A Womans Love Letters | Page 5

of fancy brown and old.?This is for us the wakening of the year?And May's sweet breath will draw the waiting soul?To where in distance lies the longed-for goal.
The summer life will still all questioning,?The leaves will whisper peace, and calm will be?The wild, vast, blue, illimitable sea.?And we shall hush our murmurings, and bring?To Nature, green below and blue above,?A whole life's worshipping, a whole life's love.
We will not speak of sometime fretting fears,?We will not think of aught that may arise?In future hours to cloud our golden skies.?Some souls there are who love their woes and tears,?Gaining their joy by contrast, but for thee?And me, Beloved, peace is ecstasy.
It was not always so, there was a time?When I would choose the rocky mountain way,?And climb the hills of doubt to find the day.?Fresh effort brought fresh zest, and winter's rime?Chilled not but crowned endeavor, and the heat?Of summer thrilled, and made the pulses beat.
But now I am so weary that I turn?From labor with a shudder, and from pain?As from an enemy; I see no gain?In suffering, and cleansing fires must burn?As keenly as desire, so let me know?Quiet with thee, and twilight's afterglow.
I, who have boasted of my strength and will,?And ventured daring flights, and stood alone?In fearless, flushed defiance, I have grown?Humble, and seek another hand to fill?Life's cup, and other eyes to pierce the skies?Of Wisdom's dear, sad, mighty mysteries.
Ah! I will lie so quiet in thine arms?I will not stir thee; and thy whisperings?Shall teach me patience, and so many things?I have not learned as yet. And all alarms?Will melt in peace when, safe from tempest's rage?My wind-tossed ship has found its anchorage.
A Song of Rest.
The world may rage without,
Quiet is here;?Statesmen may toil and shout,
Cynics may sneer;?The great world--let it go--?June warmth be March's snow,?I care not--be it so
Since I am here.
Time was when war's alarm
Called for a fear,?When sorrow's seeming harm
Hastened a tear;?Naught care I now what foe?Threatens, for scarce I know?How the year's seasons go
Since I am here.
This is my resting-place
Holy and dear,?Where Pain's dejected face
May not appear.?This is the world to me,?Earth's woes I will not see?But rest contentedly
Since I am here.
Is't your voice chiding, Love,
My mild career??My meek abiding, Love,
Daily so near??"Danger and loss" to me??Ah, Sweet, I fear to see?No loss but loss of _Thee_
And I am here.
Death.
If days should pass without a written word?To tell me of thy welfare, and if days?Should lengthen out to weeks, until the maze?Of questioning fears confused me, and I heard.?Life-sounds as echoes; and one came and said?After these weeks of waiting: "He is dead!"
Though the quick sword had found the vital part,?And the life-blood must mingle with the tears,?I think that, as the dying soldier hears?The cries of victory, and feels his heart?Surge with his country's triumph-hour, I could?Hope bravely on, and feel that God was good.
I could take up my thread of life again?And weave my pattern though the colors were?Faded forever. Though I might not dare?Dream often of thee, I should know that when?Death came to thee upon thy lips my name?Lingered, and lingers ever without blame.
Aye, lingers ever. Though we may not know?Much that our spirits crave, yet is it given?To us to feel that in the waiting Heaven?Great souls are greater, and if God bestow?A mighty love He will not let it die?Through the vast ages of eternity.
But if some day the bitter knowledge swept?Down on my life,--bearing my treasured freight?To founder on the shoals of scorn,--what Fate?Smiling with awful irony had kept?Till life grew sweeter,--that my god was clay,?That 'neath thy strength a lurking weakness lay;
That thou, whom I had deemed a man of men?Faulty, as great men are, but with no taint?Of baseness,--with those faults that shew the saint?Of after days, perhaps,--wert even then?When first I loved thee but a spreading tree?Whose leaves shewed not its roots' deformity;
I should not weep, for there are wounds that lie?Too deep for tears,--and Death is but a friend?Who loves too dearly, and the parting end?Of Love's joy-day a paltry pain, a cry?To God, then peace,--beside the torturing grief?When honor dies, and trust, and soul's belief.
Travellers have told that in the Java isles?The upas-tree breathes its dread vapor out?Into the air; there needs no hand about?Its branches for the poison's deadly wiles?To work a strong man's hurt, for there is death?Envenomed, noisome, in his every breath.
So would I breathe thy poison in my soul,?Till all that had been wholesome, pure, and true?Shewed its decay, and stained and wasted grew.?Though sundered as the distant Northern Pole?From his far sister, I should bear thy blight?Upon me as I passed into the night.
Didst dream thy truth and honor meant so much?To me, Dear Heart? Oh! I am full of tears?To-night, of longing, love and foolish fears.?Would I might see thee, know thy tender