Part 3

And I said: “Must he lie in my house in state, And stay in his wonted place? Must I have him with me another day, With that awful change in his face?”

_Anne Reeve Aldrich_

WHEN PLAINTIVELY AND NEAR THE CRICKET SINGS

Now evening comes. Now stirs my discontent.... Oh, ache of smallest, unforgotten things! How sharp you are when day and dark are blent, When beetles hurry by with vibrant wings, And plaintively and near the cricket sings.

The sighing garden calls me from the door; Above the hills a little crescent swings-- Above the path where you will come no more When beetles hurry by on vibrant wings, And plaintively and near the cricket sings.

_Nora May French_

“COME BACK TO ME”

Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:-- Or come not yet, for it is over then, And long it is before you come again, So far between my pleasures are and few. While, when you come not, what I do I do Thinking, “Now when he comes,” my sweetest “when”: For one man is my world of all the men This wide world holds; O love, my world is you. Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang Because the pang of parting comes so soon; My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon Between the heavenly days on which we meet: Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang When life was sweet because you called them sweet?

_Christina Rossetti_

ASHES OF LIFE

Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike; Eat I must, and sleep I will,--and would that night were here! But ah!--to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike! Would that it were day again!--with twilight near!

Love has gone and left me and I don’t know what to do; This or that or what you will is all the same to me; But all the things that I begin I leave before I’m through,-- There’s little use in anything as far as I can see.

Love has gone and left me, and the neighbors knock and borrow, And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse,-- And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow There’s this little street and this little house.

_Edna St. Vincent Millay_

THE CYNIC

I say it to comfort me over and over, Having a querulous heart to beguile, Never had woman a tenderer lover-- For a little while.

Oh, there never were eyes more eager to read her In her saddest mood or her moments gay, Oh, there never were hands more strong to lead her-- For a little way.

There never were loftier promises given Of love that should guard her the ages through, As great, enduring and steadfast as Heaven-- For a week or two.

Well, end as it does, I have had it, known it, For this shall I turn me to weep or pray? Nay, rather I laugh that I thought to own it For more than a day.

_Theodosia Garrison_

SEA SONG

Against the planks of the cabin side (So slight a thing between them and me), The great waves thundered and throbbed and sighed, The great green waves of the Indian Sea!

Your face was white as the foam is white, Your hair was curled as the waves are curled, I would we had steamed and reached that night The sea’s last edge, the end of the world.

The wind blew in through the open port, So freshly joyous and salt and free, Your hair it lifted, your lips it sought, And then swept back to the open sea.

The engines throbbed with their constant beat; Your heart was nearer, and all I heard; Your lips were salt, but I found them sweet, While, acquiescent, you spoke no word.

So straight you lay in your narrow berth, Rocked by the waves; and you seemed to be Essence of all that is sweet on earth, Of all that is sad and strange at sea.

And you were white as the foam is white, Your hair was curled as the waves are curled. Ah! had we but sailed and reached that night, The sea’s last edge, the end of the world!

_Laurence Hope_

RISPETTO

I

What good is there, ah me, what good in Love? Since, even if you love me, we must part; And since for either, an’ you cared enough, There’s but division and a broken heart?

And yet, God knows, to hear you say: My Dear! I would lie down and stretch me on the bier. And yet would I, to hear you say: My Own! With mine own hands drag down the burial stone.

_A. Mary F. Robinson_

RISPETTO

II

Let us forget we loved each other much, Let us forget we ever have to part, Let us forget that any look or touch Once let in either to the other’s heart.

Only we’ll sit upon the daisied grass And hear the larks and see the swallows pass; Only we’ll live awhile, as children play, Without to-morrow, without yesterday.

_A. Mary F. Robinson_

RISPETTO

III

Ah, Love, I cannot die, I cannot go Down in the dark and leave you all alone, Ah, hold me fast, safe in the warmth I know, And never shut me underneath a stone.

Dead in the grave! And I can never hear If you are ill, or if you miss me, dear, Dead, oh, my God! and you may need me yet, While I shall sleep, while I--while I--forget!

