A Womans Love Letters | Page 9

flying in the breeze blows wild?Across my face. See, there, the gathering squall,?That dark line to the eastward, watch it crawl?Stealthily towards us o'er the snow-wreaths piled?Close on each other! Ah! what joy to be?Drunk with salt air, in battle with the sea!
So many joys, and yet I have but told?Of simple things, the joys of air and sea!?Not all these things are worth one hour with thee,?One moment, when thy daring arms enfold?My body, and all other, meaner joys,?Fade from me like a child's forgotten toys.
One thought is ever with me, glorying all?Life's common aims. Surely will dawn a day?Bright with an unknown rapture, when thy way?Will be _my_ journey-road, and I can call?These joys _our_ joys, for thou wilt walk with me?Down budding pathways to the abounding sea.
Song.
Low laughed the Columbine,?Trembled her petals fine?As the breeze blew;?In her dove-heart there stirred?Murmurs the dull bee heard,?And Love, Life's wild white bird,?Straightway she knew.
Resting her lilac cheek?Gently, in aspect meek,?On the gray stone,?The morning-glory, free,?Welcomed the yellow bee,?Heard the near-rolling sea?Murmur and moan.
Calm lay the tawny sand?Stretching a long wet hand?To the far wave.?Swift to her warm waiting breast?Longing to be possessed?Leaps 'neath his billowy crest?Her Lover brave.
Barter
There is a long thin line of fading gold?In the far West, and the transfigured leaves?On some slight, topmost bough that sways and heaves?Hang limp and tremulous. Nor warm, nor cold?The pungent air, and, 'neath the yellow haze,?Show flushed and glad the wild, October ways.
There is a soft enchantment in the air,?A mystery the Summer knows not, nor?The sturdy, frost-crowned Winter. Nature wore?Her blandest smile to-day, as here and there?I wandered, elf-beset, through wood and field?And gleaned the glories of the autumn yield.
A bunch of purple aster, golden-rod?Darkened by the first frost, a drooping spray?Of scarlet barberry, and tall and gray?The silk-cored cotton with its bursting pod,?Some tarnished maple-boughs, and, like a flash?Of sudden flame, a branch of mountain ash.
She smiled, but it was not the welcoming smile?Of frank surrender. As a witching maid?In gorgeous garments cunningly arrayed?Might smile and draw them closer, hers the guile?To let men hope, pray, labor in love's stress?Ere they her hidden beauties may possess.
Deep in the heart of earth where the springs rise,?Down with the sweet linn?a and the moss,?In the brown thrush's throat, where the pines toss?In Winter's harrying storms her secret lies.?Ours the chill night-dews and the waiting pain?Ere we her fairy wealth may hope to gain.
'Tis so with knowledge. Eagerly we turn?Great Wisdom's page, and when our clear eyes grow?Dim in the dusk of years, and heads bend low?Weary at last, the truth we strove to learn?Is ours forever. But its joy of sight?Is dearly bought, methinks, with Youth's delight.
Fate, too, with chaffering voice and beckoning hand?Doles out our happiness; we snatch at wealth?And pay with anxious care and fading health.?We call for Love, and dream that we shall stand?On ground enchanted, but, though sweet the way,?The rocks are sharp, and grief comes with the Day.
Even in love, Dear Heart, there is exchange?Of gifts and griefs, and so I render thee?Vows for thy vows, and pay unfalteringly?What love demands, nor ever deem it strange.?And when the snow drifts fast, and north-winds sting?I make no murmur, but await the Spring.
Song.
Joy came in youth as a humming-bird,?(Sing hey! for the honey and bloom of life!)?And it made a home in my summer bower?With the honeysuckle and the sweet-pea flower.?(Sing hey! for the blossoms and sweets of life!)
Joy came as a lark when the years had gone,?(Ah! hush, hush still, for the dream is short!)?And I gazed far up to the melting blue?Where the rare song dropped like a golden dew.?(Ah! sweet is the song tho' the dream be short!)
Joy hovers now in a far-off mist,?(The night draws on and the air breathes snow!)?And I reach, sometimes, with a trembling hand?To the red-tipped cloud of the joy-bird's land.?(Alas! for the days of the storm and the snow!)
To-Morrow.
But one short night between my Love and me!?I watch the soft-shod dusk creep wistfully?Through the slow-moving curtains, pausing by?And shrouding with its spirit-fingers free?Each well-known chair. There is a growing grace?Of tender magic in this little place.
Comes through half-opened windows, soft and cool?As Spring's young breath, the vagrant evening air,?My day-worn soul is hushed. I fain would bear?No burdens on my brain to-night, no rule?Of anxious thought; the world has had my tears,?My thoughts, my hopes, my aims these many years;
This is Thy hour, and I shall sink to sleep?With a glad weariness, to know that when?The new day dawns I shall lay by my pen?Needed no more. If I, perchance, should weep?A few quick tears, so doing, who would guess?'Twas the last throb of my soul's loneliness?
Not even thou, Dear Heart, canst ever know?How I have yearned these many months, these years?For love, for thee. As the calm boatman