The Dreamers | Page 3

song's perfume?To add its beauty to their bloom,?So love awakes her heart that lies?Shrouded in fragrant memories,?And bids it bloom again and wake?Sweeter for that old sorrow's sake.
THE BURDEN
The burden that I bear would be no less?Should I cry out against it; though I fill?The weary day with sound of my distress,?It were my burden still.
The burden that I bear may be no more?For all I bear it silently and stay?Sometimes to laugh and listen at a door?Where joy keeps holiday.
I ask no more save only this may be--?On life's long road, where many comrades fare,?One shall not guess, though he keep step with me,?The burden that I bear.
THE BRIDE
I
Though other eyes were turned to him,?He turned to look in mine;?Though others filled the cup abrim,?He might not taste the wine.
I am so glad my eyes were first?In which his own might sink;?I am so glad he went athirst?Until I bade him drink.
II
The Well-Belov��d took my hand?And led me to his fair abode,?The home that Love and he had planned.?(Strange that so well I knew the road.)
And through the open door we went,?And at our feet the hearth-light fell,?And I--I laughed in all content,?Seeing I knew the place so well.
Ah, to no stranger Love displayed?Its every nook, its every grace,?This was the House of Dreams I made?Long, long before I saw his face.
III
I jested over-much in days of old,?I looked on sorrow once and did not care,?Now Love hath crowned my head with very gold,?I will be worthy of the joy I wear.
There is not one a-hungered or a-cold?Shall seek my door but that he too shall share?Something of this vast happiness I hold;?I will be worthy of the joy I wear.
For I was hungered and Love spread the feast,?Cold--and He touched my heart and warmed it there,?Yea, crowned me Queen--I neediest of His least,?I will be worthy of the joy I wear.
THE SEER OF HEARTS
For mocking on men's faces?He only sees instead?The hidden, hundred traces?Of tears their eyes have shed.
Above their lips denying,?Through all their boasting dares,?He hears the anguished crying?Of old unanswered prayers.
And through the will's reliance?He only sees aright?A frightened child's defiance?Left lonely in the night.
THE UNSEEN MIRACLE
The Angel of the night when night was gone?High upon Heaven's ramparts, cried, "The Dawn!"
And wheeling worlds grew radiant with the one?And undiminished glory of the sun.
And Angel, Seraph, Saint and Cherubim?Raised to the morning their exultant hymn.
All Heaven thrilled anew to look upon?The great recurring miracle of dawn.
And in the little worlds beneath them--men?Rose, yawned and ate and turned to toil again.
THE APRIL BOUGHS
It was not then her heart broke--?That moment when she knew?That all her faith held holiest?Was utterly untrue.
It was not then her heart broke--?That night of prayer and tears?When first she dared the thought of life?Through all the empty years.
But when beneath the April boughs?She felt the blossoms stir,?The careless mirth of yesterday?Came near and smiled at her.
Old singing lingered in the wind,?Old joy came close again,?Oh, underneath the April boughs,?I think her heart broke then.
TRANSIENTS
They are ashamed who leave so soon?The Inn of Grief--who thought to stay?Through many a faithful sun and moon,?Yet tarry but a day.
Shame-faced I watch them pay the score,?Then straight with eager footsteps press?Where waits beyond its rose-wreathed door?The Inn of Happiness.
I wish I did not know that here,?Here too--where they have dreamed to stay?So many and many a golden year?They lodge but for a day.
THE MOTHER
So quietly I seem to sit apart;?I think she does not know or guess at all,?How dear this certain hour to my old heart,?When in our quiet street the shadows fall.
She leans and listens at the little gate.?I sit so still, not any eye might see?How watchfully before her there I wait?For that one step that brings my world to me.
She does not know that long before they meet?(So eagerly must go a love athirst),?My heart outstrips the flying of her feet,?And meets and greets him first--and greets him first.
WHEN PIERROT PASSES
High above his happy head?Little leaves of Spring were spread;?And adown the dewy lawn?Soft as moss the young green grass?Wooed his footsteps, and the dawn?Paused to watch him pass.?Even so he seemed in truth?Dancing between Love and Youth;?And his song as gay a thing?Still before him seemed to go?Light as any bird awing,?Blithe as jonquils in the Spring,?And we laughed and said, "Pierrot,
'Tis Pierrot."
"Oh," he sang, "Her hands are far?Sweeter than white roses are;?When I hold them to my lips,?Ere I dare a finer bliss,?Petal-like her finger-tips?Tremble 'neath my kiss.?And the mocking of her eyes?Lures me like blue butterflies?Falling--lifting--of their grace,?And her mouth--her mouth is wine."?And we laughed as though her face?Suddenly illumed the place,?And we said, "'Tis Columbine,
Columbine."
THE POET
He made him a love o' dreams--?He raised for his heart's delight--?(As the heart of June a crescent moon)?A frail, fair spirit of light.
He gave