Riley Love-Lyrics | Page 3

hide the sun?And shroud in gloom my journey scarce begun.?I could not do quite all the world required--?I could not do quite all I should have done,?And in my eagerness I have outrun?My strength--and I am tired....
Just tired! But when of old I had the stay?Of mother-hands, O very sweet indeed?It was to dream that all the weary way?I should but follow where I now must lead--?For long ago they left me in my need,?And, groping on alone, I tripped and mired?Among rank grasses where the serpents breed?In knotted coils about the feet of speed.--?There first it was I tired.
And yet I staggered on, and bore my load?Right gallantly: The sun, in summer-time,?In lazy belts came slipping down the road?To woo me on, with many a glimmering rhyme?Rained from the golden rim of some fair clime,?That, hovering beyond the clouds, inspired?My failing heart with fancies so sublime?I half forgot my path of dust and grime,?Though I was growing tired.
And there were many voices cheering me:?I listened to sweet praises where the wind?Went laughing o'er my shoulders gleefully?And scattering my love-songs far behind;--?Until, at last, I thought the world so kind--?So rich in all my yearning soul desired--?So generous--so loyally inclined,?I grew to love and trust it.... I was blind--?Yea, blind as I was tired!
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And yet one hand held me in creature-touch:?And O, how fair it was, how true and strong,?How it did hold my heart up like a crutch,?Till, in my dreams, I joyed to walk along?The toilsome way, contented with a song--?'Twas all of earthly things I had acquired,?And 'twas enough, I feigned, or right or wrong,?Since, binding me to man--a mortal thong--?It stayed me, growing tired....
Yea, I had e'en resigned me to the strait?Of earthly rulership--had bowed my head?Acceptant of the master-mind--the great?One lover--lord of all,--the perfected?Kiss-comrade of my soul;--had stammering said?My prayers to him;--all--all that he desired?I rendered sacredly as we were wed.--?Nay--nay!--'twas but a myth I worshipp��d.--?And--God of love!--how tired!
For, O my friends, to lose the latest grasp--?To feel the last hope slipping from its hold--?To feel the one fond hand within your clasp?Fall slack, and loosen with a touch so cold?Its pressure may not warm you as of old
Before the light of love had thus expired--?To know your tears are worthless, though they rolled?Their torrents out in molten drops of gold.--?God's pity! I am tired!
And I must rest.--Yet do not say "She _died_,"?In speaking of me, sleeping here alone.?I kiss the grassy grave I sink beside,?And close mine eyes in slumber all mine own:?Hereafter I shall neither sob nor moan?Nor murmur one complaint;--all I desired,?And failed in life to find, will now be known--?So let me dream. Good night! And on the stone?Say simply: She was tired.
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THE PASSING OF A HEART
O touch me with your hands--
For pity's sake!?My brow throbs ever on with such an ache?As only your cool touch may take away;?And so, I pray
You, touch me with your hands!
Touch--touch me with your hands.--
Smooth back the hair?You once caressed, and kissed, and called so fair?That I did dream its gold would wear alway,?And lo, to-day--
O touch me with your hands!
Just touch me with your hands,
And let them press?My weary eyelids with the old caress,?And lull me till I sleep. Then go your way,?That Death may say:
He touched her with his hands.
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"DREAM"
Because her eyes were far too deep?And holy for a laugh to leap?Across the brink where sorrow tried?To drown within the amber tide;?Because the looks, whose ripples kissed?The trembling lids through tender mist,?Were dazzled with a radiant gleam--?Because of this I call her "Dream."
Because the roses growing wild?About her features when she smiled?Were ever dewed with tears that fell?With tenderness ineffable;?Because her lips might spill a kiss?That, dripping in a world like this,?Would tincture death's myrrh-bitter stream?To sweetness--so I called her "Dream."
Because I could not understand?The magic touches of a hand?That seemed, beneath her strange control,?To smooth the plumage of the soul?And calm it, till, with folded wings,?It half forgot its flutterings,?And, nestled in her palm, did seem?To trill a song that called her "Dream."
Because I saw her, in a sleep?As dark and desolate and deep?And fleeting as the taunting night?That flings a vision of delight?To some lorn martyr as he lies?In slumber ere the day he dies--?Because she vanished like a gleam?Of glory, do I call her "Dream."
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HE CALLED HER IN
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He called her in from me and shut the door.?And she so loved the sunshine and the sky!--?She loved them even better yet than I?That ne'er knew dearth of them--my mother dead,?Nature had nursed me in her lap instead:?And I had grown a dark and eerie child?That rarely smiled,?Save when, shut all alone in grasses high,?Looking straight up in God's great lonesome sky?And coaxing Mother to smile back on me.?'Twas lying thus, this fair girl suddenly?Came to me, nestled in the fields beside?A