Harry | Page 3

as it did one night.
And my work kept slipping out of my hand?As wonderful thoughts came into my head:?Sure, life is becoming too bright and grand?To be given up to needles and thread!
I was thinking of words that Harry spake,?And of looks that more than mere words betray,?With a joy as pure as the first snow-flake,?And almost as ready to melt away.
And with little tears beginning to start,?And with smiles and blushes that come and go;?And I did not know what was in my heart,?Or else I pretended I did not know!
O sudden awaking from dream so fair!?'Tis the voice of my aunt, and I hear it say--?'Child, are you falling asleep in your chair??Will you ever finish that collar, May?'
I caught up my work (I knew I was wrong),?Determin'd to finish it ere we sup;?But something within me, for me too strong,?Conquer'd myself, and I had to give up.
'O, my Aunt Bridget,' I timidly said,?'I am tired_ of stitching--I _want to rest;?O let me gather the roses instead,?The young little roses the first and best.'
Soft summer twilights caressing the air?Have buried the garden in lovely gloom;?But I knew that the eagerest roses there?Were just beginning to think they might bloom.
The pretty wee stars kept peeping about,?And even peep'd in through our prison bars,?As she gravely said, 'Who ever went out?To gather a rose by the light of stars?'
My heart beat fast at the beautiful phrase;?She had not intended it, I suppose,?But I felt I could love her all my days,?If under the stars I might pluck one rose!
Pleading my cause in so ardent a way,?Almost evoking an answering glow,?Crying, 'You once were as young and as gay'--?Then, she smil'd a little and let me go.
'Twas pleasure enough to be out of doors;?I look'd at the stars and I felt content:?But it never rains, you know, but it pours,?And the path that I had to go--I went!
Playing with fancies, in fanciful play,?'If I want a rose,' I demurely said,?'I must look for an omen to point the way,?And I must look for it over my head.'
So I found a star that shone in the sky,?And mark'd how it glitter'd down on a tree,?And felt--but I swear that I know not why--?There grow the roses intended for me!
And as I approach the shadowy boughs?That are spreading out over earth and air,?A gay little miracle fate allows,?And the star appears to be sparkling there!
Gladly I ran o'er the daisy-clad plain,?Led by the shimmering light of the star,?And under the tree I found--Harry Vane?Lying, and smoking a 'mild cigar!'
I started astonish'd--he stood upright,?And said, in a voice persuasively kind,?'Don't you know that I come here every night,?To see your shadow flit by on the blind?'
I look'd where he pointed, as if 'twas I?Could see my own phantom flicker and pass,--?And Aunt Bridget's shadow mov'd solemnly by,?Over the canvas that hangs by the glass!
Oh, how could we help it?--we laugh'd aloud?(Birds never cease their sweet voices in spring;?And I think in youth little laughters crowd?And spring to our lips at everything!)
In laughter we lost all sense of surprise;?It seem'd only natural we should meet;?And a star shot flaming across the skies,?And a little glow-worm gleam'd at my feet.
And a distant bell swung its solemn chime,?That seem'd to me like the voice of a star;?And I think, through a century of time,?I shall always believe that such things are.
And then--it was then--he spoke, and I heard;?And the moon rose up, and the stars grew dim,?And all of a sudden the nightingale-bird?Triumphantly chanted her jubilant hymn.
What are you singing about, little birds,?Twittering loudly in lime-tree and oak??Telling each other the wonderful words?On a sweet May evening a lover spoke?
Butterflies, floating away from the trees,?With blossom-like wings of delicate dye,?You are bearing tidings certain to please,?Scatter them freely, but do not ask why.
Two lovers stood 'neath a star-lighted sky,?Half fearfully touching enchanted ground:?One lover was Harry, and one was I,?And the world went merrily round and round.
Souls rushing together from distant parts,?Vows utter'd that cannot be ever undone;?A minute ago two lives and two hearts,?Through time and eternity now but one.
O foolish butterflies! chattering birds!?Instinct in vain with humanity strives;?You can't understand the wonderful words?Or magical kisses that changed two lives!
What is Nature made for? is it for us?The 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