Harry | Page 4

beautiful world is burnish'd
and blent?
If we had not eyes, would blossoms shine thus?
If we
had not nostrils, would they have scent?
I heard a philosopher say--in isles
Surrounded by ocean, apart, alone,

With no living creature to reckon miles,
Wherein life had never
been born or known,
That the clouds with electric flash may meet,
And thunder may rattle
its dreadful breath,
Yet never a sound break the rest complete,
Or
the silence of this eternal death;
That the fierce storm-wind may bluster and blow,
Tearing the trees
from the root-broken ground,
Or the wild sea-surf may leap and may
flow
In solemn silence with never a sound.
For sound is but the vibrations of air
That strike on the drum of the
living ear;
So if never a living ear is there,
There is nothing to strike
and nothing to hear.
Though the vibrations move on, and live,
And thus the law of their
being obey,
'Tis the ear produces the sound they give--
That's what
I heard a philosopher say.
So if thunder, roll'd through quivering air,
With that awful silence
reigning around,
And you or I suddenly landed there,
All Nature
would break at once into sound.
It seems very strange and eerie, you know;
I don't understand how it
is--do you?
But a philosopher said it, so
I really suppose that it must
be true.
And is not there something in human hearts
(Mountains, you know,

must spring out of the flat)
That at Love's light touch into music starts?

Ah, what would philosophers say to that?
There never was summer so bright as this,
And the world will always
be burnished thus;
For if Love the magical painter is,
He for ever
will paint the same for us.
'Tis a light within that illumes the land;
And free as the birds from
sorrow or strife,
Very close together, and hand in hand,
We shall
walk on through unlimited life.
'Ah, Harry!' I cried, 'I shall lean on you!
'Tis the purest joy to look up
so high;
You will teach me all that I ought to do;
On your noble
strength can my steps rely.
I hope that you know I am very weak,
Only a poor little thing at the
best;
But children can love before they can speak,
And I hope that
love will make up the rest.'
Oh beautiful pathway, untouched by care;
Oh you scattered roses on
which we tread;
You lead to a church with its holy prayer,
And its
Heaven-blessing over us shed!
Nightingales singing an exquisite tune
All the sweet music for me
and for you,
Saying my prayers by the light of the moon,
Happy the
prayers that are utter'd for two!
Stars in the depth of a fathomless space,
Summer-blue sky by no
shadow o'ercast,
Joy pointing on to a far-away grace
Brighter than
e'en the beneficent past;
Trouble to measureless distances fled,
Death too remote to be worthy
a sigh--
Can there be any one sorry or dead?
Sorrow or death 'neath
a summer-blue sky!
Was there a moment we never had met?
Was there a time unexalted

by him?
Shone the same lustre in suns when they set?
Sparkled the
river with joy to the brim?
Glitter'd the blue over heaven and sea?
Flutter'd the birds to a musical
call?
Could he be happy unconscious of me?
And, without Harry,
what was I at all?
I stand on a rock where two rivers meet,
With a life behind and a life
before;
And one is ebbing away from my feet,
And the other is
rising more and more.
Ah, poor little maiden! ah, dear little wife!
Ah, days that are past and
days that will come!
The past is nothing--this only is life;
I am
going with him and am going HOME.
And such a sweet pretty home as it is!
What shall I do with my
exquisite bliss?
How can I ever be charming enough,
Where
rumpling a roseleaf will make the path rough?
How can I thank the
great Father above
For showing His child such abundance of love?

With Harry a home in a hovel were sweet,
And this is a palace that
lies at my feet.
I look at the gardens spread out in the sun,
Where every rosebud a
prize might have won;
Where lilies lift up tinted crowns to the skies,

And clematis strike you aghast by their size;
Where lawns smooth
as ice tempt your feet as they pass,
Though only a fairy should tread
on such grass;
And big forest trees on the slopes, spread afar
Those
branches that grander than anything are.
I sweep through the rooms where the mirrors portray
A slender young
thing in a robe of pale gray,
And catching quick glimpses, now here
and now there,
I own with delight she is graceful and fair;
I study
the creature, and smile as I see
How handsome a woman one day she
may be;
I draw myself up with a stately expanse
And try to look
grand, while I'm longing to dance;
I flourish, I curtsey, I slip and I

slide;--
This will do for a wife, this is fit for a bride.
I smile and I
bow, in a dignified way,
And even shake hands with the lady