A Womans Love Letters | Page 3

one glimpse of thee?When thy lips, tremblingly,
Said: "My Beloved."?'Twas but a moment's space,?And in that crowded place?I dared not scan thy face
O! my Beloved.
Yet there may come a time?(Though loving be a crime?Only allowed in rhyme
To us, Beloved),?When safe 'neath sheltering arm?I may, without alarm,?Hear thy lips, close and warm,
Murmur: "Beloved!"
Doubt.
I do not know if all the fault be mine,?Or why I may not think of thee and be?At peace with mine own heart. Unceasingly?Grim doubts beset me, bygone words of thine?Take subtle meaning, and I cannot rest?Till all my fears and follies are confessed.
Perhaps the wild wind's questioning has brought?My heart its melancholy, for, alone?In the night stillness, I can hear him moan?In sobbing gusts, as though he vainly sought?Some bygone bliss. Against the dripping pane?In storm-blown torrents beats the driving rain.
Nay I will tell thee all, I will not hide?One thought from thee, and if I do thee wrong?So much the more must I be brave and strong?To show my fault. And if thou then shouldst chide?I will accept reproof most willingly?So it but bringeth peace to thee and me.
I dread thy past. Phantoms of other days?Pursue my vision. There are other hands?Which thou hast held, perchance some slender bands?That draw thee still to other woodland ways?Than those which _we_ have known, some blissful hours I do not share, of love, and June, and flowers.
I dread her most, that woman whom thou knewest?Those years ago,--I cannot bear to think?That she can say: "My lover praised the pink?Of palm, or ear," "The violets were bluest?In that dear copse," and dream of some fair day?When thou didst while her summer hours away.
I dread them too, those light loves and desires?That lie in the dim shadow of the years;?I fain would cheat myself of all my fears?And, as a child watching warm winter fires,?Dream not of yesterday's black embers, nor?To-morrow's ashes that may strew the floor.
I did not dream of this while thou wert near,?But now the thought that haunts me day by day?Is that the things I love, the tender way?Of mastery, the kisses that are dear?As Heaven's best gifts, to other lips and arms?Owe half their blessedness and all their charms.
Tell me that I am wrong, O! Man of men,?Surely it is not hard to comfort me,?Laugh at my fears with dear persistency,?Nay, if thou must, lie to me! There, again,?I hear the rain, and the wind's wailing cry?Stirs with wild life the night's monotony.
Song.
If I had known?That when the morrow dawned the roses would be dead?I would have filled my hands with blossoms white and red.
If I had known!
If I had known?That I should be to-day deaf to all happy birds?I would have lain for hours to listen to your words.
If I had known!
If I had known?That with the morning light you would be gone for aye?I would have been more kind;--sweet Love had won his way
If I had known.
Anticipation.
Let us peer forward through the dusk of years?And force the silent future to reveal?Her store of garnered joys; we may not kneel?For ever, and entreat our bliss with tears.?Somewhere on this drear earth the sunshine lies,?Somewhere the air breathes Heaven-blown harmonies.
Some day when you and I have fully learned?Our waiting-lesson, wondering, hand in hand?We shall gaze out upon an unknown land,?Our thoughts and our desires forever turned?From our old griefs, as swallows, home warding,?Sweep ever southward with unwearied wing.
We shall fare forth, comrades for evermore.?Though the ill-omened bird Time loves to bear?Has brushed this cheek and left an impress there?I shall be fierce and dauntless as of yore,?Free as a bird o'er the wide world to rove,?And strong and fearless, O my Love, to love.
What have we now? The haunting, vague unrest?Of incompleted measures; and we dream?Vainly, of the Musician and His theme,?How the great Master in a day most blest?Shall strike some mighty chords in harmony,?And make an end, and set the music free!
We snatch from Fate our moments of delight,?Few as, in April hours, the wooing calls?Of orioles, or when the twilight falls?First o'er the forest ere the approach of night?The eyes of evening;--and Love's song is sung?But once, Dear Heart, but once, and we are young.
Over the seas together, you and I,?'Neath blue Italian skies, or on the hills?Of storied Greece,--where the warm sunlight fills?Spain's mellow vineyards,--wandering reverently?O'er the green plains of Palestine,--our days?A golden holiday in Old World ways.
Yet would we linger not by southern shores;?The bracing breath of Scandinavian snows?Would draw us from our dreams. The North wind blows?Upon thy cheek, my Norseman, and the roars?Of the wild Baltic sound within my ears?When to my dreams thy stalwart form appears.
This will the future bring. See! Thou hast given?From out the fulness of thy strength and will?This courage to me. Though the rugged hill?Looms high, and fronts our vision, yet our heaven?(I see it