Chapter 2

Only spake the little lisper In the Angel-tongue; Yet I, listening, heard her whisper-- "Songs are only sung Here below that they may grieve you, Tales but told you to deceive you,-- So must Leonainie leave you While her love is young,"

Then God smiled and it was morning Matchless and supreme Heaven's glory seemed adorning Earth with its esteem: Every heart but mine seemed gifted With the voice of prayer, and lifted Where my Leonainie drifted From me like a dream.

HER WAITING FACE

In some strange place Of long-lost lands he finds her waiting face-- Comes marveling upon it, unaware, Set moonwise in the midnight of her hair.

THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW

I

As one in sorrow looks upon The dead face of a loyal friend, By the dim light of New Year's dawn I saw the Old Year end.

Upon the pallid features lay The dear old smile--so warm and bright Ere thus its cheer had died away In ashes of delight.

The hands that I had learned to love With strength of passion half divine, Were folded now, all heedless of The emptiness of mine.

The eyes that once had shed their bright Sweet looks like sunshine, now were dull, And ever lidded from the light That made them beautiful.

II

The chimes of bells were in the air, And sounds of mirth in hall and street, With pealing laughter everywhere And throb of dancing feet:

The mirth and the convivial din Of revelers in wanton glee, With tunes of harp and violin In tangled harmony.

But with a sense of nameless dread, I turned me, from the merry face Of this newcomer, to my dead; And, kneeling there a space,

I sobbed aloud, all tearfully:-- By this dear face so fixed and cold, O Lord, let not this New Year be As happy as the old!

THEIR SWEET SORROW

They meet to say farewell: Their way Of saying this is hard to say.-- He holds her hand an instant, wholly Distressed--and she unclasps it slowly.

He bends _his_ gaze evasively Over the printed page that she Recurs to, with a new-moon shoulder Glimpsed from the lace-mists that enfold her.

The clock, beneath its crystal cup, Discreetly clicks--_"Quick! Act! Speak up!"_ A tension circles both her slender Wrists--and her raised eyes flash in splendor,

Even as he feels his dazzled own.-- Then, blindingly, round either thrown, They feel a stress of arms that ever Strain tremblingly--and "_Never! Never!_"

Is whispered brokenly, with half A sob, like a belated laugh,-- While cloyingly their blurred kiss closes, Sweet as the dew's lip to the rose's.

JUDITH

O Her eyes are amber-fine-- Dark and deep as wells of wine, While her smile is like the noon Splendor of a day of June, If she sorrow--lo! her face It is like a flowery space In bright meadows, overlaid With light clouds and lulled with shade. If she laugh--it is the trill Of the wayward whippoorwill Over upland pastures, heard Echoed by the mocking-bird In dim thickets dense with bloom And blurred cloyings of perfume. If she sigh--- a zephyr swells Over odorous asphodels And wall lilies in lush plots Of moon-drown'd forget-me-nots. Then, the soft touch of her hand-- Takes all breath to understand What to liken it thereto!-- Never roseleaf rinsed with dew Might slip soother-suave than slips Her slow palm, the while her lips Swoon through mine, with kiss on kiss Sweet as heated honey is.

HE AND I

Just drifting on together-- He and I-- As through the balmy weather Of July Drift two thistle-tufts imbedded Each in each--by zephyrs wedded-- Touring upward, giddy-headed, For the sky.

And, veering up and onward, Do we seem Forever drifting dawnward In a dream, Where we meet song-birds that know us, And the winds their kisses blow us, While the years flow far below us Like a stream.

And we are happy--very-- He and I-- Aye, even glad and merry Though on high The heavens are sometimes shrouded By the midnight storm, and clouded Till the pallid moon is crowded From the sky.

My spirit ne'er expresses Any choice But to clothe him with caresses And rejoice; And as he laughs, it is in Such a tone the moonbeams glisten And the stars come out to listen To his voice.

And so, whate'er the weather, He and I,-- With our lives linked thus together, Float and fly As two thistle-tufts imbedded Each in each--by zephyrs wedded-- Touring upward, giddy-headed, For the sky.

THE LOST PATH

Alone they walked--their fingers knit together, And swaying listlessly as might a swing Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather Of some sun-flooded afternoon of Spring.

Within the clover-fields the tickled cricket Laughed lightly as they loitered down the lane, And from the covert of the hazel-thicket The squirrel peeped and laughed at them again.

The bumble-bee that tipped the lily-vases Along the road-side in the shadows dim, Went following the blossoms of their faces As though their sweets must needs be shared with him.

Between the pasture bars the wondering cattle Stared wistfully, and from their mellow bells Shook out a welcoming whose dreamy rattle Fell swooningly away in faint farewells.

