Part 4

Oh they thought they would be such poets, you see, And such wonderful, marvelous scholars, you know, When they planted my brains in their noddles to grow! But my--oh--oh! what fools they were though! For poets, you know, are like underdone dough-- And oh--my--oh! what fools they were though When they planted my brains in their noddles to grow!

But they crammed every grain, their ill-gotten gain, Clear down in the pokes of their pocket-like ears, And turned over my eyes to their sages and seers. But they soon rued they had the brains I had had For they drove every one of them stark staring mad; For the goblins, you see, went crazy, like me, As mad as a March hare ever could be.

To my greatest surprise they brought back my eyes And put them both back as they always had been. Since _Thought_ made them crazy, as each one had seen, They restored me my brains with the greatest of _pains_, And handed me back my mare’s bridle-reins; Then away and up through the atmosphere flew And left me as sound and as solid as new!

And there _was_ no loon with a goblin spoon, And there never has been and never will be. Whether or not this happened to me, It needn’t at all happen this way to all: But whatever you do, or whatever befall, _Un-less the gob-lins get your night-mare’s reins, Don’t ev-er nor ev-er go lend-ing your brains!_

SLEEP.

Dear Nurse that foldeth weary Nature to Thy heart, and from tired eyes shutteth out the light, E’en as a mother at the fall of night Doth take her child upon her lap to undo The snarls and tangles of the day, and woo Away the sun-bred ills, and balm the sight With visions of another world all bright, Dear soothing healing Sleep! ’tis thee I sue. Come, fold your arms about my Sweetheart-Wife; Balm up her eyes that stare at staring Night; Seal down her lids with sweet, refreshing gleams, Or visions, rather, of the happy life We’ve planned together; and leave her not till the light Of morn, with me, shall kiss her from her dreams.

TO A WILD-ROSE BOUQUET.

Wild roses down the lane Sweet Laeda gave in June, To glad me And to sad me, Like shine and mingled rain Atween the clouds aboon.

SONG ON THE SEA.

Merrily, merrily over the wave We’ll laugh and we’ll sing as we’re bounding along, Merrily, merrily, joyous and brave We’ll echo the music of waves in our song:-- Roll, roll, break, break, Over the merrily musical waves, Roll, roll, wake, wake All the glad echoes that hide in their caves.

Rocking and rolling the sea is our home And joyous we shout from our billow-rocked boat; Cleaving the breakers white-feathered with foam We’ll set the sweet echoes of ocean afloat:-- Roll, roll, break, break, Over the merrily musical waves, Roll, roll, wake, All the glad echoes that hide in their caves.

Merrily, merrily out of their caves We’ll call the glad echoes sweet laughing along; Merrily, merrily out on the waves We’ll mingle the musical sea with our song:-- Roll, roll, break, break, Over the merrily musical waves, Roll, roll, wake, wake All the glad echoes that hide in their caves.

WOODLAND LAY.

Oh come to the woodland where joys reign supreme, Where the zephyr’s soft kiss lightly touches the brow, And the sun gently drops thro’ the leaves in a dream And sleeps in the shade of the wide-spreading bough.

Let the world plod along with its stern, solemn face, With its brow deeply wrinkled with thought and with care; Let the pleasures of life to-day’s business replace While we list to the charm of its wild, joyous air.

The murm’ring of brooks, the singing of birds, The whisper of winds and the leaves soft reply, The bleating of flocks and the lowing of herds, The breathing of nature from earth to the sky--

All combine to make music with cadence as sweet To the ear of the mortal, as the music of spheres, Gentle wooed from the harp at Infinity’s feet And as softly let fall on angelical ears.

Like the soft flakes of snow as they fall on the deep, The rhythmical notes adown tremblingly go On the listening air, and as silently sleep In the ocean of joys, where they melt as the snow.

IN THE ANGELS’ KEEP.