_A. Mary F. Robinson_

“MANY IN AFTERTIMES WILL SAY”

Many in aftertimes will say of you, “He loved her”--while of me what will they say? Not that I loved you more than just in play, For fashion’s sake as idle women do. Even let them prate; who know not what we knew Of love and parting in exceeding pain, Of parting hopeless here to meet again, Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view. But by my heart of love laid bare to you, My love that you can make not void nor vain, Love that foregoes you but to claim anew Beyond this passage of the gate of death, I charge you at the Judgment make it plain My love of you was life and not a breath.

_Christina Rossetti_

“WHEN WE SHALL BE DUST”

When we shall be dust in the churchyard-- In twenty years--in fifty years-- Who will remember you kissed me once, Who will be grieved for our tears?

The locust tree will have grown taller, The old walks will be covered with grass, And past our quiet graves go straying A youth with his arm round his lass.

And the bee that shall suck your grave flowers-- Anemone, stock, columbine, May pause in his swift homing journey To taste of the honey from mine.

_Muna Lee_

I AM THE WIND

I am the wind that wavers, You are the certain land; I am the shadow that passes Over the sand.

I am the leaf that quivers, You--the unshaken tree; You are the stars that are steadfast, I am the sea.

You are the light eternal, Like a torch I shall die.... You are the surge of deep music, I--but a cry!

_Zoë Akins_

SERVICE

If I could only serve him, How sweet this life would be. Last night I dreamed my darling, Alive, returned to me.

I brought him from the cupboard The things he liked to eat,-- The little piece of honey, The rye bread and the meat.

I sang the song he asked for The night he went away. How was it, when I loved him, I could have said him nay!

I took the time to please him, With a hand upon his brow. Amid the awful leisure There was no hurry now.

How strange I once denied him What took so little while. A kiss would seem so simple, So slight a thing a smile.

With pleased sweet looks of wonder He took what I could give,-- Such words as we deny them Only because they live.

The pale light of the morning Shone in upon the wall. Come back to me, my darling, And I will give you all.

_Anna Hempstead Branch_

PARTING

Dear Love, it was so hard to say Good-bye to-day! You turned to go, yet going turned to stay! Till suddenly at last you went away.

Then all at last I found my love unsaid, And bowed my head; And went in tears up to my lonely bed-- Oh, would it be like this if you were dead?

_Alice Freeman Palmer_

FRIENDSHIP AFTER LOVE

After the fierce midsummer all ablaze Has burned itself to ashes, and expires In the intensity of its own fires, There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin days Crowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze; So after Love has led us, till he tires Of his own throes, and torments, and desires Comes large-eyed friendship; with a restful gaze, He beckons us to follow, and across Cool, verdant vales we wander free from care-- Is it a touch of frost lies in the air? Why are we haunted with a sense of loss? We do not wish the pain back, or the heat; And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete.

_Ella Wheeler Wilcox_

THE MESSAGE

“Oh, have you not a message, you who come over the sea? Have you not a message or word at all for me?”

“I have sailed, sailed, sailed where the seas are green and blue, I’ve silver, gold and merchandise--but never a word for you.”

“But did you see my love by any way you came? For if you saw my love, he must have spoke my name.”

“Oh, yes, I saw your love--oh, yes, and he was gay Riding in his coach-and-six all on his birthday.”

“But when you spoke of me, of me--oh! what was it he said?” “Oh, he never said a word at all, but turned away his head.”

_Margaret Sackville_

THE OTHER

I am the Other--I who come To heal the wound she gave, The wound that struck your fond words dumb, And left your world a grave.

What though you loved her--I love you, And so the most is said, Here is my yearning heart, still true To yours her frailty bled.

(But oh! the bitter grief that I Kept hushed, the wild despair, When your dear eyes had passed me by To find her face so fair.)

Now she hath gone her cruel way, And I am come again, To seek among the husks to-day, For one sweet golden grain.

