To keep her tents until the morrow,
Nor send such dreams to make me weep.
Before the lusty day was springing,
Before the tired moon was set,
I dreamed I heard my dead love singing,
And when I woke my eyes were wet.
THE CROWN OF YEARS
Years grow and gather--each a gem
Lustrous with
laughter and with tears,
And
cunning Time a crown of years
Contrives for her who weareth them.
No chance can
snatch this diadem,
It trembles not with hopes or fears,
It shines before the rose appears,
And when the leaves
forsake her stem.
Time sets his jewels one by one.
Then
wherefore mourn the wreaths that lie
In attic chambers of the past?
They withered ere the day was done.
This coronal will never die,
Nor shall you lose it at the last.
HOPE DEFERRED
When the weary night is fled,
And the morning sky is red,
Then my heart doth rise and say,
`Surely she will come to-day.'
In the golden blaze of noon,
`Surely she is coming soon.'
In the
twilight, `Will she come?'
Then my heart with fear is dumb.
When the night wind in the trees
Plays its
mournful melodies,
Then I know my trust is vain,
And she will not come again.
THE LIFE OF EARTH
The life of earth, how full of pain,
Which greets us on our day of birth,
Nor leaves us while we yet retain
The life of earth.
There is a shadow on our mirth,
Our sun is blotted out with rain,
And all our joys are little worth.
Yet oh, when life begins to wane,
And we must sail the
doubtful firth,
How wild the
longing to regain
The life of earth!
GOLDEN DREAM
Golden dream of summer morn,
By a well-remembered stream
In the land where I was born,
Golden dream!
Ripples, by the glancing beam
Lightly kissed in
playful scorn,
Meadows moist with sunlit steam.
When I lift my eyelids worn
Like a fair mirage you seem,
In the winter dawn forlorn,
Golden dream!
TEARS
Mourn that which will not come again,
The joy, the strength of early years.
Bow down thy head, and let thy tears
Water the grave where hope lies slain.
For tears are like a summer rain,
To murmur in a mourner's ears,
To
soften all the field of fears,
To
moisten valleys parched with pain.
And though thy tears will not awake
What lies beneath of young or fair
And sleeps so sound it draws no breath,
Yet, watered thus, the sod may break
In flowers which
sweeten all the air,
And fill with life the place of death.
THE HOUSE OF SLEEP
When we have laid aside our last endeavour,
And said
farewell to one or two that weep,
And issued from the house of life for ever,
To find a
lodging in the house of sleep -
With eyes fast shut, in sunless chambers lying,
With folded arms
unmoved upon the breast,
Beyond the noise of sorrow and of crying,
Beyond the dread of dreaming, shall we rest?
Or shall there come at last desire of waking,
To walk again on hillsides that we know,
When
sunrise through the cold white mist is breaking,
Or in the
stillness of the after-glow?
Shall there be yearning for the sound of voices,
The sight of faces, and the touch of hands,
The will that works, the spirit that rejoices,
The heart that feels, the mind that understands?
Shall dreams and memories crowding from the distance,
Shall ghosts of old
ambition or of mirth,
Create for us a shadow of existence,
A dim
reflection of the life of earth?
And being dead, and
powerless to recover
The substance of the show
whereon we gaze,
Shall we be likened to the
hapless lover,
Who broods upon the unreturning days?
Not so: for we have known how swift to perish
Is man's delight when youth and health take wing,
Until the winter leaves him
nought to cherish
But recollections of a vanished spring.
Dream as we may, desire of life shall never
Disturb our slumbers in the house of sleep.
Yet oh, to think we may not greet for ever
The one or two that, when we leave them, weep!
THE OUTCAST'S FAREWELL
The sun is banished,
The
daylight vanished,
No rosy traces
Are left behind.
Here in the meadow
I watch the shadow
Of forms and faces
Upon your blind.
Through swift transitions,
In new positions,
My eyes still follow
One shape most fair.
My heart delaying
Awhile, is playing
With pleasures hollow,
Which mock despair.
I feel so lonely,
I long once only
To pass an hour
With you, O sweet!
To touch your fingers,
Where
fragrance lingers
From some rare flower,
And kiss your feet.
But not this even
To me is given.
Of all sad mortals
Most sad am I,
Never to meet you,
Never to greet you,
Nor pass your portals
Before I die.
All men scorn me,
Not one will mourn me,
When from their city
I pass away.
Will you to-morrow
Recall with sorrow
Him whom with pity
You saw to-day?
Outcast and lonely,
One thing only
Beyond misgiving
I hold for true,
That, had you known me,
You would have shown me
A life worth living -
A life for you.
Yes: five years younger
My manhood's hunger
Had you come filling
With plenty sweet,
My life so nourished,
Had grown and flourished,
Had God been willing
That we should meet.
How vain to fashion
From dreams and passion
The rich existence
Which might have been!
Can God's own power
Recall the hour,
Or
bridge the distance
That lies between?
Before the morning,
From pain and scorning
I sail death's river
To sleep or hell.
To you is given
The life of heaven.
Farewell for ever,
Farewell,
farewell!
YET A LITTLE SLEEP
Beside the
drowsy streams that creep
Within this island of repose,
Oh, let us rest from cares and woes,
Oh, let us fold our hands to sleep!
Is it
ignoble, then, to keep
Awhile from where the rough wind blows,
And all is
strife, and no man knows
What end awaits him on the deep?
The voyager may rest awhile,
When rest invites, and yet may be
Neither a sluggard nor a craven.
With strength renewed he quits the isle,
And putting out again to sea,
Makes sail for his desired haven.
LOST LIBERTY
Of our own will we are not free,
When freedom lies within our power.
We wait for some
decisive hour,
To rise and take our liberty.
Still we delay, content to be
Imprisoned in our own high tower.