THE ANSWERING VOICE
ONE HUNDRED LOVE LYRICS BY WOMEN
THE ANSWERING VOICE
ONE HUNDRED LOVE LYRICS
BY WOMEN
SELECTED BY
SARA TEASDALE
AUTHOR OF “RIVERS TO THE SEA,” “HELEN OF
TROY, AND OTHER POEMS,” ETC.
[Illustration]
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1917
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY SARA TEASDALE FILSINGER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published September 1917_
THE HAPPY LABOR
OF SELECTING THESE POEMS
I DEDICATE TO
MY SISTER
Ἔρος δαὔτέ μ᾽ ὀ λυσιμέλης δόνει
γλυκύπικρον ἀμάχανον ὄρπετον.
“_Ο gods, what love, what yearnings contributed to this._”
PREFATORY NOTE
I have tried to bring together in this book the most beautiful
love-lyrics written in English by women since the middle of the last
century. During this period, for the first time in the history of
English literature, the work of women has compared favorably with that
of men; and in no other field have they done such noteworthy work as
in poetry. Before this period, for reasons well known to the student
of feminism, sincere love poems by women were very rare in England and
America. With the exception of Lady Barnard’s “Auld Robin Gray” and a
poem by Susanna Blamire, I have found nothing that seemed worthy of
inclusion.
In most cases the finest utterance of women poets has been on love, so
that this book is, I venture to hope, a golden treasury of lyrics by
women.
I have included no long poems, and no translations, and I have avoided
poems in which the poet dramatized a man’s feelings rather than her own.
I want to acknowledge very gratefully my indebtedness for counsel and
suggestions to Harriet Monroe, Jessie B. Rittenhouse, Louis Untermeyer,
Henry L. Mencken, William Stanley Braithwaite, Thomas S. Jones, Jr.,
John Hall Wheelock, and Thomas B. Mosher. From my husband, Ernst B.
Filsinger, I have received unfailing aid and encouragement.
SARA TEASDALE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks are due the following publishers and authors for permission to
include selections from the volumes enumerated below:--
To Mr. Richard G. Badger (Boston) for poems from “April Twilights,” by
Willa Sibert Cather, and “The Dancers,” by Edith M. Thomas.
To Messrs. Benziger Brothers (New York) for a poem from “Irish Poems,”
by Katharine Tynan.
To Messrs. William Blackwood & Sons (Edinburgh) for a poem from “Songs
of the Glens of Antrim,” by Moira O’Neill.
To Mr. Edmund D. Brooks (Minneapolis) for a poem from “A Lark Went
Singing,” by Ruth Guthrie Harding.
To Messrs. Burns & Oates (London) for a poem from “Poems,” by Alice
Meynell.
To Messrs. Chatto & Windus (London) for poems from “Songs to Save a
Soul,” by Irene Rutherford McLeod.
To Messrs. W. B. Conkey Company (Chicago) for a poem from “Poems of
Passion,” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
To _Country Life_ (London) for a poem from “The Country Life
Anthology,” by Margaret Sackville.
To Messrs. George H. Doran Company (New York) for poems from “In Deep
Places,” by Amelia Josephine Burr.
To Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Co. (New York) for a poem from “The Far
Country,” by Florence Wilkinson.
To Messrs. Duffield & Co. (New York) for poems from “The Book of Love,”
by Elsa Barker, and “Gypsy Verses,” by Helen Hay Whitney.
To Messrs. Funk & Wagnalls Company (New York) for a poem from “The Four
Winds of Eirinn,” by Ethna Carbery.
To Messrs. Gay & Hancock, Limited (London), for a poem from “Poems of
Passion,” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
To Mr. S. B. Grundy (Toronto) for a poem from “The Lamp of Poor Souls,”
by Marjorie L. C. Pickthall.
To Messrs. Harper & Brothers (New York) for a poem from “Flower o’ the
Grass,” by Ada Foster Murray.
To Mr. William Heinemann (London) for poems from “The Golden
Threshold,” by Sarojini Naidu, and “India’s Love Lyrics,” by Laurence
Hope.
To Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Company (Boston and New York) for poems
from “The Sister of the Wind” and “Little Gray Songs from St.
Joseph’s,” by Grace Fallow Norton; “The Singing Leaves,” by Josephine
Preston Peabody; “Collected Poems,” by Florence Earle Coates; “Happy
Ending,” by Louise Imogen Guiney; “A Handful of Lavender,” and “A Quiet
Road,” by Lizette Woodworth Reese; “Afternoons of April,” by Grace
Hazard Conkling; “The Shoes that Danced,” by Anna Hempstead Branch, and
“A Marriage Cycle,” by Alice Freeman Palmer.
To Mr. B. W. Huebsch (New York) for poems from “Songs to Save a Soul,”
by Irene Rutherford McLeod.
To Mr. Mitchell Kennerley (New York) for poems from “The Joy o’ Life,”
by Theodosia Garrison, and “Interpretations,” by Zoë Akins.
To Messrs. John Lane Company (New York) for poems from “The Lamp of
Poor Souls,” by Marjorie L. C. Pickthall; “The Golden Threshold,” by
Sarojini Naidu; “India’s Love Lyrics,” by Laurence Hope, and “Poems,”
by Rosamund Marriott Watson.
To Mr. John Lane, The Bodley Head (London) for poems from “The Lamp
of Poor Souls,” by Marjorie L. Pickthall, and “Poems,” by Rosamund
Marriott Watson.
To Messrs. Little, Brown & Co. (Boston) for poems from “Poems” (Second
and Third Series), by Emily Dickinson.
To The Macmillan Company (New York) for poems from “Poems,” by
Christina Rossetti; “Sword Blades and Poppy Seed,” by Amy Lowell;
“Myself and I,” and “Crack o’ Dawn,” by Fannie Stearns Davis; “You and
I,” by Harriet Monroe, and “Songs of the Glens of Antrim,” by Moira
O’Neill.
To Messrs. Macmillan & Co., Limited (London), for poems from “Poems,”
by Christina Rossetti, and “Artemis to Actæon and Other Verse,” by
Edith Wharton.