Because in me Love’s strength is great, Too great for pride, or sin, I knock upon your heart’s barred gate, And pray you let me in.

_Ethna Carbery_

THE RAINBOW

Whose doorway was it, in the sordid street, That gave us shelter from the sudden rain,-- Two vagrant sparrows on a dripping branch, Waiting a moment to spread wing again?

The beggar children danced through pavement pools Barefoot and joyous, splashing at their will; The rain washed green that dusty sycamore And straws swirled wildly down the gutter’s rill.

Fast-breathing from the run, our hands still clasped, We leaned out laughing, shaking free our hair Of dewy drops, while still the clouds poured down A freshness that made heavenly the air.

Then we both saw, above the sodden world, The Rainbow like a miracle appear, And you said, whispering, “Oh, kiss me once Before it fades!”--“Kiss me then quickly, Dear!”

One warm sweet touch of lips--then forth we went Oblivious of all the rain and wet. To-day I saw a rainbow after rain.... My heart remembered then--does yours forget?

_Vine Colby_

LOVE CAME BACK AT FALL O’ DEW

Love came back at fall o’ dew, Playing his old part; But I had a word or two That would break his heart.

“He who comes at candle-light, That should come before, Must betake him to the night From a barrèd door.”

This the word that made us part In the fall o’ dew; This the word that brake his heart-- Yet it brake mine, too.

_Lizette Woodworth Reese_

FROM A CAR-WINDOW

Pines, and a blur of lithe young grasses; Gold in a pool, from the western glow; Spread of wings where the last thrush passes-- And thoughts of you as the sun dips low.

Quiet lane, and an irised meadow ... (_How many summers have died since then?_) ... I wish you knew how the deepening shadow Lies on the blue and green again!

Dusk, and the curve of field and hollow Etched in gray when a star appears: Sunset, ... twilight, ... and dark to follow, ... And thoughts of you through a mist of tears.

_Ruth Guthrie Harding_

THE SILLER CROWN

“And ye sall walk in silk attire, And siller hae to spare, Gin ye’ll consent to be his bride, Nor think o’ Donald mair.”

O, wha wad buy a silken gown Wi’ a puir broken heart? Or what’s to me a siller crown Gin frae my love I part?

The mind whose meanest wish is pure Far dearest is to me, And ere I’m forced to break my faith, I’ll lay me down and dee.

For I hae vowed a virgin’s vow My lover’s faith to share, An’ he has gi’en to me his heart, An’ what can man do mair?

His mind and manners won my heart, He gratefu’ took the gift, An’ did I wish to seek it back It wad be waur than theft.

The langest life can ne’er repay The love he bears to me, And ere I’m forced to break my faith, I’ll lay me down an’ dee.

_Susanna Blamire_

“CUTTIN’ RUSHES”

Oh, maybe it was yesterday, or fifty years ago! Meself was risin’ early on a day for cuttin’ rushes. Walkin’ up the Brabla’ burn, still the sun was low, Now I’d hear the burn run an’ then I’d hear the thrushes. _Young, still young!_--and drenchin’ wet the grass, Wet the golden honeysuckle hangin’ sweetly down; _Here, lad, here!_ will ye follow where I pass, An’ find me cuttin’ rushes on the mountain.

Then was it only yesterday, or fifty years or so? _Rippin’_ round the bog pools high among the heather, The hook it made me hand sore, I had to leave it go, ’Twas he that cut the rushes then for me to bind together. _Come, dear, come!_--an’ back along the burn See the darlin’ honeysuckle hangin’ like a crown. _Quick, one kiss_,--sure, there’s some one at the turn! “Oh, we’re afther cuttin’ rushes on the mountain.”

Yesterday, yesterday, or fifty years ago.... I waken out o’ dreams when I hear the summer thrushes. Oh, that’s the Brabla’ burn, I can hear it sing an’ flow, For all that’s fair I’d sooner see a bunch o’ green rushes. _Run, burn, run!_ can ye mind when we were young? The honeysuckle hangs above, the pool is dark an’ brown: _Sing, burn, sing!_ can ye mind the song ye sung The day we cut the rushes on the mountain?

