Maurine and Other Poems | Page 6

domestic sky.?I'll come again, as you would have me do,?And see your friend, while she is seeing you.?That's like by proxy being at a feast;?Unsatisfactory, to say the least."
He drew his fine shape up, and trod the land?With kingly grace. Passing the gate, his hand?He lightly placed the garden wall upon,?Leaped over like a leopard, and was gone.
And, going, took the brightness from the place,?Yet left the June day with a sweeter grace,?And my young soul, so steeped in happy dreams,?Heaven itself seemed shown to me in gleams.?There is a time with lovers, when the heart?First slowly rouses from its dreamless sleep,?To all the tumult of a passion life,?Ere yet have wakened jealousy and strife.?Just as a young, untutored child will start?Out of a long hour's slumber, sound and deep,?And lie and smile with rosy lips and cheeks,?In a sweet, restful trance, before it speaks.?A time when yet no word the spell has broken,?Save what the heart unto the soul has spoken,?In quickened throbs, and sighs but half suppressed?A time when that sweet truth, all unconfessed,?Gives added fragrance to the summer flowers,?A golden glory to the passing hours,?A hopeful beauty to the plainest face,?And lends to life a new and tender grace.?When the full heart has climbed the heights of bliss,?And, smiling, looks back o'er the golden past,?I think it finds no sweeter hour than this?In all love-life. For, later, when the last?Translucent drop o'erflows the cup of joy,?And love, more mighty than the heart's control,?Surges in words of passion from the soul,?And vows are asked and given, shadows rise?Like mists before the sun in noonday skies,?Vague fears, that prove the brimming cup's alloy;?A dread of change--the crowning moment's curse,?Since what is perfect, change but renders worse:?A vain desire to cripple Time, who goes?Bearing our joys away, and bringing woes.?And later, doubts and jealousies awaken,?And plighted hearts are tempest-tossed and shaken.?Doubt sends a test, that goes a step too far,?A wound is made, that, healing, leaves a scar,?Or one heart, full with love's sweet satisfaction,?Thinks truth once spoken always understood,?While one is pining for the tender action?And whispered word by which, of old, 'twas wooed.
But this blest hour, in love's glad, golden day,?Is like the dawning, ere the radiant ray?Of glowing Sol has burst upon the eye,?But yet is heralded in earth and sky,?Warm with its fervour, mellow with its light,?While Care still slumbers in the arms of night.?But Hope, awake, hears happy birdlings sing,?And thinks of all a summer day may bring.
In this sweet calm, my young heart lay at rest,?Filled with a blissful sense of peace; nor guessed?That sullen clouds were gathering in the skies?To hide the glorious sun, ere it should rise.
PART II
To little birds that never tire of humming?About the garden in the summer weather,?Aunt Ruth compared us, after Helen's coming,?As we two roamed, or sat and talked together.?Twelve months apart, we had so much to say?Of school days gone--and time since passed away;?Of that old friend, and this; of what we'd done;?Of how our separate paths in life had run;?Of what we would do, in the coming years;?Of plans and castles, hopes and dreams and fears.?All these, and more, as soon as we found speech,?We touched upon, and skimmed from this to that.?But at the first each only gazed on each,?And, dumb with joy, that did not need a voice?Like lesser joys, to say, "Lo! I rejoice,"?With smiling eyes and clasping hands we sat?Wrapped in that peace, felt but with those dear,?Contented just to know each other near.?But when this silent eloquence gave place?To words, 'twas like the rising of a flood?Above a dam. We sat there, face to face,?And let our talk glide on where'er it would,?Speech never halting in its speed or zest,?Save when our rippling laughter let it rest;?Just as a stream will sometimes pause and play?About a bubbling spring, then dash away.?No wonder, then, the third day's sun was nigh?Up to the zenith when my friend and I?Opened our eyes from slumber long and deep:?Nature demanding recompense for hours?Spent in the portico, among the flowers,?Halves of two nights we should have spent in sleep.
So this third day, we breakfasted at one:?Then walked about the garden in the sun,?Hearing the thrushes and the robins sing,?And looking to see what buds were opening.
The clock chimed three, and we yet strayed at will?About the yard in morning dishabille,?When Aunt Ruth came, with apron o'er her head,?Holding a letter in her hand, and said,?"Here is a note, from Vivian I opine;?At least his servant brought it. And now, girls,?You may think this is no concern of mine,?But in my day young ladies did not go?Till almost bed-time roaming to and fro?In morning wrappers, and with tangled curls,?The very pictures of forlorn distress.?'Tis three o'clock, and time for you to dress.?Come! read your note and hurry