes! I love thee, Guilo; thee alone. Why dost thou sigh, and wear that face of sorrow? The sunshine is to-day's, although it shone On yesterday, and may shine on to-morrow. I love but thee, my Guilo! be content; The greediest heart can claim but present pleasure. The future is thy God's. The past is spent. To-day is thine; clasp close the precious treasure. See how I love thee, Guilo! Lips and eyes Could never under thy fond gaze dissemble. I could not feign these passion-laden sighs; Deceiving thee, my pulses would not tremble. "So I loved Romney." Hush, thou foolish one - I should forget him wholly wouldst thou let me; Or but remember that his day was don...
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
The Violet.
Little simple violet,Glittering with dewy wet,Hidden by protecting grassAll unheeded we should passWere it not the rich perfume,Leads us on to find the bloomWhich so modestly does dwell,Sweetly scenting all the dell.Simple little violet; -Lessons I shall ne'er forgetBy thy modest mien were taught, -Rich in peace, - with wisdom fraught.Oft I've laid me down to rest,With thy blossoms on my breast;Screen'd from noontide's sunny flood,By some monarch of the wood.I have thought and dreamed of thee,Clad in such simplicity;Yet so rich in fragrance sweet,That exhales from thy retreat;And I've seen the gaudy flowerBlest alone with beauty's dower; -Have looked, - admired, - then bid them go, -Violet, ...
John Hartley
Madhouse Cell - Porphyrias Lover
The rain set early in to-night,The sullen wind was soon awake,It tore the elm-tops down for spite,And did its worst to vex the lake,I listened with heart fit to break;When glided in Porphyria: straightShe shut the cold out and the storm,And kneeled and made the cheerless grateBlaze up, and all the cottage warm;Which done, she rose, and from her formWithdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,And laid her soiled gloves by, untiedHer hat and let the damp hair fall,And, last, she sate down by my sideAnd called me. When no voice replied,She put my arm about her waist,And made her smooth white shoulder bare,And all her yellow hair displaced,And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,And spread oer all her yellow hair,Murmuring how she...
Robert Browning
Till The Day Dawn.
Why should I weary you, dear heart, with words,Words all discordant with a foolish pain?Thoughts cannot interrupt or prayers do wrong,And soft and silent as the summer rainMine fall upon your pathway all day long.Giving as God gives, counting not the costOf broken box or spilled and fragrant oil,I know that, spite of your strong carelessness,Rest must be sweeter, worthier must be toil,Touched with such mute, invisible caress.One of these days, our weary ways quite trod,Made free at last and unafraid of men,I shall draw near and reach to you my hand.And you? Ah! well, we shall be spirits then,I think you will be glad and understand.
Susan Coolidge
Ad Finem
I like to think this friendship that we holdAs youth's high gift in our two hands to-dayStill shall we find as bright, untarnished goldWhat time the fleeting years have left us grey.I like to think we two shall watch the MayDance down her happy hills and Autumn foldThe world in flame and beauty, we grown oldStaunch comrades on an undivided way.I like to think of Winter nights made brightBy book and hearth-flame when we two shall smileAt memories of to-day--we two contentTo count our vanished dawns by candle-lightSeeing we hold in our old hands the whileThe gift of gold youth left us as she went.
Theodosia Garrison
Sonnet LXX.
La bella donna che cotanto amavi.TO HIS BROTHER GERARDO, ON THE DEATH OF A LADY TO WHOM HE WAS ATTACHED. The beauteous lady thou didst love so wellToo soon hath from our regions wing'd her flight,To find, I ween, a home 'mid realms of light;So much in virtue did she here excelThy heart's twin key of joy and woe can dwellNo more with her--then re-assume thy might,Pursue her by the path most swift and right,Nor let aught earthly stay thee by its spell.Thus from thy heaviest burthen being freed,Each other thou canst easier dispel,And an unfreighted pilgrim seek thy sky;Too well, thou seest, how much the soul hath need,(Ere yet it tempt the shadowy vale) to quellEach earthly hope, since all that lives must die.WOLL...
Francesco Petrarca
Resurrection.
'T was a long parting, but the timeFor interview had come;Before the judgment-seat of God,The last and second timeThese fleshless lovers met,A heaven in a gaze,A heaven of heavens, the privilegeOf one another's eyes.No lifetime set on them,Apparelled as the newUnborn, except they had beheld,Born everlasting now.Was bridal e'er like this?A paradise, the host,And cherubim and seraphimThe most familiar guest.
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
Lines Written By Ellen Louisa Tucker Shortly Before Her Marriage To Mr. Emerson
Love scatters oilOn Life's dark sea,Sweetens its toil--Our helmsman he.Around him hoverOdorous clouds;Under this coverHis arrows he shrouds.The cloud was around me,I knew not whySuch sweetness crowned me.While Time shot by.No pain was within,But calm delight,Like a world without sin,Or a day without night.The shafts of the godWere tipped with down,For they drew no blood,And they knit no frown.I knew of them notUntil Cupid laughed loud,And saying "You're caught!"Flew off in the cloud.O then I awoke,And I lived but to sigh,Till a clear voice spoke,--And my tears are dry.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Echoes.
