Family

I.

No more to feel the pressure warm
    Of dimpled arms around your neck--
No more to clasp the little form
    That Nature did with beauty deck.


II.

No more to hear the music sweet
    Of merry laugh and prattling talk--
No more to see the busy feet
    Come toddling down the shaded walk.


III.

No more the glint of flaxen hair
    That nestled 'round the lilied brow--
No more the rose's bloom will wear
    The cheek so cold and pallid now.


IV.

No more the light from loving eyes,
    Whose hue was like the violet blown
Where Summer's softest, bluest skies,
    Had lent it coloring from their own.


V.

No more to fondly bend above
    The little one when sl...

I wish you were a pleasant wren,
    And I your small accepted mate;
How we'd look down on toilsome men!
    We'd rise and go to bed at eight
    Or it may be not quite so late.

Then you should see the nest I'd build,
    The wondrous nest for you and me;
The outside rough perhaps, but filled
    With wool and down; ah, you should see
    The cosy nest that it would be.

We'd have our change of hope and fear,
    Small quarrels, reconcilements sweet:
I'd perch by you to chirp and cheer,
    Or hop about on active feet,
    And fetch you dainty bits to eat.

We'd be so happy by the day,
    So safe and happy through the night,
We both should feel, and I should say,
    It's all one season of delight,
And we'll make merry whilst we...

But, Song, arise thee on a greater wing,
Nor twitter robin-like of love, nor sing
A pretty dalliance with grief - but try
Some metre like a sky,
Wherein to set
Stars that may linger yet
When I, thy master, shall have come to die.
        Twitter and tweet
            Thy carollings
            Of little things,
        Of fair and sweet;
        For it is meet,
            O robin red!
        That little theme
            Hath little song,
            That little head
        Hath little dream,
            And long.
But we have starry business, such a grief
As Autumn's, dead by some forgotten sheaf,
While all the distance echoes of the wain;
Grief as an ocean's for some sudden isle
Of living green that stayed with it a while,

They said that I was strange. I could not bear
Confinement, and I lov'd to feel the wind
Blowing upon my forehead, and when morn
Came like an inspiration from the East,
And the cool earth, awaking like a star
In a new element, sent out its voice,
And tempted me with music, and the breath
Of a delicious perfume, and the dye
Of the rich forests and the pastures green,
To come out and be glad - I would not stay
To bind my gushing spirit with a book.

Fourteen bright summers - and my heart had grown
Impatient in its loneliness, and yearn'd
For something that was like itself, to love.
She came - the stately Isabel - as proud
And beautiful, and gentle as my dream;
And with my wealth of feeling, lov'd I her.
Older by years, and wiser of the world,
She ...

"Will Jockey come to-day, mither?
Will Jockey come to-day?
He's taen sic likings to my brither
He's sure to come the day."
"Haud yer tongue, lass, mind your rockie;
But th'other day ye wore a pockie.
What can ye mean to think o' Jockey?
Ye've bin content the season long,
Ye'd best keep to your harmless song."

"Ye'll soon see falling tears, mither,
If love's a sin in youth;
He leuks to me, and talks wi' brither,
But I know the secret truth.
He's courted me the year, mither;
Judge not the matter queer, mither;
Ye're a' the while as dear, mither,
As ye've been the Summer long.
I cannot sing my song.

I'll hear nae farder preaching, mither;
I'se bin a child ower lang;
He led me frae the teaching, mither,
Ann wherefore did he wra...

If I should wish hereafter that your heart
Should beat with one fair memory of me,
May Time's hard hand our footsteps guide apart,
But lead yours back one spring-time to the Lea.
Nodding Anemones,
Wind-flowers pale,
Bloom with the budding trees,
Dancing to every breeze,
Mock hopes more fair than these,
Love's vows more frail.

For then the grass we loved grows green again,
And April showers make April woods more fair;
But no sun dries the sad salt tears of pain,
Or brings back summer lights on faded hair,
Nodding Anemones,
Wind-flowers pale,
Bloom with the budding trees,
Dancing to every breeze,
Mock hopes more frail than these,
Love's vows more frail.

    I would I were a child,
    That I might look, and laugh, and say, My Father!
    And follow thee with running feet, or rather
        Be led through dark and wild!

        How I would hold thy hand,
    My glad eyes often to thy glory lifting!
    Should darkness 'twixt thy face and mine come drifting,
        My heart would but expand.

        If an ill thing came near,
    I would but creep within thy mantle's folding,
    Shut my eyes close, thy hand yet faster holding,
        And soon forget my fear.

        O soul, O soul, rejoice!
    Thou art God's child indeed, for all thy sinning;
    A poor weak child, yet his, and worth the winning
        With saviour eyes and voice.

        Who spake the words? Didst Thou?
    Th...

    All sights and sounds of day and year,
    All groups and forms, each leaf and gem,
    Are thine, O God, nor will I fear
    To talk to thee of them.

        Too great thy heart is to despise,
    Whose day girds centuries about;
    From things which we name small, thine eyes
    See great things looking out.

        Therefore the prayerful song I sing
    May come to thee in ordered words:
    Though lowly born, it needs not cling
    In terror to its chords.

        I think that nothing made is lost;
    That not a moon has ever shone,
    That not a cloud my eyes hath crossed
    But to my soul is gone.

        That all the lost years garnered lie
    In this thy casket, my dim soul;
    And thou wilt, once, th...

My aunt! my dear unmarried aunt!
Long years have o'er her flown;
Yet still she strains the aching clasp
That binds her virgin zone;
I know it hurts her, - though she looks
As cheerful as she can;
Her waist is ampler than her life,
For life is but a span.

