Music and Other Poems | Page 6

play and love and rest,?Because I know for me my work is best.
April, 1902.
LIFE
Let me but live my life from year to year,
With forward face and unreluctant soul;?Not hurrying to, nor turning from, the goal;?Not mourning for the things that disappear?In the dim past, nor holding back in fear?From what the future veils; but with a whole?And happy heart, that pays its toll?To Youth and Age, and travels on with cheer.
So let the way wind up the hill or down,?O'er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy:?Still seeking what I sought when but a boy,?New friendship, high adventure, and a crown,?My heart will keep the courage of the quest,?And hope the road's last turn will be the best.
May, 1902.
LOVE
Let me but love my love without disguise,
Nor wear a mask of fashion old or new,?Nor wait to speak till I can hear a clue,?Nor play a part to shine in others' eyes,?Nor bow my knees to what my heart denies;?But what I am, to that let me be true,?And let me worship where my love is due,?And so through love and worship let me rise.
For love is but the heart's immortal thirst?To be completely known and all forgiven,?Even as sinful souls that enter Heaven:?So take me, dear, and understand my worst,?And freely pardon it, because confessed,?And let me find in loving thee, my best.
May, 1902.
THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN
When to the garden of untroubled thought
I came of late, and saw the open door,?And wished again to enter, and explore?The sweet, wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought,?And bowers of innocence with beauty fraught,?It seemed some purer voice must speak before?I dared to tread that garden loved of yore,?That Eden lost unknown and found unsought.
Then just within the gate I saw a child,--?A stranger-child, yet to my heart most dear;?He held his hands to me, and softly smiled?With eyes that knew no shade of sin or fear:?"Come in," he said, "and play awhile with me;?"I am the little child you used to be."
January, 1903.
LOVE'S REASON
For that thy face is fair I love thee not;
Nor yet because the light of thy brown eyes?Hath gleams of wonder and of glad surprise,?Like woodland streams that cross a sunlit spot:?Nor for thy beauty, born without a blot,?Most perfect when it shines through no disguise?Pure as the star of Eve in Paradise,--?For all these outward things I love thee not:
But for a something in thy form and face,?Thy looks and ways, of primal harmony;?A certain soothing charm, a vital grace?That breathes of the eternal womanly,?And makes me feel the warmth of Nature's breast,?When in her arms, and thine, I sink to rest.
February, 1904.
PORTRAIT AND REALITY
If on the closed curtain of my sight
My fancy paints thy portrait far away,?I see thee still the same, by night or day;?Crossing the crowded street, or moving bright?'Mid festal throngs, or reading by the light?Of shaded lamp some friendly poet's lay,?Or shepherding the children at their play,--?The same sweet self, and my unchanged delight.
But when I see thee near, I recognize?In every dear familiar way some strange?Perfection, and behold in April guise?The magic of thy beauty that doth range?Through many moods with infinite surprise,--?Never the same, and sweeter with each change.
May, 1904.
THE WIND OF SORROW
The fire of love was burning, yet so low
That in the dark we scarce could see its rays,?And in the light of perfect-placid days?Nothing but smouldering embers dull and slow.?Vainly, for love's delight, we sought to throw?New pleasures on the pyre to make it blaze:?In life's calm air and tranquil-prosperous ways?We missed the radiant heat of long ago.
Then in the night, a night of sad alarms,?Bitter with pain and black with fog of fears,?That drove us trembling to each other's arms--?Across the gulf of darkness and salt tears,?Into life's calm the wind of sorrow came,?And fanned the fire of love to clearest flame.
March, 1903.
PATRIA
I would not even ask my heart to say
If I could love some other land as well?As thee, my country, had I felt the spell?Of Italy at birth, or learned to obey?The charm of France, or England's mighty sway.?I would not be so much an infidel?As once to dream, or fashion words to tell,?What land could hold my love from thee away.
For like a law of nature in my blood?I feel thy sweet and secret sovereignty,?And woven through my soul thy vital sign.?My life is but a wave, and thou the flood;?I am a leaf and thou the mother-tree;?Nor should I be at all, were I not thine.
June, 1904.
LEGENDS
A LEGEND OF SERVICE
It pleased the Lord of Angels (praise His name!)?To hear, one day, report from those who came?With pitying sorrow, or exultant joy,?To tell of earthly tasks in His employ:?For some were sorry when they saw how slow?The stream of heavenly love on earth must flow;?And some were glad because their eyes had seen,?Along its