A breath A breath And a sigh, - And a sigh, - How we fly How we flyFrom Death! From Death! - A palm Sing on Warm pressed, O our bird! As we guessed Thou art heardLove's psalm. Alone. A word We know Breathed close, No life, And then rose Neither strife,The bird Nor woe, That cowers Nor aught In the wood But this hour, - 'Mid a flood L...
Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley
Absence
In this fair strangers eyes of greyThine eyes, my love, I see.I shudder: for the passing dayHad borne me far from thee.This is the curse of life: that notA nobler calmer trainOf wiser thoughts and feelings blotOur passions from our brain;But each day brings its petty dustOur soon-chokd souls to fill,And we forget because we must,And not because we will.I struggle towards the light; and ye,Once-longd-for storms of love!If with the light ye cannot be,I bear that ye remove.I struggle towards the light; but oh,While yet the night is chill,Upon Times barren, stormy flow,Stay with me, Marguerite, still!
Matthew Arnold
For My Friend Mrs. R.
When writing to you, friend, a subject I'd findIn which there's both pleasure and profit combined,And though what I've chosen may pain in review,Yet still there's strange mingling of pleasure there too.Then let us go back many years that are past,And glance at those days much too happy to last.I have seen thee, my friend, when around thy bright hearthNot a seat was found vacant, but gladness and mirthKept high holiday there, and many a timeWere mingled in pastime my children with thine.I've looked in again, the destroyer had come,And changed the whole aspect of that happy home.He entered that dwelling, and rudely he toreFrom the arms of his mother, her most cherished flower.Thy heart seemed then broken, oh! how couldst thou bearTo live in this...
Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow
Grace.
Ill-wrought life we look at as we die!Mistaken, selfish, meagre, and unmeet;So graven on the hearts that cruellyWe have deprived of many an hour sweet:O ill-wrought life we look at as we die!O day of God we look at as we die!Grace, like a river flowing toward our feet;Wide pardon blowing with the breezes by;Love telling us bright tales of the Complete; -While listening, hoping, thanking, lo, we die!
Rose Hawthorne Lathrop
The Children's Heaven.
The infant lies in blessed ease Upon his mother's breast; No storm, no dark, the baby sees Invade his heaven of rest. He nothing knows of change or death-- Her face his holy skies; The air he breathes, his mother's breath; His stars, his mother's eyes! Yet half the soft winds wandering there Are sighs that come of fears; The dew slow falling through that air-- It is the dew of tears; And ah, my child, thy heavenly home Hath storms as well as dew; Black clouds fill sometimes all its dome, And quench the starry blue! "My smile would win no smile again, If baby saw the things That ache across his mother's brain The whi...
George MacDonald
Time, Hope, And Memory.
I heard a gentle maiden, in the spring,Set her sweet sighs to music, and thus sing:"Fly through the world, and I will follow thee,Only for looks that may turn back on me;"Only for roses that your chance may throw -Though withered - Twill wear them on my brow,To be a thoughtful fragrance to my brain, -Warm'd with such love, that they will bloom again.""Thy love before thee, I must tread behind,Kissing thy foot-prints, though to me unkind;But trust not all her fondness, though it seem,Lest thy true love should rest on a false dream.""Her face is smiling, and her voice is sweet;But smiles betray, and music sings deceit;And words speak false; - yet, if they welcome prove,I'll be their echo, and repeat their love.""Only if wa...
Thomas Hood
Another to the Same. (To Leonora)
Another Leonora[1] once inspir'd Tasso, with fatal love to frenzy fir'd,But how much happier, liv'd he now, were he, Pierced with whatever pangs for love of Thee!Since could he hear that heavenly voice of thine, With Adriana's lute[2] of sound divine,Fiercer than Pentheus'[3] tho' his eye might roll, Or idiot apathy benumb his soul,You still, with medicinal sounds, might cheer His senses wandering in a blind career;And sweetly breathing thro' his wounded breast, Charm, with soul-soothing song, his thoughts to rest.
William Cowper
Sonnet.
I would I knew the lady of thy heart!She whom thou lov'st perchance, as I love thee, -She unto whom thy thoughts and wishes flee;Those thoughts, in which, alas! I bear no part.Oh, I have sat and sighed, thinking how fair,How passing beautiful, thy love must be;Of mind how high, of modesty how rare;And then I've wept, I've wept in agony!Oh, that I might but once behold those eyes,That to thy enamour'd gaze alone seem fair;Once hear that voice, whose music still repliesTo the fond vows thy passionate accents swear:Oh, that I might but know the truth and die,Nor live in this long dream of misery!
Frances Anne Kemble
Young Love VII - The Lamp And The Star
Yea, let me be 'thy bachelere,''Tis sweeter than thy lord;How should I envy him, my dear,The lamp upon his board.Still make his little circle brightWith boon of dear domestic light,While I afar,Watching his windows in the night,Worship a starFor which he hath no bolt or bar.Yea, dear,Thy 'bachelere.'
Richard Le Gallienne