The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell | Page 4

still keepeth she
An
Eden where the snake did never enter;
She hath a natural, wise
sincerity,
A simple truthfulness, and these have lent her
A dignity
as moveless as the centre;
So that no influence of our earth can stir

Her steadfast courage, nor can take away
The holy peacefulness,
which night and day,
Unto her queenly soul doth minister.
Most gentle is she; her large charity 20
(An all unwitting, childlike
gift in her)
Not freer is to give than 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