Songs of Two | Page 2

like sweet flowers that grow?Within a garden where I go,?Sometimes at dawn, to see each one?Life its head proudly in the sun;?Sometimes at night,?When only by the fragrant air,?I know them there.?And none are grieved or think I slight?Their worth, if closest to my breast,?This one I take which holds within its own?Each single fragrance of the rest,--?My friend, my friend!?And as I loved it first alone,?So shall I love it to the end,?For none were half so dear were it not best.
XI
My every purpose fashioned by some thought of thee,?Though as a feather's weight that shapes the arrow's flight it be; No single joy complete in which thou bust, no fee,?Though thy share be the star and mine its shadow in the sea; Thy very pulse my pulse, thy every prayer my prayer.?Thy love my blue o'erreaching sky that bounds me everywhere,-- Yet free, Beloved, free! for this encircling air?I cannot leave behind, doth but love's boundlessness declare.
XII
Last night the angel of remembrance brought?Me while I slept--think, Dear! of all his store?Just that one memory I thought?Banished forever from our door!?Thy sob of pain when once I hurt thee sure.?Then in my dream I suddenly was ware?Of God above me saying: "Reach?Thy hand to Me in prayer,?And I will give thee pardon yet."?Thou? Nay, she hath forgiven, teach?Her to forget.
XIII
Love me not, Dearest, for the smile,?The tender greeting, or the wile?By which, unconscious of its road,?My soul seeks thine in its abode;?Nor say "I love thee of thine eyes,--"?For when Death shuts them, where thy skies??But love me for my love,?Then am I safe from all surprise,?And thou above?The loss of all that dies.
XIV
Dear hands, forgiving hands,?There is no speech so sure as thing.?Lips falter with so much?To tell, eyes fill with thoughts I scarce divine,?But thy least touch?Soul understands.?Dear giving, taking hands,?There are no gifts so free as thine.?One last gem from the heart of the mine,?One last cup from the veins of the vine,?From the rose to the wind one last sweet breath,?Then poverty, and death!?But thy dear palms?Are richest empty, asking alms.
XV
A little moment at the end?Of day, left over in the candle light?On the shore of dreams, on the edge of sleep,?Too small to throw away,?Too poor to keep!?But it holds two words for thee, dear Friend,--?Good-night, Good night!?And so this remnant of the day,?Left over in the candle-light?On the shore of dreams, on the edge of sleep,?Becomes too great to throw away,?Too dear to keep!
XVI
Beloved, when I read some fine conceit,?Wherein are wrought as in glass?The features love hath made so sweet,?I marvel at so bold an art;?Seeing thou art too dear to praise?Upon the highway where men pass.?For when I seek?To tell the ways?God's hand of tenderness?Hath touched thine earthly part,?Again I hear?Thy first own cry of happiness,?And, sweetest of God's sounds, the dear?Remonstrance of thy giving heart,--?And cannot speak!
XVII
Across the plain of Time?I saw them marching all night long,--?The endless throng?Of all who ever dared to fight with wrong.?All the blood their hearts, the prime?And crown of their fleeting years,?All the toil of their hands, the tears?Of their eyes, the thought of their brain,?For a word from the lips of Truth,?For a glimpse of the scroll of Fate,?Ere love and youth?Were spent in vain,?And even truth too late!?Oh, when the Silence speaks, and the scroll?Unrolls to the eye of the soul,?What will it be that shall pay the cost?Of the pain gone waste and the labor lost!?And then, Dear, waking, I saw you---?And knew.
XVIII
We thought when Love at last should come,?The rose would lose its thorn,?And every lip but Joy's be dumb?When Love, sweet Love, was born;?That never tears should start to rise,?No night o'ertake our morn,?Nor any guest of grief surprise,?When Love sweet Love, was born.
And when he came, O Heart of mine!?And stood within our door,?No joy our dreaming could divine?Was missing from his store.?The thorns shall wound our hearts again,?But not the fear of yore,?for all the guests of grief and pain?Shall serve him evermore.
XIX
Dost thou remember, Dear, the day?We met in those bare woods of May??Each had a secret unconfessed,?Each sound a promise, in each nest.?Young wings a-tremble for the air,--?How we joined hands?--not knowing where?The springs that touch set free?Should find their sea.?Speechless--so sure we were to share?The unknown good to be.
XX
The woods are bare again. There are?No secrets now, the bud's a scar;?No promises,--this is the end!?Ah, Dearest, I have seen thee bend?Above thy flowers as one who knew?The dying wood should bloom anew.?Come, let us sleep, Perchance?God's countenance,?Like thine above thy flowers, smiles through?The night upon us two.
VERSES MY FRIEND
I have a friend who came,--I know not how,?Nor he. Among the crowd, apart,?I feel the pressure of his hand, and hear?In very truth the beating of his heart.
My soul had shut the door of abode,?So