IN the middle of the night
Mother’s spirit came and spoke to me,
Looking weariful and white—
As ’twere untimely news she broke to me.
“O my daughter, joyed are you
To own the weetless child you mother there;
‘Men may search the wide world through,’
You think, ‘nor find so fair another there!’
“Dear, this midnight time unwombs
Thousands just as rare and beautiful;
Thousands whom High Heaven foredooms
To be as bright, as good, as dutiful.
“Source of ecstatic hopes and fears
And innocent maternal vanity,
Your fond exploit but shapes for tears
New thoroughfares in sad humanity.
“Yet as you dream, so dreamt I
When Life stretched forth its morning ray to me;
Other views for by and by!” . . .
Such strange things did mother say to me.
THE PINE PLANTERS
(MARTY SOUTH’S REVERIE)
I
WE work here together
In blast and breeze;
He fills the earth in,
I hold the trees.
He does not notice
That what I do
Keeps me from moving
And chills me through.
He has seen one fairer
I feel by his eye,
Which skims me as though
I were not by.
And since she passed here
He scarce has known
But that the woodland
Holds him alone.
I have worked here with him
Since morning shine,
He busy with his thoughts
And I with mine.
I have helped him so many,
So many days,
But never win any
Small word of praise!
Shall I not sigh to him
That I work on
Glad to be nigh to him
Though hope is gone?
Nay, though he never
Knew love like mine,
I’ll bear it ever
And make no sign!