To Mr. Thomas B. Mosher (Portland, Maine) for poems from “An Italian
Garden,” by A. Mary F. Robinson; “The Flower from the Ashes and Other
Verse,” by Edith M. Thomas, and “A Wayside Lute,” by Lizette Woodworth
Reese.
To Grant Richards, Limited (London), for poems from “The Man with a
Hammer,” by Anna Wickham, and “Interpretations,” by Zoë Akins.
To Alston Rivers, Limited (London), for a poem from “Selected Poems,”
by Nora Chesson.
To Messrs. Charles Scribner’s Sons (New York) for poems from “Artemis
to Actæon and Other Verse,” by Edith Wharton; “Poems,” by Alice
Meynell; “Songs about Life, Love and Death,” by Anne Reeve Aldrich;
“Beyond the Sunset,” by Julia C. R. Dorr; “The Cycle’s Rim,” by Olive
Tilford Dargan, and “The Call of Brotherhood,” by Corinne Roosevelt
Robinson.
To The Strange Company (San Francisco) for poems from “Poems,” by Nora
May French.
To T. Fisher Unwin, Limited (London), for poems from “An Italian
Garden,” by A. Mary F. Robinson, and “A London Plane Tree,” by Amy
Levy.
To The John C. Winston Company (Philadelphia) for poems from “Factories
with Other Lyrics,” by Margaret Widdemer.
And to the editors of _Poetry_ for permission to reprint poems by
Helen Dudley, Alice Corbin, and Jean Starr Untermeyer; to _The
Independent_ for a poem by Helen Hoyt; to _The Trimmed Lamp_ for a poem
by Marguerite Wilkinson; to _McClure’s Magazine_ for a poem by Jessie
B. Rittenhouse; to _The Smart Set_ for a poem by Muna Lee; to _The
Century_ for poems by Mary Carolyn Davies and Eunice Tietjens; to _The
Forum_ for a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay; to _Much Ado_ for poems
by Zoë Akins; and to The Manas Press (Rochester, New York) for a poem
by Adelaide Crapsey.
CONTENTS
APOLOGY. _Amy Lowell_ 27
APRIL GHOST, AN. _Lizette Woodworth Reese_ 102
ASHES OF LIFE. _Edna St. Vincent Millay_ 70
AULD ROBIN GRAY. _Anne Barnard_ 104
“BELOVÈD, MY BELOVÈD, WHEN I THINK.” _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 26
BIRCH TREE AT LOSCHWITZ, THE. _Amy Levy_ 2
BIRTHDAY, A. _Christina Rossetti_ 17
CARNATIONS. _Margaret Widdemer_ 97
CHOICE. _Emily Dickinson_ 19
“COME BACK TO ME.” _Christina Rossetti_ 69
COMRADES. _Fannie Stearns Davis_ 49
CONNAUGHT LAMENT, A. _Nora Chesson_ 10
“CUTTIN’ RUSHES.” _Moira O’Neill_ 94
CYNIC, THE. _Theodosia Garrison_ 72
DEBTS. _Jessie B. Rittenhouse_ 46
DEEP-SEA PEARL, THE. _Edith M. Thomas_ 103
DIRGE. _Adelaide Crapsey_ 100
“DOUGLAS, DOUGLAS, TENDER AND TRUE.” _Dinah
Mulock Craik_ 114
ECSTASY. _Sarojini Naidu_ 35
ENCHANTED SHEEP-FOLD, THE. _Josephine Preston Peabody_ 15
FAREWELL, A. _Harriet Monroe_ 66
FINIS. _Rosamund Marriott Watson_ 107
FOUND. _Josephine Preston Peabody_ 18
FRIENDSHIP AFTER LOVE. _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_ 84
FROM A CAR-WINDOW. _Ruth Guthrie Harding_ 91
GIFTS. _Juliana Horatia Ewing_ 57
“GO FROM ME.” _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 64
“GRANDMITHER, THINK NOT I FORGET.” _Willa Sibert Cather_ 108
GREAT MAN, THE. _Eunice Tietjens_ 37
HAWTHORN TREE, THE. _Willa Sibert Cather_ 34
HEART’S COUNTRY, THE. _Florence Wilkinson_ 23
“HOW DO I LOVE THEE?” _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 43
I AM THE WIND. _Zoë Akins_ 80
“I HAVE WANDERED TO A SPRING.” _Edna Wahlert McCourt_ 5
I KNOW. _Elsa Barker_ 39
“I LEANED OUT MY WINDOW.” _Jean Ingelow_ 31
“I MUST NOT YIELD.” _Nora May French_ 63
“I SAT AMONG THE GREEN LEAVES.” _Marjorie L. C. Pickthall_ 13
“I WILL NOT GIVE THEE ALL MY HEART.” _Grace Hazard Conkling_ 56
“IF THOU MUST LOVE ME, LET IT BE FOR NOUGHT.”
_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 41
IN DEEP PLACES. _Amelia Josephine Burr_ 51
IN THE PARK. _Helen Hoyt_ 14
INCANTATION, AN. _Marguerite Wilkinson_ 21
INSUFFICIENCY. _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 62
LATE COMER, TO A. _Julia C. R. Dorr_ 96
“LESS THAN THE DUST.” _Laurence Hope_ 119
“LOVE CAME BACK AT FALL O’ DEW.” _Lizette Woodworth Reese_ 90
LOVE IS A TERRIBLE THING. _Grace Fallow Norton_ 8
LOVE ME AT LAST. _Alice Corbin_ 6
LOVE SONG. _Mary Carolyn Davies_ 22
LOVE SONG. _Harriet Monroe_ 59
LOVE’S CHANGE. _Anne Reeve Aldrich_ 67
LYNMOUTH WIDOW, A. _Amelia Josephine Burr_ 118
MAN, THE. _Helen Hay Whitney_ 121
MAN WITH A HAMMER, THE. _Anna Wickham_ 36
“MANY IN AFTERTIMES WILL SAY.” _Christina Rossetti_ 78
MENACE. _Katharine Tynan_ 58
MESSAGE, THE. _Margaret Sackville_ 85
NAME, THE. _Williamina Parrish_ 30
NORAH. _Zoë Akins_ 120
“OH, THE BURDEN, THE BURDEN OF LOVE UNGIVEN.”
