But did I love you in the old, old way,
And knew you loved me--'though the words should slay
Me and your love forever, I would say,
"I do not love you now!
I do not love you now!"
A ROSE O' THE HILLS
The hills look down on wood and stream
On orchard-land and farm;
And o'er the hills the azure-gray
Of heaven bends the livelong day,
And all the winds blow warm.
On wood and stream the hills look down,
On farm and orchard-land;
And o'er the hills she came to me
Through wildrose-brake and blackberry,
The hill-winds hand in hand.
The hills look down on home and field,
On wood and winding stream;
And o'er the hills she came along,
Upon her lips a wildwood song,
And in her eyes a dream.
On home and field the hills look down,
On stream and hill-locked wood;
And breast-deep, with disordered hair,
Fair in the wildrose tangle there,
A sudden while she stood.
O hills, that look on rock and road,
On grove and harvest-field,
To whom God giveth rest and peace,
And slumber, that is kin to these,
And visions unrevealed!
O hills, that look on road and rock,
On field and fruited grove,
No more shall I find peace and rest
In you, since entered in my breast
God's sweet unrest of love!
THE WHITE VIGIL
I
Last night I dreamed I saw you lying dead,
And by your sheeted form stood all alone:
Frail as a flower you lay upon your bed,
And on your face, through the wide casement, shone
The moonlight, pale as I, who kissed you there,
So young and fair, white violets in your hair.
Oh, sick with suffering was my soul; and sad
To breaking was my heart that would not break;
And for my soul's great grief no tear I had,
No lamentation for my heart's deep ache;
Yet what I bore seemed more than I could bear,
Beside you there, white violets in your hair.
A white rose, blooming at the window-bar,
And, glimmering in it, like a firefly caught
Upon the thorns, the light of one white star,
Looked in on you, as if they felt and thought,
As did my heart,--"How beautiful and fair
And young she lies, white violets in her hair!"
And so we looked upon you, white and still,
The star, the rose, and I. The moon had past,
Like a pale traveler, behind the hill
With all her sorrowful silver. And at last
Darkness and tears and you, who did not care,
Lying so still, white violets in your hair.
A STUDY IN GRAY
A woman, fair to look upon,
Where waters whiten with the moon;
Around whom, glimmering o'er the lawn,
The white moths swoon.
A mouth of music; eyes of love;
And hands of blended snow and scent,
That touch the pearly shadow of
An instrument.
And low and sweet that song of sleep
After the song of love is hushed;
While all the longing, here, to weep,
Is held and crushed.
Then leafy silence, that is musk
With breath of the magnolia tree,
While dwindles, moth-white, through the dusk
Her drapery.
Let me remember how a heart
Wrote its romance upon that night!--
God help my soul to read each part
Of it aright!
And like a dead leaf shut between
A book's dull chapters, stained and dark,
That page, with immemorial green,
Of life I mark.
II
It is not well for me to hear
That song's appealing melody:
The pain of loss comes all too near,
Through it, to me.
The loss of her whose love looks through
The mist death's hand hath hung between--
Within the shadow of the yew
Her grave is green.
Ah, dream that vanished long ago!
Oh, anguish of remembered tears!
And shadow of unlifted woe
Athwart the years!
That haunt the sad rooms of my days,
As keepsakes of unperished love,
Where pale the memory of her face
Hangs, framed above.
This olden song of love and sleep,
She used to sing, is now a spell
That opens doors within the deep
Of my heart's hell,
In music making visible
One soul-assertive memory,
That steals unto my side to tell
My loss to me.
AT VESPERS
High up in the organ-story
A girl stands, slim and fair;
And touched with the casement's glory
Gleams out her radiant hair.
The young priest kneels at the altar,
Then lifts the Host above;
And the psalm intoned from the psalter
Is pure with patient love.
A sweet bell chimes; and a censer
Swings, gleaming, in the gloom;
The candles glimmer and denser
Rolls up the pale perfume.
Then high in the organ choir
A voice of crystal soars,
Of patience and soul's desire,
That suffers and adores.
And out of the altar's dimness
An answering voice doth swell,
Of passion that cries from the grimness
And anguish of its own hell.
High up in the organ-story
One kneels with a girlish grace;
And, touched with the vesper glory,
Lifts her madonna face.
One stands at the cloudy altar,
A form bowed down and thin;
The text of the psalm in the psalter
He chants is sorrow and sin.
* * * * *
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| Transcriber notes: |
| |
| P. 61. Stanza 'X' should be 'IX', changed to 'IX'. |
| P. 178. Added end quotation and the end of the stanza. |
| P. 274. Added opening quote to "My heart is full of lightness!". |
| Fixed various punctuation. |
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