_Moira O’Neill_

TO A LATE COMER

Why didst thou come into my life so late? If it were morning I could welcome thee With glad all-hails, and bid each hour to be The willing servitor of thine estate, Lading thy brave ships with Time’s richest freight; If it were noonday I might hope to see On some fair height thy banners floating free, And hear the acclaiming voices call thee great! But it is nightfall and the stars are out; Far in the west the crescent moon hangs low, And near at hand the lurking shadows wait; Darkness and silence gather round about, Lethe’s black stream is near its overflow,-- Ah, friend, dear friend, why didst thou come so late?

_Julia C. R. Dorr_

CARNATIONS

_Carnations and my first love!_ And he was seventeen, And I was only twelve years--a stately gulf between! I broke them on the morning the school-dance was to be, To pin among my ribbons in hopes that he might see.... And all the girls stood breathless to watch as he came through With curly crest and grand air that swept the heart from you! And why he paused at my side is more than I can know-- Shyest of the small girls who all adored him so-- I said it with my prayer-times: I walked with head held high: “_Carnations are your flower!_” he said as he strode by.

_Carnations and my first love!_ The years are passed a score, And I recall his first name, and scarce an eyelash more.... And those were all the love-words that either of us said-- Perhaps he may be married--perhaps he may be dead. And yet, ... to smell carnations, their spicy, heavy sweet, Perfuming all some sick-room, or passing on the street, Then ... still the school-lamps flicker, and still the Lancers play, And still the girls hold breathless to watch him go his way, And still my child-heart quivers with that first ecstasy-- “_Carnations are your flower!_” my first love says to me!

_Margaret Widdemer_

A REMINISCENCE

It is so long gone by, and yet How clearly now I see it all! The glimmer of your cigarette, The little chamber, narrow and tall.

Perseus; your picture in its frame; (How near they seem and yet how far!) The blaze of kindled logs; the flame Of tulips in a mighty jar.

Florence and spring-time: surely each Glad things unto the spirit saith. Why did you lead me in your speech To these dark mysteries of death?

_Amy Levy_

DIRGE

Never the nightingale; Oh, my dear, Never again the lark, Thou wilt hear. Though dusk and the morning still Tap at thy window-sill, Though ever love call and call, Thou wilt not hear at all, My dear, my dear.

_Adelaide Crapsey_

“TO-DAY I WENT AMONG THE MOUNTAIN FOLK”

To-day I went among the mountain folk To hear the gentle talk most dear to me. I saw slow tears, and tenderness that woke From sternest bed to light a lamp for thee. And “Is it true?” hope asked and asked again, And “It is true,” was all that I could say, And pride rose over love to hide gray pain As eyes tears might ungrace were turned away. So much they loved thee I was half decoyed By human warmth to feel thee near, but when I put my hand out all the earth was void, And vanished even these near-weeping men. Thus each new time I find that thou art gone, Anew do I survive the world, alone.

_Olive Tilford Dargan_

AN APRIL GHOST

All the ghosts I ever knew, White, and thinly calling, Come into the house with you, When the dew is falling.

All of youth that ever died, In the Spring-time weather, In the windy April tide, Climb the dusk together.

For a moment, lad and maid Stand up there all lonely; In a moment fade and fade-- You are left, you only.

_Lizette Woodworth Reese_

THE DEEP-SEA PEARL

The love of my life came not As love unto others is cast; For mine was a secret wound-- But the wound grew a pearl, at last.

The divers may come and go, The tides, they arise and fall; The pearl in its shell lies sealed, And the Deep Sea covers all.

_Edith M. Thomas_

AULD ROBIN GRAY

When the sheep are in the fauld, when the kye’s come hame, And a’ the weary warld to rest are gane, The waes o’ my heart fa’ in showers frae my ee, Unkent by my gudeman, wha sleeps sound by me.

Young Jamie lo’ed me weel, and sought me for his bride, But saving ae crown-piece he had naething beside; To make the crown a pound my Jamie gaed to sea, And the crown and the pound--they were baith for me.

He hadna been gane a twelvemonth and a day, When my father brake his arm and the cow was stown away; My mither she fell sick--my Jamie was at sea, And auld Robin Gray came a-courting me.

My father couldna wark--my mither couldna spin-- I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi’ tears in his ee, Said: “Jeanie, O for their sakes, will ye no marry me?”

My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back, But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack; His ship was a wrack--why didna Jamie dee? Or why am I spared to cry wae is me?

My father urged me sair--my mither didna speak, But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break; They gied him my hand--my heart was in the sea-- And so Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been his wife a week but only four, When, mournfu’ as I sat on the stane at my door, I saw my Jamie’s ghaist, for I couldna think it he, Till he said: “I’m come hame, love, to marry thee!”

Oh, sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say of a’, I gied him ae kiss, and bade him gang awa’-- I wish that I were dead, but I’m na like to dee, For, though my heart is broken, I’m but young, wae is me!

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin, I darena think o’ Jamie, for that wad be a sin, But I’ll do my best a gude wife to be, For, oh! Robin Gray, he is kind to me.

_Anne Barnard_

FINIS

Even for you I shall not weep When I at last, at last am dead, Nor turn and sorrow in my sleep Though you should linger overhead.

Even of you I shall not dream Beneath the waving graveyard grass; One with the soul of wind and stream I shall not heed you if you pass.

Even for you I would not wake, Too bitter were the tears I knew, Too dark the road I needs must take-- The road that winds away from you.

_Rosamund Marriott Watson_

“GRANDMITHER, THINK NOT I FORGET”

Grandmither, think not I forget, when I come back to town, An’ wander the old ways again an’ tread them up an’ down. I never smell the clover bloom, nor see the swallows pass, Without I mind how good ye were unto a little lass. I never hear the winter rain a-pelting all night through, Without I think and mind me of how cold it falls on you. And if I come not often to your bed beneath the thyme, Mayhap ’tis that I’d change wi’ ye, and gie my bed for thine, Would like to sleep in thine.

I never hear the summer winds among the roses blow, Without I wonder why it was ye loved the lassie so. Ye gave me cakes and lollipops and pretty toys a score,-- I never thought I should come back and ask ye now for more. Grandmither, gie me your still, white hands, that lie upon your breast, For mine do beat the dark all night and never find me rest; They grope among the shadows an’ they beat the cold black air, They go seekin’ in the darkness, an’ they never find him there, An’ they never find him there.

Grandmither, gie me your sightless eyes, that I may never see His own a-burnin’ full o’ love that must not shine for me. Grandmither, gie me your peaceful lips, white as the kirkyard snow, For mine be red wi’ burnin’ thirst an’ he must never know. Grandmither, gie me your clay-stopped ears, that I may never hear My lad a-singin’ in the night when I am sick wi’ fear; A-singin’ when the moonlight over a’ the land is white-- Oh God! I’ll up an’ go to him a-singin’ in the night, A-callin’ in the night.

Grandmither, give me your clay-cold heart that has forgot to ache, For mine be fire within my breast and yet it cannot break. It beats an’ throbs forever for the things that must not be,-- An’ can ye not let me creep in an’ rest awhile by ye? A little lass afeared o’ dark slept by ye years agone-- Ah, she has found what night can hold ’twixt sunset an’ the dawn! So when I plant the rose an’ rue above your grave for ye, Ye’ll know it’s under rue an’ rose that I would like to be, That I would like to be.

_Willa Sibert Cather_

THE PASSER-BY

Step lightly across the floor, And somewhat more tender be.

There were many that passed my door, Many that sought after me. I gave them the passing word-- Ah, why did I give thee more? I gave thee what could not be heard, What had not been given before; The beat of my heart I gave.... And I give thee this flower on my grave.

My face in the flower thou mayst see. Step lightly across the floor.

_Edith M. Thomas_

“WHEN I AM DEAD”