_Grace Fallow Norton_ 12
OLD SONG, AN. _Fannie Stearns Davis_ 54
OTHER, THE. _Ethna Carbery_ 86
PARTING. _Emily Dickinson_ 53
PARTING. _Alice Freeman Palmer_ 83
PASSER-BY, THE. _Edith M. Thomas_ 111
POSSESSION. _Jean Starr Untermeyer_ 60
RAIN. _Jean Starr Untermeyer_ 29
RAIN, RAIN! _Zoë Akins_ 33
RAINBOW, THE. _Vine Colby_ 88
RED MAY. _A. Mary F. Robinson_ 7
REMINISCENCE, A. _Amy Levy_ 99
RENOUNCEMENT. _Alice Meynell_ 65
REQUIESCAT. _Rosamund Marriott Watson_ 113
REST. _Irene Rutherford McLeod_ 40
RHAPSODY. _Florence Earle Coates_ 24
RISPETTO, I, II, III. _A. Mary F. Robinson_ 75, 76, 77
SEA SONG. _Laurence Hope_ 73
SERVICE. _Anna Hempstead Branch_ 81
SILLER CROWN, THE. _Susanna Blamire_ 92
“SO BEAUTIFUL YOU ARE, INDEED.” _Irene Rutherford McLeod_ 20
SOMEWHERE OR OTHER. _Christina Rossetti_ 1
TAXI, THE. _Amy Lowell_ 44
THAT DAY YOU CAME. _Lizette Woodworth Reese_ 52
TIRED WOMAN, THE. _Anna Wickham_ 42
TO A LATE COMER. _Julia C. R. Dorr_ 96
TO ONE UNKNOWN. _Helen Dudley_ 3
“TO-DAY I WENT AMONG THE MOUNTAIN FOLK.” _Olive Tilford Dargan_ 101
“UNDER DUSKY LAUREL LEAF.” _Margaret Widdemer_ 122
UNFULFILLED. _Corinne Roosevelt Robinson_ 117
UNWEDDED. _Ada Foster Murray_ 116
VOS NON VOBIS. _Edith M. Thomas_ 11
“WHEN I AM DEAD.” _Christina Rossetti_ 112
“WHEN ON THE MARGE OF EVENING.” _Louise Imogen Guiney_ 25
WHEN PLAINTIVELY AND NEAR THE CRICKET SINGS. _Nora May French_ 68
“WHEN WE SHALL BE DUST.” _Muna Lee_ 79
WOMAN’S QUESTION, A. _Adelaide Anne Procter_ 47
“YET FOR ONE ROUNDED MOMENT.” _Edith Wharton_ 61
“YOU SAY THERE IS NO LOVE.” _Grace Fallow Norton_ 45
THE ANSWERING VOICE
SOMEWHERE OR OTHER
Somewhere or other there must surely be
The face not seen, the voice not heard,
The heart that not yet--never yet--ah, me!
Made answer to my word.
Somewhere or other, maybe near or far;
Past land and sea, clean out of sight;
Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star
That tracks her night by night.
Somewhere or other, maybe far or near;
With just a wall, a hedge, between;
With just the last leaves of the dying year
Fallen on a turf grown green.
_Christina Rossetti_
THE BIRCH TREE AT LOSCHWITZ
At Loschwitz above the city
The air is sunny and chill;
The birch trees and the pine trees
Grow thick upon the hill.
Lone and tall, with silver stem,
A birch tree stands apart;
The passionate wind of spring-time
Stirs in its leafy heart.
I lean against the birch tree,
My arms around it twine;
It pulses, and leaps, and quivers,
Like a human heart to mine.
One moment I stand, then sudden
Let loose mine arms that cling:
O God! the lonely hillside,
The passionate wind of spring!
_Amy Levy_
TO ONE UNKNOWN
I have seen the proudest stars
That wander on through space,
Even the sun and moon,
But not your face.
I have heard the violin,
The winds and waves rejoice
In endless minstrelsy;
Yet not your voice.
I have touched the trillium,
Pale flower of the land,
Coral, anemone,
And not your hand.
I have kissed the shining feet
Of Twilight lover-wise,
Opened the gates of Dawn--
Oh, not your eyes!
I have dreamed unwonted things,
Visions that witches brew,
Spoken with images,
Never with you.
_Helen Dudley_
“I HAVE WANDERED TO A SPRING”
I have wandered to a spring in the forest green and dim,
The sweet quiet stirs about me--
The water twinkles at me,
As I stoop to dip my cup,
As I stoop to drink--to him.
True, I’m only half in earnest--I touch the cool, wet brim--
He’d laugh if he could see me--
I’m glad he doesn’t see me,
As alone with my queer gladness,
I stoop to drink--to him.
_Edna Wahlert McCourt_
LOVE ME AT LAST
Love me at last, or if you will not,
Leave me;
Hard words could never, as these half-words,
Grieve me:
Love me at last--or leave me.
Love me at last, or let the last word uttered
Be but your own;
Love me, or leave me--as a cloud, a vapor,
Or a bird flown.
Love me at last--I am but sliding water
Over a stone.
_Alice Corbin_
RED MAY
Out of the window the trees in the Square
Are covered with crimson May--
You, that were all of my love and my care,
Have broken my heart to-day.
But though I have lost you and though I despair
Till even the past looks gray--
Out of the window the trees in the Square
Are covered with crimson May.
_A. Mary F. Robinson_
LOVE IS A TERRIBLE THING
I went out to the farthest meadow,
I lay down in the deepest shadow;
And I said unto the earth, “Hold me,”
And unto the night, “O enfold me,”
And unto the wind petulantly
I cried, “You know not for you are free!”
