Poems of Sentiment | Page 8

the sound of frozen mould?Dropped on a coffin, are the words "Has been."
"She has been beautiful"--"he has been great,"
"Rome has been powerful," we sigh and say.?It is the pitying crust we toss decay,?The dirge we breathe o'er some degenerate state,?An epitaph for fame's unburied dead.?God pity those who live to hear it said!
DUTY'S PATH
Out from the harbour of youth's bay
There leads the path of pleasure;?With eager steps we walk that way
To brim joy's largest measure.?But when with morn's departing beam
Goes youth's last precious minute,?We sigh "'Twas but a fevered dream -
There's nothing in it."
Then on our vision dawns afar
The goal of glory, gleaming?Like some great radiant solar star,
And sets us longing, dreaming.?Forgetting all things left behind,
We strain each nerve to win it,?But when 'tis ours--alas! we find
There's nothing in it.
We turn our sad, reluctant gaze
Upon the path of duty;?Its barren, uninviting ways
Are void of bloom and beauty.?Yet in that road, though dark and cold,
It seems as we begin it,?As we press on--lo! we behold
There's Heaven in it.
MARCH
Like some reformer, who with mien austere,
Neglected dress, and loud insistent tones,?More rasping than the wrongs which she bemoans,?Walks through the land and wearies all who hear,
While yet we know the need of such reform;?So comes unlovely March, with wind and storm,?To break the spell of winter, and set free
The poisoned brooks and crocus beds oppressed.?Severe of face, gaunt-armed, and wildly dressed,?She is not fair nor beautiful to see.
But merry April and sweet smiling May?Come not till March has first prepared the way.
THE END OF THE SUMMER
The birds laugh loud and long together
When Fashion's followers speed away?At the first cool breath of autumn weather.
Why, this is the time, cry the birds, to stay!?When the deep calm sea and the deep sky over
Both look their passion through sun-kissed space,?As a blue-eyed maid and her blue-eyed lover
Might each gaze into the other's face.
Oh! this is the time when careful spying
Discovers the secrets Nature knows.?You find when the butterflies plan for flying
(Before the thrush or the blackbird goes),?You see some day by the water's edges
A brilliant border of red and black;?And then off over the hills and hedges
It flutters away on the summer's track.
The shy little sumacs, in lonely places,
Bowed all summer with dust and heat,?Like clean-clad children with rain-washed faces,
Are dressed in scarlet from head to feet.?And never a flower had the boastful summer,
In all the blossoms that decked her sod,?So royal hued as that later comer
The purple chum of the goldenrod.
Some chill grey dawn you note with grieving
That the King of Autumn is on his way.?You see, with a sorrowful, slow believing,
How the wanton woods have gone astray.?They wear the stain of bold caresses,
Of riotous revels with old King Frost;?They dazzle all eyes with their gorgeous dresses,
Nor care that their green young leaves are lost.
A wet wind blows from the East one morning,
The wood's gay garments looked draggled out.?You hear a sound, and your heart takes warning -
The birds are planning their winter route.?They wheel and settle and scold and wrangle,
Their tempers are ruffled, their voices loud;?Then whirr--and away in a feathered tangle,
To fade in the south like a passing cloud.
Envoi
A songless wood stripped bare of glory -
A sodden moor that is black and brown;?The year has finished its last love-story:
Oh! let us away to the gay bright town.
SUN SHADOWS
There never was success so nobly gained,
Or victory so free from selfish dross,?But in the winning some one had been pained
Or some one suffered loss.
There never was so nobly planned a fete,
Or festal throng with hearts on pleasure bent,?But some neglected one outside the gate
Wept tears of discontent.
There never was a bridal morning fair
With hope's blue skies and love's unclouded sun?For two fond hearts, that did not bring despair
To some sad other one.
"HE THAT LOOKETH"
Yea, she and I have broken God's command,
And in His sight are branded with our shame.?And yet I do not even know her name,?Nor ever in my life have touched her hand?Or brushed her garments. But I chanced to stand
Beside her in the throng! A sweet, swift flame?Shot from her flesh to mine--and hers the blame?Of willing looks that fed it; aye, that fanned?The glow within me to a hungry fire.
There was an invitation in her eyes.?Had she met mine with coldness or surprise,?I had not plunged on headlong in the mire?Of amorous thought. The flame leaped high and higher;
Her breath and mine pulsated into sighs,?And soft glance melted into glance kiss-wise,?And in God's sight both yielded to desire.
AN ERRING WOMAN'S LOVE
PART I
She was a light and wanton maid:?Not one whom fickle Love betrayed,?For indolence was her undoer.?Fair, frivolous, and very poor,?She scorned the thought of toil, in youth,?And chose the path that leads from truth.
More women fall from want of gold?Than love leads wrong, if truth were told;?More women sin for gay attire?Than sin through passion's blinding fire.?Her god was gold: