Yesterdays | Page 5

bring one thrill back, of a vanished day,?Instead of throbbing in this dull, dead way,
If I could only weep.
O silent Fates who steep?Nectar or gall for us through all the years,?Take what thou wilt, but give me back my tears,
And let me weep and weep.
WHY SHOULD WE SIGH
Why should we sigh o'er a summer that's dead--
Let us think of the summer to be.?It always better to look ahead,?For the rose will come again just as red
And just as fair to see.
Why should we weep o'er a pleasure past--
Let us look for the pleasure to be.?New shells on the shore by new waves are cast;?Let us prize each new joy more than the last,
And laugh if the old joy flee.
What folly to die for a love that was--
Let us live for the one to be.?For time is passing, and will not pause;?How foolish the shore were it sad because
One wave ebbed out to sea.
Then let us not sing of a year that is fled--
Though dear its memory be:?For though summer and pleasure and love seem dead,?Love will be sweet, and the rose will be red
When they blossom for you and me.
A WAKEFUL NIGHT
In the dark and the gloom when winds were fretting
Like restless children worn out with play,?I said to my heart, 'This task, forgetting--
Is harder now than it is by day.?For a hungry love that hides from the light,?Like a tiger steals forth, and is bold at night.'
The wind wailed low like a woman weeping;
Deeper and darker the dense gloom grew.?And, oh! for the old, sweet nights of sleeping,
When dreams were happy, and love was true.?Before the stars from heaven went out?In a sudden blackness of dread and doubt.
The wind wailed loud, like a madman shrieking,
And I said to my heart, 'Oh! vain, vain strife;?We cannot forget, and the peace we are seeking
Can only be won at the end of life.?For see! like a lurid and living spark?The eyes of the tiger shine through the dark.'
The wind sighed low like a sick man dying,
And the dawn crept silently over the hill.?And I said, 'O heart! there is no use trying,
We must REMEMBER, and love on still.'?And the tiger, appeased with its midnight feast,?Fled as the dawn rose red in the East.
IF ONE SHOULD DIVE DEEP
Once more on the beach with the shifting clouds o'er me
(Like the friends of a day),?And the sea all unchanged, like a true friend before me,
How the years flow away,
How the summers go by.
The shifting clouds o'er me, the shifting sands under;
Why need it seem strange,?Why need I feel bitter, and why should I wonder
That hearts, too, should change
As the summers go by.
Down here is the path where we wandered together,
'Neath the midsummer moon.?Her love was sweet as the sweet summer weather,
And left us as soon,
And the summers go by.
The bathers laugh loud in the surf over yonder.
If one should dive deep,?And rise not--no more need he suffer or ponder
O'er losses, or weep,?But sink low and sleep
While the summers go by.
TWO
As I sat in my opera box last night?In a glimmer of gems and a blaze of light,
And smiling that all might see,?This curious thought came all unsought--
That there were TWO of me.
One who sat in her silk and lace,?With gems on her bosom and smiles on her face,
And hot-house blossoms in her hair,?While her fan kept time to the swaying rhyme
Of the lilting opera air.
And one who sat in the dark somewhere,?With her wan face hid by her falling hair,
And her hands clasped over her eyes;?And the sickening pain of heart and brain
Breathed out in long-drawn sighs.
One in the sheen of her opera suit;?And one who was swathed from head to foot,
In crepe of the blackest dye.?One hiding her heart and playing a part,
And one with her mask thrown by.
But over the voice of the singer there,?The one who sat with a rose in her hair,
Seemed ever to hear the moan?Of the one who kept in the dark and wept
With her desolate heart alone.
NO COMFORT
O mad with mirth are the birds to-day
That over my head are winging.?There is nothing but glee in the roundelay
That I hear them singing, singing.?On wings of light, up, out of sight--
I watch them airily flying.?What do they know of the world below,
And the hopes that are dying, dying?
The roses turn to the sun's warm sky,
Their sweet lips red and tender;?Oh! life to them is a dream of bliss,
Of love, and passion, and splendour.?What know they of the world to-day,
Of hearts that are silently breaking;?Of the human breast, and its great unrest,
And its pitiless aching, aching?
They send me out into Nature's heart
For help to bear my sorrow,?Nothing of strength can she impart,
No peace from her can I borrow.?Her rose-red June and her billing tune,
Her birds and blossoms only,?Mocked at the grief that seeks relief,
And leave me lonely--lonely.?If I might stand on