Let me not look on the dear, dead face, I would not remember her so; For her eyes are closed, and her hands are still, And her lips can’t speak, you know!

Let me remember her just as she lived, And just as I’ll meet her above-- With eyes that could talk and a touch that could soothe, And a heart that was full of love.

Let me remember her not as one dead, But as one that has fallen asleep; She will wake in the morning, I know, at my call, Awake in the angels’ keep!

THOUGHT.

_Thought alone is eternal._--YOUNG.

’Tis the whisp’ring of angels, the brush of their wings; ’Tis the flight of a soul from its fetters of clay To the lighthouse of gold where the seraph Hope sings And flings out its notes on life’s billowed bay.

’Tis the touch of Christ’s hand that upraiseth the dead; ’Tis the breath breathed of God in the nostrils of man;-- The stream that shall rise from its mould-made bed And join with the clouds whence in rain-drops it ran.

Tinged with sadness of mortals, it smells of the grave; But the Childhood of Faith and the Mother of Hope, It beckons to fields where the palm-groves wave And the joy-studded gates of Jerusalem ope.

WHITE-ENTHRONED ABOVE ME.

(ON A SMALL WHITE-ROSE BOUQUET PRESENTED BY A LADY AND PLACED IN PALGRAVE’S “GOLDEN TREASURY,” OPPOSITE “THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.”)

White roses, sweet white roses Fair Leda smiles atween, No soul your lily-light encloses So pure as hers, I ween.

Here lie and dream, sweet, pure white roses That blessed the heart of June, And ope the budding love that closes Around her soul aboon.

THE LONE WAYSIDE WILD ROSE.

I passed along a wilding lane Where weeds and straying flowers grew, Where clover-blooming meadows threw Sweet love upon the winds in vain.

Lonely by the wayside wild Where the earth all trodden lay, There peeped a wild rose, one bright day, And stretched its palms like a pleading child.

Day after day, day after day It drank of love from heaven and earth And lifted itself from a timid birth To a beautiful soul in sweet array.

It breathed from out of its opening soul The breath that heaven has given the rose, The sweetest by far that mortal knows, And drank sweet love from the night’s dew-bowl.

The tint of the fleecy clouds of morn Came out of the flushing tide of its heart, And lay on its cheek with artless art-- The fairest blush that ever was born.

’Twas when the rose was full in bloom I passed along that wilding lane When love upon the winds was vain, The desert air its deathless tomb.

I loved the flower and said, “Alas! ’Tis sad to know such love must die, Such sweetness with the mould must lie, Such beauty into death must pass!”

I plucked the flower from off its stem And said, “Sweet Flower! Life were Death Without thy beauty and thy breath-- The heart must wither else for them.”

I plucked the flower--blest wild rose!-- I set it blooming in my heart, And said, “Should my sweet rose depart To-day--the night its dear life close,

“The love it leaves shall ever live, Shall ever grow, and bloom and bloom, Shall go with me thro’ Death’s dark gloom, And hope of glad reunion give.”

The flower, blooming, lived and grew;-- That sweet wild rose is blooming still; Its beauties every corner fill That life and love and heart e’er knew.

And should my fond heart ever break, That sweet wild rose would never die;-- ’Twould spring from the mould where it might lie And the fairest bloom immortal take!

TWENTY.

May the twenties yet triple, And then add their half, Still preserving the ripple And ring of your laugh.

And may every bright twinkle That falls from your eye Serve to smooth out each wrinkle, The track of a sigh.

When the twenties shall twinkle And ten more shall run, I hope every cute wink’ll Still shine out with fun.

Oh the triple of twenty Plus none less than ten! May you be the same dainty Sweet girly-girl then!

BEAUTIFUL MAY.

Oh ’tis May, Beautiful May, Month of beautiful May, Beautiful month of May.

Wild flowers blooming, Grasses growing, Wild brooks flowing, Pheasants booming-- Oh ’tis May, Beautiful May Lovelier far than month of June, Beautiful May! And every day Is putting the strings of life in tune.