And I begged the little leaves to lean
Low and together for a safe screen;
Then to the stars I told my tale:
“That is my home-light, there in the vale,
“And Ο, I know that I shall return,
But let me lie first mid the unfeeling fern.
“For there is a flame that has blown too near,
And there is a name that has grown too dear,
And there is a fear....”
And to the still hills and cool earth and far sky I made moan,
“The heart in my bosom is not my own!
“O would I were free as the wind on wing;
Love is a terrible thing!”
_Grace Fallow Norton_
A CONNAUGHT LAMENT
I will arise and go hence to the west,
And dig me a grave where the hill-winds call;
But oh, were I dead, were I dust, the fall
Of my own love’s footstep would break my rest!
My heart in my bosom is black as a sloe!
I heed not cuckoo, nor wren, nor swallow:
Like a flying leaf in the sky’s blue hollow
The heart in my breast is, that beats so low.
Because of the words your lips have spoken,
(O dear black head that I must not follow)
My heart is a grave that is stripped and hollow,
As ice on the water my heart is broken.
O lips forgetful and kindness fickle,
The swallow goes south with you: I go west
Where fields are empty and scythes at rest.
I am the poppy and you the sickle;
My heart is broken within my breast.
_Nora Chesson_
VOS NON VOBIS
There was a garden planned in Spring’s young days,
Then Summer held it in her bounteous hand,
And many wandered through its blooming ways,
But ne’er the one for whom the work was planned.
And it was vainly done--
For what are many, if we lack the one?
There was a song that lived within the heart
Long time--and then on Music’s wing it strayed!
All sing it now, all praise its artless art,
But ne’er the one for whom the song was made.
And it was vainly done--
For what are many, if we lack the one!
_Edith M. Thomas_
“OH, THE BURDEN, THE BURDEN OF LOVE UNGIVEN”
Oh, the burden, the burden of love ungiven,
The weight of laughter unshed,
Oh, heavy caresses, unblown tendernesses,
Oh, love-words unsung and unsaid.
Oh, the burden, the burden of love unspoken,
The cramp of silence close-furled,
To lips that would utter, to hands that would scatter
Love’s seed on the paths of the world.
Oh, the heavy burden of love ungiven:
My breast doth this burden bear;
Deep in my bosom the unblown blossom--
My world-love that withers there.
_Grace Fallow Norton_
“I SAT AMONG THE GREEN LEAVES”
I sat among the green leaves, and heard the nuts falling,
The blood-red butterflies were gold against the sun,
But in between the silence and the sweet birds calling
The nuts fell one by one.
Why should they fall and the year but half over?
Why should sorrow seek me and I so young and kind?
The leaf is on the bough and the dew is on the clover,
But the green nuts are falling in the wind.
Oh, I gave my lips away and all my soul behind them.
Why should trouble follow and the quick tears start?
The little birds may love and fly with only God to mind them,
But the green nuts are falling on my heart.
_Marjorie L. C. Pickthall_
IN THE PARK
He whistled soft whistlings I knew were for me,
Teasing, endearing.
Won’t you look? was what they said,
But I did not turn my head.
(Only a little I turned my hearing.)
My feet took me by;
Straight and evenly they went:
As if they had not dreamed what he meant:
As if such a curiosity
Never were known since the world began
As woman wanting man!
My heart led me past and took me away;
And yet it was my heart that wanted to stay.
_Helen Hoyt_
THE ENCHANTED SHEEP-FOLD
The hills far-off were blue, blue,
The hills at hand were brown;
And all the herd-bells called to me
As I came by the down.
The briars turned to roses--roses,
Ever we stayed to pull
A white little rose, and a red little rose,
And a lock of silver wool.
Nobody heeded,--none, none;
And when True Love came by,
They thought him nought but the shepherd-boy.
Nobody knew but I!
The trees were feathered like birds, birds;
Birds were in every tree.
Yet nobody heeded, nobody heard,
Nobody knew, save we.
And he is fairer than all,--all.
How could a heart go wrong?
For his eyes I knew, and his knew mine,
Like an old, old song.
_Josephine Preston Peabody_
A BIRTHDAY
My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a watered shoot:
My heart is like an apple tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.
Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
_Christina Rossetti_
FOUND
Oh, when I saw your eyes,
So old it was, so new, the hushed surprise:
After a long, long search, it came to be,
Home folded me.
And looking up, I saw
The far, first stars like tapers to my awe,
In the dim hands of hid, benignant Powers,
At search long hours.
And did they hear us call,
That they have found us children after all?
And did you know, O Wonderful and Dear,
That I was here?
_Josephine Preston Peabody_
CHOICE
Of all the souls that stand create
I have elected one.
When sense from spirit flies away,
And subterfuge is done;
When that which is and that which was
Apart, intrinsic, stand,
And this brief tragedy of flesh
Is shifted like a sand;
When figures show their royal front
And mists are carved away,--
Behold the atom I preferred
To all the lists of clay!
_Emily Dickinson_
“SO BEAUTIFUL YOU ARE INDEED”
So beautiful you are, indeed,
That I am troubled when you come,
And though I crave you for my need,
Your nearness strikes me blind and dumb.
And when you bring your lips to mine
My spirit trembles and escapes,
And you and I are turned divine,
Bereft of our familiar shapes.
And fearfully we tread cold space,
Naked of flesh and winged with flame,
... Until we find us face to face,
Each calling on the other’s name!
_Irene Rutherford McLeod_
AN INCANTATION
O strong sun of heaven, harm not my love,
Sear him not with your flame, blind him not with your beauty,
Shine for his pleasure!
O gray rains of heaven, harm not my love,
Drown not in your torrent the song of his heart,
Lave and caress him!
O swift winds of heaven, harm not my love,
Bruise not nor buffet him with your rough humor,
Sing you his prowess!
O mighty triad, strong ones of heaven,
Sun, rain and wind, be gentle, I charge you;
For your mad mood of wrath have me, I am ready--
But spare him, my lover, most proud and most dear--
O sun, rain and wind, strong ones of heaven!
_Marguerite Wilkinson_
LOVE SONG
There is a strong wall about me to protect me:
It is built of the words you have said to me.