And though at last the gloom of night fell o'er them And folded all the landscape from their eyes, They only knew the dusky path before them Was leading safely on to Paradise.

MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE

O soul of mine, look out and see My bride, my bride that is to be! Reach out with mad, impatient hands, And draw aside futurity As one might draw a veil aside-- And so unveil her where she stands Madonna-like and glorified-- The queen of undiscovered lands Of love, to where she beckons me-- My bride--my bride that is to be.

The shadow of a willow-tree That wavers on a garden-wall In summertime may never fall In attitude as gracefully As my fair bride that is to be;-- Nor ever Autumn's leaves of brown As lightly flutter to the lawn As fall her fairy-feet upon The path of love she loiters down.-- O'er drops of dew she walks, and yet Not one may stain her sandal wet-- Aye, she might _dance_ upon the way Nor crush a single drop to spray, So airy-like she seems to me,-- My bride, my bride that is to be.

I know not if her eyes are light As summer skies or dark as night,-- I only know that they are dim With mystery: In vain I peer To make their hidden meaning clear, While o'er their surface, like a tear That ripples to the silken brim, A look of longing seems to swim

All worn and wearylike to me; And then, as suddenly, my sight Is blinded with a smile so bright, Through folded lids I still may see My bride, my bride that is to be.

Her face is like a night of June Upon whose brow the crescent-moon Hangs pendant in a diadem Of stars, with envy lighting them.-- And, like a wild cascade, her hair Floods neck and shoulder, arm and wrist, Till only through a gleaming mist I seem to see a siren there, With lips of love and melody And open arms and heaving breast Wherein I fling myself to rest, The while my heart cries hopelessly For my fair bride that is to be...

Nay, foolish heart and blinded eyes! My bride hath need of no disguise.-- But, rather, let her come to me In such a form as bent above My pillow when in infancy I knew not anything but love.-- O let her come from out the lands Of Womanhood--not fairy isles,-- And let her come with Woman's hands And Woman's eyes of tears and smiles,-- With Woman's hopefulness and grace Of patience lighting up her face: And let her diadem be wrought Of kindly deed and prayerful thought, That ever over all distress May beam the light of cheerfulness.-- And let her feet be brave to fare The labyrinths of doubt and care, That, following, my own may find The path to Heaven God designed.-- O let her come like this to me-- My bride--my bride that is to be.

HOW IT HAPPENED

I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone-- And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John A-livin' all alone there in that lonesome sort o' way, And him a blame' old bachelor, confirm'der ev'ry day! I'd knowed 'em all from childern, and their daddy from the time He settled in the neighberhood, and hadn't airy a dime Er dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin' on!-- So I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone!

I got to thinkin' of her; and a-wundern what she done That all her sisters kep' a-gittin' married, one by one, And her without no chances--and the best girl of the pack-- An old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back! And Mother, too, afore she died, she ust to jes' take on, When none of 'em was left, you know, but Evaline and John, And jes' declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline To not see what a wife they'd git if they got Evaline!

I got to thinkin' of her; in my great affliction she Was sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neighberly,-- She'd come, and leave her housework, fer to he'p out little Jane, And talk of _her own_ mother 'at she'd never see again-- Maybe sometimes cry together--though, fer the most part she Would have the child so riconciled and happy-like 'at we Felt lonesomer 'n ever when she'd put her bonnet on And say she'd railly haf to be a-gittin' back to John!

I got to thinkin' of her, as I say,--and more and more I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,-- Her parents both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone And married off, and her a-livin' there alone with John-- You might say jes' a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life Fer a man 'at hadn't pride enough to git hisse'f a wife-- 'Less some one married _Evaline_ and packed her off some day!-- So I got to thinkin' of her--and it happened that-away.

WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE

I

When my dreams come true--when my dreams come true-- Shall I lean from out my casement, in the starlight and the dew,

To listen--smile and listen to the tinkle of the strings Of the sweet guitar my lover's fingers fondle, as he sings? And the nude moon slowly, slowly shoulders into view, Shall I vanish from his vision--when my dreams come true?

When my dreams come true--shall the simple gown I wear Be changed to softest satin, and my maiden-braided hair Be raveled into flossy mists of rarest, fairest gold, To be minted into kisses, more than any heart can hold?-- Or "the summer of my tresses" shall my lover liken to "The fervor of his passion"--when my dreams come true?

II

When my dreams come true--I shall bide among the sheaves Of happy harvest meadows; and the grasses and the leaves Shall lift and lean between me and the splendor of the sun, Till the moon swoons into twilight, and the gleaners' work is done-- Save that yet an arm shall bind me, even as the reapers do The meanest sheaf of harvest--when my dreams come true.

