Heartbreak

TO MY BEST FRIEND

THEODORE WATTS

I DEDICATE IN THIS BOOK

THE BEST I HAVE TO GIVE HIM

Spring speaks again, and all our woods are stirred,
And all our wide glad wastes aflower around,
That twice have heard keen April’s clarion sound
Since here we first together saw and heard
Spring’s light reverberate and reiterate word
Shine forth and speak in season. Life stands crowned
Here with the best one thing it ever found,
As of my soul’s best birthdays dawns the third.

There is a friend that as the wise man saith
Cleaves closer than a brother: nor to me
Hath time not shown, through days like waves at strife,
This truth more sure than all things else but death,
This pearl most perfect found in all the sea
That washes toward your feet t...

All roads that lead to God are good;
    What matters it, your faith, or mine;
    Both centre at the goal divine
Of love's eternal Brotherhood.

The kindly life in house or street;
    The life of prayer, and mystic rite;
    The student's search for truth and light;
These paths at one great junction meet.

Before the oldest book was writ,
    Full many a prehistoric soul
    Arrived at this unchanging goal,
Through changeless love, that led to it.

What matters that one found his Christ
    In rising sun, or burning fire;
    If faith within him did not tire,
His longing for the truth sufficed.

Before our 'Christian' hell was brought
    To edify a modern world,
    Full many a hate-filled soul was hurled
In lakes of fire ...

Were I thy bride,
Then the whole world beside
Were not too wide
To hold my wealth of love
Were I thy bride!
Upon thy breast
My loving head would rest,
As on her nest
The tender turtle dove
Were I thy bride!

This heart of mine
Would be one heart with thine,
And in that shrine
Our happiness would dwell
Were I thy bride!
And all day long
Our lives should be a song:
No grief, no wrong
Should make my heart rebel
Were I thy bride!

The silvery flute,
The melancholy lute,
Were night owl's hoot
To my low-whispered coo
Were I thy bride!
The skylark's trill
Were but discordance shrill
To the soft thrill
Of wooing as I'd woo
Were I thy bride!

The rose's sigh
Were as a carrion's cr...

Blue dust of evening over my city,
Over the ocean of roofs and the tall towers
Where the window-lights, myriads and myriads,
Bloom from the walls like climbing flowers.

There are two stars in yonder steeps
That watch the baby while he sleeps.
But while the baby is awake
And singing gayly all day long,
The little stars their slumbers take
Lulled by the music of his song.
So sleep, dear tired baby, sleep
While little stars their vigils keep.

Beside his loving mother-sheep
A little lambkin is asleep;
What does he know of midnight gloom---
He sleeps, and in his quiet dreams
He thinks he plucks the clover bloom
And drinks at cooling, purling streams.
And those same stars the baby knows
Sing softly to the lamb's repose.

Sleep, little lamb; sleep, little child--
The stars are dim--the night is wild;
But o'er the cot and o'er the lea
A sleepless eye forever beams--
A shepherd watches over thee
In ...

Wheer ’asta beän saw long and meä liggin’ ’ere aloän?
Noorse? thoort nowt o’ a noorse: whoy, doctor’s abeän an’ agoän:
Says that I moänt ’a naw moor aäle: but I beänt a fool:
Git ma my aäle, fur I beänt a-gooin’ to breäk my rule.

II.
Doctors, they knaws nowt, for a says what’s nawways true:
Naw soort o’ koind o’ use to saäy the things that a do.
I’ve ’ed my point o’ aäle ivry noight sin’ I beän ’ere,
An’ I’ve ’ed my quart ivry market-noight for foorty year.

III.
Parson’s a beän loikewoise, an’ a sittin’ ere o’ my bed.
‘The amoighty’s a taäkin o’ you to ’issén, my friend,’ a said,
An’ a towd ma my sins, an’s toithe were due, an’ I gied it in hond;
I done my duty by un, as I ’a done by the lond.

IV.
Larn’d a ma’ beä. I reckons I ’annot sa mooch to l...

The greeting of the company throughout
Was like a jubilee, - the children's shout
And fusillading hand-claps, with great guns
And detonations of the older ones,
Raged to such tumult of tempestuous joy,
It even more alarmed than pleased the boy;
Till, with a sudden twitching lip, he slid
Down to the floor and dodged across and hid
His face against his mother as she raised
Him to the shelter of her heart, and praised
His story in low whisperings, and smoothed
The "amber-colored hair," and kissed, and soothed
And lulled him back to sweet tranquillity -
"And 'ats a sign 'at you're the Ma fer me!"
He lisped, with gurgling ecstasy, and drew
Her closer, with shut eyes; and feeling, too,
If he could only purr now like a cat,
He would undoubtedly be doing t...

