The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell | Page 4

meek to bear;?And, though herself not unacquaint with care,?Hath in her heart wide room for all that be,--?Her heart that hath no secrets of its own,?But open is as eglantine full blown.?Cloudless forever is her brow serene,?Speaking calm hope and trust within her, whence?Welleth a noiseless spring of patience,?That keepeth all her life so fresh, so green 30?And full of holiness, that every look,?The greatness of her woman's soul revealing,?Unto me bringeth blessing, and a feeling?As when I read in God's own holy book.
A graciousness in giving that doth make?The small'st gift greatest, and a sense most meek?Of worthiness, that doth not fear to take?From others, but which always fears to speak?Its thanks in utterance, for the giver's sake;--?The deep religion of a thankful heart, 40?Which rests instinctively in Heaven's clear law?With a full peace, that never can depart?From its own steadfastness;--a holy awe?For holy things,--not those which men call holy,?But such as are revealèd to the eyes?Of a true woman's soul bent down and lowly?Before the face of daily mysteries;--?A love that blossoms soon, but ripens slowly?To the full goldenness of fruitful prime,?Enduring with a firmness that defies 50?All shallow tricks of circumstance and time,?By a sure insight knowing where to cling,?And where it clingeth never withering;--?These are Irené's dowry, which no fate?Can shake from their serene, deep-builded state.
In-seeing sympathy is hers, which chasteneth?No less than loveth, scorning to be bound?With fear of blame, and yet which ever hasteneth?To pour the balm of kind looks on the wound,?If they be wounds which such sweet teaching makes, 60?Giving itself a pang for others' sakes;?No want of faith, that chills with sidelong eye,?Hath she; no jealousy, no Levite pride?That passeth by upon the other side;?For in her soul there never dwelt a lie.?Right from the hand of God her spirit came?Unstained, and she hath ne'er forgotten whence?It came, nor wandered far from thence,?But laboreth to keep her still the same,?Near to her place of birth, that she may not 70?Soil her white raiment with an earthly spot.
Yet sets she not her soul so steadily?Above, that she forgets her ties to earth,?But her whole thought would almost seem to be?How to make glad one lowly human hearth;?For with a gentle courage she doth strive?In thought and word and feeling so to live?As to make earth next heaven; and her heart?Herein doth show its most exceeding worth,?That, bearing in our frailty her just part, 80?She hath not shrunk from evils of this life,?But hath gone calmly forth into the strife,?And all its sins and sorrows hath withstood?With lofty strength of patient womanhood:?For this I love her great soul more than all,?That, being bound, like us, with earthly thrall,?She walks so bright and heaven-like therein,--?Too wise, too meek, too womanly, to sin.
Like a lone star through riven storm-clouds seen?By sailors, tempest-tost upon the sea, 90 Telling of rest and peaceful heavens nigh,?Unto my soul her star-like soul hath been,?Her sight as full of hope and calm to me;--?For she unto herself hath builded high?A home serene, wherein to lay her head,?Earth's noblest thing, a Woman perfected.
SERENADE
From the close-shut windows gleams no spark,?The night is chilly, the night is dark,?The poplars shiver, the pine-trees moan,?My hair by the autumn breeze is blown,?Under thy window I sing alone,?Alone, alone, ah woe! alone!
The darkness is pressing coldly around,?The windows shake with a lonely sound,?The stars are hid and the night is drear,?The heart of silence throbs in thine ear,?In thy chamber thou sittest alone,?Alone, alone, ah woe! alone!
The world is happy, the world is wide.?Kind hearts are beating on every side;?Ah, why should we lie so coldly curled?Alone in the shell of this great world??Why should we any more be alone??Alone, alone, ah woe! alone!
Oh, 'tis a bitter and dreary word,?The saddest by man's ear ever heard!?We each are young, we each have a heart,?Why stand we ever coldly apart??Must we forever, then, be alone??Alone, alone, ah woe! alone!
WITH A PRESSED FLOWER
This little blossom from afar?Hath come from other lands to thine;?For, once, its white and drooping star?Could see its shadow in the Rhine.
Perchance some fair-haired German maid?Hath plucked one from the selfsame stalk,?And numbered over, half afraid,?Its petals in her evening walk.
'He loves me, loves me not,' she cries;?'He loves me more than earth or heaven!'?And then glad tears have filled her eyes?To find the number was uneven.
And thou must count its petals well,?Because it is a gift from me;?And the last one of all shall tell?Something I've often told to thee.
But here at home, where we were born,?Thou wilt find blossoms just as true,?Down-bending every summer morn,?With freshness of New England dew.
For Nature, ever kind to love,?Hath granted them the same sweet tongue,?Whether with German skies above,?Or here our granite rocks among.
THE BEGGAR
A beggar through the world am I,?From place to place I wander by.?Fill