My aunt! my poor deluded aunt!
Her hair is almost gray;
Why will she train that winter curl
In such a spring-like way?
How can she lay her glasses down,
And say she reads as well,
When through a double convex lens
She just makes out to spell?

Her father - grandpapa I forgive
This erring lip its smiles -
Vowed she should make the finest girl
Within a hundred miles;
He sent her to a stylish school;
'T was in her thirteenth June;
And with her, as the rules required,
...

October 1, 1913

    I
    I left thee in the crowds and in the light,
    And if I laughed or sorrowed none could tell.
    They could not know our true and deep farewell
    Was spoken in the long preceding night.

    Thy mighty shadow in the garden's dip!
    To others dormant, but to me awake;
    I saw a window in the moonlight shake,
    And traced the angle of the gable's lip,

    And knew thy soul, benign and grave and mild,
    Towards me, morsel of morality,
    And grieving at the parting soon to be,
    A patriarch about to lose a child.

    For many come and soon their tale is told,
    And thou remainest, dimly feeling pain,
    Aware the time draws near to don again
    The sober mourning of the very old.

 ...

    Yesterday I thought to roam
    Idly through the fields of home,
    And I came at morning's end
    To our brook's familiar bend.
    There I raised my eyes, and there,
    Shining through an ampler air,
    Folded in by hills of blue
    Such as Wessex never knew,
    Changed as in a waking dream
    Flowed the well-remembered stream.

    Now a line of wattled pale
    Fenced the downland from the vale,
    Now the sedge was set with reeds
    Fitter for Arcadian meads,
    And where I was wont to find
    Only things of timid kind,
    Now the Genius of the pool
    Mocked me from his corner cool.
    Eyes he had with malice quick,
    Tufted hair and ears a-prick,
    And, above a tiny chin,
    Lips with laughter wide a-...

This Little, Silent, Gloomy Monument,
Contains all that was sweet and innocent ;
The softest pratler that e'er found a Tongue,
His Voice was Musick and his Words a Song ;
Which now each List'ning Angel smiling hears,
Such pretty Harmonies compose the Spheres;
Wanton as unfledg'd Cupids, ere their Charms
Has learn'd the little arts of doing harms ;
Fair as young Cherubins, as soft and kind,
And tho translated could not be refin'd ;
The Seventh dear pledge the Nuptial Joys had given,
Toil'd here on Earth, retir'd to rest in Heaven ;
Where they the shining Host of Angels fill,
Spread their gay wings before the Throne, and smile.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
    "Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers.
    And things are not what they seem.

Life is real!    Life is earnest!
    And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
    Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
    Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
    Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
    And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
    Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
    In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
    Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasan...

There is nothing so sweet as our life in our dreams,
    When we soar far on fancy's swift wing;
For a thing in our dreams is all that it seems,
    And the songs are so sweet that we sing.
Ah! the sun shines the brightest, and stars twinkle lightest
    At the moon in her silvery beams!

There is nothing so gay as the life in our dreams,
    With its joy and its laughter and mirth;
For the pleasure that teems is far greater, one deems,
    Than any he finds in the earth.
There are homes are our natal, and nothing is fatal
    In the beautiful land of our dreams!

There is nothing so bright as the life in our dreams,
    Far away from earth's trickery chance;
There the music's wild screams and the wine in its streams
    Are both lost in the song and the ...

I’d a dream to-night
As I fell asleep,
O! the touching sight
Makes me still to weep:
Of my little lad,
Gone to leave me sad,
Ay, the child I had,
But was not to keep.

As in heaven high,
I my child did seek,
There in train came by
Children fair and meek,
Each in lily white,
With a lamp alight;
Each was clear to sight,
But they did not speak.

Then, a little sad,
Came my child in turn,
But the lamp he had,
O it did not burn!
He, to clear my doubt,
Said, half turn’d about,
‘Your tears put it out;
Mother, never mourn.’

I.

    O thou dread Power, who reign'st above!
        I know thou wilt me hear,
    When for this scene of peace and love
        I make my prayer sincere.

II.

    The hoary sire, the mortal stroke,
        Long, long, be pleased to spare;
    To bless his filial little flock
        And show what good men are.

III.

    She who her lovely offspring eyes
        With tender hopes and fears,
    O, bless her with a mother's joys,
        But spare a mother's tears!

IV.

    Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,
        In manhood's dawning blush,
    Bless him, thou GOD of love and truth,
        Up to a parent's wish!

V.

    The beauteous, seraph sister-band,
        With...

Singer of songs of the hills
Dreamer, by waters unstirred,
Back in a valley of rills,
Home of the leaf and the bird!
Read in this fall of the year
Just the compassionate phrase,
Faded with traces of tear,
Written in far-away days:

“Gone is the light of my lap
(Lord, at Thy bidding I bow),
Here is my little one’s cap,
He has no need of it now,
Give it to somebody’s boy
Somebody’s darling” she wrote.
Touching was Bob in his joy
Bob without boots or a coat.

Only a cap; but it gave
Capless and comfortless one
Happiness, bright as the brave,
Beautiful light of the sun.
Soft may the sanctified sod
Rest on the father who led
Bob from the gutter, unshod
Covered his cold little head!

Bob from the foot to the cro...

        An English youth to Canada came,
        A labourer, John Roe by name,
        His little wealth had made him bold,
        Twenty sovereigns in gold;
        He was industrious and wise
        And e'en small sums did not despise,
        He added to his wealth each year
        For independence he loved dear,
        He knew a laborer he would be
        Forever in the old country,
        His forefathers had tilled the ground
        And never one had saved a pound.
        On beds of down they did not lie
        And frugally their goods did buy,
        Their one luxury around their door
        A few choice flowers their garden bore,
        But never hoped to own the soil
        But serve as hinds to sweat and toil,
        To work an...