There are swords about me to keep me safe:
They are the kisses of your lips.
Before me goes a shield to guard me from harm:
It is the shadow of your arms between me and danger.
All the wishes of my mind know your name,
And the white desires of my heart
They are acquainted with you.
The cry of my body for completeness,
That is a cry to you.
My blood beats out your name to me, unceasing, pitiless--
Your name, your name.
_Mary Carolyn Davies_
THE HEART’S COUNTRY
Hill people turn to their hills;
Sea folk are sick for the sea:
Thou art my land and my country,
And my heart calls out for thee.
The bird beats his wings for the open,
The captive burns to be free;
But I--I cry at thy window,
For thou art my liberty.
_Florence Wilkinson_
RHAPSODY
As the mother bird to the waiting nest,
As the regnant moon to the sea,
As joy to the heart that hath first been blest--
So is my love to me.
Sweet as the song of the lark that soars
From the net of the fowler free,
Sweet as the morning that song adores--
So is my love to me!
As the rose that blossoms in matchless grace
Where the canker may not be,
As the well that springs in a desert place--
So is my love to me.
_Florence Earle Coates_
“WHEN ON THE MARGE OF EVENING”
When on the marge of evening the last blue light is broken,
And winds of dreamy odor are loosened from afar,
Or when my lattice opens, before the lark hath spoken,
On dim laburnum-blossoms, and morning’s dying star,
I think of thee (oh mine the more if other eyes be sleeping!)
Whose greater noonday splendors the many share and see,
While sacred and forever, some perfect law is keeping
The late, the early twilight, alone and sweet for me.
_Louise Imogen Guiney_
“BELOVÈD, MY BELOVÈD, WHEN I THINK”
Belovèd, my belovèd, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sat alone here in the snow,
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
No moment at thy voice, but link by link,
Went counting all my chains as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand,--why, thus I drink
Of life’s great cup of wonder! Wonderful,
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
With personal act or speech, nor ever cull
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull,
Who cannot guess God’s presence out of sight.
_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_
APOLOGY
Be not angry with me that I bear
Your colors everywhere,
All through each crowded street,
And meet
The wonder-light in every eye,
As I go by.
Each plodding wayfarer looks up to gaze,
Blinded by rainbow haze,
The stuff of happiness,
No less,
Which wraps me in its glad-hued folds
Of peacock golds.
Before my feet the dusty, rough-paved way
Flushes beneath its gray.
My steps fall ringed with light,
So bright,
It seems a myriad suns are strown
About the town.
Around me is the sound of steepled bells,
And rich perfumèd smells
Hang like a wind-forgotten cloud,
And shroud
Me from close contact with the world.
I dwell impearled.
You blazon me with jeweled insignia.
A flaming nebula
Rims in my life. And yet
You set
The word upon me, unconfessed
To go unguessed.
_Amy Lowell_
RAIN
I have always hated the rain,
And the gloom of grayed skies.
But now I think I must always cherish
Rain-hung leaf and the misty river;
And the friendly screen of dripping green
Where eager kisses were shyly given
And your pipe-smoke made clouds in our damp, close heaven.
The curious laggard passed us by,
His wet shoes soughed on the shining walk.
And that afternoon was filled with a blurred glory--
That afternoon, when we first talked as lovers.
_Jean Starr Untermeyer_
THE NAME
I’ve learned to say it carelessly,
So no one else can see
By any little look or sign
How dear it is to me.
But, oh, the thrill, as though you kissed
My tingling finger-tips
Each time the golden syllables
Fall lightly from my lips!
_Williamina Parrish_
“I LEANED OUT MY WINDOW”
I leaned out my window, I smelt the white clover,
Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate;
Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover--
Hush, nightingale, hush! Oh, sweet nightingale, wait
Till I listen and hear
If a step draweth near,
For my love he is late!
“The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer,
A cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree,
The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer:
To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see?
Let the star-clusters grow,
Let the sweet waters flow,
And cross quickly to me.
“You night moths that hover where honey brims over
From sycamore blooms, or settle or sleep;
You glowworms, shine out, and the pathway discover
To him that comes darkling along the rough steep.
Ah, my sailor, make haste,
For the time runs to waste,
And my love lieth deep--
“Too deep for swift telling; and yet, my one lover,
I’ve conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night.”
By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover,
Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight;
But I’ll love him more, more
Than e’er wife loved before,
Be the day dark or bright.
_Jean Ingelow_
RAIN, RAIN!
Rain, rain,--fall, fall,
In a heavy screen--
That my lover be not seen!
Wind, wind,--blow, blow,
Till the leaves are stirred--
That my lover be not heard!
Storm, storm,--rage, rage,
Like a war around--
That my lover be not found!
... Lark, lark,--hush ... hush ...
Softer music make--
That my lover may not wake....
_Zoë Akins_
THE HAWTHORN TREE
Across the shimmering meadows--
Ah, when he came to me!
In the spring-time,
In the night-time,
In the starlight,
Beneath the hawthorn tree.
Up from the misty marshland--
Ah, when he climbed to me!
To my white bower,
To my sweet rest,
To my warm breast,
Beneath the hawthorn tree.
Ask of me what the birds sang,
High in the hawthorn tree;
What the breeze tells,
What the rose smells,
What the stars shine--
Not what he said to me!
_Willa Sibert Cather_
ECSTASY
Cover mine eyes, O my Love!
Mine eyes that are weary of bliss
As of light that is poignant and strong.
Oh, silence my lips with a kiss,
My lips that are weary of song!
Shelter my soul, O my Love!
My soul is bent low with the pain
And the burden of love, like the grace
Of a flower that is smitten with rain;
Oh, shelter my soul from thy face!
_Sarojini Naidu_
THE MAN WITH A HAMMER
My Dear was a mason
And I was his stone.
And quick did he fashion
A house of his own.
As fish in the waters,
As birds in a tree,
So natural and blithe lives
His spirit in me.
_Anna Wickham_
THE GREAT MAN
I cannot always feel his greatness.