When my dreams come true! when my dreams come true! True love in all simplicity is fresh and pure as dew; The blossom in the blackest mold is kindlier to the eye Than any lily born of pride that looms against the sky: And so it is I know my heart will gladly welcome you, My lowliest of lovers, when my dreams come true.

NOTHIN' TO SAY

Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say! Gyrls that's in love, I've noticed, ginerly has their way! Yer mother did afore you, when her folks objected to me-- Yit here I am, and here you air; and yer mother--where is she?

You look lots like yer mother: Purty much same in size; And about the same complected; and favor about the eyes: Like her, too, about _livin'_ here,--because _she_ couldn't stay: It'll 'most seem like you was dead--like her!--But I hain't got nothin' to say!

She left you her little Bible--writ yer name acrost the page-- And left her ear bobs fer you, ef ever you come of age. I've allus kep'em and gyuarded 'em, but ef yer goin' away-- Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!

You don't rikollect her, I reckon? No; you wasn't a year old then! And now yer--how old _air_ you? W'y, child, not _"twenty!"_ When? And yer nex' birthday's in Aprile? and you want to git married that day? I wisht yer mother was livin'!--But--I hain't got nothin' to say!

Twenty year! and as good a gyrl as parent ever found! There's a straw ketched onto yer dress there--I'll bresh it off--turn around. (Her mother was jes' twenty when us two run away!) Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!

IKE WALTON'S PRAYER

I crave, dear Lord, No boundless hoard Of gold and gear, Nor jewels fine, Nor lands, nor kine, Nor treasure-heaps of anything.-- Let but a little hut be mine Where at the hearthstone I may hear The cricket sing, And have the shine Of one glad woman's eyes to make, For my poor sake, Our simple home a place divine;-- Just the wee cot--the cricket's chirr-- Love, and the smiling face of her.

I pray not for Great riches, nor For vast estates, and castle-halls,-- Give me to hear the bare footfalls Of children o'er An oaken floor, New-rinsed with sunshine, or bespread With but the tiny coverlet And pillow for the baby's head; And pray Thou, may The door stand open and the day Send ever in a gentle breeze, With fragrance from the locust-trees, And drowsy moan of doves, and blur Of robin-chirps, and drone of bees,

With afterhushes of the stir Of intermingling sounds, and then The good-wife and the smile of her Filling the silences again-- The cricket's call, And the wee cot, Dear Lord of all, Deny me not!

I pray not that Men tremble at My power of place And lordly sway,-- I only pray for simple grace To look my neighbor in the face Full honestly from day to day-- Yield me his horny palm to hold, And I'll not pray For gold;-- The tanned face, garlanded with mirth, It hath the kingliest smile on earth-- The swart brow, diamonded with sweat, Hath never need of coronet. And so I reach, Dear Lord, to Thee, And do beseech Thou givest me The wee cot, and the cricket's chirr, Love, and the glad sweet face of her.

ILLILEO

Illileo, the moonlight seemed lost across the vales-- The stars but strewed the azure as an armor's scattered scales; The airs of night were quiet as the breath of silken sails; And all your words were sweeter than the notes of nightingales.

Illileo Legardi, in the garden there alone, With your figure carved of fervor, as the Psyche carved of stone, There came to me no murmur of the fountain's undertone So mystically, musically mellow as your own.

You whispered low, Illileo--so low the leaves were mute, And the echoes faltered breathless in your voice's vain pursuit; And there died the distant dalliance of the serenader's lute: And I held you in my bosom as the husk may hold the fruit. Illileo, I listened. I believed you. In my bliss, What were all the worlds above me since I found you thus in this?-- Let them reeling reach to win me--- even Heaven I would miss, Grasping earthward!--I would cling here, though I clung by just a kiss!

And blossoms should grow odorless--and lilies all aghast-- And I said the stars should slacken in their paces through the vast, Ere yet my loyalty should fail enduring to the last.-- So vowed I. It is written. It is changeless as the past.

Illileo Legardi, in the shade your palace throws Like a cowl about the singer at your gilded porticos, A moan goes with the music that may vex the high repose Of a heart that fades and crumbles as the crimson of a rose.

THE WIFE-BLESSÉD

In youth he wrought, with eyes ablur Lorn-faced and long of hair-- In youth--in youth he painted her A sister of the air-- Could clasp her not, but felt the stir Of pinions everywhere.

II

She lured his gaze, in braver days, And tranced him sirenwise; And he did paint her, through a haze Of sullen paradise, With scars of kisses on her face And embers in her eyes.

III

And now--nor dream nor wild conceit-- Though faltering, as before-- Through tears he paints her, as is meet, Tracing the dear face o'er With lilied patience meek and sweet As Mother Mary wore.

