Yesterdays | Page 8

had reached its prime;?I sit here and count the cost
Of a love that has lived its time.
Your blossom was plucked in its May,
In its dawning beauty and pride;?Mine lived till the August day,
And reached fruition and died.
You pressed its leaves in a book,
And you weep sweet tears o'er them.?Dry eyed I sit and look
On a withered and broken stem.
And now that all is told,
Which is the sadder, pray,?To give up your dream with its gold,
Or to see it fade into grey?
LOVE'S BURIAL
See him quake and see him tremble,
See him gasp for breath.?Nay, dear, he does not dissemble,
This is really Death.?He is weak, and worn, and wasted,
Bear him to his bier.?All there is of life he's tasted--
He has lived a year.
He has passed his day of glory,
All his blood is cold,?He is wrinkled, thin, and hoary,
He is very old.?Just a leaf's life in the wild wood,
Is a love's life, dear.?He has reached his second childhood
When he's lived a year.
Long ago he lost his reason,
Lost his trust and faith--?Better far in his first season
Had he met with death.?Let us have no pomp or splendour,
No vain pretence here.?As we bury, grave, yet tender,
Love that's lived a year.
All his strength and all his passion,
All his pride and truth,?These were wasted, spendthrift fashion,
In his fiery youth.?Since for him life holds no beauty
Let us shed no tear,?As we do the last sad duty--
Love has lived a year.
INCOMPLETE
The summer is just in its grandest prime,
The earth is green and the skies are blue;?But where is the lilt of the olden time,?When life was a melody set to rhyme,
And dreams were so real they all seemed true?
There is sun on the meadow, and blooms on the bushes,
And never a bird but is mad with glee;?But the pulse that bounds, and the blood that rushes,?And the hope that soars, and the joy that gushes,
Are lost for ever to you and me.
There are dawns of amber and amethyst;
There are purple mountains, and pale pink seas?That flush to crimson where skies have kist;?But out of life there is something missed--
Something better than all of these.
We miss the faces we used to know,
The smiling lips and the eyes of truth.?We miss the beauty and warmth and glow?Of the love that brightened our long ago,
And ah! we miss our youth.
ON RAINY DAYS
On rainy days old dreams arise,
From graves where they have lonely lain;?With wan white cheeks and mournful eyes,
They press against the window pane.?One dream is bolder than the rest:
She enters at the door and stays,?A welcome yet unbidden guest
On rainy days.
On rainy days, my dream and I
Turn back the hands of memory's books:?We sup on pleasures long gone by--
We drink of unforgotten brooks;?We ransack garrets of the Past,
We sing old songs, we play old plays;?While hurrying Time looks on aghast,
On rainy days.
On rainy days, my ghostly dreams
Come clothed in garments like the mist,?But through that vapoury veiling, gleams
The lustrous eyes my lips have kissed.?A radiant head leans on my heart,
We walk in well-remembered ways;?But oh! the sorrow when we part,
On rainy days.
GERALDINE
Just as the sun went bathing in a sea?Of liquid amber, flecked with caps of gold, I told?The sweet old story unto Geraldine, my Queen,?Who long hath made the whole of life for me.
But though she smiled upon me yesterday,?And heaven seemed near because she was so kind, I find?She held me but as one of many men; and then?Dismissed me in her proud, yet gracious way.
Ah, Geraldine! my lady of sweet arts,?There waits for thee not very far away, a day?When thou shalt waken out of tranquil sleep, and weep?Such bitter tears as spring from anguished hearts.
Thou shalt look in thy mirror with dismay?To find upon each feature of thy face, the trace?Of time, the lover who shall follow thee, and see?Thy rare youth slipping suddenly away.
So self-assured, so certain of thy power,?It shall come on thee with a swift surprise. Thine eyes?Appalled, shall fall upon each certain, strange, sad change, And rob thee of thy triumph in an hour.
And when that day shall come, as come it must,?You then will think of me, sweet Geraldine, my Queen,?And of the faithful heart there tossed away one day,?Before thy dead sea apples turned to dust.
To dust and ashes, leaving nothing more,?That day will come, my lady, I can wait; and Fate?Shall right my wrongs. Thou smilest, Geraldine, my Queen!?Ah well, so have fair women smiled before.
ONLY IN DREAMS
How strange are dreams. Last night I dreamed about you.
All that old bitterness of loss and pain,?The desolation of my lot without you,
The keen regret, all, all came back again.
Again I faced that terrible old sorrow;
Too numb to weep, too cowardly to pray.?Again the blankness of a dread to-morrow
Filled me with sickly terror and dismay.
I woke in tears; but lo! a moment after,
When every vestige of my dream was fled,?I broke the silence of