Sometimes he walks beside me, step by step,
And paces slowly in the ways--
The simple, wingless ways
That my thoughts tread. He gossips with me then,
And finds it good;
Not as an eagle might, his great wings folded, be content
To walk a little, knowing it his choice,
But as a simple man,
My friend.
And I forget.
Then suddenly a call floats down
From the clear airy spaces,
The great keen, lonely heights of being.
And he who was my comrade hears the call
And rises from my side, and soars,
Deep-chanting, to the heights.
Then I remember.
And my upward gaze goes with him, and I see
Far off against the sky
The glint of golden sunlight on his wings.
_Eunice Tietjens_
I KNOW
Oh! I know why the alder trees
Lean over the reflecting stream;
And I know what the wandering bees
Heard in the woods of dream.
I know how the uneasy tide
Answers the signal of the moon,
And why the morning-glories hide
Their eyes in the forenoon.
And I know all the wild delight
That quivers in the sea-bird’s wings,
For in one little hour last night
Love told me all these things.
_Elsa Barker_
REST
As a little child I come
To be gathered to your breast
So tired that my lips are dumb,
So sad that my warm heart is numb:
Belovèd, let me rest.
Oh, how all the noises die,
All the cruel voices cease,
I can sleep when you are by,
And I am too faint to cry:
Here at last is peace.
Hold me, nurse me, love me ... so ...
Almost I could learn to weep!
Hush, I feel my spirit grow ...
When you tire ... let me go ...
I shall be ... asleep.
_Irene Rutherford McLeod_
“IF THOU MUST LOVE ME, LET IT BE FOR NOUGHT”
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love’s sake only. Do not say,
“I love her for her smile, her look, her way
Of speaking gently, for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day”;
For these things in themselves, belovèd, may
Be changed, or change for thee: and love so wrought
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity’s wiping my cheeks dry:
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby.
But love me for love’s sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on through love’s eternity.
_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_
THE TIRED WOMAN
O my Lover, blind me,
Take your cords and bind me,
Then drive me through a silent land,
With the compelling of your open hand!
There is too much of sound, too much for sight,
In thunderous lightnings of this night,
There is too much of freedom for my feet,
Bruised by the stones of this disordered street.
I know that there is sweetest rest for me,
In silent fields, and in captivity.
O Lover! drive me through a stilly land,
With the compelling of your open hand.
_Anna Wickham_
“HOW DO I LOVE THEE?”
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_
THE TAXI
When I go away from you
The world beats dead
Like a slackened drum.
I call out for you against the jutted stars
And shout into the ridges of the wind.
Streets coming fast,
One after the other,
Wedge you away from me,
And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
So that I can no longer see your face.
Why should I leave you,
To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?
_Amy Lowell_
“YOU SAY THERE IS NO LOVE”
You say there is no love, my love,
Unless it lasts for aye!
Oh, folly, there are interludes
Better than the play.
You say lest it endure, sweet love,
It is not love for aye?
Oh, blind! Eternity can be
All in one little day.
_Grace Fallow Norton_
DEBTS
My debt to you, Belovèd,
Is one I cannot pay
In any coin of any realm
On any reckoning day;
For where is he shall figure
The debt, when all is said,
To one who makes you dream again
When all the dreams were dead?
Or where is the appraiser
Who shall the claim compute
Of one who makes you sing again
When all the songs were mute?
_Jessie B. Rittenhouse_
A WOMAN’S QUESTION
Before I trust my fate to thee,
Or place my hand in thine,
Before I let thy future give
Color and form to mine,--
Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night, for me.
I break all slighter bonds, nor feel
One shadow of regret:
Is there one link within the past
That holds thy spirit yet?
Or is thy faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge
to thee?...
Is there within thy heart a need
That mine cannot fulfill?
One chord that any other hand
Could better wake or still?
Speak now, lest at some future day, my whole life wither and decay....
Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day,
And answer to my claim
That fate, and that to-day’s mistake,
Not thou, had been to blame?
Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou--oh, surely thou wilt
warn me now!
_Adelaide Anne Procter_
COMRADES
You need not say one word to me, as up the hill we go
(Night-time, white-time, all in the whispering snow);
You need not say one word to me, although the whispering trees
Seem strange and old as pagan priests in swaying mysteries.
You need not think one thought of me, as up the trail we go
(Hill-trail, still-trail, all in the hiding snow);
You need not think one thought of me, although a hare runs by,
And off behind the tumbled cairn we hear a red fox cry.
Oh, good and rare it is to feel, as through the night we go
(Wild-wise, child-wise, all in the secret snow),
That we are free of heart and foot as hare and fox are free,
And yet that I am glad of you, and you are glad of me!
_Fannie Stearns Davis_
IN DEEP PLACES
I love thee, dear, and knowing mine own heart
With every beat I give God thanks for this;
I love thee only for the self thou art;
No wild embrace, no wisdom-shaking kiss,
No passionate pleading of a heart laid bare,
No urgent cry of love’s extremity--
Strong traps to take the spirit unaware--
Not one of these I ever had of thee.
Neither of passion nor of pity wrought
Is this, the love to which at last I yield,
But shapen in the stillness of my thought
And by a birth of agony revealed.
Here is a thing to live while we do live
Which honors thee to take and me to give.
_Amelia Josephine Burr_
THAT DAY YOU CAME
Such special sweetness was about
That day God sent you here,
I knew the lavender was out,
And it was mid of year.
Their common way the great winds blew,
The ships sailed out to sea;
Yet ere that day was spent I knew
Mine own had come to me.
As after song some snatch of tune
Lurks still in grass or bough,
So, somewhat of the end o’ June
Lurks in each weather now.
The young year sets the buds astir,
The old year strips the trees;
But ever in my lavender
I hear the brawling bees.
_Lizette Woodworth Reese_
PARTING
My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me.
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell;
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
_Emily Dickinson_
AN OLD SONG
And if I came not again
After certain days;
If no morning sun or rain
Met me on their ways;
If the meadows knew no more
How my feet go free,
And the folded hills forbore
Any speech of me;
If you did not find me here,
At the door at night,
And the cold hearth kept no cheer,
And the panes no light;--
Oh, if I came not again,
Would you miss me much?