May-buds peep At robins chattering To their mates And those asleep, Always flattering With nodding pates And promises free The farmer asnooze That they will keep From others the news That cherries are in the tree.

The playful dawn Is after the moon, And the moon is running away. Oh the stars like sheep are all running away After the moon, Away from the dawn, Away from the dawn of the month of May, Away, away, away.

With skip and play They dance away After the dizzy moon That pales with the pallor of fright so soon At the brightening sight, Affright of the light Of the morn of a lovelier month than June, So soon, soon, soon.

Oh sweet May, Beautiful May Thus brightens her face each day, And lets the light of her tresses stray Into each part Of the earth’s dark heart Where flashes like lashes from diamonds play --Astray each day at play.

The light from her eyes In the spring’s emprise Sinks deep in the soul of the sands; And with glittering, flying hands Every one Of the sands doth run And lift into life the clod from its bonds That climbs to a soul like man’s.

She breathes on the air, And the sweet winds wear Her blooms in their billowy hair, And pour out their perfumes and nectars rare Distilled in the cup That the goddesses sup For the beautiful dutiful May so fair, So rare and fairy fair.

She drinks of the stream, And the glad waters gleam With delight as they leap to her lips. She creeps up the mountains and merrily sips Of the fountains that spring From the snows as they string Up their bows for a shot at the lower rock-crypts Where the sun like the dew-drop drips.

She skims to the plain And frightens the train That the winter has left on guard. She whistles her bird-notes soft and hard And calls from retreat The bickering feet Of the green that the winter in prison has barred, --Sweet, te-weet, wheat.

DEEP UNTO DEEP.

A DOUBLE THRENODY.

Oh the bounding of the billows of the sea Rolls the rhythm of their music unto me; And a footstep that has fallen on the lea Seems to echo from the boundless, soundless deep. But the breaking of the billows--the billows as they leap, Makes the silence of my sorrow with them weep; While the echoes of the grottoes--the grottoes wildly start, Ever throbbing to the music of my heart;-- Throbbing to the threnode, Rocking to the rhythm, Moaning to the music of my heart,-- Threnode throbbing ever, Rhythm rocking ever, Music moaning ever in my heart.

Oh my Love is on the billows of the sea, Sending messages along the waves to me; And the ever-singing shells along the lea With my longing heart a constant chorus keep. But the breaking of the message--the message from the deep, Makes the silence of my sorrow inly weep; While the moaning shells intoning, intoning griefs impart Ever sobbing to the silence of my heart;-- Sobbing to the silence, Intoning to the moaning, Breaking to the breaking of my heart,-- Silent sobbing ever, Grief intoning ever, Breaking, breaking ever in my heart.

A HUMPTY-DUMPTY IDIOTIC CHAP.

There was once a little humpty-dumpty idiotic chap, Who had both a mug an’ muzzle most remarkable to see. An’ he couldn’t do a solitary thing but grin an’ gap, But he done that simply awful an’ he done it constantly. His tater head was sorto’ meller like a punkin over-ripe An’ his yaller face was puckered like a lemon with the gripe; An’ his front teeth like stalites--or what you call ’em--always gave To the cavity behind them the appearance of a cave,-- Jist forever an’ forever from life’s earliest beginnin’ Simply nachelly a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin an’ a-grinnin’.

Well, you see, _he_ couldn’t help it, couldn’t help it not a bit, ’Cause for some peculiar reason he was born jist that-a-way. An’ if Nater marks a feller he had better jist submit, ’Cause she wants that mark for somepm, an’ she’s goin to have it stay. Caint no doctor make a rose-bud of a busted-thistle mouth, Nor he caint turn north a foot that’s got to growin’ sorto’ south. Spect this chap inside him knowed it wa’n’t no earthly kind o’ use To be squeezin’ on a lemon that didn’t have a bit o’ juice; --Maybe ’lowed his ugly mug ’ould be a doin’ less of sinnin’ If he’d leave it jist a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’.

