Poems of Sentiment | Page 6

rode to its long-lasting sleep
In the little white hearse that went rumbling by.
I know not her name, but her sorrow I know;
While I paused on the crossing I lived it once more,
And back to my
heart surged that river of woe
That but in the breast of a mother can
flow;
For the little white hearse has been, too, at MY door.
REALISATION
(At the Old Homestead)
I tread the paths of earlier times
Where all my steps were set to
rhymes.
I gaze on scenes I used to see
When dreaming of a vague To be.
I walk in ways made bright of old
By hopes youth-limned in hues of
gold.
But lo! those hopes of future bliss
Seem dull beside the joy that IS.
My noonday skies are far more bright
Than those dreamed of in
morning's light,
And life gives me more joys to hold
Than all it promised me of old.
SUCCESS
As we gaze up life's slope, as we gaze
In the morn, ere the dewdrops are dry,
What splendour hangs over the
ways,
What glory gleams there in the sky,
What pleasures seem waiting us,

high
On the peak of that beauteous slope,
What rainbow-hued
colours of hope,
As we gaze!
As we climb up the hill, as we climb,
Our hearts, our illusions, are rent:
For Fate, who is spouse of old
Time,
Is jealous of youth and content.
With brows that are brooding and
bent
She shadows our sunlight of gold,
And the way grows lonely
and cold
As we climb.
As we toil on, through trouble and pain,
There are hands that will shelter and feed;
But once let us dare to
ATTAIN -
They will bruise our bare hearts till they bleed.
'Tis the worst of all
crimes to succeed,
Know this as ye feast on a crust,
Know this in
the darkness and dust,
Ye who climb.
As we stand on the heights of success,
Lo! success seems as sad as defeat!
Through the lives we may
succour and bless
Alone may its litter turn sweet!
And the world lying there at our feet,

With its cavilling praise and its sneer,
We must pity, condone, but
not hear,
Where we stand.

As we live on those heights, we must live
With the courage and pride of a god;
For the world, it has nothing to
give
But the scourge of the lash and the rod.
Our thoughts must be noble
and broad,
Our purpose must challenge men's gaze,
While we seek
not their blame or their praise
As we live.
THE LADY AND THE DAME
So, thou hast the art, good dame, thou swearest,
To keep Time's perishing touch at bay
From the roseate splendour of
the cheek so tender,
And the silver threads from the gold away.
And the tell-tale years that
have hurried by us
Shall tip-toe back, and, with kind good-will,
They shall take the
traces from off our faces,
If we will trust to thy magic skill.
Thou speakest fairly; but if I listen
And buy thy secret, and prove its truth,
Hast thou the potion and
magic lotion
To give me also the HEART of youth?
With the cheek of rose and the
eye of beauty,
And the lustrous looks of life's lost prime,
Wilt thou bring thronging
each hope and longing
That made the glory of that dead Time?

When the sap in the trees sets young buds bursting,
And the song of the birds fills the air like spray,
Will rivers of feeling
come once more stealing
From the beautiful hills of the far-away?
Wilt thou demolish the
tower of reason,
And fling for ever down into the dust
The caution time brought me,
the lessons life taught me,
And put in their places my old sweet trust?
If Time's foot-print from my brow is driven,
Canst thou, too, take with thy subtle powers
The burden of thinking,
and let me go drinking
The careless pleasures of youth's bright hours?
If silver threads from
my tresses vanish,
If a glow once more in my pale cheek gleams,
Wilt thou slay duty
and give back the beauty
Of days untroubled by aught but dreams?
When the soft fair arms of the siren Summer
Encircle the earth in their languorous fold,
Will vast, deep oceans of
sweet emotions
Surge through my veins as they surged of old?
Canst thou bring back
from a day long-vanished
The leaping pulse and the boundless aim?
I will pay thee double, for
all thy trouble,
If thou wilt restore all these, good dame.

HEAVEN AND HELL
While forced to dwell apart from thy dear face,
Love, robed like sorrow, led me by the hand
And taught my doubting
heart to understand
That which has puzzled all the human race.
Full
many a sage has questioned where in space
Those counter worlds were? where the mystic strand
That separates
them? I have found each land,
And Hell is vast, and Heaven a narrow
space.
In the small compass of thy clasping arms,
In reach and sight of thy