Would your fingers once be fain
Of my wandering touch?
Would you dream me at your side
In the waking wood,
Where the old spring hungers hide
In blue solitude?
Would you wonder where I passed,
Into joy or pain?
Oh, to know you cared, at last,
Came I not again!
_Fannie Stearns Davis_
“I WILL NOT GIVE THEE ALL MY HEART”
I will not give thee all my heart
For that I need a place apart
To dream my dreams in, and I know
Few sheltered ways for dreams to go:
But when I shut the door upon
Some secret wonder--still, withdrawn--
Why dost thou love me even more,
And hold me closer than before?
When I of Love demand the least,
Thou biddest him to fire and feast:
When I am hungry and would eat,
There is no bread, though crusts were sweet.
If I with manna may be fed,
Shall I go all uncomforted?
Nay! Howsoever dear thou art,
I will not give thee all my heart.
_Grace Hazard Conkling_
GIFTS
You ask me what--since we must part--
You shall bring back to me.
Bring back a pure and faithful heart
As true as mine to thee.
You talk of gems from foreign lands,
Of treasure, spoil, and prize.
Ah love! I shall not search your hands
But look into your eyes.
_Juliana Horatia Ewing_
MENACE
I came into your room and spoke.
Sudden I knew you were not there.
The easy, common sentence broke
Against the unanswering air.
My heart shook like a frightened bird,
And to my ear the terror said,
Where nothing spoke and nothing stirred,--
_Dear God, if he were dead!_
I heard your footstep in the house,
Your voice brought comfort to my fear.
But, fluttering like a frightened mouse,
My heart beat at my ear.
The room wore its familiar face;
On the warm hearth spirted the flame.
Yet--menace of an empty place--
_Lord, if he never came!_
_Katharine Tynan_
LOVE SONG
I love my life, but not too well
To give it to thee like a flower,
So it may pleasure thee to dwell
Deep in its perfume but an hour.
I love my life, but not too well.
I love my life, but not too well
To sing it note by note away,
So to thy soul the song may tell
The beauty of the desolate day.
I love my life, but not too well.
I love my life, but not too well
To cast it like a cloak on thine,
Against the storms that sound and swell
Between thy lonely heart and mine.
I love my life, but not too well.
_Harriet Monroe_
POSSESSION
Walk into the world,
Go into the places of trade;
Go into the smiling country--
But go, clad, wrapped closely always,
Shielded and sustained,
In the visible flame of my love.
Let it blaze about you--
A glowing armor for all to see;
Flashing around your head--
A tender and valiant halo.
I think there will be many to wonder
And many to stand in awe and envy--
But surely no one will come too close to you.
No one will dare to claim you,--
Hand or heart,--
As you pass in your shining and terrible garment.
_Jean Starr Untermeyer_
“YET FOR ONE ROUNDED MOMENT”
Yet for one rounded moment I will be
No more to you than what my lips may give,
And in the circle of your kisses live
As in some island of a storm-blown sea,
Where the cold surges of infinity
Upon the outward reefs unheeded grieve,
And the loud murmur of our blood shall weave
Primeval silences round you and me.
If in that moment we are all we are,
We live enough. Let this for all requite.
Do I not know, some wingèd things from far
Are borne along illimitable night
To dance their lives out in a single flight
Between the moonrise and the setting star?
_Edith Wharton_
INSUFFICIENCY
I
There is no one beside thee, and no one above thee;
Thou standest alone, as the nightingale sings!
And my words that would praise thee are impotent things,
For none can express thee, though all should approve thee.
I love thee so, dear, that I only can love thee.
II
Say, what can I do for thee? Weary thee, grieve thee?
Lean on thy shoulder, new burdens to add?
Weep my tears over thee, making thee sad?
Oh, hold me not, love me not! let me retrieve thee.
I love thee so, dear, that I only can leave thee.
_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_
“I MUST NOT YIELD”
I must not yield ... but if he would not sing!
My stilling hands upon my breast can feel
Its answer tremble like a muted string.
Below the vaulted window where I kneel
He sings, he sings, to stars and listening skies.
A white and haunted place my garden seems.--
I see the pleading beauty of his eyes
As faces glimmer in a pool of dreams.
So wooing wind might sweep a harp awake.
(Oh, muting fingers on each quivering string!)
I must not yield ... I think my heart will break.
Mother of Heaven, if he would not sing!
_Nora May French_
“GO FROM ME”
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore,--
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And, when I sue
God for myself, he hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_
RENOUNCEMENT
I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
I shun the thought that lurks in all delight--
The thought of thee--and in the blue Heaven’s height,
And in the sweetest passage of a song.
Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng
This breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden yet bright;
But it must never, never come in sight;
I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as raiment laid away,--
With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.
_Alice Meynell_
A FAREWELL
Good-bye!--no, do not grieve that it is over,
The perfect hour;
That the winged joy, sweet honey-loving rover,
Flits from the flower.
Grieve not--it is the law. Love will be flying--
Yes, love and all.
Glad was the living--blessed be the dying.
Let the leaves fall.
_Harriet Monroe_
LOVE’S CHANGE
I went to dig a grave for Love,
But the earth was so stiff and cold
That, though I strove through the bitter night,
I could not break the mould.
And I said: “Must he lie in my house in state,
And stay in his wonted place?
Must I have him with me another day,
With that awful change in his face?”
_Anne Reeve Aldrich_
WHEN PLAINTIVELY AND NEAR THE CRICKET SINGS
Now evening comes. Now stirs my discontent....
Oh, ache of smallest, unforgotten things!
How sharp you are when day and dark are blent,
When beetles hurry by with vibrant wings,
And plaintively and near the cricket sings.
The sighing garden calls me from the door;
Above the hills a little crescent swings--
Above the path where you will come no more
When beetles hurry by on vibrant wings,
And plaintively and near the cricket sings.