’Course he didn’t reason on it, cause he didn’t have no sense; But I kindo’ sorto’ reckon that he done like others do-- Jist set down up where he’d clum on top o’ Nater’s ol worm-fence An’ let the sun bile down onto him an’ soak him clean plum thro’ an’ thro’ While with busy boom an’ buzz the plunder’n’ bug an’ bumble-bee Went a-nosin’ thro’ the clover where the rosy-posies be. An’ with one eye squinted up an’ t’other squinted down plum shet, Up on top the fence, I spect, twixt brute an’ human there he set, An’ jist let the whirly-gigy world whirl off its spindle spinnin’ While he joyed hisself a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’.

_Hope_ he _did_ enjoy hisself, ’cause he didn’t have enough Sense to know what trouble was,--he was a idiotic chap. An’ he couldn’t tell to save him if a voice was soft or gruff For he couldn’t _talk_, nor _hear_, nor--_nothin’_ only grin an’ gap. An’ his eyes that kept a winkin an’ a squintin up an’ down Never let the glorious sunlight paint no picter in his crown. Plum stone deef an’ dumb an’ blind--a hunch-backed idiot at that! Oh ’t’ould ’most-a broke your heart, as mine, to see him sittin’ flat On the floor in sich an awful fix as he was dyin’ in an’ Rockin back an’ forth, a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’ an’ a-grinnin’.

GOOD-NIGHT.

A SONG OF THE CLOSE OF LIFE.

_Infant._

Good-night, good-night!--the brightest day must fall, The sweetest joys, alas! must fade the sight; Sad Night shall weep her silent tears o’er all-- Good-night, good-night, sweet babe, good-night.

_Child._

The day has kissed thy happy heart to sleep And left thy lips apart in sweet delight; But oh the Night, I know, must slowly creep-- Good-night, good-night, my child, good-night.

_Youth._

Good-night, good-night!--thy care and day is done. The stars thy camp, the Deity thy light, Thy soldier hand and heart at rest sleep on,-- Good-night, good-night, my boy, good-night!

_Man._

Or griefs or joys thy lot, the past be past!-- The star of hope is on the mountain height, For sun and life must sleep and rise at last,-- Good-night, good-night, worn heart, good-night.

_All._

Good-night, Sad Heart, to Light and Darkness born! The sun is sunk--but Stars and Hope are bright;-- And all that sleep at night will wake at Morn!-- Good-night, good-night, Dear Heart, good-night!

TO FANCY.

Light and gay Flight away Over the rolling sea, Night and day Bright my fay Bringing sweet music to me.

Deep in the sea Leap with glee Braiding the mermaiden’s hair; Leap the sea, Sweep to me, Bearing her kisses rare.

O my fay, Row away Out in a nautilus shell, Glowingly, Flowingly, Its rhythmical story to tell.

Greet the morn Fleetly borne Over the foam of the sea, Meet the morn, Sweet return Bringing its beauties to me.

Lie and dream By the beam Thrown from the rolling moon, Lie and dream Night its gleam Asleep in some deep lagoon.

Far enskyed Star-like ride Down in the doming deep, Where the wide Bar and tide Croon to the moon asleep.

GOOD-NIGHT, MY LOVE.

Good-night, good-night! Thy dreams to-night, Thy dreams, thy silent dreams, Be sweet as love, as chaste as light, Thy dreams be sweet and deep.

Oh dream, my Love, And sleep, my Love, While star-laced moon-light beams Above so bright with love and light, Good-night, good-night, my Love.

THROUGH REVERENT EYES.

To-night I saw her. Strange indeed My faint heart should thus fail me;--strange That after such transporting love In me three days should work such change.

