Maurine and Other Poems | Page 9

chords,?Sobbed into silence--echoing down the strings?Like voice of one who walks from us, and sings.?Vivian had leaned upon the instrument?The while they sang. But, as he spoke those words,?"Love, I am near to thee, I come to thee,"?He turned his grand head slowly round, and bent?His lustrous, soulful, speaking gaze on me.?And my young heart, eager to own its king,?Sent to my eyes a great, glad, trustful light?Of love and faith, and hung upon my cheek?Hope's rose-hued flag. There was no need to speak?I crossed the room, and knelt by Helen. "Sing?That song you sang a fragment of one night?Out on the porch, beginning, 'Praise me not,'"?I whispered: and her sweet and plaintive tone?Rose, low and tender, as if she had caught?From some sad passing breeze, and made her own,?The echo of the wind-harp's sighing strain,?Or the soft music of the falling rain.
SONG.
O praise me not with your lips, dear one!
Though your tender words I prize.?But dearer by far is the soulful gaze
Of your eyes, your beautiful eyes,
Your tender, loving eyes.
O chide me not with your lips, dear one!
Though I cause your bosom sighs.?You can make repentance deeper far
By your sad, reproving eyes,
Your sorrowful, troubled eyes.
Words, at the best, are but hollow sounds;
Above, in the beaming skies,?The constant stars say never a word,
But only smile with their eyes -
Smile on with their lustrous eyes.
Then breathe no vow with your lips, dear one;
On the winged wind speech flies.?But I read the truth of your noble heart
In your soulful, speaking eyes -
In your deep and beautiful eyes.
The twilight darkened, round us, in the room,?While Helen sang; and, in the gathering gloom,?Vivian reached out, and took my hand in his,?And held it so; while Helen made the air?Languid with music. Then a step drew near,?And voice of Aunt Ruth broke the spell:
"Dear! dear!?Why, Maurie, Helen, children! how is this??I hear you, but you have no light in there.?Your room is dark as Egypt. What a way?For folks to visit! Maurie, go, I pray,?And order lamps."
And so there came a light,?And all the sweet dreams hovering around?The twilight shadows flitted in affright:?And e'en the music had a harsher sound.?In pleasant converse passed an hour away:?And Vivian planned a picnic for next day -?A drive the next, and rambles without end,?That he might help me entertain my friend.?And then he rose, bowed low, and passed from sight,?Like some great star that drops out from the night;?And Helen watched him through the shadows go,?And turned and said, her voice subdued and low,?"How tall he is! in all my life, Maurine,?A grander man I never yet have seen."
PART III
One golden twelfth-part of a checkered year;?One summer month, of sunlight, moonlight, mirth,?With not a hint of shadows lurking near,?Or storm-clouds brewing.
'Twas a royal day:?Voluptuous July held her lover, Earth,?With her warm arms, upon her glowing breast,?And twined herself about him, as he lay?Smiling and panting in his dream-stirred rest.?She bound him with her limbs of perfect grace,?And hid him with her trailing robe of green,?And wound him in her long hair's shimmering sheen,?And rained her ardent kisses on his face.?Through the glad glory of the summer land?Helen and I went wandering, hand in hand.?In winding paths, hard by the ripe wheat-field,?White with the promise of a bounteous yield,?Across the late shorn meadow--down the hill,?Red with the tiger-lily blossoms, till?We stood upon the borders of the lake,?That like a pretty, placid infant, slept?Low at its base: and little ripples crept?Along its surface, just as dimples chase?Each other o'er an infant's sleeping face.?Helen in idle hours had learned to make?A thousand pretty, feminine knick-knacks:?For brackets, ottomans, and toilet stands -?Labour just suited to her dainty hands.?That morning she had been at work in wax,?Moulding a wreath of flowers for my room, -?Taking her patterns from the living blows,?In all their dewy beauty and sweet bloom,?Fresh from my garden. Fuchsia, tulip, rose,?And trailing ivy, grew beneath her touch,?Resembling the living plants as much?As life is copied in the form of death:?These lacking but the perfume, and that, breath.
And now the wreath was all completed, save?The mermaid blossom of all flowerdom,?A water-lily, dripping from the wave.?And 'twas in search of it that we had come?Down to the lake, and wandered on the beach,?To see if any lilies grew in reach.?Some broken stalks, where flowers late had been;?Some buds, with all their beauties folded in,?We found, but not the treasure that we sought.?And then we turned our footsteps to the spot?Where, all impatient of its chain, my boat,?The Swan, rocked, asking to be set afloat.?It was a dainty row-boat--strong, yet light;?Each side a swan was painted snowy white:?A present from my uncle, just before?He sailed, with Death, to that mysterious strand,?Where freighted ships go sailing evermore,?But none return to tell us of the land.?I freed the Swan, and slowly rowed about,?Wherever sea-weeds, grass,