_Nora May French_
“COME BACK TO ME”
Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:--
Or come not yet, for it is over then,
And long it is before you come again,
So far between my pleasures are and few.
While, when you come not, what I do I do
Thinking, “Now when he comes,” my sweetest “when”:
For one man is my world of all the men
This wide world holds; O love, my world is you.
Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang
Because the pang of parting comes so soon;
My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon
Between the heavenly days on which we meet:
Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang
When life was sweet because you called them sweet?
_Christina Rossetti_
ASHES OF LIFE
Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
Eat I must, and sleep I will,--and would that night were here!
But ah!--to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!
Would that it were day again!--with twilight near!
Love has gone and left me and I don’t know what to do;
This or that or what you will is all the same to me;
But all the things that I begin I leave before I’m through,--
There’s little use in anything as far as I can see.
Love has gone and left me, and the neighbors knock and borrow,
And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse,--
And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow
There’s this little street and this little house.
_Edna St. Vincent Millay_
THE CYNIC
I say it to comfort me over and over,
Having a querulous heart to beguile,
Never had woman a tenderer lover--
For a little while.
Oh, there never were eyes more eager to read her
In her saddest mood or her moments gay,
Oh, there never were hands more strong to lead her--
For a little way.
There never were loftier promises given
Of love that should guard her the ages through,
As great, enduring and steadfast as Heaven--
For a week or two.
Well, end as it does, I have had it, known it,
For this shall I turn me to weep or pray?
Nay, rather I laugh that I thought to own it
For more than a day.
_Theodosia Garrison_
SEA SONG
Against the planks of the cabin side
(So slight a thing between them and me),
The great waves thundered and throbbed and sighed,
The great green waves of the Indian Sea!
Your face was white as the foam is white,
Your hair was curled as the waves are curled,
I would we had steamed and reached that night
The sea’s last edge, the end of the world.
The wind blew in through the open port,
So freshly joyous and salt and free,
Your hair it lifted, your lips it sought,
And then swept back to the open sea.
The engines throbbed with their constant beat;
Your heart was nearer, and all I heard;
Your lips were salt, but I found them sweet,
While, acquiescent, you spoke no word.
So straight you lay in your narrow berth,
Rocked by the waves; and you seemed to be
Essence of all that is sweet on earth,
Of all that is sad and strange at sea.
And you were white as the foam is white,
Your hair was curled as the waves are curled.
Ah! had we but sailed and reached that night,
The sea’s last edge, the end of the world!
_Laurence Hope_
RISPETTO
I
What good is there, ah me, what good in Love?
Since, even if you love me, we must part;
And since for either, an’ you cared enough,
There’s but division and a broken heart?
And yet, God knows, to hear you say: My Dear!
I would lie down and stretch me on the bier.
And yet would I, to hear you say: My Own!
With mine own hands drag down the burial stone.
_A. Mary F. Robinson_
RISPETTO
II
Let us forget we loved each other much,
Let us forget we ever have to part,
Let us forget that any look or touch
Once let in either to the other’s heart.
Only we’ll sit upon the daisied grass
And hear the larks and see the swallows pass;
Only we’ll live awhile, as children play,
Without to-morrow, without yesterday.
_A. Mary F. Robinson_
RISPETTO
III
Ah, Love, I cannot die, I cannot go
Down in the dark and leave you all alone,
Ah, hold me fast, safe in the warmth I know,
And never shut me underneath a stone.
Dead in the grave! And I can never hear
If you are ill, or if you miss me, dear,
Dead, oh, my God! and you may need me yet,
While I shall sleep, while I--while I--forget!
_A. Mary F. Robinson_
“MANY IN AFTERTIMES WILL SAY”
Many in aftertimes will say of you,
“He loved her”--while of me what will they say?
Not that I loved you more than just in play,
For fashion’s sake as idle women do.
Even let them prate; who know not what we knew
Of love and parting in exceeding pain,
Of parting hopeless here to meet again,
Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view.
But by my heart of love laid bare to you,
My love that you can make not void nor vain,
Love that foregoes you but to claim anew
Beyond this passage of the gate of death,
I charge you at the Judgment make it plain
My love of you was life and not a breath.
_Christina Rossetti_
“WHEN WE SHALL BE DUST”
When we shall be dust in the churchyard--
In twenty years--in fifty years--
Who will remember you kissed me once,
Who will be grieved for our tears?
The locust tree will have grown taller,
The old walks will be covered with grass,
And past our quiet graves go straying
A youth with his arm round his lass.
And the bee that shall suck your grave flowers--
Anemone, stock, columbine,
May pause in his swift homing journey
To taste of the honey from mine.
_Muna Lee_
I AM THE WIND
I am the wind that wavers,
You are the certain land;
I am the shadow that passes
Over the sand.
I am the leaf that quivers,
You--the unshaken tree;
You are the stars that are steadfast,
I am the sea.
You are the light eternal,
Like a torch I shall die....
You are the surge of deep music,
I--but a cry!
_Zoë Akins_
SERVICE
If I could only serve him,
How sweet this life would be.
Last night I dreamed my darling,
Alive, returned to me.
I brought him from the cupboard
The things he liked to eat,--
The little piece of honey,
The rye bread and the meat.
I sang the song he asked for
The night he went away.
How was it, when I loved him,
I could have said him nay!
I took the time to please him,
With a hand upon his brow.
Amid the awful leisure
There was no hurry now.
How strange I once denied him
What took so little while.
A kiss would seem so simple,
So slight a thing a smile.
With pleased sweet looks of wonder
He took what I could give,--
Such words as we deny them
Only because they live.
The pale light of the morning
Shone in upon the wall.
Come back to me, my darling,
And I will give you all.
_Anna Hempstead Branch_
PARTING
Dear Love, it was so hard to say
Good-bye to-day!
You turned to go, yet going turned to stay!
Till suddenly at last you went away.
Then all at last I found my love unsaid,
And bowed my head;
And went in tears up to my lonely bed--
Oh, would it be like this if you were dead?
_Alice Freeman Palmer_
FRIENDSHIP AFTER LOVE