MY MARY

My Mary, O my Mary! The simmer-skies are blue; The dawnin' brings the dazzle, An' the gloamin' brings the dew?-- The mirk o' nicht the glory O' the moon, an' kindles, too, The stars that shift aboon the lift.--- But nae thing brings me you!

Where is it, O my Mary, Ye are biding a' the while? I ha' wended by your window-- I ha' waited by the stile, An' up an' down the river I ha' won for mony a mile, Yet never found, adrift or drown'd, Your lang-belated smile.

Is it forgot, my Mary, How glad we used to be?-- The simmer-time when bonny bloomed The auld trysting-tree,-- How there I carved the name for you, An' you the name for me; An' the gloamin' kenned it only When we kissed sae tenderly.

Speek ance to me, my Mary!--- But whisper in my ear As light as ony sleeper's breath, An' a' my soul will hear; My heart shall stap its beating An' the soughing atmosphere Be hushed the while I leaning smile An' listen to you, dear!

My Mary, O my Mary! The blossoms bring the bees; The sunshine brings the blossoms, An' the leaves on a' the trees; The simmer brings the sunshine An' the fragrance o' the breeze,-- But O wi'out you, Mary, I care nae thing for these!

We were sae happy, Mary! O think how ance we said-- Wad ane o' us gae fickle, Or are o' us lie dead,-- To feel anither's kisses We wad feign the auld instead, And ken the ither's footsteps In the green grass owerhead.

My Mary, O my Mary! Are ye daughter o' the air, That ye vanish aye before me As I follow everywhere?-- Or is it ye are only But a mortal, wan wi' care?-- Syne I search through a' the kirkyird An' I dinna find ye there!

HOME AT NIGHT

When chirping crickets fainter cry, And pale stars blossom in the sky, And twilight's gloom has dimmed the bloom And blurred the butterfly:

When locust-blossoms fleck the walk, And up the tiger-lily stalk The glow-worm crawls and clings and falls And glimmers down the garden-walls:

When buzzing things, with double wings Of crisp and raspish flutterings, Go whizzing by so very nigh One thinks of fangs and stings:--

O then, within, is stilled the din Of crib she rocks the baby in, And heart and gate and latch's weight Are lifted--- and the lips of Kate,

WHEN LIDE MARRIED _HIM_

When Lide married _him_--w'y, she had to jes dee-fy The whole poppilation!--But she never bat' an eye! Her parents begged, and _threatened_--she must give him up--that _he_ Wuz jes "a common drunkard!"--And he _wuz_, appearantly.-- Swore they'd chase him off the place Ef he ever showed his face-- Long after she'd _eloped_ with him and _married_ him fer shore!-- When Lide married _him_, it wuz _"Katy, bar the door!"_

When Lide married _him_--Well! she had to go and be A _hired girl_ in town somewheres--while he tromped round to see What _he_ could git that _he_ could do,--you might say, jes sawed wood From door to door!--that's what he done--'cause that wuz best he could! And the strangest thing, i jing! Wuz, he didn't _drink_ a thing,-- But jes got down to bizness, like he someway _wanted_ to, When Lide married _him_, like they warned her _not_ to do!

When Lide married _him_--er, ruther, _had_ ben married A little up'ards of a year--some feller come and carried That _hired girl_ away with him--a ruther _stylish_ feller In a bran-new green spring-wagon, with the wheels striped red and yeller: And he whispered, as they driv Tords the country, _"Now we'll live!"_-- And _somepin' else_ she _laughed_ to hear, though both her eyes wuz dim, 'Bout _"trustin' Love and Heav'n above_, sence Lide married _him!"_

HER HAIR

The beauty of her hair bewilders me-- Pouring adown the brow, its cloven tide Swirling about the ears on either side And storming around the neck tumultuously: Or like the lights of old antiquity Through mullioned windows, in cathedrals wide, Spilled moltenly o'er figures deified In chastest marble, nude of drapery. And so I love it.--Either unconfined; Or plaited in close braidings manifold; Or smoothly drawn; or indolently twined In careless knots whose coilings come unrolled At any lightest kiss; or by the wind Whipped out in flossy ravelings of gold.

LAST NIGHT--AND THIS

Last night--how deep the darkness was! And well I knew its depths, because I waded it from shore to shore, Thinking to reach the light no more.

She would not even touch my hand.-- The winds rose and the cedars fanned The moon out, and the stars fled back In heaven and hid--and all was black!

But ah! To-night a summons came, Signed with a teardrop for a name,-- For as I wondering kissed it, lo, A line beneath it told me so.

And _now_ the moon hangs over me A disk of dazzling brilliancy, And every star-tip stabs my sight With splintered glitterings of light!

A DISCOURAGING MODEL