Not more than three?--Nay, barely three; And yet, within that raptured time I’ve lived, it seems, a century Of hope in Love’s own blissful clime.

’Tis strange, this love of mine, so strange; So strange I fear sometimes I do Not love, but only dream I love, And sleep the mid-life watches through.

How many, many is the time I’ve looked upon some face, some form, And felt the sudden thrill of some Fair hand awake the passion-storm!

But only momentary; and then That old, old longing for the real And soul-enlighted face of her Whose image is my heart’s ideal.

Ah yes! to-night as I sit and write Sweet visions come before my eyes. Sweet visions only! and like lights Along the shore they fall and rise.

Who are they? Friends of my happy days, The friends of my childhood, boyhood, youth, And later age. Yet none there are, I fear, I ever loved in truth.

I’ve often wondered what love is. I’ve heard men speak of it,--ah yes! I’ve heard fair women, too! but what It is, I wonder did they guess?

I’ve read of love; I’ve thought of love; I’ve read and thought that in that hour When love should truly come to one, ’Twould come an all-possessing power;

’Twould smite upon the chord of self, And break the faulty string in twain; ’Twould touch a more melodious chord And wake a glad, harmonious strain.

And so I wonder what love is; And if I ever knew before A few short, happy days ago How love can rise, and sing, and soar.

Too sacred for my heart to hold, To me a woman is divine-- As far above me as the stars That I adore because they shine.

I can but stand and gaze above, I can but worship and adore, Nor dream that I could reach her height-- I could but drag her down; no more.

Yet other men have loved. Must I, Must I alone throughout the night Stand gazing at a star that shines For me alone upon the mountain height?

Ah yes! I fear me that all night I’ll watch the silent waning star Adoring and revering till It sinks behind some rugged scar.

I fear I do not love; I hold The fairer sex too high, I fear; And bowed with awe and humbleness, Instead of loving I revere.

Among the noisy human crowd, I stand as stands the silent stone; And like it, too, I dumbly pray To whom I love, and inly moan.

And thus it is my reverence brings Me woe. As silent as the tomb, My heart bowed down with sacred awe Still wanders thro’ Love’s trackless dome.

Men call me cold. Alas! could they But feel the half, the tenth I feel, Could they but look thro’ reverent eyes, They might my sealed heart unseal.

Too deep the mighty river flows; Too deep the silent waters are; I catch the image, not the form, Embrace the vision, not the star.

Can heart of man pluck down a star And wear it on his breast? or dip Its gleam from out the soundless sea And press it to his loving lip?

No more, no more indeed can I, No more can I pluck down the love That like an angel day and night Still wanders through the dome above.

Oh could I ask a woman’s love? I could not, would not drag her down! I could not gratify a thought So selfish--wed her to a clown!

No! no! my only hope must be To rise above this selfish self; To grow more pure in heart and hope, To lose myself in her sweet self.

To-night, I say, I saw her; her Who wakes in me such thoughts as these; I felt her hand as I sometimes feel An angel’s hand in the dreamy breeze.

She seemed far off--so far away! And yet, I knew and saw her near: I touched her hand; I heard her voice, And oh the music thrilled my ear.

When here alone within my room, I feel most brave; but when before The one I love, my heart grows faint, I can but silently adore.

I talk to her? Ah yes, sweet hours! Tho’ every act and word I know Must say my heart is full of love, I dare not, can not tell her so.

Some day, perhaps,--some bright, sweet day!-- My tongue may tell her as my song The struggle of my striving soul To rise to her above the throng.

Great God, lift up my failing soul, And purify this heart of mine. Oh lead me through the realms of love With that unfailing hand of Thine.

I ask nor wealth, nor fame, nor power; I ask a pure and loving heart That I may join that heart to hers Forever nevermore to part.

And oh then peace, peace, the peace of love For that old, old longing; and the real And soul-enlighted face of her, The image of my heart’s ideal.

WHAT IS POETRY?