Riley Love-Lyrics | Page 6

tremblingly--and "_Never! Never!_"
Is whispered brokenly, with half?A sob, like a belated laugh,--?While cloyingly their blurred kiss closes,?Sweet as the dew's lip to the rose's.
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JUDITH
O Her eyes are amber-fine--?Dark and deep as wells of wine,?While her smile is like the noon?Splendor of a day of June,?If she sorrow--lo! her face?It is like a flowery space?In bright meadows, overlaid?With light clouds and lulled with shade.?If she laugh--it is the trill?Of the wayward whippoorwill?Over upland pastures, heard?Echoed by the mocking-bird?In dim thickets dense with bloom?And blurred cloyings of perfume.?If she sigh--- a zephyr swells?Over odorous asphodels?And wall lilies in lush plots?Of moon-drown'd forget-me-nots.?Then, the soft touch of her hand--?Takes all breath to understand?What to liken it thereto!--?Never roseleaf rinsed with dew?Might slip soother-suave than slips?Her slow palm, the while her lips?Swoon through mine, with kiss on kiss?Sweet as heated honey is.
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HE AND I
Just drifting on together--
He and I--?As through the balmy weather
Of July?Drift two thistle-tufts imbedded?Each in each--by zephyrs wedded--?Touring upward, giddy-headed,
For the sky.
And, veering up and onward,
Do we seem?Forever drifting dawnward
In a dream,?Where we meet song-birds that know us,?And the winds their kisses blow us,?While the years flow far below us
Like a stream.
And we are happy--very--
He and I--?Aye, even glad and merry
Though on high?The heavens are sometimes shrouded?By the midnight storm, and clouded?Till the pallid moon is crowded
From the sky.
My spirit ne'er expresses
Any choice?But to clothe him with caresses
And rejoice;?And as he laughs, it is in?Such a tone the moonbeams glisten?And the stars come out to listen
To his voice.
And so, whate'er the weather,
He and I,--?With our lives linked thus together,
Float and fly?As two thistle-tufts imbedded?Each in each--by zephyrs wedded--?Touring upward, giddy-headed,
For the sky.
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[Illustration]
THE LOST PATH
Alone they walked--their fingers knit together,
And swaying listlessly as might a swing?Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather?Of some sun-flooded afternoon of Spring.
Within the clover-fields the tickled cricket?Laughed lightly as they loitered down the lane,?And from the covert of the hazel-thicket?The squirrel peeped and laughed at them again.
The bumble-bee that tipped the lily-vases?Along the road-side in the shadows dim,?Went following the blossoms of their faces?As though their sweets must needs be shared with
him.
Between the pasture bars the wondering cattle?Stared wistfully, and from their mellow bells?Shook out a welcoming whose dreamy rattle?Fell swooningly away in faint farewells.
And though at last the gloom of night fell o'er them?And folded all the landscape from their eyes,?They only knew the dusky path before them?Was leading safely on to Paradise.
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MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE
O soul of mine, look out and see
My bride, my bride that is to be!?Reach out with mad, impatient hands,?And draw aside futurity?As one might draw a veil aside--?And so unveil her where she stands?Madonna-like and glorified--?The queen of undiscovered lands?Of love, to where she beckons me--?My bride--my bride that is to be.
The shadow of a willow-tree?That wavers on a garden-wall?In summertime may never fall?In attitude as gracefully?As my fair bride that is to be;--?Nor ever Autumn's leaves of brown?As lightly flutter to the lawn?As fall her fairy-feet upon?The path of love she loiters down.--?O'er drops of dew she walks, and yet?Not one may stain her sandal wet--?Aye, she might _dance_ upon the way?Nor crush a single drop to spray,?So airy-like she seems to me,--?My bride, my bride that is to be.
I know not if her eyes are light?As summer skies or dark as night,--?I only know that they are dim?With mystery: In vain I peer?To make their hidden meaning clear,?While o'er their surface, like a tear?That ripples to the silken brim,?A look of longing seems to swim
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All worn and wearylike to me;?And then, as suddenly, my sight?Is blinded with a smile so bright,?Through folded lids I still may see?My bride, my bride that is to be.
Her face is like a night of June?Upon whose brow the crescent-moon?Hangs pendant in a diadem?Of stars, with envy lighting them.--?And, like a wild cascade, her hair?Floods neck and shoulder, arm and wrist,?Till only through a gleaming mist?I seem to see a siren there,?With lips of love and melody?And open arms and heaving breast?Wherein I fling myself to rest,?The while my heart cries hopelessly?For my fair bride that is to be...
Nay, foolish heart and blinded eyes!?My bride hath need of no disguise.--?But, rather, let her come to me?In such a form as bent above?My pillow when in infancy?I knew not anything but love.--?O let her come from out the lands?Of Womanhood--not fairy isles,--?And let her come with Woman's hands?And Woman's eyes of tears and smiles,--?With Woman's hopefulness and grace?Of patience lighting up her face:?And let her diadem be wrought?Of kindly deed and prayerful thought,?That ever over all distress?May beam the light of cheerfulness.--?And let her feet be brave to fare?The labyrinths of doubt and care,?That, following, my own may find?The path to Heaven God designed.--?O let her come like this to me--?My bride--my bride that is to be.
HOW IT HAPPENED
I got to thinkin'