Maurine and Other Poems | Page 6

smiling, "I'm at your command;

Point but one lily finger, or your wand,
And you will find a willing
slave obeying.
There goes my dinner bell! I hear it saying
I've spent
two hours here, lying at your feet,
Not profitable, maybe--surely
sweet.
All time is money; now were I to measure
The time I spend
here by its solid pleasure,
And that were coined in dollars, then I've
laid
Each day a fortune at your feet, fair maid.
There goes that bell
again! I'll say good-bye,
Or clouds will shadow my 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