And I, cooing in my saddle, with lost time.
His weapons and horses the finest.
Beloved of God, engendered fiercely
for the occasion - with
pin stripes and a drinking vessel
of the most expert silver.

Pharaonic splendor,
ingots of the heaviest gold
borrowed sun bright yet so untarnished
they hold up the morning sky.

Two hands encase that handsome
volume - finest of imported leather and
saddle soap transparent to the eye
so that all might ring forth
its belated vision;
not be dreary earthed with brine
but terse,
furtive inside the gathering glade.

I dare not ask a kiss,
I dare not beg a smile;
Lest having that, or this,
I might grow proud the while.

No, no, the utmost share
Of my desire shall be,
Only to kiss that air
That lately kissed thee,

"Don't they consult the 'Victims,' though?"
I said. "They should, by rights,
Give them a chance,because, you know,
The tastes of people differ so,
Especially in Sprites."

The Phantom shook his head and smiled.
"Consult them? Not a bit!
'Twould be a job to drive one wild,
To satisfy one single child,
There'd be no end to it!"

"Of course you can't leave CHILDREN free,"
Said I, "to pick and choose:
But, in the case of men like me,
I think 'Mine Host' might fairly be
Allowed to state his views."

He said "It really wouldn't pay,
Folk are so full of fancies.
We visit for a single day,
And whether then we go, or stay,
Depends on circumstances.

"And, though we don't consult 'Mine Host'
Before the thing's arranged,
...

As homeward by the evening star
I pass along the plain,
I see the taper's light afar,
Shine through our cottage pane.

My brothers and my sisters dear,
The child upon the knee,
Spring when my hastening steps they hear,
And smile to welcome me.

But when the fire is growing dim,
And mother's labours cease,
I fold my hands, repeat my hymn,
And lay me down in peace.

"My Polly is so very good,
Belinda never cries;
My Baby often goes to sleep,
See how she shuts her eyes.

"Dear Mrs. Lemon tell me when
Belinda goes to school;
And what time does she go to bed?"
"Well, eight o'clock's the rule.

"But now and then, just for a treat,
I let her wait awhile;
You shake your head why, wouldn't you?
Do look at Baby's smile!"

"Dear Mrs. Primrose will you come
One day next week to tea?
Of course bring Rosalinda, and
That darling Rosalie."

"Dear Mrs. Cowslip, you are kind;
My little folks, I know,
Will be so very pleased to come;
Dears tell Mrs. Cowslip so.

"Oh, do you know perhaps you've not heard
She had a dreadful fright;
My Daisy with the measles
Kept me up every ...

Into that good old Hebrew’s soul sublime
The spirit of the wilderness had passed;
For where the thunders of imperial Storm
Rolled over mighty hills; and where the caves
Of cloud-capt Horeb rang with hurricane;
And where wild-featured Solitude did hold
Supreme dominion; there the prophet saw
And heard and felt that large mysterious life
Which lies remote from cities, in the woods
And rocks and waters of the mountained Earth.
And so it came to pass, Elijah caught
That scholarship which gave him power to see
And solve the deep divinity that lies
With Nature, under lordly forest-domes,
And by the seas; and so his spirit waxed,
Made strong and perfect by its fellowship
With God’s authentic world, until his eyes
Became a splendour, and his face was as
A gl...

Monsignore,
Right Reverend Bishop Valentinus,
Sometime of Interamna, which is called Ferni,
Now of the delightful Court of Heaven,
I respectfully salute you,
I genuflect
And I kiss your episcopal ring.

It is not, Monsignore,
The fragrant memory of your holy life,
Nor that of your shining and joyous martyrdom,
Which causes me now to address you.
But since this is your august festival, Monsignore,
It seems appropriate to me to state
According to a venerable and agreeable custom,
That I love a beautiful lady.
Her eyes, Monsignore,
Are so blue that they put lovely little blue reflections
On everything that she looks at,
Such as a wall
Or the moon
Or my heart.
It is like the light coming through blue stained glass,
Yet not quite ...